#rollo x reader

You’d assumed, of course, that it wouldn’t be an issue since it wasn’t a classroom event. However, you were wrong. Riddle had come up to you shortly afterward, screaming about indecency. You’d barely had time to pull away from the man you’d been kissing before Riddle collared you. 

You turned around, attempting to find Che’nya. Instead, you just saw his smile, before even that disappeared from view. Silently, you cursed him, but you couldn’t help but giggle as you saw a pair of bunny ears appear behind Riddle’s head. 

Neige Leblanche - 

You were only meant to help Neige with adjusting his costume. They were running low on staff that day, and Vil had requested you come onto the shoot with him. But then, the zipper on the back of Neige’s costume had gotten stuck, and it wasn’t as if they had anyone else to assist. 

You hadn’t really meant to kiss him, either. You’d just spied a beauty mark on his back and you’d acted on instinct, tracing your hand up his spine to it. He’d shivered and leaned back into you, and you’d kissed the mark. Then, Neige just seemed to react so positively that you didn’t stop. Every beauty mark you could see was kissed, before you moved onto his freckles and a line up the bumps of his spin. 

You heard a slamming on the door, making you jump back. Without another moment to spare, you grabbed Neige and zipped his costume up. He opened the door quickly to reveal Vil standing before you, his arms crossed and a scowl on her beautiful face. Luckily enough for Neige, he was needed on set and could skip the lecture Vil gave you before he fixed your makeup and went back to work. Hopefully, the costume department wouldn’t notice anything amiss. 

Rielle Corallia - 

Rielle was visiting you at Ramshackle unannounced. You were certain that he was simply used to it being alright as the youngest prince of the Coral Sea, but it had still ticked you the wrong way. At first, at least. But he kept being so cheerful and helpful whenever he came over that you began allowing him to. 

Rielle had been curious about your lipstick for a long time. One day, you agreed to let him watch you put it on. Upon dabbing the excess off, he asked if that was what you always did, as well as what the many other lipstick shades Vil had given you looked like. You, not wanting to waste so many tissues, had begun using Rielle’s face to remove the leftovers. Soon, he was covered in cartoonish lipstick marks. 

A pounding rescinded throughout Ramshackle. You turned quickly, and there was Ace, glaring at you through the window next to the door. Rielle, ever the optimistic merman, quickly waved at him with a big, dopey grin on his face. You sighed, but couldn’t resist a smile. He really was the cutest… 

Minajael Tealrajah - 

Minajael and you had snuck away from the crowd of a royal ball. The golden light of the ballroom was dazzling, but it could be too much sometimes. The atmosphere of the still chilly garden was much better. Tucked away in a private spot, you could still hear the music playing. Minajael offered you his hand, and you took it, content to dance the night away with him. 

Dancing soon turned to kissing, and kissing soon turned to more. His hands were on your hips, making you lose track of time. It was like the world was closing in around the two of you. The vines growing around you was the shelter Minajael needed from the crushing weight of nobility. He’d been forced to dance with some foreign princess early in the night, but even then, you were the only one on his mind. 

You heard his guards closing in, but Minajael only smirked. Within an instant, you were lifted into his arms like a bride and carried as he ran further from the palace. The music of the ballroom faded into the chirping of crickets and gentle calls of owls in the night. You gasped, but Minajael only seemed entertained. You pecked his cheek again. He deserved it. 

Rollo Flamme - 

Rollo had come to visit you at Ramshackle. He hadn’t expected much, but the beat-up dorm somehow managed to go below even his small expectations. Who could live like this? Those wizards were truly despicable if they were making an angel like you live in this horrible place. 

Rollo had to convince you otherwise when you defended that damned school. They didn’t deserve your kindness. None of them did, not the princes nor the peasants. It wasn’t fair that they got to see you everyday. You should be attending classes with him. You should be his. No one would ever love, no, worship you as Rollo could. There would never be another man once he’d had his way with you once. 

You buried your face in the pillow, groaning. He was so annoying.

And yet—your feet were already moving.

When you pushed open the bedroom door, Cater was sitting up, phone in hand, eyes flicking up to meet yours the second you walked in. His pout deepened, exaggerated and just barely pathetic enough to make your resolve crumble.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“But you love me,” he singsonged, setting his phone aside and opening his arms wide, waiting.

You tried to fight it, but the corners of your lips twitched despite yourself. That was all the encouragement he needed. With a soft, satisfied hah, Cater wrapped his arms around you the second you got close, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, warm against your skin.

You sighed, resting against him. “I’m sorry too.”

He squeezed you a little tighter before pulling back just enough to reach for his phone.

You rolled your eyes. “Cater.”

He grinned, not even pretending to feel guilty.

A second later, your phone buzzed. When you glanced at the screen, there it was—a final post. A simple picture of your hands together, warm and steady beneath the sheets.

reunited <3

Floyd Leech

The argument had been bad. Not the usual push-and-pull of Floyd’s unpredictable moods, not the teasing jabs that sometimes went too far—this had been real, raw, and biting in a way that made your chest ache.

You knew better than to expect an apology right away. Floyd wasn’t wired for that. So, with your pride stinging and your patience worn thin, you grabbed a blanket, made your way to the couch, and flopped down with your back stubbornly turned toward the bedroom.

Which, in hindsight, was a mistake.

Because if you’d been facing the bedroom, maybe—maybe—you would have had some warning before the Floyd-shaped projectile came flying toward you at full speed.

A thud, a weight collapsing onto you, and suddenly your whole world was Floyd—arms, legs, and far too much Floyd as he sprawled across your body like a particularly annoying weighted blanket.

You let out a strangled noise. “Floyd—”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even pretend to move. Just settled more comfortably on top of you like this was the most natural thing in the world.

With a grunt, you attempted to shove him off, but he was all lean muscle and deadweight. He wouldn’t budge. Worse, he refused to look at you, his face half-buried against your shoulder, arms loosely draped around you like a net that would tighten if you tried to escape.

“…Seriously?” you huffed, exasperated.

A long silence. Then, barely above a mumble—

“Sorry.”

You blinked. “What?”

Floyd finally shifted, but only to grumble into your neck, voice muffled against your skin. “You’re my shrimpy. I thought you’d get it.” A pause, then a quiet, almost begrudging, “…But I guess I was a little mean.”

You sighed, the last remnants of your anger melting into something softer. Floyd wasn’t the type to say sorry outright. For him, this was already pushing it.

With another sigh, you gave up and wrapped your arms around him.

Immediately, Floyd perked up, and before you could prepare yourself, he bit you—just a little nip against your shoulder, affectionate in that ridiculous way of his. When you startled, he looked up at you, grinning now, sharp teeth on full display.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re the worst.”

“And you love me~”

Unfortunately, he was right.

With a tired chuckle, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling the way his grin softened just a little. He snuggled closer, his grip tightening around you, and just like that, the argument was behind you.

Floyd let out a pleased hum, already half-asleep. “M’keeping you here forever.”

You weren’t even going to try fighting him on that.

Silver Vanrouge

You still weren’t entirely sure how you had managed to get into an argument with Silver of all people. Silver, who was usually so calm, so patient, so utterly unbothered by most things. And yet, somehow, words had been exchanged, tempers had flared, and now you were lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the pang of guilt gnawing at you.

