Team B and K stan ☆

pt. 1 ??? Hey there, cute little princess. Do you want to have tea with me at the café? MC (Is someone trying to flirt with me?) (Just don’t look back, and keep walking.) ??? Hey hey, it’s incredibly rude to ignore someone, MC. MC Sotetsu-san...! Sotetsu I even tried using a new flirting tactic too. MC Sorry, I thought you were a stranger. Sotetsu Don’t sweat it. Actually, I’m relieved you didn’t look back because you thought I was a stranger. You’re heading to Starless too, aren’t you? MC Yep. Sotetsu Well, let’s go together then. MC Are you working today, Sotetsu-san? Sotetsu Nope, we have a line-distribution meeting later in the afternoon. Oh yeah, MC. You should come watch the lesson later. If that happens, I’ll feel a bit more motivated. MC I’d be happy to watch over the lesson, but wouldn’t it be too much of a burden? Sotetsu Don’t you want to know the role I’m going to be playing now? MC I do. Sotetsu I’m a gentle, rich man who loves his wife above everything else. But my bride eloped with Leonardo, who is played by Kei. MC That’s very painful. Sotetsu Right? If given a chance, would you rather choose me over Kei? MC Uhm... Sotetsu Hey, hey. Even if it’s a lie, you should’ve said yes.

pt. 2

Sotetsu You...are you just going to throw me away? ...I refuse to accept that. If you’re going to run away with that man, then that means this ring... MC (Did...did he swallow the ring?) Sotetsu (choking sounds) And with that, our vow is eternal...

♡ You start with the people you're well-acquainted with. Dropping off packages, trying to clean some stuff up, but much to your chagrin — there is one garnet-eyed boy who won’t let you go so easily. Kalim has a penchant for making 2-minute tasks lengthen out into 5-hour hangout sessions, and in truth, most of your income stems from him as well. As a Scarabia resident, you've more chance encountering him. And Jamil, in the stead of your previous devastatingly vague conversaton, is clad in a forever stillness. Like a snake, like a true viper, whatever metaphor you’d like to pin to his name , it’s true he does not trust you one bit. 

Gloves brush wood as Jade shifts, mulling your work over his tongue. “My, how cold. And after I went through the trouble of finding you such… plentiful work opportunities.”

You look up, squinting. The eel smiles - surprisingly, a flash of white - sly, sly thing  that could be framed and hung in a museum titled Nothing Is Wrong Here. “Explain."

“Why, merely that you’ve been quite busy as of late. I thought I might… assist.”

Assist, because clearly, your life needed more interference. You turn back to your work, sifting through papers and to do-lists. Much to your dismay, the people at Night Raven latch onto profitable kindness quite viciously. “Yeah, well, don’t.”

“I can’t help but feel it’s a shame. When there are far more… comfortable arrangements available to you.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“My poor, poor heart.”

Unease prods at you once more. Jade’s presence thickening, shrouding your esophagus with an intensity just shy of crushing it raw. You shift on the chair, turning so you don’t face the male, legs pressed together in an endeavour of making yourself seem smaller in his mismatched focal point. 

But he notices in an instant. 

“Is something the matter?” He eyes you, before letting his head dip inquisitively. “..Dare I assume, are you mad at me?”

Lest you respond too quickly - against his liking - the weight lifts itself off your table, and in true eel fashion, he slinks and slants behind you just as quickly.You swear you feel an irked muscle pop in your jaw when you realize you’re completely caged — one hand braced against the back of your chair, the other idly toying with a loose sheet of paper you’d been sorting. His smile hasn’t changed, but it’s  closer now.

“Ah,” Jade hums, voice dipping lower, nearer your ear than you’d like. “So I was correct, you’re avoiding me.”

You stiffen, a newfound aridity scouring your throat. “No, I’m just busy, ’s all.”

“Yes,” he agrees easily, as if the word itself amuses him. “So I’ve observed, and yet, you seem to have time for everyone else. I am your Club Leader, after all.”

The paper slips from his fingers, fluttering uselessly back onto the pile you’d been trying to organize for the past fifteen minutes. Knuckling at your lids, you sigh. “Look, Jade. I don’t have time for whatever this is. I’ve got deliveries to finish, and if I don’t—”

“You’ll what?” he asks gently, luxuriating in your falter. “You’ll fall behind? Lose your footing? Fade back into obscurity? So many choices.”

“I’ll get broke and die, then you’ll have to pry my deliveries right out of my cold, dead hands.”

Silence ensues. 

But it doesn’t take much longer for that smile to quirk and coil around your words. He straightens, and his hand moves towards your wrist, a touch so light you almost don’t register it.

“Then allow me to be of use.”

♡ Ouch! You smack him right over the head with a loose sheet of paper that, in truth, delivers zero damage, but it’s enough to momentarily catch him off guard. He blinks out of his stupor, and catches you walking out of the Mountain Lovers club, huffing and puffing. 

♡  But  you  don’t make it very far. Right as you open the door, you’re sure your heart drops straight to your stomach. 

♡ Blue and red, a spade and a heart linger at the sides of a visage you know all too well. Yuu, previously looking at the plaque above the door, stills when they see.. you. They blink, a list clutched in their hand, and suddenly, they’re spluttering, a warmth, a scorching tide gnawing at their face. You’ve no idea what they’re saying, but holy shit, do you have the most doomed luck in Twisted Wonderland? It’s very obvious they can’t keep their eyes off you.. and with the list in their hands, you’ve an inkling they’re picking out clubs with Ace and Deuce trying to assist them. 

♡ What the hell do you do now?

”I..” They breathe, eyeing you up and down. “I... woah.”

Ace groans, and he looks at you with such palpable irritation it’s baffling. “Here we go again. Man, I want to be anywhere but here right now.”

No doubt dragged to this occasion by the Yuu he couldn’t possibly refuse, Deuce remains silent, but his eyes are trained on you, puzzled. He recognizes you, you’re sure. You’ve survived spells, survived Jade, survived academic failure, survived Rook and Vil, and this—this—is what takes you out?

“Uh—hi?” Yuu tries again. The list in their hand crinkles audibly under the pressure of their grip. “You’re— I mean— I saw you earlier— not like saw saw, but— you fell in my lap and.. Um!”

“…you’re blocking my way,” you manage.

Heedless, they chuckle. It’s soft, airy, but at the same time,  a little breathless. Like they didn’t expect you to speak at all, let alone that.

“Right. Sorry. I just..” Their gaze drops, then treks upward to your face again, the latter unpleasantly miffed. “.. I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to see you again. You’re just, so, so.. You have a Magicam  account right? Give me— may I have your user?”

♡ A product of Yuu’s position as the main character. They probably deem you a random NPC, easily subject to their system’s whims and relationship level boosts. Perhaps they think if they throw in a flirty line or two that’ll get you to fluster and fall to their charm, but luckily, you’re just a brokie. And a spud. And a pup. And a nameless club member. You’re many things at once, but you’re not Yuu’s yes-man.

“Uh-huh. You’re still blocking my way.”

Something befalls Yuu’s gaze, quickly shadowed by another hopeful glint in their irises. Their attention travels somewhere behind you, and that’s, in truth, enough of a tell that an eel is lurking real close. 

“Ah. You’ve acquired company.”

”Jade!” Yuu chirps, the aforementioned acknowledging them with a close-eyed nod. Ah, right. Honestly, you think your time here is up. Jade’s head over heels for them, after all. “Oh, wow! How’ve you been? It’s been so, so long since I’ve-”

“Likewise. And.. if I may ask,” Jade opens his eyes. “What brings you here?”

Your lips crimp at that.

Yuu shifts the list in their hands, fingers fidgeting against the edges like it might fly away if they don’t hold it tight enough.

“I was actually—” they start, glancing up at the plaque above the door, then back at you, “—looking into this club.”

…

♡ No. No, absolutely not! This is the only club you deem safe enough. No, no, no. If Yuu enters, that foils all your plans. If Yuu enters, Ace and Deuce too. And if Ace and Deuce enter, then so will all of Yuu’s envious suitors. Jade, you can feel him start to simmer, feel him bend down to Yuu’s demand, feel him rife with joy-

“The Mountain Lovers Club is, regrettably, quite exclusive. I’m afraid you’ll not find an available seat. ”

♡ This is the very first time you’ll admit you could kiss him in gratitude.

Vision skewed and graciously dazed, you peer at the sides of his face --his mien unperturbed.  Ace and Deuce blink with you, but only Yuu verbalizes their confusion. 

“Oh.” They seem shocked, in disbelief. The stagnant pause ends with a meek: “…Really?”

“Yes.” Jade doesn’t miss a beat. “Our activities require a certain… disposition.. that is to say, endurance and compatibility with the environment.”

“—Yes!” You blurt, softening the blow. “Yes, yes it is! It’s also a.. best-friends only thing, if you know what I mean.”

Deuce, having been quiet all this time, finally speaks. “..Are you sure?”  He gestures to the male beside you. “Even he seems shocked you’re best friends.”

♡ Ack! Jade can’t be any more obvious. Pupils dilated, lips slightly ajar, it takes you right back to your proclamation of being best friends. With a  surreptitious nudge to his elbow, you bring him right back into reality, and he quickly masks his shock with an air of contentment. 

”...Yes, you heard them correctly.”

Yuu, however, just blinks again, visibly deflating. “Oh… I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“It isn’t,” Ace mutters under his breath.

They all watch as Jade steps closer. His gloved hand lifts, and before you can even process it all, positions itself upon your shoulder. And before he can process it, you sling an arm around his and reel him right back in, cracking a very wobbly grin. Oh! From this proximity, you think you can feel the tempo of a heart beating oh-so viciously, but you clear your throat and play the part. This is not looking so good. 

“Oh?” he blinks, close to your face, slanting down to match your level. “..I wasn’t aware we’d reached such prestigious heights.”

You tighten your grip. “We have. We totally have.”

“Hm. Then I must apologize,” he says lightly, turning his attention back to the trio. “It seems I’ve been a rather inattentive friend.”

Ace squints. “You don’t even sound convincing.”

“I assure you, I am nothing if not sincere.”

“Cap.”

Deuce, still frowning, crosses his arms. “If you’re really best friends, then it shouldn’t be hard to answer a few questions.”

.... Oh, dear. 

♡ Turns out, you and Jade, two peas in a pod, know nothing about each other. In truth, he was never your favorite character in the Twisted Hearts series -- and so you’d never pay heed to his personal character tabs, but having to face this reality is humiliating, to say the least... and that is to say, this guy is clueless. 

“What’s their name?”

“...Ah.”

“What do you mean by ‘Ah’? Their name is Ah?”

“I was under the impression that such formalities were unnecessary between close companions.”

“Haha, yeah, we’re just, like, on a first-name basis.”

♡ Yuu has a lot of questions to ask. 

“What’s their favorite thing about you?”

“Oh..”

”Ah..”

”Er— after you.”

“No, no. I insist. After you.”

“I insist more.”

  Ace looks ready to walk into traffic.

“I REALLY like his personality.”

“Do you now?” Jade echoes, the glister in his eyes lifting up his dazed bid at a smile. 

“Mhm. You’re so.. eel-like. Heh.”

“…Eel-like.”

“Yeah, like—uh—adaptable? Slippery? Good in social situations?”

“How kind,” he says, once he recovers, eyes glinting. “Then I suppose I should return the sentiment.”

Oh no.

“You are,” he begins, looking directly at you now, “remarkably persistent.”

“…That’s not—”

“And quite entertaining,” he continues smoothly. The rest watch the spectacle in both shared puzzlement and horror. “In a way that is… difficult to replicate.”

Your face heats. “That’s also not—”

“And,” he adds, softer now, “surprisingly honest, when it matters.”

♡ Having enough, Ace tells the others to hurry off before you two actually start making out. Yuu, however, follows his remark only with a tentative stride, glancing back at the now intertwined hands of you and the eel. You really are close, huh? It baffled them, up until now, they’d never heard of you.

♡ You.. however. 

♡ You’re thinking just how.. profitable keeping Jade Leech around is.  

♡ Someone’s been stealing your stuff.

♡ The thought is inevitable just as you make a routine count-down of all your belongings. You’re three numbers down, and you’re beginning to dread everything. (Though, you can’t help but scowl at the thought. Seriously, what good would it do to them to steal a half-chewed pencil, of all things? That freak..)

♡ The suspect is pretty clear to you, but you have an inkling there’s more to this.

♡ In order to dissuade yourself from the very large problem at hand, you tend to your mounting list of customers. In Pomefiore, you’re supposed to drop off a package, no doubt related to cosmetics. In Savanaclaw, something related to workout equipment. In Heartslabyul, you’re supposed to walk someone’s pet.. mouse. You skip over Octavinelle and Jade’s very evident handwriting - (a scheme to catch your presence.) And Scarabia...

♡ Gulp.

“You’re here!!”

Though, you’ve only met Kalim a couple of times, (more so because his gifted pile of adornments was endless), he still has the gall to beam  at you like you’ve laid out the desert stars yourself. Hands folding upon yours and bringing you forward, conversely, he watches you shrink into your collar.  “You didn’t tell me you were coming today! Jamil—did you know they were coming today?”

“Um.. I live here.”

From somewhere behind him, air whistles through Jamil’s teeth.  “No.” His eyes flick to the package in your hands, then swiftly back to your awkward stance. 

“You’re here for a delivery,” Jamil says. 

“Yeah. I was just gonna—”

“Stay for lunch!”

♡ And thus, today marks the day you’ve sold your soul for food, of all things. Seated and gently trapped, a decade’s worth of food presents itself before you, and the aromas effused gnaw at your senses, tempting. Spices, drinks, whatnot.  Kalim keeps piling more onto your plate like he’s trying to win a competition you didn’t agree to join. Though, as much as you feel Jamil’s opposition to you, he isn’t afraid to litter your already dazed mind with a maelstrom of questions. You wonder what it may be, the cause of his vehemence. Maybe because of the injury incident? Maybe because your presence results in greater work for him? Whatever it is, you dabble.

“Try this one! Oh—and this—Jamil made it!”

“Kalim,” Jamil cuts in, voice smooth, “they can serve themselves.”

“They don’t take enough!”

“They won’t starve in the five seconds it takes to decide.” Jamil directs his gaze to you, trying to oh-so vigorously ignore the fact you’re stuffing things into your mouth like you’ve been starved since your birth. It’s quite strange. Here in Scarabia, food is never a scarcity. “You’ve been taking on more work lately.”

You try to play it off. “Just… saving up.”

“For what.”

Your lashes dip. “Just in case.”

Jamil tilts his head slightly. “In case of what.”

God, he doesn’t let anything go, does he?

“In case I need it,” you mutter, poking at your food.

“If you need money, you can just ask me.” Kalim butts in. 

They don’t miss the sliver of light - suited to an opportunist - glistering in your irises. You think to yourself for  a moment, mulling it over your tongue. Was it really that easy? Had you really been prolonging your misery for nothing? Whirling your head towards Kalim, you hope you don’t come off as too eager. This could be your chance! “...Really? You’d do that?”

Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Kalim, please. You are not funding every person who steps into this dorm.”

“I’m not.. Just them!”

“—But I really, really need it, Ka— Housewarden.”  Correcting yourself, pulling a clump of lashes down towards your woebegone gaze and overstretched lips, you extend a faltering hand to the white-haired boy. “I’ve been working so hard lately..” Only for one day, but you twist around the hurdle. “And it’s just not enough.”

Needless to say, his expression melts. As it should, who are you if not committed?

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn't important. But now, I fear I soon may..” You clench your heart over your chest. “Perish.”

Silence stretches around your words, intercepted only by Jamil’s very blunt, accusatory finger.

“You’re eating.” He remarks. 

You shove another bite into your mouth. Taste bursts sharp and savoury. “Who’s to say? This could be my last meal.”

“What?” Kalim blinks, horror dawning upon sun-kissed features. “Huh—”

”Yes.”

“Yes. Yes, let’s all acknowledge the very real threat of starvation currently occurring at this table, of all places.”

Your hand stretches a little further toward Kalim, fingers trembling just enough to sell it. “…Please?”

The speed with which he latches onto your hand - warm, buoyant and unabashed - does not catch you off guard. You relish in it, if only for a moment. “Yes! Of course I will! Besides, it’s my duty as your housewarden to look after you!” White shines in his smile. “Right, Jamil?”

The latter counts down to a number that only exists in his mind. Exhaling, he comes to a standstill. “...Within reason.”

“Yes!” Kalim lights up instantly, squeezing your hand with verve. Your fingers twitch in his grasp when you reciprocate. “See? It’s settled!”

“I knew you’d understand,” you try a smile. “You’re really, really kind. I’m glad to have you as my Housewarden.”

Kalim beams like you’ve handed him the world. 

“Of course I am!” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in existence. “And you don’t have to work so hard, you know? You can just come to me!”

Jamil’s eye twitches.

“That’s what I’m concerned about.” You huff a quiet laugh, glancing down at your plate, now ludicrously full, courtesy of Kalim’s earlier enthusiasm. “…It’s not like I hate working.”

That much is true.

“It’s just…” You pause, poking lightly at the edge of your dish. Poisonous spumes of memories; heels, scales, a classroom - make you lodge your lip between your teeth as you forage for the right words. You didn’t hate working. Working had become a part of your routine, you’d worked endlessly to evade, elude and ignore. You just don’t like it when..

 “I’d rather not owe anyone anything.”

The words slip out before you can dress them up. Jamil stills at the variation in tone, but Kalim slants his head, thinking over it. 

“Oh,” he says softly, and just like that, the energy shifts. “Well,” Kalim continues, thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand without thinking, “then don’t think of it like that.”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like you owe me,” he says, as if the idea itself is ridiculous. “Think of it like… I’m helping my friend. Yeah, that’s it! You have other friends, right? I’m sure they don’t do all that stuff just to put you in some sort of debt!”  At the growing sombre wave over your expression, he gawks. ”You do have other friends, right?” 

♡ Right. An heir. Your friend. The two don’t match.

“Yeah!” You blurt before he can offer himself. “Yeah, I have one.. Uh, it’s.. his name is Jade!”

“Jade? Jade Leech?” He stares, before laughing quite heartily. “I know him! Hey, bring him over next time. Oh, I’ll even invite Yuu!”

Imperceptibly - just a tincture of change - you latch onto the pleasant change of thought pooling over Jamil’s unfairly pretty face, like a starving man. He was going to atleast try to mitigate Kalim’s suggestions, but the mere mention of the prefect has him chewing down his words, and when he partially turns his face to the side, the fabric of his hood conceals  warmth and a shy-tipped smile.

 “..Hm.” His eyes sparkle. “I suppose we can-”

“So,” you shovel three bites into your mouth now. “Where’s my money?”

“...On the condition we exclude you from such occasions.”

♡ Scarabia’s Number One loser turns to the side and wilts, but not before catching the bare of a chuckle whispering through the snake’s teeth. 

♡ Ouch! You’ve never dealt with classes amiably, and since then it’s devolved into some sort of a love-hate relationship. You’re not in the wrong here, of course. In your defense, the only thing you know about Astronomy are the zodiac signs. (..Or were they related to astrology? Oh, well, whatever). Animal Languages, Humanities, whatnot, they all are just as unbearable to you as Potionology, and your backbencher self can only retain so much of magical knowledge. 

