#vera deville

The morning sun streamed through the open window, casting a sharp golden glow over the Savanaclaw dormitory. The air was thick with the remnants of a warm, still night, the silence settling over the room like a comforting blanket. Outside, the occasional rustle of something added a layer of quiet life to the peaceful atmosphere. It was a rare moment of tranquility, one that Leona Kingscholar, for all his bravado and stubbornness, would probably never admit to needing. But you knew better.

You had learned early on that the last thing Leona wanted was a big, noisy birthday celebration. Parties? He'd rather take a nap. Attention? He avoided it like a heatstroke. So, instead of throwing him a flashy bash with the entire school buzzing with activity (you'd leave that to someone else), you decided to give him something much more valuable.

Peace.

A slow morning that was entirely his own. And, if you were lucky, maybe a few moments of warmth that he wouldn't completely dismiss.

You stretched your arms above your head, stifing a yawn as you silently padded around the room. You'd awoken long before Leona's usual waking hour, knowing the time it would take to prepare everything. The note was simple. A single line of carefully written words on parchment (for the aesthetic), just as understated as the rest of the gesture.

"Happy Birthday, Leona. Take your time, it's just us today."

Next to it, you placed the wrapped book (a tome on ancient Sunset Savanah trade routes. You'd been looking for the perfect gift that wouldn't make him roll his eyes or snort in irritation. You'd seen him eye the book once during a library visit and knew it would be something he'd appreciate. He loved history, especially the kind no one else seemed to care about.

With everything set, you took a step back, your gaze lingering on him from across the room. Leona, still lost in the quiet depths of sleep, looked almost serene - no frown tugging at his brow, no scowl darkening his features. Just the soft rise and fall of his chest, slow and peaceful. For a moment, you almost didn't want to disturb the tranquility surrounding him. But you knew that soon enough, slumber would leave him from his rest, and he'd find the little surprises you'd left behind. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Today was for him, a rare moment of calm and care. Even if he never said it aloud, you knew - he needed this.

Leona awoke slowly, the quiet of the room the first thing to greet him. Normally, the constant bustle of Savanaclaw would have already filtered into the air - students talking, footsteps echoing down the hall - but today, the usual noise was conspicuously absent. All he could hear were soft rustles outside the window and swaying trees in the distance. He furrowed his brow, disturbed by the stillness of his usually raucous dorm, and then, with an irritated grunt, rolled over to check the time. Mid-morning. Far earlier than he'd intended.

Typical.

His sleep had been dreamless, but now, as he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess, something felt off. Usually, Ruggie would have come by to attempt to rouse him from his slumber (and then inevitably give up), but today, today was different.

His gaze drifted toward his nightstand, landing on the small, neatly wrapped package sitting beside a single, folded piece of parchment. His eyes narrowed, annoyance flaring briefly at the sight. Why the hell was there something on his nightstand? He hadn't asked for-

Wait.

His mind started to clear, and suddenly it clicked. Birthday. Right. That.

Leona exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration bubbling to the surface. Of course, today was the day. His birthday (something he'd long ago given up on caring about) was never any reason to celebrate. He could barely drag himself out of bed for the basics, let alone entertain a bunch of idiots who thought throwing him a big celebration would make him happy.

But then...that note.

He grumbled under his breath and reached for the paper, pulling it open with a small, reluctant tug. The words inside were simple, but damn it - there was just something about them. Just the right amount of quiet affection. No frills. It didn't scream for attention. It didn't demand anything of him.

"Happy Birthday, Leona. Take your time, it's just us today."

You. Just you and him.

Leona exhaled, shaking his head as if he could clear the strange, warm feeling that had settled in his chest. The simplicity of it was what had caught him off guard. No grandiose declarations. No obnoxious birthday wishes. Just a promise of peace. Something that was, for once, exactly what he needed but never admitted out loud.

He glanced over at the gift, noticing the leather-bound book tucked beneath the note. His eyes narrowed again, but this time, there was a flicker of curiosity in them. He'd seen this book before, tucked away in a dusty corner of the library - a rare text on ancient Sunset Savanah trade routes. That had been about three months ago, and he hadn't mentioned it to anyone, nor had he even thought about it since then.

How the hell did you find this? And more importantly, how the hell did you remember?

He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, fingers brushing over the embossed symbols that decorated the cover. The faint smell of old parchment clung to it, a familiar scent that reminded him of home. He snorted softly to himself as he flicked the cover open.

"Who needs this much attention?" He muttered under his breath, as though he wasn't practically preening as he thumbed through your very well-thought-out gift. Even as his mind wandered, he couldn't shake the odd lightness in his chest. The note. The book. Something about it was different. It wasn't overbearing. It was subtle. Like you knew exactly what he needed without needing to be told.

The weight of the book settled in his lap as his fingers lightly traced the edges of the pages. His scowl deepened, but there was a quiet sort of comfort in it too.

"How do you always do this?" He asked aloud to the empty room, as though asking for an answer would somehow make sense of the feeling stirring inside him. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. But no answer came. Of course it didn't. It never did.

And that was fine.

He set the book down with a soft sigh, knowing the rest of the day would likely unfold just like this. Quiet. Simple. A day that didn't demand anything of him. He wasn't sure if he should feel grateful or irritated, but there was no denying the small, persistent tug of something warm and fuzzy and loving.

Rolling his shoulders, he slowly pulled himself up from the bed, stretching out the tightness in his limbs. He glanced back at the note, then at the wrapped book. "Guess I can take my time," He muttered, already planning to ignore whatever ridiculousness was coming next. Despite his outer shell of annoyance, deep down, Leona was strangely thankful that, for once, someone did care enough to remind him that it was okay to slow down.

The hallway was still eerily quiet as Leona made his way toward the bathroom, his footsteps echoing softly in the empty space. When he reached the door, he paused, squinting as he noticed a few items on the counter - another unexpected surprise. His eyes flicked over the collection: a small bottle of hair oil, a soft cloth, and a few other items of skincare neatly arranged as if someone had carefully curated them.

"What's all this?" His voice had an edge of suspicion as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

The room was still dim (largely due to you having pulled up the semi-sheer shader curtains), but there was something delicate in the way the light spilled in from the window. It was the same soft, quiet light that had settled over him when he first woke up, only now, it held a different kind of weight. Not heavier, but rather a gentle invitation.

You weren't there yet, but Leona could almost feel your presence hovering in the air. Maybe it was the memory of that damn note, or the strange comfort in knowing you had planned all of this for him, but it made the whole thing feel...different. Special. And, for once, he didn't feel like escaping from it all.

A minute passed before you stepped in, appearing as quietly as ever. You barely had to say anything before Leona's eyes flickered to you, his usual sarcasm creeping in despite the calm in his chest.

"What's all this, huh?" He asked, crossing his arms, clearly trying to mask the odd unease he felt.

You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you simply gave him a soft, knowing smile.

"Your birthday surprise," You replied easily. "A little relaxation. You deserve it, Leona."

His eyes flicked between the items on the counter and your face. "Relaxation, huh?" He scoffed. "You know I don't need any of that."

But there was an unmistakable softness in his voice, one you were quick to notice.

"Are you sure?" You teased gently, stepping closer, fingers brushing against the edge of the towel you'd set out. "Maybe just a little bit of pampering?"

Leona's gaze shifted, somewhere between amusement and irritation. He rubbed the back of his neck, his posture stiffening as he tried to fight the urge to just go along with it.

"Fine," He muttered, dropping the act for a moment. "But don't think this means I'm some helpless cub who needs pampering every damn day."

A quiet laugh slipped past your lips. "We both know that's not true," You said, lifting the small bottle of oil. "This is just...a little something to help you feel better."

His eyes lingered on you for a moment before he sighed, resigning himself. "If it's really gonna help me get out of here faster, I guess I'll let you do your thing."

You smiled, your fingers already working with the oil. "Just relax," You murmured, slowly guiding him to sit.

And, despite himself, he did just that.

Author's Note: I honestly love the fact that I decided to take this one easy, and not focus on making it more than 2,000 words long, because it definitely took a lot of my typical stress off. And though I was pretty sad that I didn't get it done in time for his birthday, I'm still pretty glad that I was able to get it done in the first place. I'm also trying out a new format where, instead of using one long picture as a header, I'm trying out a moodboard-esque style where it's three small square images instead. I'm not sure how I feel about it, so let me know if you guys think it's any better or worse (or if you don't really care)!

The ghost of a grip too tight on your wrist. Words with edges that sliced deeper than any spell. Silence used like a blade, sharpened by disappointment and left to cut you open when you least expected it. It had been months since the supposed end of it, months since the relationship had ended, but there were nights where you swore you could still hear his voice - sickly sweet and poisonous at the same time - echoing in your head.

You hadn't told anyone. Not outright. Because how could you?

You should have known better. Because you were the fool who stayed too long. Because you were the girl who once flinched at kindness, who didn't know how to take a compliment without instinctively brushing it off, who apologized for existing.

It didn't matter how much time had passed. It didn't matter that things were looking better for you now. It didn't matter that you had begun anew. The cracks in your foundation followed you wherever you went.

And Leona noticed.

At first, you thought it was just his usual laziness. He always had a strange way of showing interest - flat-toned grunts, sarcastic remarks, occasional glances like he was trying to decide whether you were worth getting up for. But then he started sticking around more (well, more than his usual boyfriend duties were). There were no big declarations. Just...small things.

"Eat," He muttered one afternoon, tossing you a neatly wrapped sandwich while lounging in his favorite sunspot behind the botanical garden. You blinked at the sudden gift, half-expecting there to be a prank hidden inside (that would be far too much effort on his side), but when you opened it, it was just food. Normal. Real. Warm.

"Leona, I-"

"You skipped lunch." His tone brooked no argument. "Don't make me waste good meat."