The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves outside your window. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to sleep—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You frowned, cracking an eye open.

The sound came again, a soft pecking against the glass. Dragging yourself up with a sigh, you turned toward the window—only to be met with the sight of the cutest little bird, perched delicately on the sill.

You blinked. The bird tilted its head.

It had a tiny note tied to its leg.

Cautiously, you opened the window and untied the parchment, unfolding it with careful fingers.

"Sorry."

Your lips parted. You stared at the single-word apology, written in Silver’s neat, earnest handwriting.

Before you could fully process the sheer adorableness of the gesture, a rustling noise caught your attention. You turned your head just in time to see a squirrel scurrying up onto the windowsill, a small piece of paper clutched in its tiny paws.

It held it out to you.

You took it.

"Sorry."

You pressed a hand over your mouth, overwhelmed by a mix of affection and disbelief.

Was he seriously sending an entire woodland brigade to apologize for him?

And, perhaps more importantly—if you didn’t go talk to him right now, would he escalate this? Would an entire procession of deer, rabbits, and possibly a very regretful-looking bear show up next?

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. There was no way you were sleeping now.

Before you left, you rummaged through your cabinets and grabbed a handful of nuts, scattering them gently on the windowsill. “I don’t accept free labor,” you muttered, watching as the squirrel eagerly took a hazelnut before scampering off. The bird gave a happy chirp before fluttering away.

With that taken care of, you made your way to the bedroom.

The moment you stepped inside, he was already sitting up, eyes immediately locking onto yours. He looked a little sheepish, his usual composed demeanor softened with quiet guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, without hesitation. “I shouldn’t have let it turn into an argument.”

You exhaled, the last remnants of your irritation slipping away entirely. He was so sweet, so sincere, and you couldn’t even be mad anymore.

Stepping forward, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry too,” you murmured. “Now, let's go to bed."

Silver didn’t argue. He simply nodded, slipping under the blankets, his expression peaceful now.

As you settled beside him, he hesitated for only a moment before murmuring, “Did the bird get to you first or the squirrel?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Bird.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I was going to send a rabbit next.”

You buried your face into his shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. “Go to sleep, Silver.”

And finally, you both did.

Rollo Flamme

The argument had left you drained, annoyance simmering just beneath your skin as you curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket over yourself with a sharp tug. You didn’t want to be this upset—Rollo could be infuriating, stubborn in ways that tested your patience, but you knew he didn’t argue without reason. Still, the weight of his words, the heat of the exchange, had made retreating seem like the best option.

At some point, exhaustion overtook frustration, and you drifted into uneasy sleep.

But then—dry throat, groggy mind—you stirred awake, an undeniable thirst pulling you from your rest. With a sigh, you pushed the blanket aside and padded toward the kitchen, the dim light of the apartment casting long shadows against the walls.

That’s when you noticed it—the faint glow beneath the bedroom door.

You hesitated, frowning. He was still awake?

Curiosity, or maybe guilt, urged you forward. Carefully, you peeked inside.

Rollo was pacing. Back and forth, hands buried in his hair, tension lining his shoulders. He looked wrecked—a man on the verge of either an epiphany or a breakdown.

Your heart squeezed.

You hadn't expected this. Hadn’t expected him to be just as shaken, just as restless.

Stepping inside, you barely made a sound, but he noticed instantly. His head snapped up, eyes widening.

For a second, he didn’t move. Then he took a step toward you, hands twitching at his sides, reaching out just barely before curling into hesitant fists. He stopped himself, as if afraid you’d pull away, as if unsure whether he had the right.

Your breath hitched. The sight of him—always so composed, now uncertain—made the last of your irritation fade.

Wordlessly, you closed the distance and took his hand.

The moment your fingers intertwined, you felt the tension in him unravel. His shoulders slumped, his grip tightening around yours, a quiet exhale escaping his lips. He held on like he needed the touch to ground him.

“I took it too far,” he murmured, voice raw with sincerity. “I shouldn’t have—”

“I know,” you interrupted softly. “And…I shouldn’t have either.”

His gaze met yours, searching, still unsure. You squeezed his hand, and that was all it took.

Rollo relaxed, expression melting into something exhausted, something relieved. He nodded, as if accepting an unspoken truce.

Neither of you needed to say anything else.

When you led him to bed, he followed without question. And when you pulled him into your arms, his body molded against yours with an ease that made it clear just how much he had needed this.

Within minutes, the tension that had kept him awake finally loosened its grip. His breathing evened out, his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, and for the first time since the argument, Rollo fell asleep— warm and finally at peace.

Even beaten, burned, and dressed in the evidence of your blasphemy, you were a wondrous thing to behold. He had tried to be gentle in your recovery, but between managing the fire lotuses’ spread and fending off your previous captors (because, surely, you wouldn’t endure the company of such heathens willingly), there hadn’t been much room for delicacy. Bruises circled your wrists, forming defined rings underneath the braided cord that kept your hands safely bound above your head. Ash and debris coated your hair, your skin from where you had nobly but futilely attempted to save the citizens of Fleur City from their inevitable redemption. Your masquerade dress was tattered and sullied, but that was fine. He would fetch you other clothes, finer clothes. Under his care, you would want for nothing.

Already, you wore a testament to his reverence around your neck. A golden collar, polished dutifully enough to shine and engraved with reliefs of lotus blooms and curling vines. A thin chain kept it tethered to the headboard, your leash secured by a fastener for which only he possessed the key. It looked lovely against your skin, rising and falling in time with your steady breathing. He’d been waiting to see it hanging from your throat for quite some time, now. Since the day he met you.

Really, he ought not to let you wear it. It was a thing of beauty, of purity. You were beautiful, but not of purity. Not ye—

“Uh… Hello?”

Ah.

He hadn’t expected you to wake up so soon.

Thankfully, he’d thought to blindfold you. Rollo watched you turn your head from side to side, tugging uselessly at your bondage for a few more blissful moments before sighing, crossing the threshold, and making his way to your bedside.

You were talking, by then, your voice light and level. You were making an effort to sound calm, clearly, but your fear shone through in the stilted lilt of each word, of how often you cut yourself off to let out a breathy laugh or gnaw at the inside of your cheek. “Ace, I swear to God—” And then, thinking better of it, “Deuce, if you’re trying to freak me out, it’s not funny.”

He offered no response. You hadn’t thought to call for him yet, but that was fine. Stumble through the dark for a few more seconds. You would be that much more grateful when he showed you the light.

That was what he’d planned to do, at least. And then, that terrible name slipped past your perfect lips, and he no longer felt so patient.

“…Malleus?”

It took more effort than he would’ve liked to bite back his scowl. Immediately, he was reaching for you, tearing away the strip of fabric and cupping your chin as you blinked up at him. A small smile spread over your lips as you recognized the face of your true savior — hesitant, but no less warm for its delay.

“Hi, Rollo.”

He nodded by way of response, and your gaze slipped past him, scanning over the bare stone walls of your bedroom. Again, you tugged at your restraints, letting your smile ebb. “I don’t— Is everyone okay? I remember losing track of Trein, and then— Where are we, exactly?”

Your thoughts were disordered, overlapping and repelling one another in turn. That was alright. He would make sense of your mind for you.