♡ Needless to say, it’s a surprise to hear Professor Crewel start the day with a hint relayed over upcoming exams. You don’t care much about them, you know just enough to pass and stay out of any leaderboard lest you garner unwarranted attention (a plan you're failing at, at the moment). With Vil as your tutor, you think you’ve secured a solid position in the future.. Though, a  bit too solid for your liking. You might have to deliberately get a few stuff wrong in order to not  be the centre of praise, but just enough to qualify as average and not earn yourself an office tongue-lashing. Haha..

♡ Ah, right. Speaking of Vil, you’ve been granted the luxury of not being his focal point for now. Not so much, atleast. He seems much too preoccupied with the Pomefiore students under his lead, and for once, you’ve some time to yourself.. Hm, actually, you haven't interacted much since he got ahold of you in the classroom. No matter. It’s all tightrope walk, really. Unfortunately, you’re starting to suspect someone’s shaking the rope.

“You’ve been getting better.”

♡ Huh? You pause, pen hovering awkwardly over parchment. The voice beside you is unfamiliar yet not entirely so. Turning slightly, you’re met with the face of—ah. Right. Scarabia Student B. A reliable constant in your classes, someone who exists in that peculiar space of always there, never noticed - much like you. 

“…I have?” you reply, qurking a brow. 

“Mhm. ” He  perks up. “Potionology, especially! You used to look like you were about to pass out.. Sorry, no offense, but did you take Ashengrotto up on one of his offers?”

“None taken.” Your pen dances in the open spaces of your fingers. “Ashengrotto? No.”

“Oh.” He seems confused, much to your dismay. It only invites more conversation. “I figured as much. You don’t seem like the type to.. jump on the bandwagon like everyone else. All my dorm-mates are egging me on to strike a contract with him.”

Our dorm-mates. 

♡ Hm. You recall Jade’s previous allusions to you doing the same. Rule Number One: never make a deal, never be in debt.

“Also,” He prods. “Are you okay?”

♡ Oops! In order to placate your rapidly growing heartbeat and the perspiration streaming beneath your clothes, you’ve resorted to chewing at your nails - not realizing how weird that may seem. You can’t blame yourself. You’re just trying to.. prepare yourself for what you’re about to do - it takes will, courage and audacity, for some reason you have all three of those no matter how mild.

♡  You hum noncommittally then gulp nervously,  turning back to your notes, though your handwriting grows just a tad bit more jagged... But since you’ve incited conversation, you see how this story goes. 

 “You’ve also been… around more,” he adds as an afterthought. A sideways glance is all it takes for you to see the glister in his eyes - rendering your pen motionless. You’ve been writing nothing but nonsensical sentences, atleast to his mind, again and again, for the pursuit of I’m busy, let me be. But in actuality, this is all a part of one of the most well-crafted plans you have up your sleeve (one that’s not torn up from the several wildlife you’ve encountered on your hikes).  What to do, how to, what-ifs.  

♡ What if Scarabia Student B thinks ill of you after seeing the stuff you’re writing? Oh, well. You know beggars can’t be choosers - in the sheer chaos of your life, this is one of the risks you’re going to choose, even if it foils the sole thing you’re living for. 

“…Around?” 

“Yeah. Scarabia, obviously. But I’ve seen you near Octavinelle too. And Pomefiore! Vil Schoenheit’s tutoring you right? Everyone’s talking about how lucky you are.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s.. That’s really  not good, you think. In the stead of a frown, you give a light, airy laugh. 

 “If you’re trying to get into a different dorm’s good graces,” Scarabia Student B continues, “you should be careful.”

♡  You sink slightly into your seat, exhaling through your nose. So much for subtlety. You’d thought your little job-hopping routine was clever, a way to slip between cracks and stay just out of reach. But cracks, it seems, still run deep. 

♡  At the front, Professor Crewel snaps his pointer against the board.

“Eyes forward, pups. Some of you seem far too comfortable drifting.”

♡ When you lean back, you forget one thing: your life is terribly, inevitably, and terminally out of your hands.

“Psst!”

“I’m not giving you the answers, Bucchi.”

♡ Or not. When you mask your words in vitriol, Ruggie Bucchi - your classmate, trying so hard just to cop a look at your notes, though you’re not even in a pop quiz, deflates.  Rule Number Two: never give anyone the answer to anything.

Finally! Class zooms by quite swiftly, and when the students stream like little, vexing ants in a disparate gaze, you’re quick to scramble for your belongings and exit. Jade, as always, waits for you at the edge, and upon seeing you near him - practiced hand upon his chest - 

♡ Allows his mind to draw a blank. 

♡ Huh?

♡ Are you really holding his hand?

The barrier of his gloves  may seperate the sensation of fingers entwining, but he’s sure, no, certain you’ve enjoined hands. His gaze dips - to see the spectacle, so thoughtfully, so carelessly, so eagerly slotted against his like it’s always been there. 

“I told you not to wait for me,” Your usual grumble sounds loud today. “Whatever. Thank you, though.”

Like it’s natural. 

“Jade.” You deadpan. Ah, you really were on a first name basis. “Did you short-circuit? Hellooo?”

”Not at all.” His reply is immediate, and so is the suave upturn of his lips as he regards you. Fully reciprocating your hold, he hums as if he hadn't just pondered over your dynamic in the span of a heartbeat. “I was merely considering something.”

“Yeah, well, consider walking.”

You tug him forward, and he complies, seamlessly weaving in the newfound hubbub of the halls. Students pass, chatter ebbs and flows, yet it all feels even more distant to him now, for the sole reason you still haven’t relinquished your hold. You get weird, inquisitive glances from passerbys, and when you still don’t let your grip slacken, he realizes, all the more entertained, that this is intentional. 

“So,” you eye him. “You don’t have anything to do, right?”

“For you?” He replies smoothly. “I always find myself remarkably available.”

“Good, then walk me to my dorm. Actually, no, my room.”

“My, my.. I certainly wasn’t aware we’d grown this close.”

“Don’t you dare.” Whirling around a corner, you narrowly dodge a group of unsuspecting, giggling freshies. They all disperse when they see the eel willingly trail after, hand in hand, Jackpot. You were on the mark with your little analogy. “I’m skipping my remaining classes, ‘is all.”

Jade has a strange, numb, faraway look in his eyes as he talks. If you were any smarter, you’d compare his mental state to a giggling schoolgirl, feet kicking high up in the air and all. “Oh? Even if Vargas will have your head for it?”

“What am I to do?” You grouch, he can never get tired of it,  surprisingly. “I have so many jobs I need to pick up. So many deliveries, packages, dorms. My next job..”

“Where might that be?”

“Nowhere near Octavinelle.” You make a face at him. “I’ll have you know your handwriting is very identifiable, you’re not slick.” 

A soft laugh escapes him, a lie so gentle it almost feels true. ”Very well, then. I shall behave.”

♡ The journey to the Hall of Mirrors is easy and slow-paced, and in no time are you standing outside your room, bidding Jade adieu, or atleast the form of it you think would max out your stats. Scarabia’s numbers at this time are limited, considering they’re all very big on their grades and whatnot - so that buys you some time to do the unthinkable-

”I must admit-" He drawls on with his usual background yapping..

- the very core of your plan, the one you’ve mentally steeling yourself for, the one you’ve been rehearsing in the mirror for-

“Seeing you take such liberties to-”

♡ The next time Jade opens his eyes, he is sure of one thing. The ephemeral sensation of you coaxing yourself up and pecking his cheek happened, and this time there’s no barrier to try and think otherwise. 

Rule Number Three - keep your enemies far away, and Jade closer than ever.

♡ The next time you open your eyes, you’re very sure he just malfunctioned, gloved hand perched upon his cheek incredulously. Blinking, once, twice, doing nothing to remedy the touch -

”You..”

“Anyways,”  You shimmy inside before he can get a word in. “See you later.”

The door slams shut in his bleary-eyed, wobbling face. 

♡  For the next few days, you’re inclined into believing you just messed up whatever chance you had at salvation...because surprisingly, Jade’s stood. you. up.

♡ Surely, as a fellow second year, he must have as many responsibilities  as  you, and you surely don’t doubt that bit at all. Mostro Lounge must be another factor, and if Azul's really getting around to those contracts as per Student B’s words, then he must be more packed than ever. Still, you can’t imagine any other universe where you’d get withdrawal symptoms from the fact the eel no longer waits for you after class, nor does he come by to your ever-growing hike sessions. That foils the plan of no-attention, sure, but you sure as hell don’t want to go to Octavinelle just to bring him back, you’d be a fool to. Still, now, things have actually reverted back to the way you wanted them to - with you on your lonesome. 

♡ Not entirely on your lonesome, though. Vil is still a hindrance. Sometimes, he does manage to make some time for you, much to your dismay. And when you pivot and bolt away, one French-speaking hunter is always there to mitigate the problem. It’s always embarrassing watching people wonder why a grown student is thrashing around and screaming like a toddler whilst being dragged off by a Vice Housewarden… 

♡ Ouch. That sets it. You’ve no clue how to proceed now. 

♡ You can easily bypass Scarabia attention by sneaking awày and coming in late, past curfew. Pomefiore is inevitable, and so is Octavinelle, and ultimately, with Crewel’s insistence on you growing a backbone and learning how to actually fare well with academics, you’ve slowly and gradually reached one, final dead end. 

A Pomefiore dead end. All your encounters go somewhat like this.

“I take it you’ve learned better than to run from me, spud.” Silky blonde, pale purple wisps and perfume pool in your sight. Vil Schoenheit can see you preparing to run.

Surprisingly, and regretfully,  you  turn. Even outside of Pomefiore’s halls, he looks like he belongs on a stage rather than a school corridor.

“I  wasn’t  running.” 

“You  were  given  a  rare   opportunity,”  he  says, voice lowering. “Do  you  know  how  many  would  beg  for  the kind  of  guidance  I’ve  offered  you?”

He doesn’t like you groaning.“ Ughhh.. Fine. I’m lucky, I get it, okay? Now, if you’d just-”

“No, you don’t.”

Before you follow through with your plan and take to your heels, an icy hand grasps your chin, directing your gaze towards an even more vexed one. And despite yourself, a pesky chill dances up your spine — days have passed, and you’ve still yet to overcome the outlandish feeling of discomfort you get from him.  With pursed lips do you shrink, but with just a lone tap on them alone, you’re compelled into relaxing them and entertaining Vil’s caprices. 

Exhaling softly, he seems almost disappointed, brows sloping. “You’re inconsistent, spud. Your potential fluctuates wildly. One day you perform adequately, the next you sabotage yourself with careless mistakes. Deliberate mediocrity is still a choice, and a poor one.”

When you avert your gaze,  the sheer, bona fide pressure of long nails — albeit unintentional —  sinks deep enough to incite a hiss from you. 

“I’m aware you’re trying not to stand out.. but why,” A tap and your cheeks are practically smushed together.  “would that ever be something to strive for?

♡ Oh! Vil doesn’t even know the half of it.  How you’re just a background character, how you know wreckage and would do anything not to be part of it, how you’d do anything in your power to just stay away and never be perceived again, how every single line of the script has slowly been crumbling ever since you’d made a flimsy little mistake, how he doesn’t even exist.  You could go on and on, but truly,  what would he know? 

A downturn, a slope of your lips is what you give him instead of an answer, and in return you hear another soft sigh of exhaustion. 

 “Oh, sevens..”  he adds with his voice dipping just slightly, “instead of refining what you’ve been given, you choose to squander it.”

“I’m not squandering anything.”

“Then what would you call it?” he shoots back smoothly. “Intentionally answering incorrectly? Slouching through assignments you are clearly capable of completing? Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“...Oh.”

♡ Commences the never-ending loop of Pomefiore halls, stacked deadlines, and a huge bunch of books. It's quite laughable, to say the least, out of all your potential encounters, Vil is truly the only one who makes you uncomfortable enough to consider bolting away

♡  .. though you can never remember why. 

♡  “Psst...”

“No.. No.. I.. ” You slur and forget to thank him— whoever that was— for bringing you out of your reverie. Up front, class resumes, Professor Trein talking about something indecipherable. “I added the right ingredients, Vil, I did... ”

A giggle makes you sit up straight. Oh. It’s Ruggie. “Ugh, shut up. I’m not giving you the answer.”

♡ You’re not even sure why the hyena hasn’t gotten the hint yet.  Struggle’s part of the hustle?

“Dang,” you feel him slouch just as you underline three unimportant words three times, lips cinched tight into your perpetual grimce. Your eyes are still hazy, mind squirming, but you manage. “You didn’t even hesitate. How’dja know for sure I was gonna ask for the answers? Kind of rude, y’know?”

Head lolling over your shoulders, you don’t spare him a single glance. “That’s all you do.”

“Wow," Ruggie Bucchi, perhaps even more of an opportunist than you - leans back against his chair, clicking his tongue when you point him out for the millionth time today. He’s always had a knack for trying to cop a look at your notes, or at seemingly whatever your hands were occupied with at the moment. In return, he gets nothing, but as established, the struggle is part of the hustle. “That hurts a little, y’know? I thought we had something special.”

Good grief... “No, we don’t. Please NEVER entertain that thought ever again.”

♡ You’re already packing your things up lest he grows a little too curious and  deftly snatches  them away from you. When the bell rings, you’re already rushing out the door, seamlessly weaving in with the quintessential crowd and letting bodies obscure you from view. 

♡ But unfortunately, a grab at your sleeve halts you in your advance. Ack!

“Wait!”

♡ Not Ruggie. Not Jade. Not Kalim...  huh? Oh, yeah. You get it now. 

♡ Yuu stares at you with tenfold the adoration they once had, lips warming into a bright smile, white showing when you shoot them a questioning glance. Encapsulating your hand fully, they lean forward for you to hear them over the hubbub and you barely make the effort to crane your ears. It’s a fact they can’t read the room. Do you blame them, though? Debatable. It’s inevitable after all that attention and validation. Though.. the way it feels like they were standing right outside your class gives you momentary chills. ( that spot’s taken and you can only handle so much.)

“Sorry,” their grip loosens. “I just— we didn’t get to talk much earlier. You left so early, and Jade..” Teeth nearly mauling their lip, they shrug away the thought. “Nevermind. That isn’t what I came here for!”

“..What did you come here for?”

“You.”

♡ The entire world hears you groan.

xavier:  

the hunter twitches awake as he feels you shift in his hold, his cock effectively slipping out from your warm cunt, the residual proof from last night trickles down your thighs. the two of you had recently reunited after being on separate missions for a month. the longing only made last night especially memorable, as you only stopped when the sun was kissing the sky. 

the curtains were still drawn shut, the two of you had nothing to do today but catch up on well-deserved rest.  

his sleepy eyes look down, frowning at the way your cunt was pushing out his cum, effectively leaving a mess between your thighs. 

xavier hisses as he feels the cold air hit his cock that was slowly hardening. he looks at your back, seeing the way your chest rose in steady breaths, you were deep asleep. he shouldn’t do this. 

but, technically, he wasn’t doing anything wrong. he fell asleep with his cock inside of you; it was only right that you wake up with the same feeling, right?

with a pleased sigh, he gently coaxes your thighs apart, positioning his cock to your hole only to pause as his shaft catches his previous cum, jerking slightly at the cool feeling. he finds himself rocking his hips subtly until you shift once more in your sleep, and his cock is now trapped between your thighs.

the sudden softness catches him off guard as he lets out a quiet moan, his hand darting to your waist, keeping you there as he unconsciously. 

“fuck… star…” xavier whispers, his breath hot against your neck. 

“‘so perfect…” he continues to whisper, eyes flitting to a close as he lets himself indulge in your softness.

“y’feel so good…” 

“xavier?” he freezes, his cock twitching against your thighs as you sleepily look back at him. 

“four rounds weren’t enough?” you yawned, eyes still half-closed. xavier’s face flushed from embarrassment and flusteredness from how adorable you looked. a half pout was etched on your face as you looked away from him. 

“never getting enough of you.” he mouths at the back of your neck. “‘m so close, my star.” xavier mutters as he pulls you closer to his chest, the tip of his cock peeking from the front of your thighs. 

you whined slightly, trying to get out of his hold to no avail. 

“s’too messy, xaaav…” you trailed off, feeling the wave of sleepiness overtake you once more. xavier says nothing as he grinds once more, testing the waters. 

“i’ll clean you up, ‘promise.” xavier moans quietly as he kisses the back of your neck. you sighed softly, a hand reaching down to palm at the tip. 

xavier jerks, your cold hand providing contrast against his wet cock. 

“‘m so close…” xavier whimpers, his arms tight around you as his hips thrust to meet your palm that was massaging his leaky tip. 

“cum.” you say, already drifting back to sleep, “and don’t forget to clean me up.”

your hand still moves, albeit slower, but the change in pace was the cherry on top as xavier cums with a quiet hiss. 

he comes in spurts, his hips thrusting until the last of his high. your hand had stopped moving, you were entirely asleep. 

xavier couldn’t help but look at your stained hand, his cock twitching at the sight of it covered in his cum. 

he scoops up what he can without moving too much before he wipes it on your thighs, adding more to the combination of fresh and dried cum. 

he’ll clean you up when he wakes up, for now, he wants to wake to his masterpiece fully dried. 

zayne: 

his back was against the headboard as he shocks himself awake with his evol. he felt dirty, not because of regret for what happened between you last night, but because he woke up wanting more. 

admittedly, he knows that he was rougher than he anticipated, how couldn’t he be? you weren’t exactly a saint. hell, you knew what you were doing when you fed him liquor-infused chocolates.

the memory of your moans was loud and clear in his mind, his eyes flickered to your body that faced him, marks from him decorating the expanse of your chest, and he could only assume it looked similar on your back. 

his breath deepens slightly, his hand reaches forward to touch your sleeping face, only for his hand to recoil as if he remembers that he wasn’t allowed to touch. 

the hardening of his cock was in no way subtle as it throbs against his abdomen. zayne hisses, closing his eyes and willing it to go away.

yet, it doesn’t help. not even a little, because every time he closes his eyes, he can see the way your eyes rolled back as you screamed for more. 

and fuck, did zayne want to give you more. 

but you were deep in sleep and he’d be damned if he woke you up because he couldn’t control his erection like a teenager. you deserved to rest, he thinks. 

with a somewhat frustrated sigh, he reaches down, cringing slightly at his rough and cold hand. 

he pumps his cock with his eyes closed, trying to replicate how you do it, but he can only do so much as your hands carry softness that his couldn’t copy. he lets out a grunt, thinking that it would make him release faster. yet his mind couldn’t get over the feeling of guilt of jerking off to your sleeping body beside him. 

his body jolts, eyes widening as he feels the soft hand he tried to replicate place on top of his. 

“not like that, zaynie.” you say, voice still laced with sleep as you guided his hand to a slower pace. 

zayne felt his face burn in embarrassment. 

“how long have you been awake?” he asks, eyes flitting to a half close as your hand replaces his. 

“since you were treating my favorite toy so harshly,” you cooed, giggling slightly at the bead of pre that escaped his tip. 