And that was the first time.

The second time was when he caught you flinching from a raised voice in the cafeteria. Some Savanaclaw students were roughhousing again - nothing out of the ordinary - but something in the deep, guttural shouting triggered something sharp and suffocating in your chest. You'd dropped your tray. Frozen.

The sound of it clattering to the ground was what pulled you back.

And then, there was Leona. Standing over you, growling low in his throat, amber eyes flicking dangerously toward the students responsible.

"Pick it up," He snapped - not to you, but at the others.

Ruggie darted in from the sidelines with a rag, mumbling apologies, trying to smooth things over.

"Jeez, Boss," He said later, trailing behind Leona as they exited the dining hall. "You're kinda hovering these days."

Leona didn't answer. He didn't have to. His tail flicked once behind him, low and controlled.

You weren't stupid. You noticed, eventually.

The way Jack seemed to suddenly pop up in your elective classes. "Must've swapped schedules," He claimed with a shrug. How Ruggie would "coincidentally" run into you in the halls with some silly errand. Or how Leona just happened to be sunbathing exactly where you needed to walk through to get to the greenhouse.

It wasn't a coincidence.

It was a net, strung tight but invisible, a protective perimeter you hadn't even asked for. But gods, did it make your chest ache.

You didn't know what to do with that kind of care. You didn't know how to handle someone noticing without demanding. Caring without controlling. Protecting without possessiveness.

So you tried to ignore it. You tried to pretend you were fine.

You smile politely. You laughed when jokes were told. You passed your classes. You stayed out of trouble. You were perfect.

But Leona could see it - the subtle stiffening of your shoulders when someone stood too close, the polite distance you maintained with even your closest friends, the carefully measured responses that lacked real warmth.

He wasn't the sentimental type. But he'd been raised among beasts. He knew what fear looked like - even when you tried to wear it like armor.

So he said nothing.

Instead, he watched.

When a group project came up in Potions, he made sure Ruggie requested you as a partner.

When Vargas assigned a brutal fitness test, Jack "accidentally" jogged beside you the whole time, keeping your pace.

When Crowley announced an upcoming academic field trip (one that would only last a day) to Royal Sword Academy, Leona joined the delegation, despite grumbling endlessly about it being a "waste of time."

You were surprised when he volunteered. He usually avoided anything that required effort. But he just grunted when you asked.

"They needed someone competent. Guess the bar's that low."

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. You knew the truth. He was going because you were going.

And you were starting to realize...he always had been.

He never pressured you to talk. Never pried about your previous relationship, despite you mentioning it in passing. But in the quiet, in the ways he looked at you, you understood: he knew enough.

You once caught him standing outside Professor Trein's classroom after your lecture ended, arms folded, posture lazy. But his eyes scanned every student exiting the room until they landed on you.

You'd raised an eyebrow. "Waiting for someone?"

"Yeah. You."

"Awwww, look who's being a sweet boyfriend~"

"Tch, just wanted to walk back with you. You look like you're about to pass out."

You hadn't realized you were shaking until that moment.

You didn't ask how he knew. You didn't need to.

Leona wasn't soft. He didn't coddle. But he was steady - solid like sun-warmed stone - and he never once made you feel like you were broken.

He was patient in his own rough way. Like he was giving you time.

Time to trust again.

Time to breathe.

Time to heal.

And thought you hadn't said it yet, hadn't dared to, you were starting to feel truly safe again.

But safety is a fragile and fickle thing. Sometimes, all it takes is a name from the past, a face you hoped you'd never see again, to shatter it in an instant.

And that moment?

That was just around the corner.

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You didn't expect to run into anyone familiar at Royal Sword Academy. The trip had been framed as a formal exchange - a handful of NRC students invited for a tour (and vice versa), a diplomatic gesture between the two rival schools. It should've been simple. Stiff handshakes, polite smiles that didn't quite reach the eyes, and a quick tour of immaculate halls that smelled like lemon polish and self-righteousness. No drama.

But of course, fate was much crueler than that.

Your group had just finished viewing RSA's main greenhouse - a pristine, sun-drenched dome filled with flowering, magical herbs - and students had dispersed into smaller groups to explore the campus. You were trailing behind Leona, thinking about how much more you liked the gardens at NRC than this, despite its grandiosity, when a voice slithered through the air like a snake in the grass.

"Well, well. I didn't think I'd see you here."

You froze.

No. Not here. Not him.

Your breath caught, shoulders stiffening as you slowly turned toward the voice. And there he was - your ex. Tall, arrogant, that same smug tilt to his chin that you used to find charming and now could only see as infuriating. His uniform - RSA's pristine whites and golds - looked too noble for someone so rotten.

Leona stopped walking. His tail gave a flick, catching the tension in your stance.

Your ex smiled. "Didn't think they let charity cases into these kinds of events."

You clenched your fists.

"Walk away," you muttered under your breath, barely audible.

"What was that?" He asked, stepping closer. "Didn't quite catch that, sweetheart."

You flinched at the pet name. It rolled off his tongue with the same venom as always.

"You don't get to call me that," You said, voice shaking.

"Why not? It's not like you've upgraded much," He continued, now eyeing Leona with thinly veiled contempt. "This your new keeper? Figures you'd end up with a mangy stray."

Leona, who had been silent until now, lifted his head. "You got a problem, Herbivore?"

Your ex ignored him entirely, eyes still on you. "I've been thinking, you know. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I mean, sure, things got...heated sometimes, but I think we could work things out. You were always a little too sensitive-"

Crack.

The sound echoed across the courtyard before you even registered what you'd done.

Your knuckles stung. He was clutching his nose. Silence followed.

Dozens of heads turned. RSA students paused mid-step. Your NRC friends froze. Even Leona blinked in mild surprise.

And then - "Ha!" Leona laughed once, sharp and impressed. "About damn time."

Your ex reeled back, still clutching his face with as much delicacy he could muster, lest the pain increase tenfold. "Y-You crazy bitch!"

Leona growled low in his throat.

"Say that again," He said, stepping forward. "I dare you."

But he didn't have to. RSA staff and faculty were already converging at the scene. Murmurs broke out among the crowd. You felt dizzy, heart hammering in your chest as the reality of what you'd just done hit you like those trucks in isekai novels.

You'd punched him. In public. On another school's campus. In front of students, teachers, and Leona.

And then - like a blade through the whispers - came a calm, authoritative voice.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Headmaster Ambrose stepped forward, robes flowing, gaze sharp and unreadable behind small glasses. He looked at you, then at your ex, then to the watching crowd.

"Miss," He said to you. "And you, Mister Klyne." His voice was soft, but it carried. "To my office. Now."

You felt your legs turn to lead.

Leona took a step forward like he was about to protest, but the headmaster raised a single hand. The courtyard fell silent.

"This is not up for discussion."

Leona's teeth clicked together in frustration. You turned to him briefly, and he gave you a tiny nod. "Go. I'll be waitin'."

You swallowed hard and followed the Headmaster across the courtyard, your ex trailing behind. The walk was long, the silence deafening. Your mind raced - what if they banned you from future exchanges? What if they told Crowley? What if-

"You're not in trouble," Ambrose said suddenly, his voice slicing through your panic. "Not yet. But I'd like to hear what happened before I reach a conclusion."

You blinked up at him.

He wasn't angry. Not yet. Just...watchful. Fair.

In the ornate calm of the Headmaster's office, you sat on a soft leather chair, hands clenched in your lap. Your ex tried to speak first, but Ambrose cut him off.

"I'll hear from her first."

You looked up in surprise. The Headmaster gestured for you to speak.

So you did. You told him everything - your past with the boy across from you, the emotional manipulation, the veiled insults, the slow eroding of your confidence. You explained how you'd tried to stay quiet, how you didn't want to cause a scene, but he pushed and pushed-

"I see," Ambrose said, once you finished.

He turned to your ex, who sputtered with indignation, trying to refute every word with half-truths and shifting blame. But the more he talked, the deeper a frown settled onto the Headmaster's face.

When the boy finished, Amrbsoe sat back in his chair and let the silence hang for a moment.

"I appreciate your honesty," He said to you. Then, turning to your ex, "You will receive formal disciplinary action from RSA, and a written apology will be sent to Night Raven College on your behalf. I expect it to be delivered by the end of the week. Until then, consider yourself restricted from cross-campus interactions.

Your mouth dropped open.

"And you," Ambrose said, turning back to you, his voice softer, "Have nothing to fear. While I don't condone violence, I understand provocation. I also understand the importance of standing your ground."

You blinked back tears you hadn't realized were forming. "Thank you, Sir."

He gave a small smile. "You're welcome, dear. You may rejoin your group now."

As you left the office, your heart felt lighter, if only a little. The crowd had mostly dispersed, but your NRC group - Leona, Ruggie, Jack (definitely not a coincidence that these three were the ones to accompany you to RSA), as well as a few others - rushed toward you the moment they spotted you.

"What happened?" Jack asked, brows drawn in concern.

"Did that guy try to mess with you again?" Ruggie added.

You hesitated, then smiled faintly. "I'm okay. The Headmaster...he listened. My ex is getting formally punished and has to send a written apology."

"Serves him right," Ruggie muttered.

Jack nodded. "Good."

Leona didn't say anything right away. He just looked at you. His gaze wasn't intense, not sharp or cold like it usually was. Just...steady.

"You alright?" He asked, voice low.

You nodded, and for once, it didn't feel like a lie.

"Damn right you are," He said, and turned away. "Come on. Let's go. These sparkly bastards are makin' my skin itch."

You laughed, a little watery, and followed him.

Leona didn't offer a hug, or a pat on the back, or even a hand to hold. But he slowed his pace so you could walk beside him. He kept glancing at you, tail flicking every time someone looked at you too long. And though he didn't say it, you could feel it.