“Your companions are safe.” Unfortunately. The events of the masquerade had been… beyond his control. His plan, while brilliant, had been foiled by the antagonism of Night Raven College. He didn’t blame you. How could he? Such a powerless thing — you were no different from a scared animal, huddling in the smallest corner of its cage, too terrified to imagine what life may look like outside of the bars you’d lived inside of for so long. Too long. “You’re a few miles outside of Fleur City. This is the parish house — a luxury afforded to Noble Bell’s president so that they may pursue their studies unbothered.”

Luxury might’ve been too generous. Virtue came with modesty, and the parish was nothing if not modest. A few rooms of age-old stone populated only by books, simple wooden furniture, and the most humble of creature comforts. He would move you to his homey apartment in the city soon enough. For now, isolation was more important than comfort. It was vital that two of you should not be disturbed.

Judging by how quickly your smile had fallen away, it would seem you’d realized this, as well.

“What are you going to do to me?”

Direct, cutting, magnificent in your simplicity. Rollo softened, letting his hand drift to the top of your head and petting the debris out of your hair, sparing you the burden of a verbal response. Surely, you must’ve known by then that he was a man of faith.

And, when he was finished, you would be a reward worthy of his devotion.

~

Your first impression of Rollo Flamme was that, abandoning all attempts at eloquence, he was kind of a prick.

It was something about the eyes. If your time at Night Raven had taught you anything, it was how to identify a man who would eventually prove to be either a mild annoyance or a threat to your life on sight. Rollo, for all the deadpan niceties he’d offered during his initial introduction, had the coldest eyes you’d ever seen; prone to glancing off the person he was speaking to in favor of settling on some abstract point in the far distance. He hadn’t kicked any puppies yet, but you didn’t like it.

You were currently doing an excellent job of masking your distaste by loitering on the outskirts of Noble Bell’s courtyard, silently glowering at Azul as he tried to turn a guided tour into a networking opportunity. Deuce and Epel had briefly joined your quiet protest, only to abandon you when interrogating the student body president of a jarringly traditional arcane academy proved more engaging than your baseless paranoia. Ruggie and Riddle were similarly uninterested in your cause and Idia, the ball of white-hot anxiety that he was, had enough problems of his own to deal with. Not that you were in a very sympathetic mood. As far as you were concerned, you were surrounded by a lot of traito—

“Pouting so soon, beloved?”

Ah, right.

A lot of traitors, and your perfect boyfriend Malleus.

“I’m not pouting,” you sulked. You cast a withering glance to Rollo, now exchanging pleasantries with the Pomefiore representatives. “I don’t like the president. He’s very…”

“Formal?” suggested Malleus.

“Catholic.”

He pursed his lips. Confusion knit itself into the corners of his mouth, the wrinkle between his eyebrows, and beneath it, concern. Of course. It was so easy to forget how many parts of your world hadn’t carried over into this one, and how many more were lost on Malleus in particular. That might’ve been why you loved him so much. Even when he had no idea what the hell you were talking about, he still knew what you were trying to say. He still recognized that you were worried.

“You’re afraid Flamme might have ill intentions?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, I just—” You had a bad feeling. The same feeling you’d had when you first met Riddle, Leona, Azul. The same feeling that would’ve saved you a lot of time and a lot of pain if you’d just listened to your gut and run. “I don’t like him.”

You were making an effort to clip your words, but still, Malleus’ expression darkened. Of course. He’d been looking forward to this for weeks, ever since he found out he’d been personally invited. And here you were, ruining it for him because one of the organizers didn’t look very friendly.

You did what you could to play damage control. “But that shouldn’t matter. We’re here to have fun.” And then, taking his hand, “Besides, I’ve got you to protect me if anything goes wrong, right?”

Immediately, the shadow lifted. You’d been told that a not inconsiderable portion of Night Raven’s student body considered Malleus’ smile to be among the scariest things they’d ever seen. You weren’t sure why. It was hard to believe that anyone could be afraid of something so warm.

You were still admiring him when he interlaced his fingers with yours, tugging you closer. A hand found its way your cheek, then your jaw, cupping your chin and tipping your face up toward his. Less patiently, you threw your arms around his neck, dragging him down to your level and pulling him into a—

“And the Ramshackle prefect, of course.”

Cold as ice and just as sharp. You and Malleus separated in an instant — no better than two teenagers caught making out behind the bleachers during gym. Rollo stood in front of you, your classmates gathered behind him and those frigid eyes staring past you altogether.

It took a long beat for you to realize you were meant to respond, then another for you to scrounge something coherent up. “The one and only.”

You extended a hand. Rollo eyed it wearily.

“How rare it is, for a magician to be so…” He trailed off, the corner of his mouth curling back into a poorly disguised sneer. “So tactile.”

Okay. Ouch. Whatever. “It’s a good thing I’m not a magician, then,” you laughed. “Maybe I should’ve been more specific. The one and only magicless prefect of Ramshackle dorm, at your service.”

It was a defense mechanism, really. The faster you made it clear that you didn’t have a drop of magic, the sooner those drowning it would stop paying attention to you. Tragically, your disclosure seemed to have the opposite effect on Rollo. You’d begun to draw back as you spoke, but before you could fully pull away, he was lashing out — catching your hand with both of his. His gaze, previously lifeless and dismissive, was now unfalteringly focused on you.

“Magicless,” he repeated, as if all the air had been forced out of his lungs. “What a wondrous thing.”

You blinked at him, not sure what to say. Rollo seemed to catch himself, dropping your hand and clearing his throat. “Living among so many mages must be very taxing. I sincerely hope my city offers you a moment of respite.”

“I’m sure we’ll find more than a moment, Flamme.”

Malleus’ hand on your back, his body behind yours. Unconsciously, you melted against him, and Rollo’s eyes narrowed.

“Prince Draconia,” he drawled, his disinterest flooding back in full force. “Do enjoy the social.”

Without another word, Rollo turned on his heel, gesturing for your classmates to follow as he continued on through the courtyard. Malleus moved to keep up with the group, but you caught his sleeve, holding him back. You only explained yourself once you were sure the others were out of earshot.

“I think,” you started, tone dire. “that we got interrupted, earlier.”

“Oh?” And then, understanding dawning on him with a breathy chuckle, “You only ever need ask, my love.”

Malleus’ kiss was as sweet and as warm as his smile. And yet, even as you melted against him, your mind drifted back to steely grey and biting cold.

~

Purity, of course, was not easily won. You learned that quickly enough.

You put up more of a fight than Rollo had thought you capable of. You were still a meek thing, delicate in your inability, but your time among the barbarians must have endowed you with a misplaced confidence to fend for yourself. You never refused to eat or drink, but he could see the phantom of resistance playing across your expression every time he brought you a meal. You allowed him to dress you, but never without shying away from his hands or insisting that you could see to the task yourself. You didn’t try to escape from your collar, but you flinched when he reached for it. You didn’t trust him.

Your first real show of resistance came a month into your penance. At that point, you’d grown more comfortable — restless, even. Mistaking his self-restraint for kindness, you took to stretching the limits of your leash and sitting by the sole window in your chambers at all hours of the day, watching the empty countryside. After a few days of this, you finally grew bold enough to test the bars of your cage.