“darling, i’m sorry i—” he was cut off as you leaned down, placing a small, lazy kiss on his shaft. zayne closes his eyes, mouth falling open at the sensitivity as he tries to conjure up his words. 

“i… you were asleep, and i didn’t want to wa—” “shh.” you take a hold of his hand, placing it to the middle of your thighs as you leaned closer to his sensitive body. 

zayne’s hand clasps around your thigh, pulling you closer. his cold fingers gently traced your lips, mouth slightly watering at the sight of your wetness forming. you jolt slightly yet don’t move away, focusing on your task at hand. 

“sooo hard, zaynie.” he can feel your smile on his dick as you press a wet kiss on his mushroom tip. he says nothing, focusing on fingering you. 

his face leans in to press kisses on the back of your thighs, his fingers spreading your folds apart before focusing on massaging your still sensitive clit. 

the moan that escapes your lips only prompts his hips to thrust upwards, causing you to gag. 

“darling, i’m so—” “it’s okay…” you pull off, hand replacing your lips as you looked back at him, your sleepiness now turned to full-blown lust. 

your eyes rolled back as zayne’s fingers hit that spongy part inside of you. 

“z-zayne…” you call his attention, his fingers pausing in action. 

“hm?” 

“call in sick for today.” 

his hand barely manages to reach his phone to call in before your mouth was back on his. 

the stuttering and the awkward coughing from the composed doctor made the call very believable.  

rafayel: 

last night consisted of ribbons, paint, and a canvas that is now almost fully dried. you and rafayel spent the night searching for inspiration through… untraditional methods. 

the sun rises with the lemurian, his skin stinging slightly as dried paint stretches as he does as well. the couch was cramped, yet he felt like you were still so far away from him. one of his arms was under your body as you curled up against his chest. you looked peaceful, with strokes of pink and purple decorating your cheeks; paint was scattered across your chest, and your arms were stained by rafayel’s hands, now fully dried. 

you looked claimed. his. 

his eyes darken as he scans your vulnerable form, he zeroes in on the bruises on your neck and chest, mixing in with dots of dried paint. 

he makes the mistake of looking down. 

he inhales sharply, your lower body had a fair share of his dried cum that mixed with paint whilst it was still wet. the paint was flaky, peeling off your skin like dried glue in your hands.

he found himself peeling it off your inner thighs, salivating as every fleck removed was your cunt being presented to him. 

god, he wanted to paint you yet he knew that no visual could replicate what was in front of him. no matter how talented he was, your beauty was unmatched. 

he feels himself hardening as he traces over the paint stencilled by his hand. his touch dips lower, fingers clingier as it grabs onto your breast, squeezing slightly, the arm under your body flexes to pull you flush against him, rendering you trapped against his body as his other hand holds free rein. 

“you’re so beautiful.” he whispers before he sucks a soft kiss mark onto your neck. you squirm under his grip yet don’t open your eyes, not yet.

rafayel’s hands continue his descent, his lower body grinding onto yours in a rhythm he made in his head, his lips pressing sloppy kisses on your face as he whispers words of affection onto your sleeping frame. 

“wakey-wakey, cutie.” he whispers after pressing a kiss on your earlobe. “you can’t just leave me to complete our masterpiece.” 

you groaned, body feeling warm as his hand continued to feel on your skin. 

“raf?” you questioned, voice rough with sleep. he hums in response but he doesn’t stop his actions; if anything, his thrusts only got rougher. 

you moan in surprise as his cock slips to meet your clit, dried cum adding a texture to your skin that you weren’t sure you liked. 

your arms reach to wrap around rafayel’s neck, hips grinding down to meet his uncoordinated thrusts. 

“‘m close, ma chérie” the accent slip causes goosebumps to rise on your skin as you mouth at his neck, moaning softly at the continuous stimulation. 

“r-rafayel…” you dragged out a moan, neck tilting back to expose the column of your throat. 

“just a little more, cutie.” he murmurs against your skin as the tip of his cock presses into your clit just right. your orgasm greets you in gentle waves as rafayel grinds against you through his high. 

his cum splatters against your skin in wispy streaks, reactivating the dried paint that littered onto the expanse of your stomach. rafayel grins, looking at you with mischief in his eyes.

“cutie, i have an idea.” “you are not making a new paint color with your cum as a base.” 

rafayel huffs out a laugh, breathing quickly against your now-sweaty neck. 

“you’re no fun.”

sylus: 

sylus opens his eyes, his head feeling a bit fuzzy from your little wine testing. he was not the type of man to be inebriated by one bottle of wine; however, pair it with the taste of your essence, he would be a fool not to be addicted. 

he finds himself licking his dry lips at the memory from last night, his bleary eyes were scanning your frame, your body was covered, sure, if you could even call it that. the only thing preserving your decency was your silk, maroon, nightgown that matched his robe, or used to match his robe, as it could barely be called a nightgown. 

sylus bites his lips subtly, remembering the way his hands grasped at the flimsy fabric, ripping it with ease to feel your skin, but not enough to remove it from you. his cock twitched underneath his robe, demanding attention. 

he ignores it, for now. 

he runs his hand against your skin, smirking slightly at the slightly sticky feeling that clung to his touch. the wine.

the wine the two of you shared last night was decadent, smooth, the way you forewent wine glasses and used your bodies as replacements was just as seamless as the two of you took turns in using one’s body. 

and it seemed like sylus has not done a good job at cleaning you up. 

his tongue peeks out, tracing slightly against your neck, he bites back a pleased rumble at the taste of your skin. 

he ventures further down until he finds himself in front of your cunt. 

his mouth waters as he tests the waters, placing a kiss on your inner thighs. his piercing eyes look at your face, which was still unguarded. he repeats it, suckling a small mark this time. your brows twitch, hand coming down to unconsciously swat away what you assumed was a bug. 

a very big bug. 

sylus chuckles against your skin as he plants both his hands on your thighs, spreading them open, exposing you to him. 

his tongue teases your clit, circling the bud before he closes in, mouth gently suckling as if massaging it. 

your body was generous, responding by twitching when a particularly sensitive area gets licked. 

sylus feels like he’s on cloud nine. this was the perfect cure for his hangover. his eyes flit close, basking in your scent as his hips grind on the bed, mindlessly. 

he opens his eyes when your thighs twitch against his hold, and you jerk as if you were trying to get away from him. you looked at him with confusion before clarity took over. 

your hands snake its way on his hair, a moan escapes his lips, eyes widening at the pain, and if you looked closer, it looked like his pupils had formed into hearts as he relentlessly ate you out. 

“‘s’too early, no, sy?” you say yet made no move to get away, if anything, you slowly closed his face between your thighs. 

“you taste far better than any ripe fruit.” sylus says, words vibrating against your clit, you bite your lip, a smirk on your face. 

“are you getting off to this?” you knew the answer, sylus’s thrusts against the mattress wasn’t subtle, but you couldn’t help but tease him as you bucked your hips against his nose. 

a startled moan escapes your lips, to which sylus revels in. he amps his antics, sneaking two fingers in your already twitching hole, pumping at a sporadic pace. 

your back arches against the bed as you feel yourself squirting against his tongue. your breaths quickening as you peeled his head away from your sensitive cunt. 

sylus’ face was red, his breathing was just as deep, if not more. 

“sylus… did you come just from eating me out?” 

“sweetie, feeling you reach your zenith is enough to trigger mine. you should know this.” sylus says as he pulls away from your thighs, leaning up to cage you between his arms, his cock pressing against your stomach, slightly wet. 

“unless you’d like more proof?” 

caleb: 

caleb needs to hide his clothes for when you visit. 

it’s like you knew that him seeing your frame be dwarfed by his colonel uniform was enough to make him go insane. he’s already placed a request for an extra uniform, seeing as his current one was stained beyond ruin; not even bleach can erase the trauma that fabric endured. 

he was only satiated once you passed out from your fifth orgasm for the night; he fell asleep after, holding you close. 

he wakes up when he senses that it has been a while since you lay in his arms, his sunset eyes open to a squint, hand reaching towards your frame, only to stop once he feels his shirt draped on your body. 

it seems like you were cold for the night and stood up to retrieve his shirt. 

it seems like you don’t learn your lesson.

and

it seems like caleb was ready to teach you once more. 

it was almost comedic how the mere sight of you wearing his tank top was enough for his cock to harden against the blanket. 

caleb latches onto your neck, biting softly against your bruised skin, wanting to deepen its purplish hue. 

a sloppy smack against his arm sobers him up immediately, he pulls away, fearing that he might’ve crossed a boundary. 

“what’s wrong, pips?” caleb asks, turning you to face him, your back was planted on the bed and his arms caged you in. “do you not want to?”

you huffed out a scoff, turning your head to the side. 

“you were too rough last night, dummy!” caleb stops his lips from twitching. 

“is that so?” caleb asks as he leans down to place soft kisses on your bruised skin. 

“mm! you were mean, caleb.” caleb chuckles against your skin. 

“what if i be gentle, hm? would my pipsqueak let me?” he whispers, lips trailing to your neck. 

“but caaaleeb.” you whined. “‘m too sleepy.” 

“that’s okay, pipsqueak. leave it to me.” caleb says as he lulls you back to sleep, his cock poking at your sensitive hole as your breathing evened out. 

true to his word, caleb kept his pace gentle, not wanting to batter up your insides more than he already has.

he finds your sleepy figure grinding against him, he huffs out a chuckle, even when you’re tired, you’d want to help him. his precious, darling, pipsqueak. 

his hips stutter against your skin, a hiss escaping his lips as you forcibly push him out. 

“wha–” caleb’s eyes opened to meet yours, a pout on your face. 

“don’t wanna clean up down there, too lazy.” caleb sneaks a hand down to continue pumping himself, not wanting his high to disappear. 

“then where do you suppose i put it, pips? it would be such a waste.” caleb coos, you rolled your eyes before you look up at him, your sleepy eyes alluring as you open your mouth, a quiet “aaah.” leaving your lips. 

caleb’s breath hitches, he takes the hint, he gets on his knees, the tip of his cum tapping onto your peeking tongue. 

you placed smooches on the areas your lips could reach. 

“fuck…” caleb whimpers. “what a good meimei i have… letting me use her body while she’s tired.” he praises you, but you can’t fight the brat inside of you. 

“gege.” you rebutt, seeing him twitch as the honorific leaves your lips. “you’re such a pervert. using me like this when i just wanna sleep.”

caleb moans out, pained. “yes, i know.” he admits. “i’m such a pervert. i know, i know. fuck.” the pace on his cock quickens and becomes erratic, filthy moans leaving his lips as his bleary eyes are trained on your sleepy face, your mouth hanging open, waiting for his cum. 

“f-fuck— pipsqueak. good meimei.” caleb cums in heavy spurts; he does his best to aim for your awaiting mouth, really, he did. but he didn’t notice that you were in the midst of yawning. he couldn’t help the stray cum that droops on the side of your lips. 

as an act of service, you take hold of his sensitive cock, tongue licking at the tip, ensuring he was clean before you let go. 

you looked at him, smacking your lips, eyes drooping to a close as you find yourself drifting. 

“thank you, gege.” 

caleb takes a cold shower right away once he ensures that you’re fully asleep. 

Everyone knows Trey can’t help but flash that cocky grin of his from time to time—but you, of course, know exactly how to shut him up. The second you settle onto his lap or pull him down so his head rests in your lap and start running your fingers through his hair, he completely melts. His smugness evaporates, replaced by that helpless, soft expression he tries so hard to hide.

He loves nights where the wind whispers outside and the room feels full of nothing but the two of you. You’re sprawled across him, head resting on his chest, while his hands trace gentle patterns along your back. When sleep begins to engulf you, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, murmuring words like “Good night, sweets,” before letting himself drift to sleep, still holding you close.

Trey isn’t the type to raise his voice—he rarely ever needs to. But the moment someone so much as speaks to you with disrespect, his whole demeanor shifts. He goes quiet, still. That calm, icy kind of protective. All it takes is him stepping in with a low, steady, “Hey, how about we tone it down, yeah?” for the person to freeze and backtrack immediately. Trey may be gentle, but when it comes to you? He does NOT play.

Whenever life starts weighing on Trey, when everything feels too heavy, too suffocating—you’re the first place he goes to. To him, you’re home, the one thing that grounds him when the world stops making sense. He finds you and melts, burying his face in the curve of your neck. His arms slip around your waist, holding you tight as he breathes you in, his voice low and worn as he mutters, “Baby, don’t let go, okay? I just need you for a moment.”

Whenever he’s baking, he always makes a show of rolling his sleeves up deliberately. He knows exactly what it does to you. He pretends it’s just to keep his uniform clean, but the way he subtly tenses and flexes his forearms while mixing a bowl of frosting says otherwise. Every flex of his biceps is practically staged, and he definitely catches the way your eyes stick to him. The tiny smirk tugging at his lips tells you he’s enjoying every second of your reaction. And when you finally look away, flustered, he only chuckles under his breath like, “Mm? Something wrong, sweets?” HE KNOWS DAMN WELL WHAT HE’S DOINGG

Whenever Trey gets into a mood, he’ll swipe a bit of frosting onto his tongue and lean in without warning. Pressing a sugary kiss against your lips so you get a taste straight from him. The moment you pull back, flustered, he just tilts his head with that infuriatingly smug smile and asks, “So? How’s it taste?,” his tone dripping with tease. And when you smack his arm for being ridiculous, he only laughs, utterly unbothered, before going right back to baking as if you didn’t just short-circuit because of him.

He’ll never admit it out loud, but he adores your body in a way that leaves him quietly spellbound. Not even in a dirty way, he’s just deeply, helplessly captivated. Every curve, every little dip, the way your hips sway when you walk—he notices it all. And it drives him insane. When you two cuddle, it’s almost instinctual how his hands roam your body.

All questions on the tip of your tongue disappear when he brings you into his arms, burying his face in your neck with a content sigh. There’s no urgency in it, just a quiet, sudden happiness, like he’s fully aware that in just a few hours he won’t have to worry about you being anywhere but in his arms again.

“Thank you.” His voice breaks the silence, muffled on your skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your eyes well up with tears. What an emotional bride you’re turning out to be. And what a wonderful groom you have, to somehow know exactly what you need even when he’s not completely sober.

Slowly, you wrap your arms around him as well, breathing in the scent of his shampoo as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re welcome, Jumin.”

///

There has never been a lovelier sight than your smile, and Jumin hopes you know that.

If you don’t, he’ll just have to convince you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You’re sporting a grin for him—just for him—wearing nothing but one of his shirts with Elizabeth the Third scurrying out from between your feet when she sees him. There’s a pink bottle on the counter. Frosting, he thinks. “I hope you don’t mind, but having a chef cook for us for a month straight has ruined my palate for anything else. I had to cook for myself again before I got spoiled. I can call him to make you dinner if you don’t want to eat what I made, though!”

“Of course not.” The urge to embrace you is unbearable. A month after the wedding, and his first day back at work after the honeymoon, he still can’t seem to keep his hands off. “What did you make? I’ll eat anything.”

He leans down to take Elizabeth the Third in his arms, scratching the back of her head softly. “Alright! I made stew and baked some cupcakes, I hope you like it. But you should probably change first. Slip into something more comfortable.”

“Ironic, considering you and I are wearing the same thing.”

“Well…” You lean over the counter, making a show of ogling him. “If you really want to match, you can leave the shirt on and take off your pants.”

It’s impossible to even try and stop the smile growing on his face. “Would you like that?”

“Come over here and find out, hubby.”

The nickname makes him flush pleasantly, but instead of taking you up on that extremely tempting offer, he simply walks up and presses a kiss to your forehead. You pout, and with the tact of knowing Elizabeth is still in his arms, you tug on his tie and kiss him properly. Jumin’s brain turns off, if only for a few seconds. As long as you kiss him and he kisses you back, the only thing he knows is you, you, you and nothing else.

Now, instead of changing, he’s holding his cat and kissing you in the kitchen. With just a minor breakaway and murmured apology, he’s no longer holding his cat. His hands slide around your back and pull you in, and your hands meet at the base of his neck. You. Only you. 

“Ju-min,” you admonish breathlessly, the second he pulls away to trail hurried kisses down your neck. “Dinner first.”

“Mm. I’m not hungry.” Or he is, but not for dinner.

Your hands come to rest on his chest, but you don’t pull away, and Jumin is beyond grateful. He doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to sleep or shower or do anything else when he could be showing you just how much he’d missed you at work today. 

Slightly pressed into the counter, you place your hands back and jump onto it, and he eagerly steps in between your legs to kiss you again. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands tangle in his hair—a habit of yours, he’s noticed, to mess his hair up. He doesn’t mind. Not if it makes you happy. 

Finally, you pull away and before he can dive back in for yet another kiss, you dip your finger into the bowl next to you and offer it up to him. Without even considering it, he takes your finger in between his lips and licks the gravy off.

It’s only after he registers the taste does Jumin realize how intimate the action is. And of course, he knows that you’re married, that you and he have seen each other absolutely bare and open to one another, that he is literally making out with you in his—in your—in your shared kitchen. He knows that despite everyone thinking that the marriage was rushed and impulsive, this will be a long road, and he plans to stick by you for each and every single step. He knows that tasting something off your finger is hardly the most domestic thing you two will do.

But it doesn’t stop the flurry of butterflies he feels in his stomach. It doesn’t stop him from thinking my wife is letting me taste what she made, because she’s perfect. That’s not to mention how wonderful the taste actually is.

“Good?” you question, with gleaming eyes.

“Incredible.” He takes your hand and dips your finger in the bowl, stealing another taste right after. “More than incredible. The best stew I’ve ever had.”

“I know you’re flattering me.” Leaning forward, you take his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. Softly, gently, like he’s something fragile that will break if you use any force. “But I’m not complaining. Keep going.”

“Food is always better when a beautiful woman is the one serving it.”

You beam. The butterflies in his stomach do a victory soar.

Jumin Han is in love.

///

Zen has a dream about you. That’s when the problem starts.

He tells it to the group in great detail—it’s not anything romantic or sexual, but Jumin doesn’t see a reason for you to be in his subconscious at all, even if you were just the supposed director for Zen’s dream movie. You’re not any sort of movie director, so the dream is ridiculous at any rate.

It doesn’t stop him from pouncing on you the second you two get back home. You don’t even get to take a seat before he’s pressing you against the door, ensuring it’s locked (the last thing he needs is for one of the security guards to see this and have dreams about you too) and kissing you possessively. 

“Jumin—?” There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but it cuts off into a delicious moan when he starts sucking and biting all the same spots he knows he left hickeys on during your honeymoon. 

“Spend the day with me,” he whispers. “Just me, no one else.”

An amused giggle bubbles from your throat. “I was already gonna do that, honeybunny.”

Good. That’s plenty of time for him to mark up your neck (and other places) so that everyone knows you’re his, and other people can stop dreaming of you. Already his mind is filled with wicked thoughts, of how he can make you cry and beg and scream today. From the time you two spent on your honeymoon, he knows you can get quite loud if he puts his mind to it.

The only limit is his imagination.

“Jumin.” Your head tilts back against the door, eyes closed as his tongue soothes a bite mark he just made. “Ah, J-Jumin, are you jealous?”