He was proud of you.

And that was enough.

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Ramshackle was unusually quiet that night.

Grim had long since retreated to his own bedroom, tail flicking behind him and muttering something about not wanting to be caught in any "mushy drama" (you think that's his nice way of letting you spend time with Leona). The shadows of the old dorm stretched across the cracked wooden floor. And the wind rattled softly against the windows. You and Leona sat side by side on your bed, still dressed from the long trip back from Royal Sword Academy. The air hung heavy - not with tension, but with the weight of everything that had happened.

You hadn't said much since returning. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, pulling at loose threads, unsure of what to do with all the leftover emotions that swirled inside you like a storm. The rush of confrontation, the relief of justice, the fear of it all blowing up in your face - now that the dust had settled, it all had nowhere to go.

Leona hadn't said much either, but that wasn't out of character. He sat leaning back against your headboard like he belonged there, arms behind his head, eyes half-lidded in that lazy lion way of his. But his tail flicked restlessly at the edge of the bed, betraying that he wasn't nearly as relaxed as he looked.

"I should've seen it coming," You muttered.

Leona's ears twitched. "What?"

"I should've known he'd be there. Should've stayed away. Should've just...I don't know. Disappeared."

He cracked one eye open, gaze sharp despite his relaxed posture. "You blaming yourself for running into that walking dumpster fire?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't know what I'm doing," You admitted. "I thought I was better. That I'd moved on. But seeing him again just...it brought back everything. I still feel like the person I was when they were hurting me."

Leona was quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted, leaning over to pluck a throw pillow from the floor and chucking it lightly at your face.

"Hey!"

"You're not that person anymore," He said bluntly. "They don't get to live in your head rent-free just 'cuz they crawled out of their little sewer hole for a day."

You let out a weak laugh, catching the pillow and hugging it to your chest. "Yeah, well...it's hard to believe that. Especially when I'm the one who keeps spiraling."

Leona exhaled through his nose, irritated. But not with you. "Tch. That's what pisses me off. You keep doubting yourself when you're the one who slapped that bastard into next week. That wasn't just some scared girl from the past - that was you now. The one who doesn't take shit. The one who stood there in front of all those students and made it clear you weren't gonna be stepped on anymore."

You looked at him, surprised.

"...You really think I was strong back there?"

Leona scoffed, eyes rolling like the question was offensive. "What, you think I get proud over just anything?"

He sat up a little, tail curling around his waist lazily. "You got guts. Way more than most people I know. You think Ruggie or Jack could've stood there without trembling? Please. I've seen Jack trip over his own tail when he's nervous. And Ruggie? He'd have tried to scam the guy out of his lunch money and run."

Despite yourself, you smiled.

Then you looked down again. The smile faded.

"But what if I'm still...broken?" You asked quietly. "What if there's some part of me that they ruined? And it'll always be there? I'm scared that someday, I won't be good enough for you. That you'll wake up and realize I'm not strong, or I'm too much of a mess, or-"

Leona groaned and flopped fully onto the mattress, dragging you with him until your cheek landed against his shoulder.

"Stars, you're annoying when you get like this."

You stiffened.

"Not because of the way you fell," He clarified, lazily stroking your hair. "That part's fine. Emotions, trauma, all that crap - I get it. Life kicks you in the face, and it leaves a mark. But this constant fear that I'm gonna up and walk away? That I'm gonna get tired of you? That's what's annoying."

You blinked up at him, mouth slightly open.

"I don't do things I don't want to," He said flatly. "You should've figured that out by now. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't be here. I'd be asleep somewhere way more comfortable, not stuck in this dusty-ass bed in a drafty-ass dorm with peeling wallpaper and one cranky raccoon-cat as a roommate."

"Hey, Grim's not that bad."

"You're deflecting," Leona said, flicking your forehead gently.

You winced. "Ow."

"I'm serious," He said, voice softening just a little. "I chose you. I keep choosing you. And if you ever say that 'not good enough' crap again, I'm gonna make you write a ten-page essay on why that's bullshit."

You choked on a laugh. "Leona-"

He reached up and smoothed a hand down your back. "You're not broken. You're healing. And yeah, sometimes that means you'll fall apart a little. Doesn't mean I'm gonna ditch you. I'm not scared of what you think is a mess."

You buried your face into his shoulder, not quite crying, but close. The tension in your chest began to uncoil.

"...Thanks," you whispered.

He grunted. "Don't make it weird."

You both lay there for a while, wrapped up in the quiet hum of Ramshackle and each other. His arms stayed around you, his breathing steady and warm against your skin. It wasn't grand. It wasn't overly sentimental. But it was real.

Comfort, given the Leona way - through presence, through sarcasm, through quiet truth.

Just as your eyes started to drift closed, Leona shifted again and tapped your chin to make you look up at him.

"You listenin'?"

"Mmhmm," You mumbled.

"Good." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead - gentle, warm, and startingly tender.

"Sleep," He said, voice low and gruff. "I've got you."

And somehow, with all the broken pieces still stitching themselves back together, you believed him.

Author's Note: As soon as I read this request, I just knew that I had to make as long a fic as I could out of this. I had so many ideas and had a whole sequence planned out for the story. I like to imagine the ex is from Royal Sword Academy (just cuz I like the irony of it). I don't know when or how the Reader dated him, but who cares? She's got Leona now. Wish that were me. Also, I know you specified slapping the ex in the request, but I just thought it would be so much more satisfying to punch the bastard, so that's what I wrote. (Hope you still liked it)!

It all began with a history lecture.

Professor Trein was going on and on (passionately, as always), about the Seven Great Sorcerers and the founding of the Queendom of Roses. Something-something ancient magic, something-something territorial disputes. You weren't sure. It all sounded like the dramatic backstory of an MMO.

You blinked down at your notes. You had written Queendom of Roses five times in a row, underlined one of them, and then - without fully realizing it - drawn an itty-bitty round-headed T-Rex beside the word. Your pencil hovered. You stared at the creation.

That was the moment you'd pinpoint.

The moment you realized you hadn't thought about dinosaurs or anything of the sort in weeks. Not a single pterodactyl. Not a single deinosuchus. Not a single Berthasaura leopoldinae. You used to be able to rattle off entire prehistoric eras like a party trick.

And now?

Now you were sitting in a gothic castle-school in another dimension, learning about long-dead magic monarchs, while wearing a uniform that quite literally had gold embroidery.

You raised your hand.

Trein, ever the professional, paused mid-sentence and looked up from his book. "Yes, Y/N?"

"Do you..." Your voice was very calm, very reasonable. "Do you know what dinosaurs are?" You waited for him to cause your world to crash down (and further cause you to crash out in the middle of a classroom, of all places).

The classroom fell silent. Deuce blinked at you from across the aisle. Ace looked up from where he was doodling something suspiciously inappropriate in the margins of his textbook. A few heads tilted. Professor Trein furrowed his brow.

"Dinosaurs?" He repeated.

You nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Y'know. Giant lizards? Extinct? Kind of a big deal where I'm from."

"I suppose you must be referring to the draconic species," Trein said slowly. "Dragons were once prominent in the Land of Briar, but-"

"No. No, no, no. Not dragons." You waved your hand. "They didn't have magic or fire-breathing. They just...ran around and roared and occasionally ate each other. Real chill. They had feathers sometimes. I think? And they're all dead. Very important part."

Trein blinked at you, confused. "I've never heard of such a creature."

You nodded again, eyes wide. "Yeah. That tracks. That definitely tracks."

And then you laughed.

It wasn't a cute laugh. Not a giggle. Certainly not a dainty little chuckle. No, it was a full-body, slightly breathless guffaw that escaped from your chest like it had been trying to get out for days. You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified, but it was too late. The dam had burst. You were cracking up in the middle of lecture like a sitcom character who finally snapped.

"Oh my God," You wheezed, "I'm losing it. I'm actually going insane. This is my villain origin story."

Trein just looked tired.

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You didn't get detention, miraculously. (Trein may have chalked it up to "dimensional stress" and decided not to poke the hornet's nest).

But it was only the first domino in a long, long line.

The rest fell fairly quickly.

Later that day, at lunch, you tried to make a joke about TikTok and go blank stares from every single table. You had something dumb like "It's giving ✨depression✨" and the silence that followed was deafening.

Even Grim had paused mid-bite. "Giving what now?"

You wanted to scream. Instead, you chuckled weakly and pretended to choke on your food.

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"Do you ever," You muttered to Ace and Deuce one day while walking back from Alchemy, "make a really niche reference and then realize - oh. I'm all alone. No one here gets it. I'm never going to have a meme-based conversation again."

Ace shrugged. "You could just make a new meme?"

"That's not how that works!" You cried, clutching your textbook like a lifeline. "They're...they're communal! They're sacred!"

"Maybe you oughtta get used to the memes here then. Dunno what you're complaining about."

Deuce patted your back with a concerned frown. "Maybe you should take a nap."

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It would've been bearable, maybe, if you didn't keep catching yourself saying things no one understood.

Once, in P.E., you muttered, "I'd sell my soul for a Baja Blast right now," after running laps.

Cater turned to you. "What kind of spell is that?"

You nearly bit your tongue.

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There were good days, sure. Days when the chaos of NRC felt almost normal, the strange magic of the world you'd landed in had a fairytale charm. You even liked it sometimes. The floating candles, the enchanted mirror, the weirdly attractive student body (seriously, what on Earth was in the water here?).

But then something would happen - a throwaway line from a friend, a specific smell, a distant memory - and the homesickness would sucker-punch you in the gut.

You missed your old phone. You missed a steady flow of electricity. You missed your precious animes from back home. You missed complaining about anything and everything to your friends in your group chat at 2 in the bloody morning. You missed sending them cursed memes and sobbing over fictional characters they knew you'd been in love with since forever.