“Do you think—” He watched with rapt attention as you cut yourself off, pursed your lips, and tried again. “Would it be possible for me to go outside?” And then, when he failed to respond, “Just for a few minutes. Please.”

Needless to say, your insolence was insufferable. Rollo was delighted beyond words.

He made quick work of unanchoring your tether. The simple silver key was kept on a cord around his neck, where it would share your place next to his heart. Wrapping the now free end around his fist, he jerked once, pulling the chain taut. You stumbled to your feet, doe eyes wide with panic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Quiet.” Harsh, but effective. You shut your mouth as thoughtlessly as you’d opened it. “Come with me, unless you’d prefer to be dragged.”

Rollo moved towards the doorway. You didn’t follow, not immediately, but another tug corrected that. Without another sound, you felt into line behind him.

Rollo neglected most of the parish house. His needs were simple and the crumbling architecture was a pain to navigate. The only spaces that saw regular use were the kitchens, bedrooms, his study, and, of course, the chapel. But that was an excursion for another day.

For his current purposes, the study would suffice. This room was where he spent most of his time, which he supposed was more than evident in the clutter. Bookcases ran parallel along the east and west walls, each shelf filled to bursting, their miscellanea allowed to spill onto his writing desk. The only source of light was the low-burning fire in the hearth along the far wall — its flames made perpetual through enchantment. The best use of magic, if one could be said to exist. All utility without the emotion that so often led mages astray.

He pulled you in front of the fireplace, keeping your chain wrapped tight around his hand. Extinguished candles lined the mantelpiece. He lit a smattering, then turned to deal with you.

“Kneel.”

Again, he caught it — the beautiful spark of rebellion in your eyes. Still, you were smart enough not to act on it. Carefully, you lowered yourself to your knees, settling your weight on your ankles. Rollo rewarded your obedience with a stern nod.

“You asked me to leave.”

He watched your features tighten. “I asked to go outside,” you corrected.

“And what is it you were hoping to find, out there?”

“Fresh air. A change in scenery.” And then, under your breath, “A few minutes away from you.”

He hummed. “You can’t expect me to believe your heart’s desires are so simple.”

You pursed your lips, dropping your gaze to the floor and narrowing your eyes. So be it, then.

“Show me your hands. Palm up.”

You didn’t move. Again, he tugged on your chain, just hard enough to watch you jerk forward and catch yourself before, glowering, doing as you were bid to. He tried not to take satisfaction in the swiftness of your submission. Tried, and failed.

He plucked the tallest candle off of the mantle and, without the ceremony of hesitation, tipped it over your waiting hands. The melted wax that had accumulated around the wick poured out and over your palms, still hot enough to scald. You gasped and jerked back, but that was the thing about wax — it stuck. It took you precious seconds to wipe away the quickly drying residue, reveal angry reddened tracks beneath. Benevolent as he was, he let you nurse your burns for a long moment before going on.

“I’ll ask you again,” he said, replacing the candlestick and taking up another. “What do you think is waiting for you out there?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it just as quickly. Good. There was a thought or two rattling around in that empty head of yours, after all.

“The truth will not be punished.” He leaned down, petting his free hand over the top of your head. “Honesty is a virtue, no matter how ugly. But, there will be consequences if you lie again. Worse consequences,” he added, nodding to your red-streaked hands.

You nodded slowly, considering. “A way back to my own world,” you answered, finally. “Our headmage was working on sending me—”

He grabbed your collar, hauling you upward until your knees barely touched the ground. You grabbed for his hands, trying to pry him away, but he didn’t let your feeble attempts distract him from the task at hand — trickling wax down the tender underside of your throat, disappearing beneath the loose neckline of your nightgown. You whimpered, clenching your eyes shut. As if he would stray from his path for such a meager temptation.

He let go of your collar and you collapsed to the floor. He allowed himself a moment to watch as you gasped and pawed at your chest before retreating to the hearth and retrieving the poker propped next to it. It was an ugly, tarnished iron thing, charred from heavy use and little care. It would do you well to see what became of the things deemed unworthy of his love.

Your strained breathing kept him company as he held the spiked tip over the flames, waiting until the blackened metal glowed gold. Satisfied that its scald would not fade quickly, he returned to you — only just beginning to pull yourself off the floor.

“Penance will be necessary.” And then, gesturing to his boot with the white-hot spike, “Be quick about it.”

Your perfect eyes went very wide. For the first time, he thought you might have actually been frightened of him. “But, I didn’t—”

“My patience won’t last all night, dear lamb.”

You swallowed, then slackened. You fixed your gaze pointedly on the floor as you picked yourself up and closed the distance between you and him. Inelegantly, wondrously, you balled the hem of your nightgown in your fists, straddled the polished leather, and started to grind.

Rollo couldn’t help but smile. What a poor, sweet thing you were — moving mechanically back and forth, your lips pursed into a thin line as you clumsily humped his foot, the material of your panties creating even more friction as your cunt dragged over him. If he couldn’t help but treat you this way, he couldn’t imagine what you dealt with under the care of those ruffians. Speaking of—

“I’ll only ask one more time,” he began. Your hips bucked, and you glared decisively at his knee. He was quick to correct you — tangling his fingers in your hair and forcing your head back, making you look at him. “What is it you desire that you don’t believe I can provide for you?”

Your answer came quickly, this time, albeit hissed through clenched teeth. “Malleus.”

Rage and satisfaction flooded Rollo’s system in tandem, both scalding hot and gratifying beyond words. He tilted his foot back on his heel and your breath hitched, your pace stuttering. All it took was a tap of the firepoker against the floor for you to rally yourself, though.

Relaxing his hold on your hair, he dragged his blunt nails over your scalp. It was meant to be a reward, but you flinched away from his touch, too shy even to properly enjoy what you’d earned. But he could see it. A slick dampness coated the leather, drenching the seat of your panties a shade darker. How wonderful it was, to see you reaping the rewards of your good behavior.

“That’s to be expected.” And it was. He couldn’t expect you to purge yourself of such demons overnight. “You were manipulated, misled, made to believe that the perpetrators of your subjugation were attempting to free you. Of course you would hold on to some level of…” He trailed off, considering. “Of fondness. I have told you why you’re here, haven’t I?”

You shook your head. He could see something in the corner of your eyes, a shine more breathtaking than that of any precious gem. You sniffled miserably once, and then, the flood broke loose, tears streaming down your cheeks before you could so much as raise a hand to stifle them. You cried unabashedly, and he loved you all the more for it.

Allowing himself the smallest possible smile, he let his hand dip low enough to cup your chin. His thumb dragged over your cheeks, more to better admire your suffering than to wipe it away. “Magic is a powerfully corrosive force,” he explained, releasing you. Unsupported, your head lulled forward, coming to rest against his thigh. “Untended to, it strips away the things you hold dear. I can only imagine what you lost, surrounded by it so completely with so little preparation.”

You stiffened suddenly. There was another ragged drag of your hips, a small sound of pleasure, and then you were deliciously slack. He could see the arousal staining the inside of your thighs, dripping onto the stone of the floor beneath you. Proof of your dedication. Evidence of your redemption.

He leaned down, petting your hair flat and pressing his lips against the top of your head. Indulgently, he allowed himself to linger there, to speak against your skin. “Fear not,” he muttered, relishing how quickly you tensed against him.

“I will make you whole again.”