“No.” He is.

“I know what possessiveness looks like.” You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to each fingertip. “You know that me being in Zen’s dream isn’t something in our or even his control?”

“Of course I know that.” He huffs, impatiently fiddling with the buttons on your shirt. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He kisses you again, and you hum in understanding, sliding your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. It’s amazing, no matter how many times he thinks everyone would dismiss him for being ridiculous over something like this, you are always there to prove that at least one person wouldn’t. And you taste. So. Damn. Good. 

So why not taste you all over? Jumin hungrily slides his tongue over your teeth, seeking entrance. When your mouth parts for him, he tastes you intimately, swallowing your soft sighs. 

“For the record,” you mumble, out of breath, “I only ever dream about you.”

“As do I, darling.” He pulls you closer still, thinking about how good you’ll taste when he has his mouth on your pussy. “As do I.”

///

This need to prove himself to you extends beyond the sexual—you laugh so much when you’re around Luciel and Yoosung. Actual laughter that is so different from the polite smiles and chuckles that are in response to his own words.

He hates it. He hates it so very much. He wants to make you laugh, full blown and unabashed. As much as he likes making you giggle, he wants to make you laugh so hard that there are tears pouring down your cheeks. And his experience has quite readily set him up for the expectation that if he wants something, he will have it.

And now, what he really, really wants is to see his wife lose her in laughter because of him.

That means it’s time to bring out the big guns.

Right now you’re under the covers, reading glasses on as you flip through a book. The book in question is something from his personal library (when he showed it to you, mentioning a scene from Beauty and the Beast, you had promptly told him that he was not a beast, but that you finally understood how the princess felt in that scene). 

To an extent, Jumin feels bad when he distracts you from work or requests your attention. But he tries to remind himself that if you didn’t want it, you were more than capable of telling him as much. And your reaction to him crawling on top of you with his arms on either side would certainly not be to put the book aside and pull him down to lay on your chest with a kiss to the crown of his head.

For once in his life, Jumin is certain that he is loved.

“I have a joke,” he tells you matter-of-factly, and your brow raises.

“What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he raises himself up so he can take a good look at your face.

“Hit Seoul, hit Daejon, hit Daegu, hit Busan, hit it!”

There’s a long pause, and your surprised expression slowly morphs into a giggle, then at his grin, a chortle. Jumin laughs first, and then you do too, throwing your head back. It’s single-handedly the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“W-what—“ You’re wheezing now, shoulders shaking. “What does that even mean?”

“I cast a spell on you. Those who laugh are no ordinary souls, for your information.”

“You are so perfect.” The praise catches him off guard, but your body is still shaking from laughter, and in your eyes he sees something like adoration. “How are you so perfect?”

That is definitely not a word he associates with his humor. His status, money, company, business acumen? Yes, perfect, as they were always meant to be. But the little flips in his stomach tell him that none of those things are what you’re referring to. The look in your eyes—he never sees you look at material objects or money that way. He has only ever seen it aimed towards him, and Jumin realizes with a start that there is no need to compete with Zen or Yoosung or Luciel—because really, there is no competition to begin with.

///

Being a workaholic comes with benefits. Everything always gets done. And he enjoys doing business, so there is no negative side effect…other than the lost time that could be spent with his wife. Typing away on the computer he has set up in his study, Jumin sighs, cracking his neck every half hour or so. He’s been at it for hours, but there’s still more left to do.

A soft knock makes him look up. You peek your head in, blinking sleepily and all wrapped up in a blanket. “Sorry to disturb,” in a whisper that barely reaches his ears, “can I sleep here, honey?”

Jumin beckons you in, looking around dubiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s any surface here you’d be comfortable on. I don’t want you to have an ache by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Your eyes keep blinking closed, as though you’re barely staying awake. All your words are hushed, but you still manage to clamber over to his side of the desk, blanket in tow, and fall onto his lap, burying your face in his chest. 

With a start, he catches you, holding you close. “What is it, sweetheart? You can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, getting even more comfortable. “The bed’s too cold.”

Something indescribable squeezes his chest. Above everything, the pleasure that you would rather seek warmth from him rather than get another blanket is all-consuming. Without another word, he stands with you in his arms and walks to the bed. The second he steps into the bedroom, your grip on him becomes a little tighter.

He huffs back a small laugh. “I’m not going anywhere. I’d just rather you sleep here.”

Pulling out a second blanket from the closet for good measure, he lays down on the bed with you, throwing both blankets over your bodies before wrapping you up in his arms. You sigh happily, legs mixing with his and face pressing in his chest once more.

“Sorry for distracting you.” Now your voice is barely audible. “Mm…you’re just…so much warmer…”

“Can I ask you a favor?” You hum softly in response. “Please never apologize for demanding my attention. I am yours, that includes my body, my soul, and my time. Should you ever need me to sleep and I am in the office, please call me and I’ll come home immediately. I’ll take the jet home if I have to. That doesn’t just stop at my time either. If there is anything, anything, you would like, then all you have to do is ask me. I’ll buy you anything. The world is at your disposal.”

There’s a pause and Jumin thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you break the silence, quietly asking, “Is it okay if I ask you for something, then?”

“Anything.”

Cute but glossy eyes peer up at him, and you blink rapidly. “A kiss?”

Jumin places his hands on your cheeks, catching the stray tear that falls. Then he leans in, and everything is right with the world.

///

Ice Prince.

Jumin has no idea where the title actually came from. He doesn’t see what’s wrong with someone having control of their emotions. Is he expected to cry or rage at every little thing? That’s a genuine question. Maybe he doesn’t show much emotion at all, and he should. He’s open to advice.

It shouldn’t even be on his mind. He’s watching a soap opera, and the most beautiful woman in the world is in his arms. He enjoys watching your reactions more than watching the show itself, whether you’re holding back an aww or wincing. Every so often, you look up and meet his eyes, giving him a sweet smile each and every time before placing your head back on his chest. 

Still, he can’t get the article he read earlier out of his head. Has the Ice Prince really settled down? What kind of life does the new Mrs. Han lead? One can only imagine that she does not get many warm moments with Jumin Han. A speedy divorce would not be surprising.

Just the thought makes him tug you in closer, the idea of you leaving never failing to terrify him. He’s gotten better, he doesn’t freak out over you exiting the penthouse or hanging out with friends or working. He’d told himself harshly that he would not drive you away with his overt possessiveness.

But maybe he’s going to drive you away if he can’t learn to show you his emotions and instead continues to be…well, an ice prince, as much as he hates the term.

“Jumin.” You’re pressing a kiss to his throat, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you tired, honey? We can go to bed.”

When he looks down, you’re gazing concernedly up at him. He doesn’t feel like a villain when you look upon him like this. And holding you close is not the only privilege he has here. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you, and you melt in almost immediately. Jumin knows that you’re starting to get sleepy because you don’t make any move to straddle him further.

The man who knows you best—that is what the articles should be about. Doting husband. Family man. Your partner. How could anyone think he was cold or heartless to you?

“Juju,” you mumble softly, not bothering to break the kiss, “we should get to bed.”

Yes, you’re right. However…

“May I ask you a question?” His curiosity and slight anxiousness requires him to make sure. If he’s ever done anything to make you think he’s some kind of robot, he needs to get rid of such behavior immediately.

Your lips quirk like he’s said something funny. “You may.”

“Have I ever seemed…cold to you?” Almost as if to remind you before you answer, he holds your hand, squeezing gently, while the other hand remains on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “Since we’ve been together, I mean. Have I ever acted anything like an…” Jumin cringes just saying it out loud. “Ice prince?”

The question seems to take you aback, and you blink a few times. Your eyes—warm, beautiful eyes—first stare at him with a certain confusion, then quickly become infused with a sudden anger.

“Did someone say that about you? Who was it?”

“No one,” he responds, then hastily amends, “there have always been articles calling me that. I just happened to see one today, so it was on my mind.”

Now, you really do straddle him, threading your fingers through his hair. The anger has dulled into a stubborn crossness. With a deep scowl, you kiss his forehead and say, “That is ridiculous. You have been nothing but warm to me, Jumin Han.”

The same warmth you’re talking about spreads across his cheeks, painting them pink, but you’re not done.

“Since when do you care about those articles anyway? They’ve always been inane. Remember when everyone was convinced that you would marry Sarah?” Here you huff, and he hates to admit that he loves seeing you jealous, even if over someone he never even considered getting to know. “And you had to set them straight for them to print anything accurate. Maybe I should give a press statement of my own. Ice Prince my ass.”

“Such language,” Jumin says lowly, already hiding his face in your neck. You’re still peeved, muttering things under your breath as you stroke his hair, angry kisses pressed to his skin in the middle of your rant.

Eventually, you tire yourself out, falling asleep right there on his chest, a common occurrence. He doesn’t mind it one bit, it’s actually really easy to carry you to bed. For some reason, Jumin feels much, much lighter.

///

His wife is a party planner. An event planner, technically, since you’ll take some requests for meetings as well, but it’s mostly parties. He knows that due to your marriage, there’s been an increase in the amount of clients wanting you to plan their events. Even before, you’d said your schedule had always been sporadic, revolving around whatever the current most pressing event was.

Frankly, he shouldn’t be surprised, with how masterfully you pulled off the RFA party. 

He’s more than proud of you, of course. He’s now attended quite a few of the events you put together, and it always leaves him impressed. You’ve confided in him about how you’d like to either switch to a company that exclusively does weddings or start your own, and despite your protests, he’s fully prepared to finance such an endeavor when the time comes.

The only issue about your job, and his job as well, is that your schedules can be sporadic. There are days where you can work without even leaving the penthouse, and then there are days where you are running around and don’t return until 2 AM. Jumin can hardly get upset when he’s taunted the clock with his record times at coming home as well.

Can’t get upset at you, that is. Being upset at the situation is perfectly reasonable. He wants to spend time with his wife, dammit. You’re his favorite person in the world, all the things he wants to do involve being with you.

So when he’s the one who’s arriving at 2 in the morning, he deflates to see that you’re fast asleep, a couple documents and your phone in the bed next to you. How many times has he told you he would set up a separate room for you to work in? Each time, you shake your head and say all you need is your phone and laptop, and you can work anywhere. That doesn’t take into account your health, though. The place you relax should not be associated with work, or it leads to a less relaxing sleep cycle. He once read a study about that.

It might be hypocritical, but Jumin misses you. He wants to talk to you so badly it pains him, and not just longing phone calls that always leave him wanting more.

Loosening his tie, he waits for a second before falling hard onto the bed.

Your eyes flutter open immediately, and in your daze you take in your still-dressed husband. With a sleepy smile, you push away all the papers next to you to snuggle into his arms. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” One arm secured around your back, he pulls you as close to him as you can. He sees you breathe in his lingering cologne, and it makes him downright giddy that his scent seems to bring you comfort. “Shouldn’t a loving wife be waiting up for her husband?”

You yawn, throwing one leg around him. “Not when the husband returns at an ungodly time and the wife has an early morning site inspection. Did you have dinner?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Mmh. Yeah. I refrigerated some in a container if you wanna take it to work tomorrow.” 

This is one of his favorite domestic things you do—and he doesn’t even think you realize how much he appreciates it. If it’s between having something from a five star restaurant or having your cooking, the latter will win each and every time. Sometimes he wants to brag  to the whole world, although the most he’ll do is slip how tasty his lunch was today to Assistant Kang (who will almost always respond with a dry, “Glad to hear that, Mr. Han.”).

“I will.” Jumin kisses your lips, smiling when he feels you respond with little effort. “I’ve missed you.”

Your arms snake around his waist as you tuck your head under his chin. Jumin sighs when he feels you kiss his collarbone. “I’ve missed you too.” All he needs is your breath on his skin, or your hands on his face, or your voice filling his ears. It relaxes him instantly. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in the office all day.” Already he groans, burying his face in your hair in the hopes that it will preemptively soothe the headache sure to form tomorrow. At first he didn’t understand why you insisted on using the same hair conditioner you always did instead of a much more expensive one he could buy for you, but the smell of your hair is so exquisite that now he wholly prefers it (although there is a special kind of tingling in his chest reserved for the moments you smell like him). 

“Same. After my inspection, I’m going to be meeting four new clients, and I’m going to guess they all want priority.” You roll your eyes, carding your fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow is also Mr. Wang’s wedding, so I’ll be back late.”

At his wordless whine, you giggle, kissing his cheek. Then after a few seconds of thoughtful silence, a soft hum sounds from your throat.

“I have an idea.”

///

The click of Jaehee’s heels alerts him to her entrance, and Jumin straightens in his chair, accepting the papers that she hands him. 

“Thank you. Have you eaten, Assistant Kang?”

Jaehee blinks at him once, then twice, like he’s grown an extra head. Then she slowly nods, the surprised expression melting back into her perfectly professional one once more. “Yes, sir. And you?”

“Not yet. I brought a container my wife packed for me.”

“Honey, I don’t think she really cares to know that.”

“I see. She is a pretty good cook if I recall correctly.”

“Everyone cares,” Jumin insists. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re so sweet, it’s annoying. I want to kiss you all the time.”

“Mr. Han, are you alright? You look a bit out of it—should I call for a doctor?”

“Do it.” He smiles at the papers in his hands. “I won’t stop you.”

“Call…call the doctor?”

“Will you kiss me back, in front of all your employees?”

“Yes. Of course. Whatever you desire.”

“Right away, sir,” Jaehee responds in a sort of strangled voice, and it’s not until he hears the click of her heels again that he remembers she was there. In almost a flash, she leaves his office. 

“What did she say?”

Jumin touches the tiny earpiece that’s been on all day, adjusting it only slightly. “I honestly have no idea.”

///

Jumin hates leaving. But he does, well, what is the phrase? Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave? Something along those lines, is what you’ve said to him. He’s not sure it applies here, since he is actually leaving to go abroad for a few days, and already he’s looking forward to his reunion with you, but he didn’t expect that both of you would be so needy for each other the night before the flight.

It starts with a few kisses, a pout on your lips that he thinks he can kiss away if he just tries hard enough. Telling you in hushed whispers that he’ll miss you an unfathomable amount. Your understanding on a pragmatic level, and your clinginess the second you both laid down. Both are appreciated more than he can say.

“What if I want to watch a movie with you?”

Kiss. “Just wait a week for me, my love.”

“What if the bed is too cold and I need you to warm me up?”

Kiss. “One week, I promise. No more than a week.”

“What if aliens invade the penthouse and I have no one to protect me?”

Kiss. “Tell them that your husband is going to kill them…in a week.”

For a few minutes, it goes on like this, with you proposing other scenarios and Jumin doing his best to both reassure you and make you laugh. He lays kiss upon kiss to your lips, and perhaps subconsciously, they become more ravenous, demanding. Seeking more. Seeking your conviction on just how much you will miss him.  

“Jumin,” you breathe into his mouth. Jumin, Jumin. He loves how you say his name.

You’re seeking something as well, the warmth that you are so certain will disappear along with him. On one hand, he hates that his princess has to sleep without him at all, especially when she clearly doesn’t want to. And on the other hand, knowing that you’ll be here, missing him so desperately, makes his heart flutter. You’ll miss him. You’ll miss him.

Within moments, you’re on top of him, seated on his lap and unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. He’s responding in kind, leaving love bites on your neck as he slides your night robe off your shoulders. 

“What if I get lonely?” you ask, more demure than you actually are. “What if I need you, and my fingers aren’t enough?”

His hands press into your hips, hard enough to bruise. You mewl at the slight pain, and he manages to hiss, “I never want your fingers to be enough. If you wait for me, princess, I’ll make you cum more times than you can handle when I get back.” Even if just the idea of you sending him a video or even calling him as you touch yourself was incredibly appealing. Maybe next time. This week, he would have you think of nothing but his own fingers, his tongue, his cock.

And what better way to do that than to remind you how they feel?

“I’ll be gone seven days exactly.” Spoken more to your breasts than you, but he does gaze up at you reverently as he kneads them in his hands. “Maybe tonight I can make you cum once for every day I won’t be here. Would you like that?”

He jerks his thigh up against your core before you can answer, so you nod frantically, mouth falling open. “Uh huh!”

And who is Jumin to ever deny you?

///

The trip right before Valentine’s is the worst. It’s all Jumin can do to finish work before running like a madman through several different stores, picking up this and that. He insists on a different bag for each purchase, despite the clerks gently pointing out that he can put a lipstick tube in the same bag as a pair of heels and nothing will happen, but he doesn’t want to. He would like to see you open every item with a new spark of delight in your eyes.

Usually, he would return late at night, always opting to finish the day’s work and catch a flight right after instead of waiting for morning, because this way he would arrive home, gather you up in his arms as you slept soundly, and then bask in your surprise and delight when you woke the next morning. 

And this time would have been no different if one of the departments had not messed up, forcing him to wake up on Valentine’s Day still out of the country. After five days’ worth of work forced into two hours, a shopping spree and a quick call with you, he nearly takes the wheel from the pilot himself before Jaehee begs him to just sit and try to enjoy the ride home. The rest of the trip, they are engaged in a glaring contest every time she looks up from the video she is watching on her laptop. 

As soon as the door opens, he hears a surprised cry of his name, and then you’re barreling into him—all the bags in Jumin’s hands fall to the floor in favor of catching you and hefting you up in the air for a spin. 

“I thought—“ Kiss. “That you—“ Kiss. “Weren’t coming back today!“ Deeper kiss.

“I couldn’t miss my first Valentine’s with you, my love.” The deepest kiss of all.

The two of you only stop because his bodyguards are coming into the room after him, with more bags. Your eyes widen as you take in all of them, and your sharp mind has already pieced together what’s going on. “Is this all for me?”

“Of course.” Jumin knows that the way you’re latching onto him with such a tight grip is a more priceless gift than anything in these bags. “Why don’t you open everything? I wish to see your reaction.”

And so you do. The makeup, the shoes, the clothes, the jewelry, the books, the decor, all of fine quality and all things well thought out with your interests in mind. With every single item, no matter how big or small, you gasp, or squeal, or simply smile ever so widely. And without fail, you kiss him right on the lips each time.

Jumin is dizzy only halfway into the opening process—he must start buying you gifts far more often if this is the reward he gets.

However, you see beyond just his outward appearance, and you place the next bag he hands you aside without so much as a glimpse at it before clambering onto his lap. Hands on his cheeks, your thumbs smooth over where he’s sure eyebags are forming. “My poor Juju,” you whisper, “you look really tired, honey.”

Honey, honey, honey. How joyful he feels when you call him honey. “As always, you see right through me. I can’t hide from you, can I?”

“I never want you to hide from me.” A sweet kiss pressed to his cheek makes his stomach jump, like he’s a teenage boy with a crush. “Let’s lay down, shall we? We can finish opening everything afterwards.”

Jumin concedes, rising hand in hand with you until you’re both on the bed, curled up in each other. “What a terrible Valentine’s this turned out to be. I’m sorry, my love.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him slow, soft and smooth. “What are you talking about? You’re here where I can hold you, we’re both off work, and you’ve gifted me more than anyone else ever has or will in my life.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied that he’s set a standard that no one else can ever match for you. “But is that…enough?”