You missed feeling understood.

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You think the final straw was a joke.

Ace said something stupid and punny in class. Something about cauldrons and bad grades - classic Ace. Everyone laughed.

You didn't.

Not because it wasn't funny. You figured maybe it was. Surely it had to be, with the reaction of your classmates. But you didn't get it.

You didn't understand the slang. The reference. The cultural context.

So you just sat there, frozen in place, smile tight and fake, and your laughter coming out a few seconds too late.

You felt weirdly hollow.

Not the dramatic, tragic kind of hollow. Just the kind where something that should've made you feel warm instead made you feel like a cracked mug. Still functioning. Still upright. But leaking a little.

And of course, Professor Trein noticed.

He didn't say anything at first, just gave you a quiet, thoughtful look before resuming the lecture. You sat up straighter. Tried to look attentive.

But even so, at the end of class, while everyone packed up their books and filtered out of the room in clusters of laughter and inside jokes, Trein called your name.

"Y/N," He said, tone gentle enough that you flinched a little.

You turned, your bag slung over one shoulder. "Yes, Professor?"

"If you're not in a rush," He said, adjusting his glasses, "would you...care to join me for tea this afternoon?"

You blinked. "Oh. Uh. Sure. Is this - like - a detention-in-disguise kind of tea or...?"

He chuckled softly. "No punishment involved, I assure you."

So that was how you found yourself, after classes ended, sitting in the most scholarly little office you'd ever seen, across a worn oak desk from Professor Trein, with two steaming teacups between you.

Grim of course, had no reason to be there, so it was just you, Trein, and Lucius - who sat on the windowsill like a furry, judgemental gargoyle.

Trein poured your tea and added a sugar cube to his own with great precision. His movements reminded you greatly of Vil.

"I find," He said slowly, "that I don't understand half the things my students say anymore."

You blinked.

"They speak in riddles," He continued, "about things I cannot begin to visualize. They once referred to something as 'mid." I assumed it meant middling, perhaps average. But then I was told - by Ruggie, I believe - that it was an insult?"

You snorted. "Oh, yeah. 'Mid' is like the fancy new word for 'meh.' A good way to start a fight in a cafeteria."

Trein's eyes twinkled. "Yes. Precisely. I've taught for nearly four decades and still find myself utterly baffled by whatever new linguistic virus has infected the student body."

You laughed - genuinely, this time.

"I don't get any of their references either," You admitted. "But, like...from the opposite direction. I say stuff and they look at me like I've sprouted wings."

Trein leaned back in his chair. "I did wonder about your question in class earlier this week. About...dinosaurs, was it?"

"Oh my god, yes!" You set your teacup down. "They don't know what dinosaurs are, Professor. Dinosaurs! Like - prehistoric lizards! We have museums about them! They've made animated movies!

"Fascinating," He said, and it was clear he meant it.

"They thought I was talking about dragons," You muttered, sinking in your chair. "I nearly cried."

Trein's mouth quirked into a small smile. "It must be terribly isolating."

Your shoulders tensed. "Sometimes I don't feel like a person here. I feel like a joke. Like a weird little artifact that fell out of some ancient time machine and nobody's quite sure how to categorize."

"You're not a joke," He said, kind but firm. "You're someone trying to survive in a world that was no built for you."

That hit you right in the gut.

Lucius lept off the windowsill and sidled your leg, promptly resting his head near your foot. You sipped your tea quietly for a moment.

"...Thanks," You said, voice a little hoarse. "I think I needed to hear that."

He nodded, then tilted his head, thoughtful. "Would you be willing to tell me more about your world?"

You blinked. "Wait, really?"

"I may be old, but I've always valued learning," He said. "And you're a living library of knowledge we've never had access to before."

You grinned. "Okay, then. Where do I start?"

You ended up talking until the sun dipped low in the sky. You explained your version of the internet, social media, reality TV, electric cars, and theme parks. You showed him how memes worked. You drew a rough sketch of a dinosaur. You explained your favorite movies, and how music was streamed, and how cooking shows were a national obsession. Trein took notes with the fascinated curiosity of someone rediscovering the joy of being a student.

He, in turn, told you stories about past generations of students. About how the slang used to be different even back then, about the way magic has changed, and about the first time Lucius clawed someone in the middle of class for disrespecting history.

You both laughed a lot.

You scratched Lucius behind his ears for a bit, allowing the soft purrs to lull you further into your feelings. The conversation was exactly what you needed. As you left his office, you heard him say, "You are more than welcome to come to me for anything you may need. I am more than willing to explain the ways of this world to you so that you may pass your classes."

As you walked back to your dorm, the castle halls a little quieter, a little softer in the dimming light, you didn't feel so lonely.

Not everyone got you.

But someone was trying.

And for now...that was more than enough.

Author's Note: I'd just like to say that I genuinely think that Twisted Wonderland had dinosaurs and that their existence has long been known worldwide, etc. I like to further think that modern-day dragons (as rare as they may be) are descendants of old-day dinosaurs and that they somehow magically evolved into dragons. Having said that, I thought it would be admittedly funnier if the Reader found out that the people of Twisted Wonderland don't know anything about dinosaurs, and they crash out because of it. So, I went with that for this story!

Kageyama Tobio prided himself on ready plays, not people. On the court, he could sense the movement of six players with a single glance, calculate the arc of a serve mid-air, and know instinctively when someone was about to go for a quick. But in his day-to-day life? Subtlety wasn't exactly his strongest skill.

And yet...he noticed.

It started small enough.

Tobio was the type of person to wake up before you, padding into the kitchen to make breakfast or scrolling on his phone at the dining table while you dragged yourself out of bed. But lately, he'd been the one waking to the sound of you rushing past him - straight into your shared bathroom. He'd hear a faucet run, a cough, then the muffled sound of you brushing your teeth for a long time.

The first morning, he was worried, of course, but chalked it up to something bad you'd eaten. The second morning, he figured that you must have eaten something really bad, and that it was probably still in your system. By the third morning, his chest had tightened with a sort of nervous alertness he couldn't quite name.

When you came out of the bathroom, looking pale but smiling, he blurted, "Are you okay?"

You waved him off. "I'm fine, Kags. Just didn't sleep well."

But then there were other things.

At the grocery store, you wrinkled your nose at the smell of a fish so violently that you abandoned the cart for a minute, muttering, "God, that's vile." You loved fish. You always ordered it at restaurants.

Another night, when he offered you a plate of curry he'd actually tried cooking himself, you barely touched it. You just pressed your hand to your stomach and said, "I'm not really hungry. Just really bloated."

Bloated. Skipping food. Smell sensitivity (more than usual). Frequent morning bathroom trips.

By the time he pieced them together (with much help from his sister), his stomach had twisted itself into a tight knot.

At practice the next day, he barely focused. He kept missing passes from Atsumu, sending his tosses too high or too close to the net. Atsumu threw the ball back at him with a grin that was just shy of mocking.

"Oi, Kageyama. You good? Yer tossin' like you got something else on your mind."

Kageyama flinched. "I-" He clamped his mouth shut. He couldn't just say it.

But Atsumu (who was joined by Shoyo rather quickly) was relentless. "C'mon, spit it out." What's goin' on with you?"

The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "I think my girlfriend might be pregnant."

The gym went dead silent.

Hinata screeched, "WAIT, WHAT!?"

"I didn't say she is," Kageyama snapped, heat rushing to his face. "I just said...that she might be," his voice getting quieter.

Rintaro, leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think that, huh?"

Kageyama's mouth went dry. He fumbled, trying to remember every little thing he'd discussed with Miwa just the night before without sounding like a total lunatic. "She...she keeps running to the bathroom in the mornings. She can't stand certain smells, and out of nowhere, she hates the smell of fish? She loves fish! She would literally eat fish every day if she could! She said that she's bloated, and she hasn't been eating normally."

Atsumu's grin widened, wicked and amused. "Ahhh, so you've been observin' real closely, huh? Sounds like someone's payin' more attention to their girl than usual."

"I always pay attention!" Kageyama barked indignantly (which only made Hinata and the others who joined the conversation snicker). "But..there's one more thing."

"What is it?" Hinata asked, curiosity beaming in his eyes.

"Her...per...monthly cycle is late."

Pin-drop silence echoed throughout the gym.

Even Ushijima paid close attention to Kageyama.

Atsumu whistled. "Sounds like textbook pregnancy stuff to me."

Hinata's eyes widened. "Holy shit! Kageyama, you're gonna be a dad! You'd be so scary as a dad-"

"I'm not-! We're not-!" Kageyama cut himself off, dragging a hand down his face, body trembling. He could feel the tips of his ears burning red.

Kiyoomi cut in. "You ask her about it yet?"

The question made Kageyama freeze. No, of course he hadn't asked. What was he even supposed to say? "Hey, you're acting really freaking weird. Are you carrying my child?" The thought alone made his chest squeeze in pure panic.

"No," He muttered. "Not yet."

Atsumu, unbless his heart, started cackling like a hyena (Kuroo would have certainly had a run for his money), with Hinata struggling to stifle his own laughter. Snickers passed around the group, only making Kageyama feel worse about talking to a single one of them.

Hajime walked up to Kageyama, understanding that it took him a lot to even open up about such a life-changing event. He patted his shoulder and said, "You should."

Atsumu tossed Kageyama the ball. "Better than lettin' yer head run wild."

But Kageyama wasn't sure he could. Not yet. Not when he had so much on his mind about all this. He needed time.

All he knew for sure was that every little sign he noticed made his heart pound harder, pooling in a mixture of fear, worry, but also a strange something he couldn't name.