~

You’d been wrong. Rollo wasn’t a little prick.

He was a massive creep.

You were watching Malleus from the other side of the festival square when he approached you, taking in the show from a distance as your boyfriend set off miniature fireworks and conjured illusions for a growing audience of townspeople. You would’ve preferred to be next to him, of course, but the square was crowded and he so rarely found himself as an object of adoration, rather than one of fear. Even from a hundred feet away, you could see that he was smiling, and to know he was happy for enough of you.

You were just beginning to consider if it would be worth the trouble of joining your other classmates as they attempted to out-compete one another when you caught that pale figure looming in your peripheral, felt the tell-tale chill of those Ftricold eyes latching onto you. It was uncanny, really. He hadn’t talked to you again after that initial introduction, and yet, you were the only person he ever really seemed to look at.

You made a valiant effort to slip away, but he was surprisingly fast for a bookish mage — appearing as if by magic in your escape route. He greeted you by name, and then recognizing your sheepishness, added, “If you have a moment.”

You really didn’t, not for him, but Trein would skin you alive if you were anything less than perfectly polite to your host. You put on your best affable smile and tried not to look as flighty as you felt. “Of course. Anything you need.”

“What I need is of no concern.” His tone had the same flat, scalding frigidness as his gaze. You tried not to grimace as he positioned himself beside you, turning towards Malleus’ display. His expression was less schooled — the corner of his lips curling back as Malleus sent up another array of gold sparks. “Your companions are very… lively.”

You nodded eagerly, just glad he was staring down something that wasn’t you. “They’re excited.” Nodding toward Malleus, you added, “Malleus, especially.”

"You’re close to him, aren’t you?”

The question caught you off guard. Your relationship with Malleus wasn’t a secret, but you had been trying to tone things down ever since your rocky first impression. Aside from a few less-than-platonic comments whispered to one another during your tour of the city, the only time you’d even had a chance to speak to him was last night, when you’d sneaked out of your room to visit his. But Rollo couldn’t have known that. Not unless he’d been following you around since you arrived.

Maybe you weren’t as subtle as you’d been trying to be. Looking pointedly at the ground, you rallied and gave the only answer you could.

“Very.”

He nodded solemnly, as if you’d just told him about a very bad diagnosis rather than your very happy relationship. Malleus sent up another firework — this one black against the cloudless sky. There was a sound like thunder in a concrete box. You flinched into yourself, but Rollo never wavered.

“I understand that this world is not your own.”

You shook your head. “Not originally, no.”

He hummed. “How wonderful it is to imagine a reality without such—” His wrist flicked accusingly toward Malleus. “—waste. You must miss it dearly.”

You wondered absently if being skinned alive would really be so bad, after all. “I— Uh, I definitely used to, yeah.”

You didn’t hear him move, but when you glanced at him, his head had snapped in your direction. “Used to?”

You laughed. He didn’t.

“…I guess I’ve gotten pretty settled in here,” you said, shrugging. “There are a lot of things I’d miss from this world if I left now, too.”

You tried to hold your poker face, not to let your attention drift, but inevitably, your gaze flickered from Rollo to Malleus and back again as you considered what parts of your life you would miss too much to abandon outright. Something flashed across Rollo’s expression — scalding and sudden and severe — but it was gone before you could be completely sure it had been there at all. His scowl softened, then disappeared altogether. With a surprisingly lightness, he nodded his head, the hollows of his cheeks rounding in the faintest impression of a smile. “Of course. How foolish of me, to think you would be above sentiment. My humblest apologies.”

It was still more patronizing than you would’ve liked, but he seemed genuine enough. You beamed at him with your best ‘I don’t like you but I think it’ll significantly improve my chances of survival if we’re friends’ grin. “Don’t sweat it.”

It looked as if there was more he wanted to say, but students from other schools were starting to find their way to the square — drawn in by the barely controlled chaos of Night Raven’s, of course. His constant exasperation already beginning to settle back in, he looked toward them, conflict written into the purse of his lips, the new creases at the corners of his eyes.

“I get it,” you assured him. “Take care of your other guests. I’ll save a dance for you at the masquerade.”

This time, you definitely saw the edges of his lips quirk. Before you could ask what he found so funny, he was lost to the crowd. You waited a beat then, giving up on all pretenses of dignity, shouldered your way through the townspeople until you were at Malleus’ side. He wrapped his arm around your waist by way of greeting, pulling you against his side, either unaware or uncaring of your attempted nonchalance. You weren’t much better — burying your face in the side of his neck and groaning.

His tone was cloyingly sympathetic, if a bit amused. “Did Flamme upset you, again?”

So he’d been watching you, too. “He’s just so—” You cut yourself off with a groan. “He keeps prying, and I— I just don’t know what he wants.”

Malleus hummed. “What did he say to you, exactly?”

If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he sounded a little jealous.

“Nothing important. He just asked if I missed my own world — y’know, the magicless one.”

“And you told him…?”

You pulled back just far enough to peck his cheek. This was a game you’d played before. Every time Crowley discovered another false lead, every time you made the mistake of sharing a memory from your first home. “That I love my big, beautiful boyfriend too much to ever even consider leaving, and that someone would have to drag me away kicking and screaming before you ever got rid of me.”

He all-but purred with satisfaction, resting his forehead against yours. You let him pull you closer, kiss the corner of your jaw, but for whatever reason, the affection abruptly felt shallow, cold. You’d come to him for comfort. You couldn’t entirely convince yourself that was what you’d gotten.

Somehow, even wrapped in his arms, you felt as cold as you had standing next to Rollo.

~

After your confession, your behavior improved drastically. There was no more sitting by the window, no more tugging on your collar, no more begging for a life that would ultimately see you drained away and broken down. You listened when he spoke. Your eyes took on the glassy, dewy sheen of a proper lamb, a lamb aware of its need for guidance.

Best of all, you began to seek him out. He would never allow something as precious as you to wander freely, of course, but he couldn’t bring himself to punish you for stretching your leash to meet him by your bedroom door, for asking so sweetly if you could join him while he worked in his study. Finally, after weeks of carefully sowing your curiosity, you raised the question he’d been waiting so, so very long to hear.

“When you said you would make me whole,” you began, in your adorably sheepish way. All downcast eyes and kneading hands and perfectly pursed lips. “What did you mean?”

Rollo couldn’t help himself — cupping your face with both hands and kissing the top of your head.

Finally, it was time for you to visit the chapel.

With your chain in-hand, he led you down the long barren aisle, your procession gated by stone pews that had sat empty longer than they ever could’ve possibly been occupied. An elevated stone slate stood proudly at the front of the hall — your altar. All idols and paraphernalia had been done away with long ago, but Rollo didn’t mind the emptiness. False gods were not what he planned to worship, tonight.

He brought you in front of the altar and curled your chain around his fist. “Derobe at your leisure.”

You hesitated, but only for a moment. He watched as you swallowed the urge to demand an explanation and dutifully began to tug at the laces of your dress. Your faith was blind, your devotion bone-deep.

You were perfect.