“Enough?” Your tone is incredulous. “Jumin, just you being here is more than enough. I love you so, so much, and I—“ You cut yourself off, slightly backing up as though you’re trying not to overwhelm him (a ridiculous notion, he would love nothing more than for you to overwhelm his every sense). “I cannot believe how lucky I am to have married you.”

This time he kisses you, the idea of sleep slipping further and further away because really, why should he close his eyes when he can only see you when they’re open? Why should he rob himself of the privilege to gaze upon your lovely face and listen to your quiet, soothing voice? Why should he do anything else, eat or drink or work or play, when he could simply kiss you for the rest of his life?

“I love you,” he breathes, pulling you closer because you simply can never be close enough. “Happy Valentine’s, my precious wife.”

///

Of course, the first time your schedule allows you to accompany him on a business trip he’s ecstatic. Finally a week without the headache of returning to an empty hotel room, and instead what will feel like more of a vacation, especially once he completes the necessary work and the two of you can spend the rest of the days lazing by the beach.

Because of the honeymoon, Jumin had become well acquainted with your fear of flying, and had arranged your seats in his private jet to be close together. As the jet takes off, he holds your hand in his as you squeeze, eyes shut tightly for the takeoff. Reassuringly, he kisses your hand, rubbing the back of it while his other hand strokes Elizabeth the Third’s head through the carrier she’s in. 

“Poor Elizabeth,” you manage to whimper, still looking quite pale even after the takeoff is done, “I hope she doesn’t get airsick.”

“She doesn’t,” Jumin reassures. Elizabeth is used to such flights, unlike you. He’d much rather you focus on your own health right now.

The stewardess for the flight comes through with the cart of food and drinks. “Anything for you, Mr. Han?”

“A glass of wine.”

“Of course, sir. And you, Mrs. Han?”

“Oh, um…” You smile sheepishly up at her. “Would you happen to have apple juice?”

The woman blinks once, then, as though she’s fighting back a laugh, says, “Apple juice, ma’am?”

“Is that a problem?” Jumin cuts in sharply before you can answer, glaring daggers.

“No, no! O-of course I can give you apple juice, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend—“

“No offense taken.” Even nauseous and teased, you smile kindly, eyes lighting up when you have your drink. If he remembers correctly, he used to drink apple juice when he would get airsick as a child as well.

When the stewardess leaves, you lean over and press an apple-tasting kiss to his lips, and he catches a few drops of the juice in his mouth. It tastes yummy, or maybe it’s just the taste of you that he likes. 

Probably the latter. Either way, he’s eager to get this vacation started.

///

“I feel so good that you’re here. Thank you so much for coming. I…never want to let you go.”

…

“I’ve trapped you here, haven’t I?” he asks one night, after he thinks you’ve fallen asleep.

You’re wide awake, though, and he feels your lips on his throat as you whisper, “I’ve never once felt trapped with you, Jumin.”

///

You’re a lightweight, and it’s the most adorable thing Jumin has ever seen. Including cat photos. Including Elizabeth the Third. And you don’t realize just how cute you are, which only makes you cuter.

“Juju,” you whine, when he starts to guide you to bed.

“You have to sleep, my dear.” Almost smugly, he places a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Sleep and allow me to take care of you in the morning.”

The protest you seemed to be ready to fire back morphs into a happy giggle as you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his midsection. “I do like when you take care of me.”

“Likewise.”

For some reason, that sends you into more giggles as you press against him. “You talk so smart like. I love when you use big words.”

Biting back a smile, Jumin raises a brow. “Is likewise a big word?”

“Anything is a big word when you say it.” You kiss him softly, sliding your hands in his hair. You love messing up his hair, almost as much as he loves letting you do it. “You’re so smart. So clever. Your brain is like…” To exaggerate your point, you lean your head away, with his hands on your back to keep steady. “Soooo huge.”

“Not the only thing,” he hums slyly.

“Jumin!” Laughing, you hit his shoulder, only for him to tug you in close, making you squeak. The only downside to how well you two know each other now is that he doesn’t get to see your beautifully embarrassed face, but he still gets some wins when he catches you off guard.

“I’m only kidding, my love.” Watching your lips part for him as he leans in, Jumin kisses you this time, gently sucking your lower lip between his teeth. Let no one say he wasn’t out and open with his oral fixation when it came to you. “I’m honored to know you find me intelligent.”

You beam, nearly blinding him with how brilliant your smile is. “Intelligent, and funny. So, so funny. I love your jokes.” Now you turn your cheek, placing sloppy kisses along his jaw. “And handsome. I have the most handsome husband in the world.”

Jumin, only now realizing the difference between being happy and being giddy and knowing he’s both, can only close his eyes, tilting his head back. “Ironic for you to say, considering no one with your beauty has ever existed before nor will exist again.”

The way your cheeks flush make him realize that he, too, must be quite tipsy. Surely his stomach does not flip so violently just to see how your eyes glow at his praise.

“I love you.” You swallow, and he watches the movement of your throat closely. “Do you know how much?”

He exhales, not having realized he inhaled before. “M-more than is reasonable, I presume.”

“A lot more than is reasonable,” you whisper before kissing him again. This one is different, he can tell. Something more desperate. More wanting. More likely to make him lose his mind.

How does he know? It’s because you’re not just kissing him, you’re also borderline riding the knee he’s slotting between your legs. With a whine, you tug on his collar, as though you want him closer. Need him closer. 

Losing his mind is just the beginning.

“Sit on the couch.” The tone with which you beg makes his already hardening cock twitch. “Please, Jumin.”

He obeys—how could he not obey?—and just the sight of you dropping to your knees to unbuckle his pants has him throwing his head back with a lustful groan. How did he get here? How did he get so lucky? 

You kiss the head of his cock, and Jumin is gone.

When you start bobbing your head, eagerly sucking with your eyes closed in concentration, it takes every inch of willpower he has ever had to not cum immediately, so that this can last. With every slow caress of your tongue, he can feel himself getting lost in his own base senses, every coherent thought fading away and leaving only an animalistic need.

“Princess,” he moans, fingers in your hair. His words escape him in a slurred, barely coherent manner. “I, ahh, won’t last—shit—”

Coming inside your warm, wet mouth is not in the top five moments he remembers when he thinks of his favorite times with you, because he likes to think he’s classier than that, but regardless, he’s never going to forget this.

///

Growing up, the one trait that he was always told to avoid and to find disdainful in others was laziness. There is nothing worse than a person who is not efficient. People who waste time just doing simple tasks are not worth his time, he was told.

But surely, surely, that does not apply to you. (Or maybe it’s a silly lesson in the first place, another one to add the list he has started to garner since he married you.)

It does not apply when you have to get up early for work and you sadly try cuddling with him in the five minutes you have left to remain in bed. Most days Jumin leaves before you, pressing a kiss to the lips of the princess in bed before heading out. Your parted lips in sleep do such a number on him that he has to make sure not to linger too long.

Days where your job demands you wake with him are no less enjoyable, and perhaps even more so as he gets to witness your clinginess. Jumin tugs you to the bathroom, where you close your eyes and rest your head on his chest as both of you brush your teeth. When you finally make it to the kitchen, he seats you on the chair by the counter and amuses himself by watching your sleepy eyes follow him while he makes a quick breakfast.

“Maybe I could eat ‘n your lap?” you ask cutely, poking at your scrambled eggs with a fork. 

“My dear,” Jumin answers, intertwining your fingers to kiss the back of your hand, “I would love nothing more, but you will fall asleep again.”

Not even an argument as you nod with a lazy smile, head falling forward on the counter. “I want to fall asleep again. How do you do this every day?”

“It’s what I’ve always done.” He’s finished with his eggs, so he stands, sweeping your hair aside to lean down and press a kiss to your nape. You squeal, squirming away as he catches you and tugs you to him, watching you immediately give up this play fight and snuggle into his chest to catch a bout of standing shut-eye. “Now come, Driver Kim is waiting to drop us both off.”

You shake your head, clutching onto him stubbornly.

“You can sleep on my lap in the car.”

And he feels inordinately pleased with how fast you move after that.

///

The days that he knows you will be at the penthouse when he returns, there’s always an extra breath in his steps, as if the air itself knows he must return home immediately.

Tonight, for example. He has a whole night planned. The two of you would cook the next thing to try on that list of recipes you printed and excitedly taped up in the kitchen, then after dinner he plans to play some soft music and waltz you around the rather spacious living room, and then both of you could go for a swim in the pool, and the night would end with you dozing off in his arms.

A perfect night. The kind he dreams about, the kind that he never can quite believe are real.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t hear any call of his name nor is he tackled in a hug, which only makes his shoulders deflate slightly. Elizabeth the Third softly mrrows at him from where she’s sitting on the couch. Placing a kiss atop her head, he pokes in to check a few rooms, searching for his wife. 

You’re nowhere to be found. The only place left to check is the bedroom. His sweetheart usually doesn’t fall asleep so early, though.

He opens the door, then freezes in his tracks.

With a couple of candles lit up around the room, you sit on the bed, nothing on except the set of lingerie he ordered a few weeks ago at your request, black as the night sky (“because it reminds me of you”). A few pillows support you as you lean back, eyes trained on him. There’s a glass of wine in your hands, and another on the table next to you clearly reserved for him. 

You take a small sip, and some drops purposefully miss your lips and slowly drip down your neck, down over the swell of your breasts.

“Care to join me, husband?”

Jumin swallows.

None of his plans end up coming to fruition that night, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

///

(You’ve pointed out how the most random things turn him on—when you wear his clothes, but specifically his striped shirts, when you let him buy something ludicrously expensive for you, when you do simple things to take care of him, when you wait for him at home after work, cat ears—cat ears, cat ears, cat ears!—and the rare moments where he gets to see you pissed off.

But he’d only responded how the things you were into were equally as random—seeing him disheveled after a hard day’s work or a visit to the gym, the way he answered business calls simply by saying Jumin Han speaking, what do you need, and every time you’re naked on his lap while he’s fully clothed. 

Shall I remind you how desperate you get, my dear? he growls into your ear. Your cheeks flush, and Jumin reaches for the ribbon in the drawer, even more impatient than you are.)

///

There are other times where Jumin will arrive home and if you aren’t leaping into his arms, kissing him full on the lips as he spins you around or pins you to the wall depending on the mood, you’re sitting on the couch, typing away on your laptop either for your job or for the RFA.

In those moments, he finds himself easily sliding his arms around you and burying his face in your neck, absolutely reveling in the subconscious way you rub his nape and kiss his hair.

Sometimes you both will exchange stories of your day, expanding on something a phone call simply couldn’t cover or something that perhaps you had wanted to say in person to fully soak in the reaction (you seem to particularly enjoy how he insults the difficult clients you tell him about). Other times, there is a serene silence, only broken by Elizabeth the Third’s purring and the clack of your keyboard keys. 

You smell so good, all the time. He wonders if he should be capitalizing on the perfume you use so that no one else can buy it. That way this scent would solely be yours, just like he is. Something about that idea blooms a warmth in his chest.

The best part of the night comes when you finish, closing the laptop and setting it aside before wrapping your arms around him. “I love you,” you say, only for his ears, just like how your lips are only for his skin, just like how your scent is only for his nose, just like how Jumin is only here to be yours entirely. 

///

In the past, when he’s fallen ill, he’s either ignored it or simply just taken the necessary amount of time to recover. The last time he was pampered like this was as a child by his nannies. And even their doting paled in comparison to yours (but then, didn’t everything, when it came to you).

Because this. This, is heavenly.

Every single ounce of your affection is solely for him. Your soup that you feed him, your fingers stroking his hair, your voice sweetly singing him to sleep. Your lips on his forehead, whispering, “How are you feeling, Juju?” 

Granted, because he’s sick, he can’t fully appreciate it without the feeling that his body is turning against him. But it’s worth it, it’s easily worth it.

So, the day that he wakes up with a low temperature, feeling absolutely fine, he still manages to cough pitifully and throw out the word to Jaehee that he simply has to take another day off.

You have a knowing smile on your face, but when he slips his arms around your waist, with his face buried in your neck, you still hold him just as warmly, and Jumin is so, so, so in love with you. Nothing could possibly stand to be better than this. One hand absentmindedly strokes his hair while you type on your phone with the other hand, communicating with someone from work. 

Your phone starts to ring; he only shifts minimally to get closer as you answer it. “Hey, what’s up?”

He can hear the person who called—it’s one of your friends. “Hey! Check your messages, I won that ukulele I told you I would win last time.”

The sound of your laugh is so melodious, he’d do anything to get drunk on it. “Win another one for me, I’ll hang it up in my closet.”

“Yeah, right.” Your friend snorts. “I wish you were able to come. It’s been so long since we’ve been here.”

“I know, but Jumin really doesn’t feel well. I couldn’t just leave him at home alone.” As though your friend can see, you plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll go another time, definitely.”

“I’ll hold you to it. Alright, I have to go. Give the husband all my love, I hope he feels better.”

“Will do. Bye, have fun!”

With that, you hang up, resuming the scrolling through your phone and the stroking of his hair. Jumin is still, for good reason. 

You had meant to go out with your friends today. And due to his not-actually-sick state, you had canceled on them.

Hadn’t he told you to put him second to your own self? But he can’t pin this on you, not when he was the one faking. A terrible feeling begins to rise in his chest, causing him to move away from you and stare at you with a guilty expression.

“Is your neck finally tired of…” You trail off when you look at him, furrowing your brows. “What happened?”

“You were meant to go out today.”

A small frown forms on your face. “Um…we made plans, yeah. But you were sick—“

“I wasn’t,” he confesses, ironically sick to his stomach. “I just wanted to take another day off and spend some time with you.”

“I know that.”

“I—you know?”

The frown on your face is replaced by a tiny smile, as you tug gently to bring him back into your arms. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Yes I am.” He pouts, still upset but more calm now that you don’t seem disappointed. 

“Honey, the one time I kissed your finger after you got a papercut, you somehow got a papercut on every finger the following week.”

Jumin blushes, but you’re not wrong—he just craves your attention. You simply make everything better.

“More importantly,” and now you pull him into your chest, settling back into the same comfortable position with a kiss on his forehead, “I’m faking just as much as you, because I love it when you do things like this. Why would I complain? I get to spend time with you.”

This is what it feels like, Jumin is certain, to be loved. To be cared for and adored so deeply that it leaves an ache in one’s chest. “The next time,” he murmurs, as your hand finds purchase in his hair once more, “The next time you would like to go out to an amusement park with your friends, please let me know. I can buy it out for the day.” A thoughtful pause. “Or forever.”

Another soft kiss, he’s tempted to keep going, to make more and more outrageous promises just to earn each and every press of your lips to his skin. “My friends will appreciate that. I think the park is already owned by C&R, actually.” You chuckle. “Some fast passes though? I wouldn’t say no.”

Fast passes? He’ll ask you what in the world those are just as soon as he finishes kissing you (something a fake sick person can, thankfully, afford to do).

///

A soft knock on the door. 

“Mother?” He makes sure to keep his voice to a polite volume. “I’ve played with all my toys. May I please come out now?”

Silence. 

Jumin clears his throat, trying his best not to look behind him, just three steps down. It’s dark down there, and he knows it is not logical to be afraid of the dark, but even the logic does little to quell the growing fear inside him. 

“Mother? It…it has been a few hours now.” Fourteen hours, he counted on the tiny clock that ticks a little too loudly in the basement. “May I please be let out? I’m starting to get hungry.”

That’s a lie, but he doesn’t think she’ll know. The truth is he began to get hungry hours ago, and is now close to starving. As if on cue, his stomach growls. 

Jumin knocks again, the dread he feels growing with every second. “Please, Mother, I’ll be good. I’ll play with my toys. I’ll be normal. Please let me out.”

None of it makes any sense to him. In all the books he reads, none of the mothers lock their sons up in the basement. But then maybe none of the sons are as strange and abnormal as he is. They didn’t need to be locked up like he did. 

Still, even if he deserves this, the loneliness is starting to scare him.

“Please.” Childish tears start to prick at his eyes. “Mother? I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”

The only response he gets is the silence, beckoning him to come back to the darkness where he belongs. With a trembling lip, he turns to face it once more.

The doorknob jiggles.

He whips his head back, not daring to believe it. Is this punishment finally over? 

The first thing he’s going to do after he eats is call Jihyun, ask him if he’d like to go to the park nearby. Anything to go outside, in the light, with other people. 

Except, to his horror, when the door finally opens, it’s not his mother standing at the top, but his stepmother.

“No,” Jumin whispers, stumbling back. He misses one step and trips, hands on the cement floor as he stares, terrified, at the woman. “Please, no. Where’s Mother?”

The woman at the top laughs, a sound that seems to make others happy but only serves to suffocate him further. He’ll choose to stay in the darkness for a hundred more hours before going upstairs to see her. “What’s this? Another woman in your life, Jumin? What a lady killer!”

He shakes his head desperately, as though to tell her that there’s no one, there’s no need for her to get possessive.

It doesn’t work. 

“I’m your mother, Jumi.” He hates that nickname. “Shouldn’t you spend more time with me? You know I love our time together. I know you love it too.”

No, no, no, no, no. He’s on his feet in an instant, scrambling back away from her as fast as possible. His back hits the shelf, no longer a child but an adult, and yet still equally as pathetic.

“Your father doesn’t even pay attention to me anymore. You’re all I have, Jumi.” Her eyes turn cold. “But it looks like you’ve found someone else, haven’t you? You’ve replaced me so easily.”

Now her gaze is focused somewhere else. Jumin follows it, peers through the darkness, only to see…

You.

Relief floods his chest all at once. You are his solace, to hold close and worship. You are the only person to ever understand him, to love him without hurting him. You have accepted him no matter how much he’s shown you that he doesn’t deserve any of your care. As long as you are by his side, he can face anything.

“Jumin.” Even his name sounds so much nicer coming from you. Everything and everyone else seems to melt away.

He takes one step towards you.

You speak again, but it doesn’t sound the same this time.

“Jumin.” Now that he can see your face properly, you look…angry. “Don’t come any closer.”

Immediately, he stops, and that sharp fear grips his throat, squeezing.

“You’re fucked up, Jumin.”

The words spit out of you like a spear, hitting him right in the center. 

It can’t be you talking. You don’t say things like that. You always tell him you love him, that you understand him, that you adore him.

But maybe you’ve just…had enough.

Tears begin to spill from his eyes. You stand before him, his heart in your hands, and you look at him with such disgust that he hopes the darkness in here opens up and swallows him.

“I’m leaving,” you say firmly, “don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he gasps, shakily reaching a hand out. “Please don’t leave me here, my love.”

But you don’t listen. You step up the stairs, grip the door, and with one last look of vitriol, you slam it shut, damning him to the darkness forever.

Jumin wakes with a gasp that’s really a sob, head jerking up and slamming against yours.

“Ah!” You grip your forehead, wincing in pain from your position above him. “Ow ow ow, that hurt!”

Like he’s in auto mode, Jumin sits up, touching your cheek with a terrified expression. “I’m so sorry, my love, let me call the doctor. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You wince again, rubbing your forehead. “It’ll probably bruise later, but I can deal with it.”

He hurt you. He hurt you.