That night, when you curled up next to him on the couch, blanket draped over your legs, he watched you a little too closely. You were sipping ginger tea - another thing he'd noticed. You hadn't wanted soda or even coffee lately. Just tea.

You glanced over, catching him staring. "What?"

Kageyama blinked, caught off guard. "Nothing."

"Don't give me that face." You poked his cheek. "You've been staring at me all day. Do I have something on my face?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it. The question clawed and itched at his throat, burning to come tumbling out, but he swallowed it down.

"...No," He said finally, turning his eyes back to the TV.

But inside, his thoughts churned louder than the noise from whatever it was that you were watching, and he felt himself hugging you closer just a little bit more that night.

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Kageyama had been dreading this reunion for weeks.

Not because he didn't want to see everyone (he did, in his own quiet, awkward way), but because ever since the idea of "pregnancy" had lodged itself in his brain, it refused to let go.

He'd been watching you like a hawk without meaning to. Every sigh you took, every time you touched your stomach, every time you pushed your food away after two bites.

And now, he was about to walk into a restaurant full of his old high school teammates. People who actually knew how to read his expressions, and he was actively freaking out about how he had no idea how to keep his composure.

The restaurant chosen for the Karasuno reunion was lively and loud, all amber lighting and laughter echoing off the wooden beams. When Kageyama stepped inside, he was immediately engulfed by familiar voices.

"YOOO, KAGEYAMA!" Nishinoya hollered, waving his arms like he was still a teenager. "You made it!"

Tanaka grinned beside him. "And you brought your girl! Damn, how'd you bag her?"

You smiled politely, greeting everyone as Kageyama mumbled a gruff "Hey." His hand lingered protectively at your back, not that anyone was a threat, but...he couldn't help it.

Daichi and Sugawara were already seated, both looking pleasantly surprised to see you two arrive together.

Sugawara leaned forward, eyes warm. "It's good to finally meet the person who's been keeping him from practicing till 3 A.M. every night."

You laughed softly. "Someone's gotta make sure he eats and sleeps."

Dachi chuckled. "That's a full-time job right there."

You shrugged, but Kageyama noticed how you pressed your fingers lightly to your temple, like you were steadying yourself. "I'm just...a little tired. Didn't sleep much last night."

He immediately frowned. "You sure you're okay?"

You waved him off, again, but Suga's brow twitched, ever so slightly. He recognized things rather well. He'd noticed.

Dinner went on smoothly enough at first. Plates of sizzling food arrived, and chatter filled the air as everyone swapped stories from their careers, families, and travels.

Then Nishinoya elbowed Kageyama with a grin. "Oi, setter. You guys not drinking?"

Kageyama was about to reply when you spoke up first. "I'll pass on alcohol for tonight, actually."

The words were casual, but the table collectively paused for half a second.

Tanaka tilted his head. "What, trying to stay healthy?"

You smiled faintly. "Something like that. My stomach's been weird lately."

That single sentence was all it took for the room's energy to shift.

Kageyama could feel it - the not-so-subtle way everyone glanced between the two of you, then at your untouched wine glass. Hinata bit his lip to hide a smile.

Daichi coughed into his fist. "Oh? Weird how?"

Kageyama nearly choked on his water. "She's fine," He said, too quickly. "Just...tired. Probably caught a bug or something."

You turned towards him, confused. "Huh? I'm not sick, I just-"

"-A bug," He repeated firmly.

Daichi's eyes twinkled in quiet amusement, but he didn't push.

Hinata, on the other hand, wasn't so merciful. "Wait, wait, hold on. You said you've been tired, and food smells make you queasy, right!?"

Kageyama froze mid-bite.

You blinked. "Oh, yeah. Kind of weird, right? My sense of smell's been all over the place. Kags made curry last week, and I thought it smelled like paint thinner."

The table erupted in laughter.

Tanaka slammed his palm against the table, howling. "PAINT THINNER!? BWAHAHAHA! OH MAN!"

But then, Asahi, ever the soft-spoken, murmured something that made Kageyama's blood run cold. "Those...kind of sound like pregnancy symptoms."

Silence.

Every head turned towards you two.

"W-What?" You stammered, face flushing. "I-what? No! No, it's not that!"

Suga lifted a motherly brow, tone teasing, but suspiciously gentle. "You sure?"

"I'm sure!" You said quickly, waving your hands. "I'm just tired!"

Kageyama had never been so hyper-aware of a room full of people staring before. He wanted to sink into the floor.

Nishinoya leaned forward, whispering dramatically, "Oh my god. Little Kageyamas running around..."

"NO." Kageyama's voice cracked with the force of his denial. His face. was burning. "NO ONE'S-THERE'S NO-STOP SAYING THAT!"

The laughter that followed was loud enough to make the waitstaff turn their heads.

For the rest of dinner, he was useless. He couldn't focus on the conversation, couldn't even taste the food in front of him. Every time you laughed or reached for water, he caught the way Suga or Daichi's eyes darted towards you like they were silently tallying clues.

Even Yamaguchi joined in quietly at one point, asking, "You okay? You've barely touched your food."

You smiled sheepishly. "Just not that hungry tonight."

And when you excused yourself to the restroom, the entire table swiveled towards Kageyama in unison.

"So," Nishinoya started, grinning ear to ear, "You're seriously not gonna tell us?"

"Tell you what?" Kageyama snapped.

"Dude," Tanaka said, laughing, "We're not stupid! You've been acting weird as hell all night. You keep checking on her like she's made of glass!"

Suga smiled knowingly. "And you didn't deny it very well earlier."

"There's nothing to deny!" He snapped, crossing his arms. But his voice cracked halfway through, betraying him.

Daichi sighed, shaking his head. "Look, if it's true, congratulations. But you look more stressed than I've ever seen you, and that's saying something."

He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, you came back, smiling faintly as you slipped into your seat. You looked pale again, but brushed off everyone's concern with a soft, "I'm fine."

Kageyama's stomach twisted some more.

The laughter resumed, the conversations picked back up, but his mind was miles away, spinning to some other galaxy. He thought about the way you'd been sleeping more. The way you'd been avoiding certain foods. The way you'd started wearing looser clothes.

The night ended with hugs, photos, and promises to meet again soon. By the time you and Kageyama stepped outside, the city air was cool, tinged with the moody halos of distance streetlights. You slipped your hand into his as you walked, oblivious to the sheets of rain whipping about inside his head.

"That was fun, " You said softly. "They're all so nice, if a bit weird."

He nodded, voice tight. "Yeah."

"...What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

But it wasn't nothing. Every word from earlier echoed in his mind.

He was quiet the whole walk home. You didn't press him, opting to just lean on his arm, humming quietly, like everything was normal.

But to him, his whole world was flipping upside down.

When you stepped into the house and let out a soft yawn, hand gently covering your mouth, he felt his heart stutter - just slightly - as if something tender had brushed against it. The dim glow of the living room wrapped around you like a quiet embrace, casting affection that made him pause, made him wonder. And when you murmured, "I think I'll turn in early," it wasn't just a sentence. It was a moment, delicate and complete, that lingered in the air long after you'd gone.

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The first thing Kageyama noticed that morning was the silence.

Not the usual silence of a sleepy apartment, muffled by city noise and the soft hum of the heater, but the kind that felt intentional. A reprieve. A break in the pattern of the last week.

Just quiet.

He blinked against the early sunlight filtering through the curtains, eyes adjusting to the pale gold spilling across the bed. You were still asleep beside him, curled toward his side, face relaxed. For once, there was color in your cheeks. Not much, but enough to make something tight in his chest loosen.

Kageyama remained still, fearful of disturbing the moment. Fearful that moving would somehow bring everything crashing down.

You stirred a little, mumbling something incoherent and pressing your nose into his shoulder. Your hand found his chest, fingers curling around the fabric of his t-shirt; the touch light, familiar.

And for the first time in days, Kageyama felt like he could breathe again.

He tilted his head slightly to look down at you. You looked peaceful. Beautiful, in a quiet, unintentional way. The kind of beauty that sneaks up on you when you're not looking. His mind wandered here and there and everywhere, as it always did in moments like this, yet it continued to bring him back to the changes your body had been going through. It felt like a toy train rolling down the same tracks again and again.

He was reminded of the way Nishinoya had teased him by asking, "Dude, she's glowing! You sure you didn't...y'know, score twice in one game?"

Hinata had laughed, Asahi nearly choked on his drink, and Daichi had smacked the back of Noya's head. But the seed of doubt had already been planted. Even though he'd brushed it off with a scowl and a mumbled "Shut up, idiots," it had stayed with him - looping quietly in his brain every time he saw you wince or clutch your stomach.

Now, as you lay there, with your head on his arm and your breath warm against his skin, he realized how scared he'd been.

Not scared of you being pregnant exactly, but scared of what it would mean. For you. For him. For everything.

Was he even ready for that kind of life? Will he ever be? Volleyball was everything for the longest time, and then you came along, but sometimes he found it difficult to manage his time between you and the sport he loved most in the world. How could he manage to find time for a baby?

A baby would be a lot of work, much less two babies. They needed someone around constantly, and he didn't know much about how to care for them. Miwa could help. He was sure both your parents would as well. But would that be enough?

But then he started thinking about the baby itself. Would the baby be a boy or a girl? What would the baby look like? Pudgy, probably. Would the baby look more like you or more like him? He read somewhere that babies tend to inherit more traits from their grandparents, genetically speaking. Does that mean the baby (or babies, now that he thought about it) would look more like your mom and dad? Or maybe his own parents?

Whatever the result, that baby sure would be cute. He'd seen many of your childhood pictures. You were adorable (though he'd never admit it to your face). And plus, Miwa and his mom always said he was a cute baby (he didn't really see it, though).

Throughout all this, one thought startled him. It came so naturally, so firmly.