Unbound, your dress slid from your shoulders and pooled at your feet, your panties joining the heap a moment later. Rollo took your hand, guiding you forward and onto the altar. You faced outward, your legs dangling off the edge. Your arms rose instinctively to cover your chest, your thighs pressing together despite his closeness. You looked so incredibly small like that — surrounded by harsh rock and stone, exposed and shrunken into yourself. He couldn’t imagine how you’d survived for so long before he found you. He couldn’t imagine how you’d made it a single day in that dragon’s den without being eaten alive.

The thought of Malleus — the abrupt awareness of a stain on your otherwise unblemished purity — caused something ugly and hot to rouse within Rollo. He kissed you before the heat could fade, quickly and deeply with enough force to bruise. You froze against him, and had he been more coherent, he might’ve thought to chastise you for your ungratefulness. As it was, his mind had already moved on to other things. More important things.

His mouth fell lower, catching on your neck, then your chest. Your hands shot to his shoulders as his lips sealed around one of your nipples, laving over the sensitive bud with the flat of his tongue. He would never dare to leave a mark on you, but the temptation was beyond words. He could only be grateful that callous heathen hadn’t managed to scar what Rollo sought to restore.

Unable to separate from your chest, his hand found the space in-between your clenched thighs. You parted your legs obediently as he cupped your sex, finding that you were already adorably wet. Using two fingers to gather your excess slick, he savored the feeling of you — so wonderfully soft under his fingers, his tongue. He pressed the pad of his thumb, calloused from years of late nights spent writing, against your clit and drank in the way you squirmed against him. This was the way it ought to be, he decided somewhere in the deepest, darkest, most selfish pit of his mind. You, bared in all of your glory, and him, worshiping at your holy altar.

And you were coming apart so beautifully for him. You gasped as he eased two lean fingers into you, your hands finding his hair. He wanted to be gentle with you, but you made it so difficult. Every movement of his hand, every lap of his tongue was accompanied by yet another of your pitiful noises, each more heartbreaking than the last. Before he could remember himself, he was spreading his digits apart too widely, flicking his wrist too roughly, biting down too hard not to break the skin. He tasted blood, heavy and heady and sweet as heaven, and could not bring himself to regret his sacrilege.

He was kinder to you than the dragon would ever be. He treated you more gently than a drooling, power drunk beast could ever think to. He loved you more than Malleus ever had, and that was why he got to be the one biting into your collarbone, your throat. That was why he got to touch you with a roughness that might have been mistaken for irreverence, why he deserved to drink down the feeling of your cunt clenching around him, of your nails burrowing so harshly into his scalp. You moaned something incomprehensible, but Rollo only heard the ringing of church bells. The distorted drawl of his own name.

There was no time for further preparations. He pulled back from you, turning your body over so that the edge of the altar pressed into your stomach. It was inelegant, but efficient. As you scrambled to find your footing, he brushed his own robes aside and took his cock in one hand, steadying your hips with the other. You made a small sound — the first syllable of a half-choked protest — only to fall silent as he thrust into you. As you ought to. There was nothing to fight against.

Not when he fit so perfectly inside of you.

The euphoria was unbearable. He shut his eyes, leaning against your back. He might have stayed there for another hour, another day, another hundred years had it not been for the ragged sob that slipped past your lips — wretched and ugly. “I— I changed my mind,” you stammered. “I don’t want to— Please, stop—”

He shut you up with a harsh thrust. Your voice cut out into nothing, anything you may have gone on to say replaced by a hitched whimper as he began to move in earnest. He retained himself to short, stilted motions — content that he should never leave you completely. A lamb should never be without its shepherd, after all.

“You asked me to make you whole again,” he explained benevolently, although his voice could hardly be heard above the sound of skin against skin, of your nails seeking purchase in unrelenting stone. “And I will.”

He curled an arm around your waist, pulling you that much closer. His hand found your lower stomach as his cock twitched against the warm, welcoming walls of your cunt. One part of your body was grateful for his worship, at least.

“No matter how long it takes to sow the seed.”

He felt you stiffen underneath him. His steady pace grew more frantic in response.

“But, I don’t—”

“Nonsense.” His lips on the shell of your ear, his body draped over yours. For a brief moment, the world was just pleasure and warmth and the two of you, perfectly fitted against one another. As it should’ve always been. “It’s not as if there’ll be anywhere else in this world for you, once I’m finished.”

It began very slowly, then seemed to happen all at once. The tension left your shoulders. Your knees bent, and a moment later, your legs went slack altogether, leaving Rollo to hold you up. By the time he reached his climax, pressing into you as he spilled open, you lay still over the altar. Your eyes had taken on a blurred, unfocused quality. There was no curiosity, no malice, no spark. If he hadn’t known better, he might’ve thought there was no life at all.

His spend dripped down the inside of your thighs. Still buried inside of you, he felt himself harden again.

“You understand, don’t you?”

Your head barely moved. You might’ve nodded, or it may just have been a trick of the light. Either way, it didn’t matter.

He’d already begun to move again.

~

But, above all, Rollo Flamme was a self-righteous fool.

You played dead as he scraped you off the stone slate and carried you back to bed. He took you again — once or twice, there was really no point keeping track — then fell asleep beside you. You never made a sound, not after the first time he came inside of you. You didn’t move. If it’d been possible, you would’ve stopped breathing, too.

He held you close as he slept, his dependence an unfortunate convenience. It took you endless, aching minutes to wriggle out of his arms and even longer to carefully lift the key around his neck over his unwitting head. You unlocked the fastener that kept you bound to the bedpost, coiling the now unanchored chain around your wrist. There was nothing you could do about the collar, at the moment. For that alone, you hated Rollo more than anything.

You wanted a bath. You wanted to scrub yourself clean with a nail file. You wanted to throw yourself into the fireplace and roast until your skin had all peeled away and uncovered something new and untouched beneath. You settled for snagging a nightgown out of your armoire and creeping your way silently through the parish, the stone cold as ice against your bare feet. Beyond the bars on the windows and the collar around your neck, Rollo had taken laughable little security measures. You didn’t stumble across any enchantments, and you didn’t spot any wards carved among the decorative motifs. Even the main entryway was almost invitingly undefended — void of protection save for a single iron bar across the inside of the door. Of course. He’d already explained himself. He hadn’t wanted to keep you here forever.

Just long enough for you to forget that you could leave.

You clenched your jaw and slid the iron bar out of place, throwing the door open in the same motion. For the first time in months, you stepped out of Rollo’s home and into the waiting night.

Malleus was there in less than a moment.

Whatever chance you might’ve had to savor the fresh air, to bask under the starry sky, to stare out at the distant lights of an all-but unknown city and simply decide what to do next was stripped away in a flash of green light, a wave of fresh heat. He materialized immediately in front of you, as solid as stone and as all-encompassing as shadow. You blinked up at him, half disbelieving and half happy beyond words. Or, attempting to be happy, at least. You wanted so badly to be happy to see him.

Malleus, for his part, seemed less strained. He was smiling fiercely. He began to raise a hand to your cheek, but you flinched away before he could make contact — pressing yourself flush against the parish door. “Please,” you managed, through gritted teeth. “Don’t.”

His smile fell away in an instant. For the first time, he seemed to look at you, his fire-warm eyes raking over your disheveled form until they caught on the collar around your neck. His hand came up again, but this time, his fingers merely slipped underneath the polished gold. At the same time, you heard frantic footsteps, felt the door behind you pull away. You didn’t have to look back to be sure.