But you don’t have any of the hate that your dream counterpart did in her eyes. Instead, yours are filled with concern, and you cup his cheeks with such gentleness that he closes his eyes, immediately melting in your hands.

“Were you having a nightmare?” You kiss his forehead. “You were tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep.”

As much as he wants to bask in your worry for centuries, it doesn’t stop the guilt that threatens to spill. “I apologize for waking you, my love. And for hitting you. I—I was having a nightmare, yes, but I’m alright now.”

“Jumin.”

“If you’d like, I can make some tea for you to help you go back to sleep—“

“Jumin.” Your lips are on his forehead again. “You’re crying, sweetheart.”

So he is. It’s strange he didn’t realize, but there are indeed tears wetting his cheeks. He opens his eyes to meet your gaze, looking at him so sincerely and with such care that this time he actually feels the tears pour down.

“Oh,” you breathe, brows meeting in concern. Your thumbs wipe his tears away diligently, and your lips begin to kiss every spot you wipe. Jumin trembles under your touch, hating himself for being so pathetic in front of you and simultaneously considering crying forever so that you stay here forever too. “What is it, honey? Please tell me how I can help.”

He wants to. But all he can manage to do is grip the back of your shirt in his hands, bury his face in your shoulder, and sob.

Not even for a second do you let him go. He doesn’t know how long he stays in your arms, seconds, minutes or hours. He cries, and cries, and cries, until his eyes feel swollen. and all the while your hand strokes his hair, your lips kiss his cheek, and your voice comes out in soothing whispers.

It’s okay. 

I’m right here, I’m here for you. 

You have me forever. 

We’re going to get through this.

I promise I’ll stay with you as long as you want.

Even though he hasn’t told you what his nightmare was about, you still somehow know exactly what to say. 

Even when he finally tires himself out, Jumin can’t stand the thought of not being held by you. He’s never felt this safe, this protected, in his entire life. He continues to grip your shirt tightly, breathing in and out, chest heaving. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now, you’re going to pull away and see how awful he is when he clings to you again, like a child.

You do no such thing. Instead, you lean back against the headboard, gently guiding his head to rest on your chest. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he shifts so that he’s sitting curled into you and pulls you forward gently to place a pillow behind your back. This way, he can hear your heartbeat.

And it’s that steady rhythm that makes his eyes start to droop.

But if he falls asleep again, he risks having another nightmare.

“Sleep,” you murmur, kissing his temple. Jumin’s eyes close on instinct. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise knocks him right out.

///

When he wakes, you’ve kept your promise, and you’re in the same unfortunate position, head lulled to the side as you snooze. 

An indescribable feeling settles upon him. It’s not just one feeling, in fact, but multiple. Guilt, because he forced you to sleep like this throughout the night. Gratitude, because he’s pretty sure he’s in the arms of an angel sent from above. And most importantly, he feels white hot love, because he has clearly married the only person in this world worth a damn.

And as much as he wants to stay like this, he knows that will surely not bode well for the chiropractor appointment he plans to schedule for you. So Jumin slips out of your embrace gently, taking good care to lay your head down on the pillow. With you picturesque in front of him, he places a kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Ju,” you mumble in your sleep. Your hand seems to reach for something, stopping when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

An angel, indeed.

Jumin gets up fully, taking the time to brush his teeth and freshen up before going into the kitchen to whip something up for breakfast. He wasn’t expected at the office until after lunch, so he had time to really make something nice. Chocolate chip pancakes, instead of his usual strawberry.

As he makes the batter, he thinks. Last night was…an anomaly. There should be no reason for him to dream of people that no longer matter anymore. His present is the most important, and his present is, thanks to you, leagues and leagues ahead of his past anyway. He wants to forget it all, forget his mother and stepmother and even Sarah Choi, who, while she hadn’t made an appearance last night, had been in his nightmares more than once, in a bleak alternate reality where he actually married her.

But he knows who he really married. It’s the person whose arms are sneaking around his waist right now. You.

“Morning.” Your voice is exceedingly pleasant, especially when it’s cooed in his ear. “You’re going in late, right?”

“Yes.” He places a kiss on the back of your hand, pressing his lips to each knuckle. “And you, my princess?”

“All from home today, my prince.”

Inwardly, he feels a quick twinge of irritation. “I wish I could spend the whole day with you. I should call out.”

“I’m never going to dissuade you of that.” You kiss him right on the nape of his neck; Jumin shudders. “But it’s up to you.”

“I’ll end up burning these pancakes if you keep distracting me.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.” Your laugh is so pretty, he thinks, and he didn’t think he could describe laughter as pretty before you. “Um, before I get too off topic…don’t you think we should talk, Jumin?”

He knew you weren’t going to simply forget the fact that he had cried himself back to sleep last night. Luckily, before you’d woken, he’d already prepared for such a scenario.

“I apologize for disrupting your sleep. I had a disturbing dream, but it will not happen again.”

For a second, he thinks it’s enough to stop you from asking any further questions, up until he feels your arms slide out from under him. The next thing he knows, you’re turning off the stove before he can start on the next batch of pancakes. 

Then, you’re gently turning him so he’s facing you, looking at you right in the eye. Jumin has seen that look before. It’s way too determined for even his stubborn nature, and it always comes out when you’re about to do whatever you want (a rare delight, given your selfless nature, but one he enjoys every time).

Your hands loop around his neck, and you kiss his cheek. Jumin closes his eyes as you speak softly. “Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you, love?”

It’s amazing that you think anything could bother him when you’re this close, calling him that. 

“Just a nightmare,” he says softly, but you clearly don’t buy it.

“I have nightmares too, it’s very rare that one of them affects me that much after I wake up.”

“A bad nightmare.”

The other version of you flashes in his head again. You’re fucked up, Jumin. But she’s not you, and even though he thinks for a terrible second that you’re going to shove him away, you pull him in for a hug instead, warm and welcoming and cozy. The scent of your nameless-brand shampoo fills his senses—it makes him desperately want to go back to bed.

“Please,” you breathe on his neck. “That’s what you were saying last night. Please, Mother. Please, no. Please, don’t leave me.” 

His hands grip the back of your shirt.

“Please talk to me, Jumin,” you plead. “Please.”

Somehow, he has to keep from crying this time. How pathetic can one man be? But he also has to acquiesce to your request, because you’re you, and he cannot deny you no matter how hard he tries. If you want him bare, you shall have him bare. If you want him destroyed, he will destroy himself in an instant. 

“Alright,” he concedes, trembling.

Not wanting the kitchen, where you and him cook together and laugh together (and a couple other things too), to become associated with these tainted memories, he guides you to the couch, hands holding yours. You promptly get into your favorite position, on his lap with your knees on each side. With a sigh, he rests his head on your shoulder, the fabric of your shirt seemingly smoothing out the creases in his forehead.

Your lips on his skin and your whispered words of encouragement give him a courage he wasn’t aware he possessed. Jumin talks.

“You have not met my mother yet. There is…good reason for that. A week before our wedding, she sent me the profile of a woman she wanted me to marry. I refused, of course. But that is the first time she has reached out to me in years.” He clears his throat. “She and I did not have a pleasant relationship. I think some part of me was very disappointing to her, because instead of giving her the true challenge of parenthood I molded to exactly what she wanted me to be. She recognized that I was…abnormal.”

In the span of a few seconds, your eyes have hardened more than he’s ever seen them harden before. This isn’t determined. This isn’t even pissed. This is raw anger.

“Abnormal?” There’s a bite to your words. “Is that her way of saying she was blessed with an intelligent, kind child?”

“You are kind,” Jumin whispers, cupping your chin to press a short kiss to your lips. “As a child, I was perhaps more robotic than I am now. I took to the world of business rather quickly.”

“You were brilliant, Jumin. Were and still are.”

If he kisses you after your every reassurance, the two of you will never leave this couch (not that he necessarily minds that idea). The more disturbing risk is that he will break down in front of you, if he starts elaborating, not to mention when he begins to talk about his stepmother as well.

But that’s a risk that Jumin can now accept. He understands now, that he hasn’t known love before you, and that there will be a great many times he will feel afraid, but he also knows that there is no one in the world he trusts more. 

Taking a deep breath, he continues.

///

Jumin is addicted—addicted—to making you cum.

The face you make when you orgasm—eyes shut, mouth open in a silent scream, head thrown back—is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his life. He considers spending eternity with his head between your legs, recklessly licking you to completion again and again.

The sounds you make—God. They have him rolling his hips against the sheets, so close to finishing just from your taste. It’s an obsession now, one that’s been growing ever since you two were married. A stressful day or a bad meeting or even projects being set back for whatever reason, Jumin can get all that frustration out as long as you allow him to spread your legs and devour you. As long as you squeal on his tongue, make a mess of his face, cum on his lips once or twice or more. He only stops when you beg him to. 

He could taste you forever.

But he reconsiders this commitment after he experiences the feeling of you coming on his cock once more.

A choked cry escapes him when he feels your walls clench around him. For a second, he can’t move, too lost in the way your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his skin. It’s the most pleasurable pain he’s ever had the fortune of experiencing.

“Ju-min,” you whine, legs clasping around his waist as he continues to thrust lazily, seeking his own release, “more, please.”

It really is always nice to know that he’s not the only one affected, enthralled and addicted to this madness.

///

Returning home to silence is still better than returning home to the sound of soft crying.

Jumin is on high alert in an instant, not bothering to take his suit or even his shoes off. You’re curled up on the couch, wiping your cheeks aggressively when you catch sight of him.

“J-Jumin, I didn’t hear you come in. Um…” You swallow, dried tears still obvious on your face. “I haven’t made anything, let me call the chef.”

He crosses the rug over to you almost blindly. There’s nothing else in his head, only you—your tears—you’re crying—you’re crying and he wasn’t here. His hands cup your face, wiping another fresh tear that rolls down your cheek as you look up at him, shaking.

“Who did it?” There’s a white-hot anger pulsing inside of him. He never sees you cry. “Tell me who I need to kill.”

A soft gasp escapes you, and you shake your head frantically as he sinks to his knees, taking your hands in his own and pressing reverent kisses to your knuckles. “N-no one did anything—I promise I’m fine, h-honey, please get up—“

Your laptop is set to the side, but the only thing on it is an email draft, giving him no clues at all. The last thing he desires is for you to have to recount that which distresses you, but he wants, needs, to ensure that you never get upset again.

“My love,” he swears, pressing his palms to yours, “please, tell me what happened. Was it something I did? One of the employees in the building?”

You whisper frantically, “No,” but even as you do another fresh wave of tears drip down your face.

Jumin wants to scream, wants to hurt someone, whoever is responsible, but he’s helpless, and so he lets intuition guide him, rising up until he’s next to you on the couch, and he’s pulling you in.

With a firm grip on his suit, you bury your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. In this moment, he recalls the predicament from that night, when the roles were reversed. How you’d simply let him cry, and held him all the while. Is he capable of…can he possibly bring you the same peace you bring him? Could you allow him to comfort you in the same way?

No matter what, he’s going to try. Anything for you.

Placing a kiss to your hair, he tightens his arms around you and murmurs sweet nothings, making sure you hear all of them. Everything from you’re the strongest person i know to i’m here for you, my love, i’ll be with you till the end of time.

“It’s just so much,” you finally hiccup, sniffing, “I’m busy all the time, they dump every project on me, I never get a chance to just take some time for myself and breathe! I’m always on some call, writing some email, visiting some area, I just want it all to stop. And you’re busier than me, and you do it so effortlessly, I can’t imagine how pathetic I must look compared to you.”

“You’re worth a hundred of me.” His voice is fierce, and he meets your eyes with his entire honest conviction. “Nothing about you is pathetic. You…you’re hardworking, you’re talented, you’re brave, and you’re the kindest person I know. I do not deserve you. I’ve never deserved you.”

“Please don’t say that,” you whimper, face still wet. He squeezes you tighter.

“I apologize. This isn’t about me. You need a break, sweetheart. Please, just request a week or at least a day off.”

“Jumin, I can’t—”

“I’ll request off too. Whenever you get a break, I’ll schedule one at the same time, and then I’ll take you wherever you desire, or we can simply spend it in the penthouse, and lay in bed all day. Or I could buy your company,” he half threatens, half jokes.

You let out a weak laugh, sinking into him, but he feels the tension in your shoulders release just slightly. Placing a kiss at the top of your head, he quickly texts for the chef to come by within the next hour, then tosses his phone aside to hold you better, which is when he catches sight of your own phone. On the screen is an image of the chatroom—a screenshot, he realizes, since his own messages are in it and he hasn’t been on the messenger today.

Your gaze follows his, and a slight smile finally forms on your face. “Messages from when we first met. Ah, the day I came to your apartment, I think.”

Oh, no. To put it lightly, those days were not a good time for him (although he’d never say such a thing, because he finds it cruel to say that some of the hardest days of his life included the one where he met the most wonderful woman in the world). Heaven knows what foolish things he’d said, he’s tried to block out most of the times that didn’t include the sight of you in front of him.

“They calm me down,” you admit softly, “the screenshots I have. I’m glad I took them, I have almost a hundred pictures that remind me of all the butterflies I would get when I talked to you. Knowing you’re my husband is the biggest calm of the storm.” Your cheeks are still stained with tears, but in your eyes is a newfound admiration as you and him look at each other, as though you have all the time in the world.

Jumin’s heart seizes.

“I’ll request a week off.” You reach up, a thumb on his cheek. “Thank you, Jumin.”

Surely, he thinks, being needed by you is the best experience of all.

///

“Thank you.” Your voice breaks the silence, muffled on his skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your husband kisses you, impatient as always, and you adore it.

zen

we all know he is very cheesy in relationships, but it seems like every day he tries to outdo himself

he will get mad if you don't wait for him to open the door for you

wants to know about all hair and nail appointments in advance so he can spoil you accordingly. if there was a trophy for best boyfriend, he would stop at nothing to get it

he would love to brush and learn to style your hair for you, and he's really good at it. it's gotten to the point where you seek him out just so he can do your hair. he will tut at you like "oh my, look how much my babe needs me," but inside he is squealing at the fact that you rely on him

definitely wants to wear matching outfits with you. he is proud to be yours, and he wants it to be obvious to the whole world

will record videos of himself singing or playing piano (or both at the same time) for you to listen to on your commute or while falling asleep. he just really wants to be part of your routine

jaehee

once her hair grows out, she likes styling it with clips. she is a very classy lady, but she has a cute side

there are aspects of her femininity that she pushed aside when working for jumin, but you encourage her to accept and explore them

sometimes you catch her watching hair and makeup tutorials, and her cheeks will dust pink, but you are quick to reassure her that there is nothing wrong with it!! you tell her that all girls have watched a tutorial at one point. you also remind her that you love her just the way she is, which she appreciates

her new free time has given her courage to indulge in herself and do things she's always wanted to do. she is definitely type A and will be most comfortable picking dates for the two of you, you would probably go out and do something once a week!

she is super organized, but with that comes a habit of being a perfectionist. if something goes wrong, she may take it more personally than the average person. it is likely that she will panic and worry about how the mishap will reflect her as a person. she values your opinion more than anyone else, so if you are kind to her, she will be able to brush off any stressful situation like a pro!

v

loves to paint on your skin. back, arms, collarbones, anywhere you would let him. he will step back to admire his work after every third brush stroke (or maybe he's just admiring you?)

if tattoos are your thing, he would be absolutely elated if you asked him to design one for you. he will spend weeks to months meticulously designing one that is perfect for you. expect a LOT of drafts, but i honestly don't think he would be keen to show you every single one. he would worry about it being to your standards, then present you with a top 5.

he flirts with the idea of learning an instrument. because of his mother, the violin lingers in the back of his head, but decides to start with piano. he thinks it suits him better. he would go all out and put a grand piano in his study. he usually plays it when he is having art block, and enjoys composing his own pieces once he has gotten more comfortable.

on that note, his study is very artsy and beautiful. there are large windows to illuminate both his unfinished canvases and his completed works on the walls. the grand piano sits off to the side, emphasizing the difference in intensity. he enjoys creating art, but the piano allows him to unwind. he also encourages you to come see him there anytime, and if you enjoy creating art or playing music as well, he would be so happy to share the space with you

jumin

if you show him how to make an instagram or tiktok account, say a prayer in advance for your dms

he will absolutely FLOOD you with cat videos and be easily swayed by cat ads

jumin is a very intelligent and logical man, but the minute he comes across a cat toy that doubles as a bed and scratching post, he has already bought 5.

of course, his social media accounts will be very private, probably just an assortment of letters and numbers, but everything about the account is so him. it's especially obvious when you get 10 notifications in a row from user294948382039.

he will also probably comment on some videos, things like "adorable," or "this is enjoyable." LOL

he will definitely ask you if you know every single account who requests to follow him, even if they're very obviously a bot. he will be very suspicious on how they found his account

"my love, it seems felicity__23 would like to follow me. is this a friend of yours?"

saeyoung

he is (surprisingly?) a very patient teacher

though he loves teasing you just to see your cute reactions, if you come to him with a genuine desire to learn something new, he would be glad to teach you!

if you make a mistake or ask a silly question, he will smile softly and point you in the right direction. he knows what it's like to lack confidence in something, so he wants to make you as confident as possible while you navigate this new skill

if it's something he knows how to do, like programming a game, building things, or driving, he would brighten up right away, ecstatic at the idea of nerding out to you for hours

if it's something he is unfamiliar with, he will want to learn with you! with all this new free time, he will want to keep busy and broaden his skillset as much as possible. if for any reason he advances faster, it's just another opportunity to happily guide you

(ge) saeran

absolutely loves doing laundry. he is certainly happy to be your househusband and finds joy in any chore, but laundry in particular makes him feel so much closer to you. he honestly looks forward to folding your clothes neatly on the bed for you!!

the first time he ever offered to do laundry, after observing you and learning how you like to do it, he immediately suggests combining your clothes. at first you're kinda like ??? but his quiet giddiness about it makes you give in (you would say yes to whatever he asked)

to impress you as your prince, ray certainly took good care of his magenta suit in mint eye and those skills likely came in handy for domestic life with you ♡

saeran's heart skipped a beat when he smelled your detergent for the first time because it's so you. he asks if he can use it, too, loving the idea that he can smell like you even when you're apart

he pulls your body into the living room, leaving a trail of his clothes haphazardly on the ground. 

he’s panting—hot, desperate breaths fanning over your skin as he drags your shirt up and off like he’s been starving for the sight of you. “missed you so fuckin’ bad, baby,” he rasps, voice raw with need. his fingers find your bra clasp without even looking, popping it open in one smooth motion. the second your breasts bounce free, a filthy moan breaks out of him.