He wouldn't mind having a baby.

He imagined it for half a second - a small hand wrapped around your finger. You smiling at him, exhausted, but happy. The apartment filled with something softer than the sound of late-night match replays.

Then the image melted away as you stirred again, mumbling his name.

"...Tobio?"

He turned his head quickly. "Yeah? You okay?"

You blinked up at him, eyes heavy with sleep. "You look...intense. You're thinking too hard again."

He swallowed, throat dry. "Can we talk about something?"

The seriousness in his tone made your brow furrow. "Of course. What's wrong, Tobio?"

"I need to ask you something. But...don't get mad, okay?"

You blinked. "That's a worrying start."

He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaled, then finally forced it out.

"Are you...pregnant?"

The question landed like a rock thrown into still water - small, but the ripples were immediate.

Your eyes widened. "What!?"

"Pregnant," He repeated, quieter this time. "I-you've been sick, throwing up, tired all the time, and you said smells were bothering, and you wouldn't drink at the reunion-"

You blinked once. Then twice. Then your lips parted in stunned realization.

"Oh my god," You breathed, sitting upright. "Is that what you've been thinking this whole time?"

Kageyama's face was unreadable, but the faint flush on his ears gave him away. "It just...made sense. Everyone was saying things, and I didn't know how to bring it up. I've noticed all these things, and I was so worried-"

You let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. Not mocking, just...startled.

"Tobio."

He froze.

"I'm not pregnant."

The silence after that was deafening.

His brows knit together. "You're not?"

"No," You said firmly. "I was just sick. It's been going around, and I'm pretty sure I caught it from work. A nasty stomach thing."

Kageyama blinked at you, and for the first time in days, his entire body seemed to deflate. He let out a long breath and leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like the universe had just handed him a reprieve.

"...Oh."

You smiled softly, reaching for his hand. "Oh?" You echoed teasingly. "Did you really think that I was hiding a pregnancy from you? For this long?"

He glanced away, jaw tightening. "I didn't know, but...I was worried. You weren't eating right. You were pale. You couldn't stand the smell of coffee."

"Because you make it too strong," You pointed out.

He scowled faintly, but his voice was gentler now - almost vulnerable. "I thought...if you were pregnant...you didn't know how or want to tell me."

You stared at him for a moment, taken aback by how genuine he sounded. Beneath all that bluntness and anxiety lay a quiet tenderness. A kind of care that he didn't always know how to express in words.

"Oh, Tobio," You murmured, squeezing his hand. "You've been worrying about this all week?"

He nodded stiffly. "Yeah."

You laughed softly, a mix of fondness and guilt. "You must've been going crazy."

He hesitated, then admitted, "A little."

There was a long pause - not uncomfortable, just heavy with all the things he hadn't said yet.

You leaned your head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry you worried. I should've told you it wasn't serious sooner."

He shook his head. "No. I should've asked earlier instead of thinking about it so much."

The quiet that followed wasn't the suffocating kind anymore. It was warm. Healing.

You studied his face. His expression had softened, his usual sharp focus replaced by something vulnerable.

"Were you scared?" You asked gently.

He blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"

"About me being pregnant. Were you scared of that?"

He didn't answer right away. His eyes darted down, tracing the curve of your fingers in his. "At first...yeah. I mean, I'm still figuring out how to be a good boyfriend. I don't know anything about—about babies."

You smiled a little. "You'd learn. You're patient when it matters."

"I wasn't patient this week," He muttered.

"You were worried," You corrected softly. "That's different."

He looked at you for a long moment. Then, to your surprise, he smiled - small, but real. "I thought about it, though. What it would be like."

Your eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

He nodded, glancing down, almost shy. "I imagined...you smiling. Holding a baby. It was weird, but...it didn't feel horrible."

The admission made something warm bloom in your chest. "That's sweet, Tobio."

He rubbed the back of his neck again, clearly flustered. "Not saying I'm ready for that right now. Just...maybe someday."

You leaned closer, your voice soft. "I'd like someday too."

That made him pause - and when he looked at you again, there was a new kind of calm in his eyes. A steadiness.

He exhaled, finally letting go of all the tension that had knotted up inside him. "You scared me, you know."

"I scared myself," You said with a laugh. "I thought I was dying the first night I threw up."

"Don't joke about that."

You smiled and threw your arms around his shoulders, hugging him like a koala. "You were sweet, though. Taking care of me."

He made a small noise of protest, ears pink again. "You couldn't even stand up straight. What was I supposed to do, just leave you there?"

"You didn't have to sleep on the couch, though."

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

You grinned. "You worry too much."

He looked down at you, eyes softening again. "You mean too much."

The words slipped out before he could stop them - unfiltered, pure, sincere.

You froze for a moment, then smiled so tenderly that it nearly undid him.

"Come here," You said, tugging his arm gently.

He let you pull him down until his head rested against your lap. You ran your fingers through his hair, watching the last of the tension melt from his face. His breathing evened out, slow and calm, as though every worry had finally quieted.

"I'm okay, Tobio," You whispered, tracing a thumb along his cheekbone. "Just was a little sick. Nothing scary."

He hummed in acknowledgment, eyes closed. "Still don't like seeing you like that."

"I know."

A moment passed. Then, in the softest voice, he added, "But someday...I think I'd be ready."

You smiled, heart fluttering at the simple honesty in his tone.

"Someday," you echoed, brushing your fingers through his hair again. "When we're ready."

He nodded once - a small, sleepy motion. "When we're ready."

And for the first time in weeks, the quiet in the apartment didn't feel heavy or uncertain. It felt right. Peaceful.

A promise, resting peacefully between you.

The library had become familiar in a way you never expected. Not just the space itself, but the towering shelves, the soft rustle of pages, the faint scent of old parchment, and the table you always used. The one tucked near the window, where the afternoon light spilled across the wood in warm, golden strips.

Being chucked into an unfamiliar world has its downsides, as one might expect, and when you first arrived in Twisted Wonderland, you refused to study outside of your room. It was the one place you could hold to yourself, despite its dire state of being, and you despised studying anywhere else. Not with so many eyes on you, constantly watching your every move, seemingly almost waiting for you to make yet another mistake.

As you made your way in, you noticed that Riddle was already seated, as punctual as ever, his notes arranged in that familiar, neat, symmetrical layout you have thus grown accustomed to.

"Good afternoon," Riddle said, without looking up, though the slight lilt in his voice told you that he had indeed noticed your arrival, and, dare you say, was a tad happy about it. You allowed him to finish writing whatever he was writing, while you slid into your usual seat. You pulled out your notebook, flipping to the page you'd been working on earlier. "I went over the stability charts like you suggested."

Riddle finally looked up - and paused.

You were already working.

No hesitation, no second-guessing, no glancing at him for his reassurance.

Just...working.

He watched as you traced the sigil pattern with your finger, murmuring the cadence under your breath. Your brow furrowed, not in frustration, but in concentration. You weren't overwhelmed. You weren't lost. You were focused.

And enjoying it.

He could see it in the way your eyes lit up when you realized that you had drawn the sigil exactly as it was in your textbook. He could see it in the smile that ever so slightly tugged at the corner of your lips when something clicked.

"You have improved in your sigil drawings," Riddle said, unable to mask the tone of pride in his voice. "The lines are clear, and there are no mistakes."

You glanced up, akin to the hedgehogs back in Heartslabyul.

"Yes," He said simply. "Your cadence in incantations has also stabilized significantly."

You grinned, bright and sunny, something warm flitting about in Riddle's chest - something that couldn't be named. Perhaps satisfaction? Pride? The quiet joy of watching someone grow under your guidance?

You reached for the reference book beside you at the same time he did.

Your hands brushed, lightly, naturally.

"Oh-sorry," You said, but your smile was easy, unbothered.

"No need to apologize," Riddle replied, handing you the book. "You may use it first."

Your skin came into contact with his once again as your fingers brushed his knuckles.

Neither of you froze.

Neither pulled away.

You flipped open the book. "Okay, so...this particular sigil needs to be rotated this way because the sigil's orientation affects its stability, right?"

Riddle leaned in slightly, not enough to crowd you, but enough to see the page. "Correct. And why is that?"

"Because the energy flow needs to align with the incantation's cadence," You replied, tapping the diagram. "Otherwise it creates resistance."

Riddle smiled. "That is exactly right."

You beamed. "Look at me, sounding like I know what I'm doing."

"You do know what you're doing," He said, and the sincerity in his voice made your smile soften.

You worked for a while in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional question or quiet explanation. Riddle corrected you once - twice at most, and even then, his tone was gentle. Guiding rather than strict.

At one point, you paused, fiddling with your pen, swishing it around. "Hey, Riddle?"

"Yes?"

You hesitated. Then laughed softly. "I feel like I should tell you something."

Riddle straightened slightly. "Go on."

"So...I was honestly terrified of you at first."

Riddle's brows furrowed. "Terrified?"

"Yeah," You said, swirling your pen around faster. "You were kinda intense. Like, really intense. The first time I saw Ace with the collar, I was pretty freaked out. We don't have things like that back home, y'know?"

Riddle's ears turned faintly pink. "My...apologies."

"And during our first session," You continued, "I was scared to get anything wrong. I thought you'd lecture me for breathing wrong."

"I would not-" Riddle began, then stopped. "I suppose I can understand why you felt that way."

"But," You said, leaning forward, "after the overblot and after getting to know you, I realized you weren't angry. Just...anxious. And precise. And just genuinely trying really, really hard and always trying to be perfect."

Riddle's breath caught.

"And now?" You said softly, focusing on the slate of his blue eyes. "Now, I see how patient you are. How much you listen and how much you care about helping people improve. I really admire that. I also just wanted to say thank you for being so patient with me and helping me...even if Professor Crewel told you to."