There was only one voice that could ever possibly be so frigid.

“Draconia.”

In an instant, Malleus’ smile had returned. He dipped his head low, ghosting his lips over the top of your head and tightening his hold on your collar as you tried desperately to get away. “You will not be leaving me again, my dear,” he muttered into your hair. And then, to Rollo, “I believe we have a matter of great importance to discuss.”

You tried to feel something, anything. Betrayal. Devastation. Despair. Instead, the gaping absence inside of you only seemed to fester. The hole grew larger. The cold and the heat, each more unbearable in turn.

Rollo had been right. There had been something vital inside of you, and now it was gone. Only, he’d thought he could repair the corruption. You knew better.

Neige LeBlanche

Rollo Flamme

Ernesto Foulworth

Skully J. Graves

⸝⸝ ꒰ FELLOW HONEST & GIDEL ꒱ ⸝⸝

❝ From now on you may call us Fellow Honest and Gidel! ❞ You felt your eye twitch. The ceramic mug in your hand would have certainly splintered by now if it wasn't for the fact that you refused to waste a perfectly good appliance on someone as infuriating as Ernesto, er, Fellow.

"What?" The mug slightly shakes in your hold as you bring it to your lips, drinking a nice long sip of tea. Something Rollo had brought when he had moved in; said it relaxed him. From the fast beating of your heart, the calming effects weren't working as desired. "Why would you choose that as your name?"

Ernesto Fellow brought a hand to his chin, a contemplative expression on his face. Suddenly he snapped his fingers like he suddenly got an idea. "Well, it was between that or Ernest Friend."

"Why would it be between that or Fellow Honest!" You slammed the mug onto the table, chair legs screeching against the wooden floor as you shoot up from your seat. "Those are the fakest sounding names ever!"

Fellow theatrically sighs, leaning back in his chair across from you, not granting you a response. You feel your blood pressure spike the longer you stare at his stupidly smug face.

To distract yourself you turn your head to the younger sibling. Gino Gidel's as quiet as ever, his head just barely reaching the table he sits at. He gleefully sips on the hot chocolate you bitterly made for him.

It's hard to stay mad when looking at a kid so cute, though that feeling quickly vaporizes as he catches your glance and shares the smug expression of his older brother. With one hand still holding the hot chocolate, he grabs his comedically large mallet and waves it at you in some sort of warning.

You have the irrational urge to throw a chair at him.

Turning your attention back to Fellow, you cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. "I know the security isn't outstanding but how did you manage to sneak into Night Raven. Or better yet, Ramschakle!" You find yourself glaring at the walls, hoping that the ghosts hiding within can sense your agitation.

Vocalizing a 'tsk, tsk', Fellow straightens up with concerning speed, grinning at you like he just won the lottery. He folds his hands together, eyes sharp. "Me and that stu—sharp headmage of yours came to an agreemen—"

"You blackmailed him didn't you."

His smile droops, eyes narrowing. "Has anyone told you how annoying you are?"

⸝⸝ ꒰SKULLY J. GRAVES꒱ ⸝⸝

❝ Get down from there! What on Earth are you three doing?! ❞ The trio froze like weeping angel statues, standing completely still even when you stomped over to the nice stack they created; Fellow held a sitting Rollo on his shoulders while Rollo had a standing Gidel on his. The closest you had seen the three be since the brothers had moved in. (You couldn’t remember the last time they were in each other’s vicinity without an argument starting. Or worse, a fistfight.) Gidel stood on his tippy-toes on Rollo's shoulder, hands reaching out and almost grasping a painting that hung from the wall.

"Cleaning." A scoff escaped your throat as you peered up at him. You certainly hadn't expect Rollo (whom you considered the most reliable in this dorm of villains) to play along. They didn't even have any cleaning appliances in their hands!

You pointed an accusatory finger in Fellow's face, he took a step back, causing the two on his shoulders to gasp. "You're trying to take down the painting!"

Immediately cracking under your accusation, he got in your face, the two on his shoulders wobbled. "I don't want that creepy thing watching us eat!"

"You're so rude! Don't insult him!"

"You've already lost it! You're talking about it like it's a person!"

"That's because--" Your words caught in your throat. You adverted your gaze from Fellow's, voice mellowing out. "He is--was one." For some odd reason, you felt protective of white-haired boy depicted in the frame.

Fellow gave you a bewildered look, confused by your random change in personality. Before he could comment on it, Rollo cut through the tension.

"Where did you acquire such a painting? I know you don't have the funds for such an antiquity." You grew awfully quiet, looking down at your feet and playing with your hands.

"y'know...I just...came across it."

There was silence for a moment. Fellow's head tilted to the side, then like a light bulb appeared above his head, brightened and straightened his head back into its original position with a soft 'pop!'. His jaw dropped, ears perking up.

"You stole it from the headmage!"

You snapped your head back up. "I did not!"

A boisterous laugh escaped Fellow's throat, he threw his head back, at least as much as he could with two people still on his shoulders. Rollo stared down at you with a disapproving look. You had no doubt that if he could move his arms from supporting Gidel's legs he would be using them to cover his face with his handkerchief.

"It did suddenly appear after you said Crowley forced you to clean out a storage room." Rollo surmised. "I heard Grim mumbling something about Halloween."

"Who do you think I am?" You huffed. "I would never--"

"hmm, was that not what happened?"

An unfamiliar voice. The four of you froze and like a cheesy horror movie, slowly turned your heads towards the source of the sound.

A translucent face poked out from the painting, red eyes that Fellow complained about glanced at all of your faces. Taking each one in. A sheepish grin emerged on his white face.

"Boo?"

There was a sharp inhale. Your heart skipped a beat, Fellow took a step back, Rollo's mouth open to shout something, Gino wobbled, only inches away from the ghost's face.

"Place us dow-!"

A high-pitched yell reverberated throughout the hall as Fellow hightailed it out of there, barely making it a few steps before two bodies crushed onto him, and then to the floor.

You remained frozen, eyes unmoving from the boy as he fully stepped out of the painting. The faint familiarity you felt spread like a fire on a dry bush, but for the life of you, you couldn't pinpoint from where.

"Ah, I'm sorry!" He floated down to the pile of groaning bodies on the floor. "I didn't mean to scare you all that badly!"

You weren’t fond of the sudden increase in roommates that you had gotten in the past few weeks, but for some odd reason your heart seemed to soften. This situation was technically your fault, wasn't it? It was now your responsibility to take care of the ghost you had brought into your home.

⸝⸝ ꒰OMAKE꒱ ⸝⸝

—❝ Mwrah! I’m hungry! What’s for dinner tonight? ❞ Grim squirmed in your grasp, nails awkwardly digging into your shirt.

You pulled him away from your body, holding him by his armpits. "Stop fighting me! We'll figure it out when we get there!"

You heard Rollo scoff and Fellow giggle from somewhere behind you. Slightly turning your head over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed as you watched the two attempt to hide their smirks, Rollo with a gloved hand over his mouth and Fellow with stuffing his face into his shoulder.

At least they were getting along. Even if it was at your expense.