“fuuuuck… my pretty baby,” he groans, mouth crashing back onto yours like he can’t get close enough, can’t breathe without you. “a whole month,” he slurs against your lips, needy and disbelieving, “a whole damn month without you…” the hunger in his voice makes your head swim.

you’re so lost in his kiss, in the heat of him, that you don’t even notice his hands working lower—your jeans unbuttoned, unzipped, pushed down—until he nudges your legs, urging you to kick them off, voice wrecked as he murmurs, “c’mon, baby… off.” 

you do as you're told, kicking them off your feet and letting them pool on the ground before caleb is pushing you onto the couch.

he drinks you in, taking in every perfect part of your body. his pupils are blown out like he’s on a drug, breath ragged like he’s run a marathon, cock aching in his boxers like he hasn’t been fucking his fist every night to all the innocent (and not so innocent) selfies and voice messages you’ve sent in your time apart. 

then he pounces on you—your panties are shredded and he’s discarded of his boxers and he’s ready to give you the fucking of your life. but then he remembers. it’s been too long—he should definitely prep you and stretch you out with his fingers. 

“caleb,” you whimper out when he takes too long to move. “just fuck me. please, i need you s’bad. ‘s been too long.”

“shit, i know, baby, but i need to prep you—”

you shake your head, hand moving down until your fingers pull your folds apart. he zeros in on your gleaming pussy, soaked and dripping with honeyed arousal. caleb all but whimpers at the sight. that alone could make him bust his load all over you, but he restrains himself—he tries to, at least.

he doesn’t keep you waiting for another second, he presses his fat tip into you and bites his lip at the visual of it disappearing inside your cunt. he feels your velvet walls latch onto him for dear life—almost like your pussy missed him too. 

“fuck, y-you’re so, ugh, tight, pips,” he grunts, forcing himself in past the resistance, keeping his ears open for any sign of discomfort. by the way you tighten even more at his words and the blissed out moans slipping past your swollen lips, he doesn’t think he needs to be worried. “you miss the way i stretch you out like this?”

you arch your back as he inches in deeper, feeling your cunt mold to the shape of him with ease, “god, yes! ca-caleb, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” 

his cock throbs at your desperation, at your vice like cunt, at the adorable fucked out face you’re sporting. you’re taking him like you’re made for it… no time apart could make your pussy forget whose cock belongs here. 

caleb finally bottoms out inside of you, his tip kissing at your cervix. your pussy strangles him so tight that his cock can’t help but twitch uncontrollably—the same way it does when he’s close… and then it happens—so fast he doesn’t even register it until his whole body locks up. he’s cumming inside you with a string of the neediest, broken moans you’ve ever heard from him, every sound high and desperate.

he goes still the moment realization hits. his face burns red, mouth parted, eyes blown wide in a mix of shock and absolute mortification. he came early… no—worse. he came before you.

“baby—” he gasps, glancing down where his cum is already leaking out of you, and the sight alone rips another helpless moan out of his throat. “god, ‘m sorry… ‘s just been so long, a-and i couldn’t help mys—”

“caleb.” you cut him off gently, your smile soft and easy. “‘s okay, baby. really.”

he exhales shakily, the relief on his face undeniable as he nods. he’ll make it up to you—he’s already determined. and with how hard he still is, still buried deep inside you, you both know you’re not going anywhere.

especially when you tighten around him, lean up to his ear, and whisper something wicked enough to make him choke on his breath.

“you have a month’s worth of cum saved up just for me, don’t you?”

#ZAYNE: OVERWORKED/UNDERFUCKED

zayne is an admirable man—hardworking, successful, the kind of perfect that makes people stare. but even perfection has its cracks. his? he neglects his own needs. the heat that coils low in his stomach, the way his cock strains in his slacks when you cross his mind… he always forces it down, choosing work over want.

and that’s where you come in.

what starts as an innocent visit—dropping off the lunch he “forgot” on the counter—quickly shifts into something far less innocent. the moment you step into his office, his desire finally demands to be heard.

you don’t say anything when you walk in. your face, the way you wordlessly set the cute lunch bag on his desk—it says it all. you walk around his desk where he sits, a small smile tugging at his lips and his cock twitching in his pants when he gets a whiff of your scent. then, like clockwork, you sink to your knees in between his legs. 

“hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

“four days, dr. zayne…” you lean into his hand, closing your eyes as the warmth seeps into your skin. “four days you’ve gone without an orgasm. that’s quite unhealthy, don’t you think?” 

a soft, amused laugh erupts in his throat before he muses, “is it? i don’t remember that being on any of my exams while i was in medical school.”

your eyes flutter open and your hands reach for the button and zipper of his slacks. “nevermind that, doctor. why don’t you just let me take care of you, yeah?” you pull his boxers down enough for his cock to spring out and slap against his button up. 

zayne chuckles wryly, nodding his head. “okay, but my lunch is over in 30 minutes–” he hisses when your lips wrap around his tip. “ah, sweetheart,” he breathes in surprise, fingers instinctively lacing into your hair. 

you work his tip, tongue swirling around his slit, lapping up his leaking precum. your eyes dart up to gauge his reaction and it sends a rush of arousal through you. his cheeks are flushed—that pretty shade of pink that dusts over his skin every time he’s high on adrenaline and overcome by need. 

it urges you on—coaxing you to take more of him, to stretch your lips wider and let him sink deeper. with zayne’s firm guidance at the back of your head, you’re already halfway down his length, the tip brushing the back of your throat. the sound he makes when your throat tightens around him is raw, almost feral.

“fuck, darling,” he growls, fingers twitching with the urge to push you down until he’s buried to the hilt. “you feel so good. y-you… ah—you're taking me s-so, so well.”

the praise sends a shiver through you. you moan around him, picking up your pace, hungry for every broken sound you can drag out of your usually composed, painfully put-together boyfriend. your hand curls loosely around the base of his cock while your other drifts lower, cupping and gently squeezing his balls, eager to unravel him completely. 

and zayne’s weak. your hands and mouth work in tandem to make his chest heave and soft sighs slip out of him. you moan and whine around him some more to add to the sensation and it works… boy, does it work. 

the vibrations shoot right through him, his entire body tenses and he moans—so shaky like he doesn’t trust the sound coming out of him, so low, yet so loud that the sound echoes in his office. loud enough to test the sound-proofing on the room.

“baby—” he gasps, fingers tightening in your hair, tugging at the roots. the moment you gag around him, his hips jerk forward on instinct. “b-baby, f-fuck, wait—slow down. slo—oh—!”

but you’re past the point of hearing him. your pace only grows messier, hungrier. you drop your hand and force yourself down as far as you can, swallowing every inch you can take. the second he feels himself lodged deep in your throat, his whole body goes rigid.

a rush of broken curses tumbles from his mouth as he falls apart. you choke when the first hot spurts of cum hit the back of your throat, spluttering in surprise before greedily swallowing every pulse of him like you were made for it.

when you finally pull off, you give him a few tiny coughs, your cheeks wet with tears and your breaths uneven. you recover faster than he does—fast enough to see the way he slumps back, bliss-drunk, his hands—just moments ago tangled in your hair—now clamped around the armrests so tight his knuckles have gone bone-white.

his eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, and when he sees you watching him with that smug, satisfied little smirk… a shudder of embarrassment rolls through him.

“my love,” he pants like all the air in the room has been sucked out of the room. “please don’t tease.”

“that might’ve been a new record, baby.” you say, voice raw. “i don’t even think you came that fast during our first time.”

his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, “please, enough… you know i’ve been stressed.”

“my poor, pent-up doctor.” you rise to your feet, towering over his slack body like you’re savoring the view. he looks spent, dazed, completely undone beneath you—you’re not sure how he’ll get back to work after this. “don’t worry, baby,” you murmur, trailing a finger along his jaw. 

“you’re in very good hands now.”

#SYLUS: WEAK

sylus is far from weak. he carries a kind of strength—mental, physical, commanding—that made him leader of the onychiuns in the first place. he has to be strong-willed. unshakeable. untouchable.

but all of that falls apart when you’re in sight. 

especially when he walks into his room after a long “business” meeting and finds you nonchalantly stretched across his bed reading a book in nothing but red lace that barely hides anything and his oversized, burgundy robe sliding off your shoulders like you want him to be on his knees. he tries not to falter, tries to keep that cool, indifferent mask he’s known for… but you see right through him. you always do.

you see the way his eye darkens, glowing a deeper shade of red. you see the hitch in his breath. you see the way he starts toward you—slow, deliberate, each step slower than the next. 

a predator closing in.

“what’s all this, sweetie?” he hums, voice low and airy. “i wasn’t expecting you to still be awake. you’re usually passed out by this hour.”

“i thought about it… but i wanted to see you, is that so wrong?” you cock your head innocently, abandoning your book in favor of putting your eyes on him. “just wanted to greet the big, bad leader of onychinus when he got home…” you say, slowly rising to sit on your knees before him, his robe nearly swallowing you.

any second now, he’s going to pounce.

he suppresses a groan when he notices your breast practically spilling out of your bra. “and how would one greet the big, bad leader of onychinus?” 

once he’s within arms reach, you can see in his eyes that he’s waiting for your permission. the little glint in your eyes or the smile etching into your face that says ‘it’s okay, you can touch me.’

before his hands can touch you, you fist the front of his shirt and yank him forward, catching him completely off guard. in one swift motion, you flip him onto the bed, climbing over him and settling on his lap like you’ve claimed a throne.

he stares up at you, lips parted, eyes just a little too wide—like he’s scrambling to hide the shock, to pretend he saw it coming. but it’s already written all over his face.

he’s the one caught now.

and it’s not that sylus minds when you rip his shirt open, tearing some of the buttons on the crisp fabric off or when you lay sloppy, wet kisses to his burning skin. it’s only when your hips begin to move and your lips trail down his neck and his heaving chest that he realizes what you’re doing.

“is this a punishment, baby?” he pants, groaning when your teeth sink into his large pec. “mad that i kept you waiting for me?”

you grind your hips against his aching cock and he can feel the shape of your pussy… how wet it is through all the layers of fabric between you. 

“you were gone for so long, sy… promised you’d be home soon and you lied.” you try to keep your voice steady, but it’s difficult when his cock, slotted between your thighs, stimulates your clit in the best way possible. “so you keep your hands off of me and let me have my fun like a good boy, yeah?”

he smirks up at you, cock twitching, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “yeah, sweetie. go on and punish me… i’ve been bad, haven’t i?”

and maybe it isn’t much of a punishment for sylus at first, but the moment you start grinding your hips down harder—faster—it becomes torture of the sweetest kind. his fingers curl into the satin sheets beside him, knuckles straining as he fights the urge to touch you. to grab you. to flip you beneath him and shove his cock deep into your cunt. he wants to fuck you until you gush all over him, until your tiny hands press against his broad chest, trying—and failing—to push him away.

your lips trail down his chest, slow and teasing, leaving soft, blooming love bites in your wake. each time a deep groan vibrates through his chest, the sound reverberates against your mouth, sending shivers down your spine. and god, the way he moans for you—raw, unrestrained—only makes you grind down harder, delight curling warm and wicked in your stomach.

then your lips wrap around his peaked nipple, teeth tugging and tongue lapping like you’re willing something to come out. you whimper around him and it sends shockwaves through all 6 feet and 2 inches of him. 

he gasps as a jolt of pleasure shoots straight through him. were his nipples always this sensitive? he’s never reacted like this before.

“w-what are you— f-fuck, gorgeous, don’t do tha—hah!” his voice breaks beautifully, the last sound spilling out of him in a deep, helpless, breathless cry.

he bites down on his lip hard when you move to his other nipple, giving it just as much attention—just as much torment. it’s abuse in the prettiest form, and he’s completely helpless to it. he tries—really tries—to think about anything other than the overwhelming mix of sensations… your hips grinding down on him, your mouth teasing his chest, the heat pooling low in his stomach way too fast.

but he can’t. he’s drowning in you.

your scent, your soft little whines with every roll of your hips, the way the red lace clings to your body—his favorite set, the one he can never resist. it’s all too much, and he feels himself unraveling beneath you.

when he lets out a long, drawn out groan and you feel the warm, wet patch grow on his pants, you giggle uncontrollably. sylus, leader of onychinus sylus… just came in record time, in his pants at that. all because of some dry humping and nipple play. 

you lift your head and take in the defeated sight of him and let a cocky grin etch into your face.

“who knew the big, bad leader of onychinus liked getting his nipples played with?”  

#XAVIER: SIDE EFFECTS  

there was something wrong with him. something truly, terribly wrong. he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, feel his blood thrumming in his veins, see his cock swelling in his pants and taste you on his tongue even though you weren’t even in the room—let alone the same floor. the need was unbearable. the need to fuck and breed you was almost disgusting, but he couldn’t help it. 

he chalked it down to the candy you gave him—you’d told him to save it for a special occasion with a cheeky smile on your face, but xavier didn’t understand what that meant. he figured “save it for a special occasion” meant save it for when he’s craving a sweet treat. 

he grabbed the wrapper and, sure enough, the back read “sex chocolate” in big, bold letters. he moaned, throwing it away and pulling out his phone with shaky hands. 

xavier: Angel I need U

xavier: I ate the sex chocolate U gave me

you: you did what???

xavier: I ate the whole thing 

you: oh fuck. i’m coming up now.

he stands in the open doorway, skin flushed, breaths strained, sweat beading at his forehead. when he sees you, panic across your face—concern etched into your features—he’s not sure why. he doesn’t care. the second you’re within reach, he yanks you into the apartment and slams the door shut, the impact rattling the picture frames of the two of you lining the wall.

“xavier, we need to get you water and—”

you should’ve known you wouldn’t get the chance to finish. his lips crash into yours, hot and desperate, a low moan spilling into your mouth as he all but devours you. his tongue pushes past your lips, demanding, and his hands steer you toward the bedroom. you let yourself melt into him. after all, the fastest way to deal with the heat of an aphrodisiac is to fuck it out of your system.

xavier shoves you back onto the bed, ripping his shirt over his head and fumbling out of his pants before climbing over you to kiss you again. the movement makes your tank top ride up, fabric bunching beneath your chest as his weight presses you into the mattress. his tongue tangles with yours, frantic, like he doesn’t care about the burn in his lungs or the lack of oxygen to his brain. all he can think about is you—feeling you. loving you. fucking you. it’s driving him insane, lighting up every nerve ending until he’s completely consumed by desire. you feel it when the heavy bulge presses into your abdomen, the sticky heat of precum seeping through his boxers and smearing against your skin.

he grinds against you fervently, moaning and whining into your mouth before he pulls back, panting and gasping for air. 

“pl-please help me, baby,” he whimpers, he drags his hips down and ruts against your clothed cunt. “need you, need to fuck you s’bad. it hurts… fuck, it h-hurts s’much.”

you nod, mind in a haze from the searing kiss. you voice comes out gravelly. “f-fuck me—you can fuck me, xavie. fuck me till it’s out of your system.”

your permission sends him buzzing, his mind dissolving into static as his hands move before he can even catch up to himself. he tugs your little shorts and panties down your legs, baring you for him—glistening, open, all his.

his gaze devours you, drinking in the way arousal coats your swollen lips, the way your cunt pulses like a living thing, the way your body twitches beneath him with barely restrained anticipation. he doesn’t get long to savor it. with a sharp breath, he frees his cock from his boxers, letting it slap against his toned abdomen.

he doesn’t waste another second. dragging the tip through your soaked slit, he gathers every bit of slick he can before pressing inside with a loud, broken moan, his brows drawing tight as he finally sinks into you.

“f-fffuck,” he curses, pulling his lip between his teeth like he’s trying to will himself to stay strong. to not succumb to the thoughts mixing in with the static. the thoughts that scream: cum in her. fill her to the brim. pour every ounce of what you have inside of her—because he wants to last. he wants you to feel just as good. 

but he can’t. he’s hypersensitive. he feels every vein on his cock brand into your walls, every little ridge of your pussy glide against him, that slight resistance that’s trying to push him out— and it’s entirely too much for him to handle.

it’s why a choked, startled moan gets stuck in his throat before he collapses forward, hands clutching your hips for support as he spills inside you far too fast. silver hair clings to his flushed forehead, sweat-damp and wild, his eyes blown wide with shock as the realization hits.

he came first.

and he came fast.

“xavier—you came…”

his words come out ragged as his cock twitches inside of you, still hard and throbbing with need despite his explosive orgasm. “i know, ‘m s-so pathetic—shit, but i-i can keep going… need more. so much more, angel. can’t get enough—feels like ‘m on fire.”

and with his cum beginning to leak out of you, he pulls out, gathers every drop that’s spilled out and pushes it back inside of you. 

“gotta fuck you full of my cum and keep it there, you understand, don’t you?” he babbles, thrusting in and out of you with a mix of his cum and your arousal coating his cock. 

“after all, it was your chocolate that did this to me, so you should take responsibility, right?”

#RAFAYEL: SORE LOSER

“raf, if we were to go ten days without sex, who do you think would last longer: you or me?” you’d asked, a cheeky smile plastered on your face. 

rafayel scoffed at the question—why would you ask such a thing? obviously the answer’s going to be—

“duh, me, of course. i’m much more resilient than you are, cutie.” he answered, a cocky smirk etched into his complacent face. 

you hummed, your smile wide despite the fact that he practically called you weak. “if you’re so much stronger than me,” you teased, tilting your head, “then you don’t mind if we test that theory, do you?”

“bring it on.”

rafayel regrets it almost immediately—regrets being so hasty, so quick to agree to ten days without sex. he’d gone far longer than that before you, but now that he has you, even three days feels unbearable. ten is torture.

by day five, he’s already itching to give in. but then he sees how unbothered you are—how calm, how unaffected you seem by the forced celibacy in your committed relationship—and he bites his tongue. no complaints. no cracks.

he’ll win this bet. even if it kills him a little.

when day ten finally arrives, rafayel unravels completely. he’s rougher with you now—pinning you to his bed and kissing you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. he silences every cheeky remark you throw his way, every tease about how he’s about to lose, how he’s seconds from proving just how weak he is.

for a fleeting moment, he considers shoving his fingers into your mouth just to shut you up—but he decides against it. no. he wants to hear those silly little words falter, crumble, and disappear entirely when he proves his point by making you cum first.

“you really are a brat, y’know,” he grumbles once parting from your lips. his hands peel your clothes off your soft, pliant body and when you finally lie naked under him, his cock—the cock that’s been aching for this—throbs with need under his all too tight boxers. “‘m gonna show you that i’m the winner here, okay cutie?”

you offer a lazy smile and sing, “you can try.”

and it only adds fuel to the fire.

he’s pressing inside of you with an involuntary moan. your pussy envelopes his cock like that’s exactly where it belongs. ten days did nothing, your pussy takes shape to his size instantly and it’s both a blessing and a curse.

a blessing because it means he’s successfully molded your cunt to the shape of him—he’s ruined you for everyone else. not that he’d ever dream of letting you go. ever. 

a curse because the mere thought of you being wholeheartedly his, on top of the feeling of your tight pussy for the first time in a third of a month and the sound of your pretty moans—the ones he missed so much—it unnerves him. it’s too much for his brain—his body—to handle. 

but he has to hold on to his threading strength. his pride counts on it. the little tug at your lips counts on it. and it might be dramatic, but the entire dynamic of your relationship counts on it. if he loses—if he spills right now like he wants to—then you’ll tease him for eons to come. your last breath will be a teasing remark about how he lost this bet.

then you clamp around him, hugging his cock tighter than before and rafayel lets out a broken moan. “fuck,” he curses, voice cracking weakly. 

he’s barely bottomed out before you’re coaxing him with sweet words and a saccharine voice. “c’mon, baby. just cum inside me. i know you want to… can feel your cock throbbing.” you purr, clenching even harder, eliciting a hiss. “let go f’me… ‘s gonna feel s’good, won’t it?”