Riddle stared at you, stunned into silence.

"...Thank you," He said quietly. "That means more than you know."

You smiled. "I'm glad!"

A moment passed, soft, warm, and marshmallow-ey.

Then you tilted your head. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"How...how are things with your mother now?"

Riddle stiffened - not in fear, but in surprise. "My mother?"

"Yeah," You encouraged softly. "You mentioned that things were complicated before, and after the whole, well, overblot thing, I just...wondered if they've gotten better."

Riddle looked down at his hands.

When he spoke, his voice was calm and careful.

"It is still...awkward," He admitted. "We are speaking more. I am trying to advocate for myself, and she has been trying to give me space. But it is still incredibly unfamiliar to both of us."

You listened quietly, nodding.

"I have spent so long following her rules," Riddle continued, "and truth be told, I do not know who I am without them. I am still learning to create boundaries and to exist within them. And my mother is still learning how to let me."

"That sounds really hard," You replied delicately.

"It is," He agreed. "But...I am trying. And so is my mother. That is enough for now."

You smiled, tender and proud. "I think you're doing great."

Riddle's chest tightened with something fragile and new.

He cleared his throat. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yes," He said. "Your home. Your family. Do you miss them?"

You blinked, surprised by the question.

And then you talked.

Seemingly, it was all you could do. You told him about your home, your family, the things you missed, the things you didn't, the foods you no longer get to eat, the people you no longer get to see, the world you don't know will be yours ever again. You told him of your dreams and plans. The ones you had before coming to NRC. You feared speaking too much, of yapping Riddle's ears off, but every time you met his eyes, you couldn't help but keep going.

Riddle listened - truly listened - asking thoughtful questions, nodding at the right moments, and offering placid empathy.

You didn't realize how long you'd been talking until you finally paused, noticing that the sun had slipped away from your favorite corner, leaving only the haunting glow of the green lanterns in its place.

"Oh," You said softly. "My bad. I didn't realize that I had been talking for so long."

Riddle closed his notebook. "This was nonetheless a productive session. I rather enjoyed hearing about your world, though I find some things hard to picture."

You smiled. "Yeah, I guess so."

As you packed your things, Riddle watched you with a gentle expression. When you finally slung your bag over your shoulder and headed out, waving an exuberant goodbye to him, Riddle lingered for a moment, allowing the quiet to settle around him. The session had been the best one yet, and the thought left a small, steady satisfaction in his chest.

He stepped out of the library a minute later, heading toward the path that led to the dining hall, where Trey and Cater were already waiting for him. And as he walked, that same quiet satisfaction continued to replay in him.

It wasn't excitement, nor was it anything dramatic. Just a warm, grounded sense of rightness - the kind that came from seeing genuine progress, from knowing that his guidance had helped someone grow. It was a feeling he didn't get often, but one he found himself appreciating more and more.

The dining hall was already buzzing with evening chatter when he arrived. The clinking of silverware, the hum of conversation, and the faint scent of freshly baked pastries in the air. Trey spotted him first, lifting a hand in greeting from a table near the center.

"Riddle! Over here," He called.

Cater waved enthusiastically beside him, reminiscent of your own antics every time you leave your tutoring sessions. "Riddle-kun! We saved you a seat!"

Riddle approached, posture straight but noticeably relaxed. He slid into the seat across from them. smoothing the napkin on his lap with practiced precision.

"You're in a good mood," Cater observed casually as Trey passed Riddle a plate.

Riddle blinked. "I had a rather productive day."

Trey's smile deepened ever so slightly - subtle, but knowing. "Productive is good."

Cater leaned forward, elbows on the table (Riddle stiffened at that). "Ooooh, does this have anything to do with your tutoring session with a certain Ramshackle Prefect today?"

Riddle paused mid-reach for the bread basket. "Yes. She demonstrated significant improvement."

Cater's grin grew wider. "Significant, huh?"

"Yes," Riddle replied, unaware of the trap he'd just walked into. "Her sigil drawing has improved dramatically, and her cadence control has become consistent. She's also begun identifying structural patterns without prompting."

Trey raised an eyebrow. "That's impressive."

"It is," Riddle agreed, a faint note of pride slipping into his voice. "She has been working very hard, and it is clearly reflected in her results."

Cater's grin widened. "Wow~ Listen to you! Praising someone so much. I'm shook."

Riddle frowned, "I do not see why that is surprising. I praise people often."

"Oh, no reason~" Cater said lightly. "Just that you sound...I dunno. Proud?"

Riddle stiffened. "I am acknowledging her progress. That is all."

"Sure," Cater said, leaning back with a smirk. "Just acknowledging progress. Totally neutral. No warm fuzzy feelings involved."

Riddle's ears went faintly pink. "I do not experience 'warm fuzzy feelings.'"

Trey snorted into his drink unhelpfully.

Cater all but pounced. "You sure? Because you walked in here looking like someone told you the Queen's Roses were painted red with no reminder from you."

Riddle sputtered. "That is an exaggeration-"

"Is it?" Cater teased. "Because you've got this little smile-"

"I am not smiling."

"You kinda are though."

Riddle found himself pressing his lips together immediately, which only made Cater laugh harder.

Trey shook his head, amused. "Cater, leave him alone."

"What? I'm just saying," He replied innocently. "It's nice to see him so happy."

Riddle opened his mouth to admonish him - but paused.

Happy.

Was he really that happy?

He considered it. The quiet satisfaction. The warmth. The sense of accomplishment. The easy he always felt during your tutoring sessions. The way your laughter had lingered in his mind longer than expected.

"...I am pleased that she is improving," He said finally, choosing his words with care. "It reflects well on her effort."

"And on her tutor," Trey added gently.

Riddle's ears turned pinker. "That is not relevant."

Cater smirked. "Uh-huh. Sure~"

Riddle huffed, stabbing a piece of roasted vegetable with more force than he normally would have applied. "This conversation is becoming absurd."

Trey chuckled. "Relax. We're just teasing."

Riddle, in fact, did not relax, not fully anyway, but the tension in his shoulders and the pink in his ears eased. He took a bite of dinner, letting the familiar flavors ground him again.

The conversation drifted to other topics - Heartslabyul events, Cater's latest Magicam trend, Trey's baking experiments - but every so often, Trey would glance at Riddle with a small, knowing smile.

Riddle was by no means distracted. He was no longer flustered, and he certainly wasn't daydreaming. He was simply...lighter. More at ease. More open. More content.

And Trey, having known him for many years, noticed.

Cater noticed too - but unlike Trey, he couldn't resist poking the bear.

"So," Cater said casually, swirling his drink, "when's your next tutoring session with her?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," Riddle replied without hesitation.

Cater's sharp grin returned. "Wow, you answered that fast."

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "It is simply scheduled. There is nothing unusual about that."

"Sure~" Cater teased, smirking. "Nothing unusual at all."

Trey continued watching, tickled and pleased with the free mealtime entertainment he was getting.

Riddle sighed, exasperated. "Must you both behave like this?"

"Yes," Cater said cheerfully.

"Absolutely," Trey added.

Riddle stared pointedly at his friends (what a nice ring that had).

But even as Cater teased him and Trey chuckled, that quiet satisfaction from earlier didn't fade.

If anything, it nestled itself deeper within him.

Across campus, you were having a very different evening.

You had barely stepped into the Ramshackle common room before Ace's voice rang out, booming and noisy.

"There she iiiiis! Miss Honor Student!"

You froze mid-step, bewildered. "Huh?"

Ace leaned over the back of the couch, grinning like he'd been waiting specifically to ambush you (which he probably was). "So? How's tutoring with our super uptight Housewarden?"

Deuce, sitting beside him, winced. "Ace, don't say that."

Jack crossed his arms. "Seriously. Show some respect."

Epel snorted. "I dunno, I think it's pretty true."

You blinked, finally actually stepping inside your own dorm fully and setting down your bag and coat. "He's not really that uptight. Or strict."

Sebek turned sharply at this. "Discipline is the foundation of strength. If the Housewarden of Heartslabyul is tutoring you, he should be stricter!"

Ace rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Housewarden might have changed after his overblot, but he's still hella strict. You know he still gives me those terrifying glares whenever I do anything, right?"

"That's because you still mess up. It's a miracle you haven't been collared yet." Deuce added helpfully.

"I'm serious! He's really not all that terrifying!"

"Ha! That's how I know you're lying!" Ace accused.

"I'm not lying!" You insisted, plopping yourself down on a chair. "He's patient. And he explains things really well. And he listens. And he's actually really-"

"Really what?" Epel asked.

"If you'd let me finish," You glared at him pointedly, "just...really helpful. He's never yelled at me or been short with me despite how many times I've messed up, and he's just a really good friend."

Jack nodded in solemn understanding. "You sound pretty passionate about defending him."

Deuce nodded. "It's nice, actually. I'm glad that you two seem to be getting along well."

Sebek slammed a fist over his heart. "LOYALTY! ADMIRATION! Yes, this is the manner in which one should speak of a superior!"

You smiled at that. "I mean...yeah. Riddle's really impressive. He's smart and dedicated, and he's changed a lot since the overblot. I really respect that!"

Sebek pointed at you triumphantly. "EXACTLY! You understand! Just as I admire Wakasama's unmatched brilliance, you admire that of the Housewarden of Heartslabyul."

You nodded enthusiastically. "Right! Riddle's growth is honestly really inspiring. And he's so good at teaching and he's-"

Ace and Epel exchanged a look before bursting out in laughter.

"Holy shit," Ace said, clutching his chest and wheezing. "You like him!"

Your brain suddenly lost all of its ability to function. "What!?"

Epel laughed maniacally, smacking Ace's shoulder repeatedly in his bouts of laughter (which made Ace shoot him a dirty look). "You totally do!"