Contemplating Grim's question, you held him on your shoulder, ignoring his annoyed yelps. All the leftovers had been finished the night before so that was out of the question. You could order takeout? But that would involve you having to go into to town to pick it up. It was either that or paying the extra delivery fee to get it delivered to some random building at the back of an arcane academy. Furthermore, you were pretty positive that this group wouldn't be able to scrounge up the cash for such a thing. That only left one option, making your own dinner. With a freehand, you ruffled Gidel's hair as you overtook his weirdly large strides. But what? Searching through your mind you suddenly gasped, make the three behind you temporarily pause.

“Oh wait!" You twirled around the face the three, ignoring the squawk of Grim still on your shoulder. "There was a mini sale at Sam’s on Monday. I bought some romaine. We could totally make a salad.” Fellow made a face, but didn’t complain. Gidel skipped along the stone path at a slightly faster pace, enthusiastically rubbing him stomach.

“Ugh, Salads?” Grim finally scrambled out of your hold. “I want tuna!”

Shaking your head, you sighed. “Well I could throw in some tuna in,” Grim perked up. “But only if you do your homework!” The direbeast nodded his head enthusatically.

Rollo’s steps paused from behind you. “Romaine?” He readjusted his bag, giving you a quizzical stare at your steps slowed to match his. “Are you referring to the lettuce?”

Oh right. The Roman Empire didn’t exist here. You never would’ve thought that would have mattered.

“Oh..yeah.” Guess you learn something new every day. "But anyway," you cleared your throat. "Epel said the package of his apples should've made it today. The ghost should've been able to bring it in." Fellow's face brightened, and much like his brother, he too had an increased pep in his step.

The dorm came into view just as the sun started to sink below the skyline. Grim ran ahead, on all fours, and quickly hopped up the steps of Ramshackle. Just as he reached for the doorknob, a translucent face passed through, widely smiling at the direbeast. In return, Grim yowled and scurred back over to your side, shouting obscenities at the ghost.

"Hey Skully," You instinctively held out your hand. Like clockwork he place a cold kiss onto the back of your palm. Your head turned side-to-side, observing the empty front porch. "I take it you brought in Epel's package?"

The ghost grinned, flying is slow, languid circles over your head. "Of course! I made sure the other ghosts didn't scare that poor delivery boy....too badly." Then, as if suddenly remembering the other roommate existed, he floated over to them.

Grim, still angry at the scare, swatted as Skully neared, his paw not doing anything but going through his body. Skully relented and made his way to Rollo.

The teen in question gracefully side-stepped the ghost with a practiced ease, making his way to the side of the dorm. "I will be harvesting the grapes if you need me." He shot a glare at the ghost. "Don't follow."

As Rollo trotted off, Fellow attempted, key word attempted, to sneak past the spirit, only to shout as if his tail had been stepped on as Skully's kiss graced his hand. With a disgusted expression, the man trudged inside, muttering something about washing his hands. You yelled at him to grab the apples while he was in the kitchen.

Unlike his brother, Gidel accepted his fate and only looked away as Skully kissed the back of his covered hand. The boy made his way inside and the door slammed behind him.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Skully awkwardly laughed, continuing to spin in circles around you.

"Good day?"

"As good as it can be."

The hours passed by quickly. Just as agreed, sitting on a highchair at the dining room table, Grim was doing his homework. Or, at least attempting to. Skully floated behind him, pointing out questions that he got wrong. The teen was definitely trying his best to explain the concept, though he seemed a little out of his element. Whether that was because he had been dead for while and had simply forgotten or he hadn't actually died as a teenager, you weren't quite sure.

Heaving the tray out of the oven, you were delighted to see a handful of dehydrated apples in prime condition. You felt the presence behind you before you saw it. Instinctively, you slapped the hand away from you, grabbing a long cooking spoon, turning around, and slapping the vagrant in one smooth motion.

Fellow feigned pain, holding his arms over his face. He attempted to smile, put on a facade of professionalism, though you could see irritation swimming in his eyes. "Hey! Hey! I just wanted a taste. I need to make sure you're doing it right." You scowled, holding the spoon over your head as he attempted to reach and pluck one from the tray.

"You can wait ten minutes!" Your eyes searched for a familiar white hair and your scowl deepened as you saw Rollo knee deep into tutoring Gidel. "Go sit back down! You need to learn!"

His shoulders sagged and a loud groan escaped his lips. To your surprise, he listened to you, mumbling how you were no fun and stomping back over the couch and taking a seat next to his brother. Rollo shot him a scathing look but didn't stop his ministrations. You relieved until you saw the fox's hand shoot to his mouth and his start jaw moving. Gasping, you snapped back towards the tray. A slice was missing.

You grit your teeth and bared it, not wanting to start a fight. Dinner would be ready soon.

As you reached over to the basket of freshly picked grapes, knife in hand, you couldn't help but let a small smile grow on your face.

They were annoying, caused trouble, and always seemed to have a problem with each other.

In all honesty, these roommates of yours probably decreased your quality of life. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

Thankfully, you texted him that everyone is taking care of their own tsums which relieved him greatly. He doesn’t need the problems of magic users to be yours as well.

He did find it peculiar that there isn’t the usual number of tsums in the picture you sent to him. That was until he heard the faintest of knocks on his door.

He opened it to find no one there until he looked down and saw…a tsum version of you.

So that’s where the last one went.

Before anyone could see, he swept tsum you up into his hands and shut the door to his dorm room. He stared and stared at the tsum contemplating what he should do until it tilted its head in confusion, a sight most familiar to him due to a certain someone (*cough* you obviously *cough*).

He let your tsum follow him around like a lost puppy as he did his student council duties until that evening where you visited him saying that the portal is opening soon.

Admittedly he was a little sad considering this was the closest he got to spending the day with you without it needing to be a holiday, but eventually he gave the little mini you back and said your goodbyes as you made your way back to NRC.

He went back to his dorm room shortly after, the silence with nothing but the flickering of the fireplace was interrupted by his phone buzzing

"There's a fair near NRC in a week, do you wanna come with me :) ?"

A small smile played on his face as he stared at the text you sent him, "Of course, I'll finish my work immediately to be with you" he replied.

(art by @ TsunTsun_tsunno on twitter)

SKULLY J. GRAVES

Scared. Like, pretty scared.

He assumed the worst and thought an evil witch cursed you to become a little stubby...thing...(he didn't know what to call it) that couldn't talk!

Then he saw five other students' little creatures and made his fears even worse, the entire school could've been cursed!

He took your tsum in his arms immediately and ran to the Headmage's office, ready to beg on his hands and knees to find a spell, whether forbidden or not, to turn you back.

As he opened the door, panting like he just ran from mortal danger, he saw you and other students speaking with the Headmage. He was stunned and thought to himself "If that's [Name], then who is this??"

Eventually he got an explanation from both you and the Headmage and he was relieved this wasn't a situation of cloning gone wrong either.

Throughout the day you would see him carrying and coddling your tsum with a smile. In classes it's sat on his lap as he wrote down notes, at lunch it sits on the table you and him are eating at and even occasionally offering it a bite of his food, and during PE placed on one of the benches a safe distance away from everyone participating in sports or broom flying (he doesn't want it getting hurt).

When it's time for the tsums to leave he's SO sad, literally crying as he lets go of your tsum and watches it levitate into the portal in the sky (the tsum doesn't have a hint of emotion on its face).

You have to remind him that the original you is still here but his argument is that he's was so happy with TWO of you 💔