“sh-shut up.” he grits out, hands fisting at the sheets at both sides of your head. 

your arms loop around his neck and your legs hook around his slim waist. your feet dig into his lower back and rafayel just… can’t. “cum, baby.” you whisper. 

any last shred of restraint snaps, the tightrope finally giving way. his cum spills inside you as he breaks, a broken whine tearing from his throat—caught somewhere between despair and earth-shattering pleasure.

you moan at the warmth, eyes fluttering shut as you sink into it—the feeling of him filling you, and the delicious realization that you’ve won, that you now have permission to gloat for the rest of your life.

but rafayel doesn’t give you much time to let it sink in because a short while later, he’s pulling out, his fat load of cum dribbling out of you in the process, and slamming his overstimulated cock back in, burying himself at your hilt. 

you squeak in surprise, eyes shooting open in shock and you see the mean glower on rafayel’s face. he’s pissed—you can see it in his furrowed brows and his lips turned down in a pouty frown, but especially in his darkened eyes. the playful look that usually resides on his face is replaced with one of indignation. 

“raf—” you don’t get the chance to finish because his long fingers fill your mouth and it muffles the rest of your protest. 

“j-just shut up and take it,” he grunts, snapping his hips against you like he has something to prove. “your time for talking is up since you just wanna act like a brat.”

you suck and moan around his fingers, losing yourself in the pleasure he gives you. he doesn’t miss a beat—thrusting into you with perfect precision, the tip of him hitting that sweet spot dead-on. the sensation is overwhelming, sharp and delicious, and it sends your eyes rolling back as your body melts around him.

“gonna fuck you till you forget about this stupid bet, cutie—you’ll wish i won instead.”

At first, he thinks you’re… ignoring him?

Because you stumble past him without your usual greeting, eyes half-open, soul barely clinging to your body.

Then he gets a good look at your face and goes full Concerned Dorm Leader Mode™.

“Are you unwell?” Translation: Why do you look like LIKE THAT?

You mumble something like, “Stayed up… all night…”

And he gasps, dramatically gasps, “ALL NIGHT?!” Σ(°△° ꪱꪱꪱ)

Like you didn’t just casually confess to academic war crimes. Did you?

He immediately herds you into a chair like a tiny, angry mother hen. You protest. He doesn’t hear a single word of it.

He brings tea. He adjusts your posture. He tucks a blanket over your shoulders with the stiff, frantic energy of someone who definitely rehearsed this level of caretaking in a mirror.

He tries to scold you, “Burning yourself out is irresponsible; you need to prioritize your health,” but halfway through, he sees your eyes drooping. His voice softens like he accidentally stepped on an emotional landmine.

“You must rest,” (｡•́︿•̀｡) he murmurs, brushing a stray hair from your forehead with a gentleness that could cure nations.

You fall asleep sitting up. Like… mid-sentence.

And Riddle panics. Silently. Internally.

Externally he remains composed, but inside? Absolute screaming.

He carefully, carefully leans your head onto his shoulder.

The entire time he’s red as a rose and mentally filing formal complaints against your workload.

He sits there, making sure no one disturbs you.

Not a single Heartslabyul student dares approach. Riddle’s glare is lethal today.

Later, he’ll quietly lecture you again… but only after you’re rested.

And he softens every sharp word because the truth is he was terrified for you.

He may be strict, but the sight of you burning yourself out?

Yeah. That melts all his rules into worry.

── ⋆⋅☆ TREY CLOVER

Trey spots you dragging yourself across campus like a ghost with student debt, and he just sighs, the kind of sigh that says, “I knew this would happen.”

You try to greet him, but it comes out as a weak little noise that vaguely resembles human speech.

He raises an eyebrow, “You okay there?” ( •᷄‎ᴖ•́) Meaning: You look like you fought your textbook in a back alley.

You confess the truth. The shame. The crime. “I… haven’t slept.”

And oh, Trey gives you that Look™. The disappointed-but-soft one.

The one that makes you feel like you’re about to get a Very Gentle Lecture and also maybe a forehead kiss.

“You pulled an all-nighter?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.

He’s seen that dead-eyed stare before. Usually on students right before exam season. Or Cater after seeing his phone battery at 1%.

He places a steadying hand on your shoulder, thumb brushing just a little too long, like he’s grounding you back into reality, “C’mon. Sit.”

You obey instantly. Trey has Dad Energy. You cannot resist him.

He brings you a pastry. He brings you tea.

You try to protest, “I’m fine-”

“Nope,” he says, shushing you like you’re a toddler fighting nap time. “You’re not fine. You’re seconds away from face-planting into your notes.” (◡ ‿ ◡ .)

And honestly? You are.

You start drifting off mid-bite, and he laughs quietly. He has to resist the urge to tease you.

Then he gently tilts your head onto his shoulder, “You can rest. I’ll wake you before class.”

He stays perfectly still so you can sleep.

Protective. Calm. Warm in a way that makes your overworked heart melt.

Later, he’ll help you plan out your assignments so you never reach this level of academic despair again.

Because Trey Clover may be soft… but he’s determined.

And he refuses to let you burn yourself out, not on his watch.

── ⋆⋅☆ CATER DIAMOND

Cater sees you stumbling down the hallway like a zombie extra from a low-budget horror film and immediately goes, “Whoa, babe, you good? You look… kinda glitchy.”

You try to smile. It looks more like a grimace.

Cater actually recoils a little. “Okayyy, that’s not your usual selfie-ready face. What happened?” (˘ŏ_ŏ)

You mumble something about homework, deadlines, and a disastrous all-nighter.

His eyes go wide, and he does that dramatic gasp like he’s auditioning for a soap opera. “You pulled an all-nighter?” o(“°0°’’)o ! !

He clutches his chest. As if your sleep schedule personally wounded him.

He studies your face for a moment, the way you sway like you’re made of wet spaghetti, and all the joking melts into worry.

“Hey, c’mere,” he says, slipping an arm around your shoulders. It’s casual… but also not.

He’s guiding you like you’re a baby deer learning to walk. You're Bambi on ice.

He takes you somewhere quiet and thrusts a drink into your hands.

Something fruity. Something caffeinated. Something that screams Cater made this from instinct and vibes alone.

“You’re, like, two seconds from passing out mid-scroll,” he says, watching you like he expects you to collapse any moment.

You blink slowly. Very slowly.

He sighs, then flicks your forehead gently. “Babe. You can’t be cute AND running on zero sleep. That’s illegal.”

Then he’s shoving his phone in his pocket (miracles do happen), giving you his full attention. “Okay, we’re getting you a nap. Right now. Non-negotiable.” (≖_≖ )

He doesn’t even let you argue.

Just steers you toward a comfy spot and sets you up with his jacket as a pillow. “You rest. I’ll stand guard. Anyone tries to wake you? Blocked. Muted. Unfollowed.”

You fall asleep to him humming a tune.

Later, he helps you reorganize your workload… with cute stickers, aesthetic study hacks, and exactly one meme per bullet point.

Because if Cater Diamond has anything to say about it? You’re never burning yourself out on his watch again.

── ⋆⋅☆ ACE TRAPPOLA

Ace finds you slumped over your desk like a tragic Victorian orphan and immediately goes, “Whoa. You look terrible.” (•_•)

No hesitation. No mercy. Just straight-up Ace energy.

You glare at him with the strength of someone running on fumes and spite, and he raises his hands like, “Hey, hey, I’m just saying! Did you get hit by a spell or something?”

You tell him you pulled an all-nighter. And he pauses. Actually pauses. Like his brain short-circuited for a moment.

“You what?” Then he bursts out laughing. “Of course you did. Unbelievable. Totally on brand for you.”

But the second he sees you wobble in place, the teasing dies just a little.

Not completely, he’s Ace, but enough that he leans in closer, studying your face like he’s trying to decide whether you’re about to pass out or throw hands.

“Okay, okay, sit down before you crack your skull open or something,” he mutters, nudging you toward a chair with a surprisingly gentle shove.

He hands you a water bottle he stole borrowed from Deuce’s bag. “Hydrate. Or whatever.” (¬`‸´¬)

You try to shrug him off and say you’re fine.

He clicks his tongue, “Yeah, sure. And I’m the model student of Heartslabyul. Try again.”

You blink. Slowly. Painfully.

He sighs like he’s being SO inconvenienced by caring about you.

Then he plops himself down next to you, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “Look, if you pass out, I’m not carrying you. I’ll drag you. By the ankles.” (¬⤙¬ )

(He will fully carry you. Bridal style. And complain about it the whole time.)

When your head finally droops onto his shoulder, he freezes.

Absolutely stiff as a board. But he doesn’t move. Not even an inch.

“…You better not drool on me,” he whispers, but way quieter than needed.

You’re already asleep.

He sits there, pretending he’s annoyed, pretending he doesn’t like the weight of you leaning on him, pretending he isn’t glaring at anyone who walks too close.

Later, he’ll grumble about having to babysit you… but he’ll also “casually” show up with snacks and offer to “totally not help, but maybe kinda help” you plan your studying.

Because Ace Trappola may be a menace, but he’s your menace.

── ⋆⋅☆ DEUCE SPADE

Deuce spots you staggering down the hallway like you respawned with 1 HP, and he nearly drops the stack of books he’s carrying. “Are you okay?” (•᷄ࡇ•᷅ ;)

He sounds concerned. Not just regular concerned, Boy Scout concerned.

You try to answer, but your voice cracks like a dying kazoo. Deuce’s eyes widen in absolute horror.

“Did someone do this to you? Are you hurt? Tell me who-”

You cut him off with, “I stayed up all night doing homework.”

He stops. His whole brain just… bluescreens.

“You… didn’t sleep? At all?” (˚☐˚”)/ He asks it like you’ve confessed to a felony.

When you nod weakly, Deuce looks like he’s about to ground you on behalf of the entire student body, “That’s not healthy! You can’t do that! What if something happened to you? What if you passed out? What if-”

He’s spiralling so hard for you that you have to place a hand on his arm to stop him. Which only makes him short-circuit again.

He gently, very gently, guides you to sit down.

He kneels in front of you like you’re a wounded baby bird. “Just stay still, okay? I’ll handle it.”

Before you can blink, he’s sprinting off like a man on a mission.

He returns with water, fruit, a muffin, and the kind of determined expression knights have before battle. “Eat this. Please. If you don’t, I’ll… I’ll feel responsible.” (ó﹏ò｡)

You take a bite because he looks genuinely distressed. His shoulders finally relax a little.

“You shouldn’t push yourself so hard,” he murmurs.

His voice softens, dangerously soft, like secret feelings. “You matter too much to… y’know… fall apart like this.”

You start nodding off mid-sip, and Deuce carefully shifts so your head lands on his shoulder.

He freezes, cheeks burning red, but he doesn’t move.

“If you need to sleep,” he whispers, “I’ll stay here. I’ll keep watch.”

He actually does. Anyone who comes near gets The Deuce Death Stare™.

Later, he’ll awkwardly offer to help you plan your assignments. With colour-coded notes, he won’t admit he stayed up late making.

But he keeps doing these barely noticeable things that totally give him away.

Like he’ll walk a little closer than usual, close enough that your shoulders almost brush.

Or he’ll mention something you said weeks ago, like he’s been carrying the memory around in his pocket.

Or he’ll look at the moon and murmur something poetic, then quickly add, “Ah. Humans enjoy metaphors, do they not?” (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

He’s absolutely trying to court you without calling it courting.

And Lilia? Oh, he sees EVERYTHING.

You two step back into Diasomnia, and Lilia suddenly appears in the hallway with the most suspiciously innocent smile, “Ah, children! Could you check the supply closet for me? I believe I've lost my... keys.”

You both go in. The door closes. Click. Locked.

From outside, you hear Lilia, “Take your time~!” ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Malleus blinks slowly, completely unbothered, more confused than anything. “…Strange. Lilia does not usually misplace keys.” (╹-╹)? Hes an idiot (affectionately).

But then he turns to you in the dim light of the closet, and the air shifts instantly. It’s like he suddenly realizes you’re alone. Really alone. And really close. And he gets the plot.

He straightens slightly, that quiet, elegant confidence settling over him. The kind that makes you forget he could level a city block if he sneezed the wrong way.

He steps closer, very calmly, very deliberately.

“You seem troubled, child of man,” he murmurs, voice low enough to hum in your bones. “Is it the confinement? Or… is it something else?”

He’s not flustered. Not even close. He’s looking at you like he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it.

And when you finally admit that maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind being locked in here with him, something warm flickers behind his eyes.

He cups your cheek with impossibly gentle fingers. “Then allow me,” he whispers, “to ease whatever tension remains.”

He kisses you first. Soft, slow, reverent. This is a great privilege.

But there’s power behind it, too. You can feel how strong he is when he's this close.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. A tiny smile. Almost smug. Careful of his horns.

“…It would seem Lilia anticipated this moment.” ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

── ⋆⋅☆ LILIA VANROUGE

Lilia invites you over like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Come, come! I’ve brewed tea—don’t worry, I triple-checked that it won’t explode this time.”

He’s in full mischievous dad mode the entire visit, floating around you, poking fun at the Diasomnia boys, telling stories you’re pretty sure are wildly exaggerated.

But every so often, he slips in these little comments that make your heart skip.

“Oh? Your cheeks are red. Am I flustering you, little bat?”

And he says it with that sly, knowing smile that makes you wonder if he’s teasing you… or flirting seriously.

Spoiler: it’s both.

At some point, he goes, “Ah! I must retrieve something from the closet. Come help me, dear?” ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

Suspicious, but okay.

You step inside with him, nothing unusual, just shelves and old props, and then suddenly he’s behind you, the door swings shut, and

Click.

…He definitely locked it but he gasps all dramatically, hand to chest like a startled Victorian widow.

“Oh nooo! It seems the door has… mysteriously trapped us. However could this have happened?” (≖⩊≖)

Meanwhile, you’re standing there like: Lilia. I watched you lock it.

He just smiles, floating a little closer, hands behind his back like he’s innocent. “Such a predicament~ Alone together, no interruptions… truly unfortunate.”

He’s absolutely not flustered; he’s in his element.

Because the second he has you backed into this tiny space, his voice drops low and playful.

“You know… I’ve noticed something.” He leans in, crimson eyes gleaming. “You get awfully cute when we’re this close.”

He’s not asking permission, he’s waiting for the tiniest hint, the smallest sign that you want him just as much.

And once he gets it? That smirk turns soft around the edges.

He cups your chin lightly, tilting your face up with a single finger. “Well then,” he murmurs, “let’s not waste this opportunity.”

He kisses you slowly and teasingly, like he’s savouring your reaction, just enough pressure to make your knees wobble, and your breath catch.

When he finally pulls away, he taps your nose with a smug little hum.

“My, my. Being locked in wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

…Then he unlocks the door without even looking. Because of course he can. He just wanted the moment.

“Ah! Look at that—the door simply fixed itself. How lucky.” He winks. “Shall we continue our evening, little bat?” (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

── ⋆⋅☆ SILVER

Silver invites you over to Diasomnia to help him train.

Meaning you just watch, but he's so fine that it's fun.

totally normal, totally sweet, totally Silver.

And at first? It’s just peaceful. Quiet. Soft. He’s training while you hand him different supplies every so often, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But then he starts acting… a little weird. Silver weird, which means very subtle.

Like he’ll take something from your hand and his fingers linger just a second too long

Or he keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Or he’ll say something gentle like, “You’re always so calm. It’s… nice,” and then pretend that wasn’t basically a confession in Silver language.

Meanwhile Lilia is definitely floating around in the background vibing ominously like a menace with a plan.

At some point, Silver asks you, “Could you help me put away the supplies?” Which is adorable, because he genuinely thinks that’s all you’re doing.

Lilia, however, is READY.

The second you two step inside the supply closet, the door shuts.

Click.

From outside: “Oh nooo~ How unfortunate! I’ll try to find the key!”

Silver just blinks. “…Father must be in a hurry.” (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

Bro, please. He literally said “mwahaha” under his breath.

But now it’s just you and Silver in a very small, very quiet space. And suddenly he realizes it.

He stands there for a moment, gaze softening, breath catching just a little. “Are you comfortable?” he asks, stepping closer when you nod. “Good… I’m glad.”

And oh boy. Now he’s looking at you like you hung the moon.

He brushes a hand across your cheek, so gentle it barely registers. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” he says—even softer than usual. “You make me feel… peaceful. In a way, I don’t ever want to lose.”

And since you move just a bit closer, just enough, his whole expression melts into something warm and sweet.

He leans in and kisses you, slow and steady, like he wants to commit the moment to memory.

It’s the kind of kiss that makes your heart do somersaults.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours and whispers, “…If being locked in here means I get to share this with you, then I don’t mind at all.” ( ꈍ◡ꈍ)

── ⋆⋅☆ SEBEK ZIGVOLT

Sebek invites you over to Diasomnia for something he calls “a proper demonstration of knightly discipline,” which sounds intense but turns out to just be… helping him organize training equipment.

Totally normal. Totally harmless.

At first, he’s acting like everything is business as usual, loud, dramatic, determined to show you how proper and honourable he is. But then… little cracks start showing.

Like how he keeps standing a bit too close without realizing.

He’ll hand you something simple, like a towel and then stare at your fingers touching like it’s the greatest emotional crisis of his life.

“D-DO YOU HAVE A FIRM GRIP? IT’S… IT’S IMPORTANT THAT YOU-yes, good. Good.” (๑•̀ᗝ•́)૭ Sir. Please.

And of course, Lilia is watching this whole thing like it’s a sitcom rerun he’s seen twenty times but still loves.

Eventually, Sebek asks you to help him put some things away. In the supply closet. The supply closet.

The second you both step inside, Lilia SLAMS the door shut with theatrical flourish.

Click. “Oh dear! Seems the door has malfunctioned! I’ll search for the key~!”

Sebek freezes like someone unplugged him.“L-LILIA?! W-WE ARE TRAPPED?? W-WITH-WITH THEM?!” (·`囗´· ｡)՞

He’s red. He’s vibrating. He’s very aware you two are alone in a tiny space.

For a moment he tries to be Normal Sebek™ and stand at attention like he’s guarding the royal treasury, but then he accidentally makes eye contact and immediately short-circuits.

“I-THIS-THE DIMENSIONS OF THIS ROOM ARE FAR TOO SMALL TO- TO- TO-” He gestures vaguely. To exist, apparently.

But then something shifts. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and looks at you with a sudden, startling seriousness.

“(Y/N)… I must speak plainly.” ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡)

Oh no. He’s entering Confession Mode.

“I—admire you. Deeply. More than is proper. More than I intended.” His voice cracks just a little, but he doesn’t look away. “And being in this room with you, despite Lilia’s meddling, only strengthens that truth.”

He steps closer, carefully, like he thinks you might vanish.

And when you give him the smallest sign, just a little lean toward him? Oh, he’s gone.

He cups your face with trembling hands and kisses you like it’s both his first mission and his greatest honour.

When he pulls back he looks both dazed and determined.