"I DO NOT-!"

"You so do!" Ace exclaimed victoriously. "Look at you! You're defending him more than Trey or Cater ever did! You're defending him like he's your boyfriend or something."

"He's not-!"

Jack raised his hands. "Guys, knock it off. Don't tease her or Houswarden Rosehearts like that."

Sebek nodded earnestly. "Indeed. Such admiration is natural when one is in the presence of greatness."

You pointed at Sebek. "THANK YOU."

Sebek puffed up like a pigeon. "You and I are the same! Admirers of true excellence!"

Ace snorted. "Yeah, except she's admiring Riddle, not Malleus."

Sebek gasped, offended and indignant. "THE HOUSEWARDEN OF HEARTSLABYUL IS A RESPECTABLE MAGE!"

"Exactly!" You jumped back in, flustered, but grateful. "He's-he's amazing! He's smart and disciplined and he's worked so hard to change and he's-"

Ace smirked. "Keep going. This is great!"

You threw a pillow at him. "SHUT UP!"

The pillow was narrowly dodged, but Deuce's face became the unfortunate recipient of the pillow embedded with all your annoyance.

"Oops, sorry, Deuce!" You apologized, cheeks warming further.

"She's blushing!" Epel screeched.

"I AM NOT BLUSHING-!"

"You totally are~" Ace said, running like a mad chicken with you hot on his trail. "You totally like him!"

"NO I DO NOT TRAPPOLA DAMMIT-!"

Of course, that's the moment your voice gave way for a crack, which ended up being all the ammunition they needed.

Ace collapsed onto the couch, wheezing with laughter, no longer breathing. Epel was wiping tears from his eyes. Even Deuce was smiling, though he tried to hide it. Jack shook his head, mildly amused while Sebek launched into yet another tirade about the virtues of powerful mages and how admirable they are.

You stormed up the stairs towards your room, but Ace wasn't done.

"Hey!" He called after you. "Make sure you study extra hard tomorrow! Wouldn't wanna disappoint your favorite housewarden!"

Epel chimed in, "Yeah! Maybe he'll give you a gold star! Or a kiss on the forehead!"

"I SWEAR TO GOD EP-!"

You nearly tripped over the stairs, heat pummeling through your head.

Jack winced at the sight. "Guys, seriously."

Deuce sighed. "You're going to make her explode."

Sebek nodded gravely. "Indeed. Such teasing is unbecoming of Night Raven College students! However-" He added, eyes practically gleaming, "-I do understand the admiration of a powerful mage. Lord Malleus is unmatched in grace, strength, and magical prowess!"

You blinked, walking down a few steps. "I mean...yeah. Malleus is incredible."

Sebek lit up like a Christmas tree. "YES! EXACTLY! You understand TRUE GREATNESS!"

"Riddle's pretty cool too!" You blurted before you could stop yourself.

Ace and Epel howled.

You fled back up to your room, slamming the door behind you.

But their voices echoed in your head.

You like him.

You like him.

You like him.

You heard as the boys left, one by one, taking their rowdiness with them.

You paced.

You sat at your vanity, brushing your hair.

You stood.

You changed your clothes.

You paced again.

You pressed your hands to your face.

"No," You muttered. "No, no, no. I don't. I don't-"

But then you thought about that time he gently corrected your formula for a magical equation. It was your third tutoring session, back when you were still nervous around him. You thought about the times he's listened to you whenever you yapped about something that came to mind - just like earlier today. You thought about the way he genuinely didn't seem like the Riddle you first met soon after you woke up in a coffin. You thought about the comfort you felt around him, how the two of you could sit in silence for however long, and how it no longer felt awkward.

You thought about the way you defended him as much as you did today. Was it really any more than what anyone else would have done? You thought about how you had come to look forward to your sessions. About the way he smiled, actually smiled, it just seemed so right. Like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Your breath hitched.

"Oh no," You whispered.

You knew.

You liked him.

Like, like-liked him.

Really liked him.

And there was no denying it anymore.

You sank into your bed, burying your face into your pillow.

"...Oh no."

Author's Note: I've been super busy, and it's genuinely been so depressing just thinking about how long it's been since I last wrote a fanfic. On one hand, I've just been so swamped, and on the other, I've been going through a weird writing rut. Right now, I'm just trying to get back into the swing of things, so hopefully that goes well!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (TBA)

Series Masterlist

By the time your fourth or fifth session rolled around (honestly, you couldn't remember for the life of you), you no longer felt like you were walking into a courtroom every time you approached the library table. Riddle was already there, as always, posture perfect, notes arranged with surgical precision. Seriously, this guy would do great in the medical field. Somehow, things had changed a little. He looked...less intimidating now.

"Good afternoon," He said without looking up, flipping a page in the diagnostic packet he'd prepared for you. "I have marked a few areas for us to review today."

You slid into your seat. "Only a few? Wow, I'm improving faster than I thought!"

Riddle paused. Then looked up, expression unreadable.

"...That was a joke," You clarified quickly.

"I am aware," He noted, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he hadn't been. "However, you are improving."

You blinked. A complete welcome, albeit unprompted compliment.

"Thanks," You said, trying not to sound too pleased. "I've been practicing."

"I can tell." He tapped the packet. "Your spell structure analysis is far more consistent. You're beginning to identify patterns without prompting."

You grinned. "Pattern recognition is my one superpower. That and making tea." You opened the packet. "So, what's today's challenge?"

"Intermediate spell theory," He replied. "Specifically, the relationship between incantation cadence and magical stability."

You stared blankly at him. "What's that?"

Riddle inhaled, then exhaled. Slowly, like he was reminding himself that patience was a virtue.

"Cadence," He repeated. "The rhythm of the incantation. It affects how stable the spell is."

"Oh!" You perked up. "Like in singing?"

Riddle blinked. "I...suppose there are quite a few similarities, yes."

"Sweet!"

He slid a diagram toward you. "This is the standard cadence pattern for a basic levitation spell. Notice the rise and fall in the syllables."

You tried reading through the sentence, murmuring the words, trying to figure out how to pronounce them, when Riddle leaned in again, his fingertip tracing the cluster of symbols. "This one," He murmured, "uses bh again. Remember, let the b break on a breath, as if the sound is being pushed out of your chest." He shifted to another line. "Here, the double aa means you lengthen the vowel. Not louder, just longer, like you're letting the sound settle before you move on."

He tapped a new mark. "When you see dh, you soften the d and let it roll into the breath. It should feel like the sound is slipping out of your mouth rather than striking. It's like the word 'the,' but you stress the first consonant. This one here is śa. That's not a normal 'sh.' It's sharper, more focused, like cutting the air with the tip of your tongue."

His eyes flicked to you, checking whether you were following. "These distinctions matter. The spell listens to the shape of the sound, not just the word."

"If I say it too fast, does the spell destabilize?"

"Correct."

"And if I say it too slow..."

"It fizzles out."

You nodded. "Okay. So, a little like cooking. Too much heat, it burns, too little, you're not cookin'."

Riddle stared at you again.

"That is an unexpectedly apt comparison," He said quietly.

You shrugged. "I'm better with metaphors. It's the learning and execution I need help with."

"You are improving in those areas as well."

"Wow - two compliments in one session. Should I be concerned?"

Riddle's ears went faintly pink. "I am simply stating facts."

"Sure," You smiled smugly. "Facts."

Riddle had you practice the cadence aloud. You tried. You really did. But the first attempt came out worse than your friend back home, who couldn't roll her 'r's for shit.

Riddle winced. "Try again."

You did.

"Not that slow."

You huffed. "You're very particular."

"I am precise," He corrected. "There is a difference."

"Is there?"

"Yes."

You raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"

Riddle shot you a look that could curdle milk.

You laughed. "Okay, okay. Precision. Got it."

He guided you through the rhythm again, tapping the table lightly like a metronome.

"There," He said. "That was correct."

You blinked. "Really?"

"Yes."

You grinned. "Sweet!"

After a while, Riddle closed the textbook.

"You have made considerable progress today," He said. We can take a short break."

You stretched your arms above your head. "Thank the Seven. My brain was starting to leak out of my ears."

"That is not anatomically possible as a result of studying."

"It's a metaphor."

"I am aware."

You snorted. "Sure you are."

Riddle gave you another withering look, but there was no heat behind it.

You reached for your water bottle. "So...do you tutor a lot of people?"

"No," He said almost immediately. "Most students do not request my assistance."

You blinked. "Why not? You're really good at explaining things."

Riddle hesitated.

Just for a moment.

"I am...aware that my demeanor can be intimidating."

You nearly choked on your water. "You? Intimidating? Nooo."

He narrowed his eyes. "Sarcasm is unnecessary."

"Sorry," You said sheepishly. "But seriously, you're really not that scary. Not anymore, anyways."

Riddle looked at you like you'd just told him the sky was green.

"I...appreciate the sentiment," He said finally.

You shrugged. "I mean it. You're strict, yeah, but you're also pretty patient. And you actually listen. That's rare."

Riddle's posture softened. Barely, but noticeably.

"...Thank you."

You didn't really say anything about that afterwards. You just sipped your water and let the quiet settle comfortably between you.

As you packed up your things at the end of your session, Riddle spoke again.

"You demonstrated strong improvement today," He said. "Your cadence control is significantly better."

"Thanks," You said. "I actually had fun."

"...Fun?"

You panicked. "Not like 'fun' fun, but like, academic 'fun!'"

"I understand," He said quickly, though his ears were pink again. "I am...pleased.

You blinked owlishly.

Riddle stared right back at you.

A second passed, then another, and then you both pretended nothing happened.

Potion Theory.

You were pretty concerned when you arrived at the library table and found Riddle already seated with two porcelain teacups, a small pot, and a neatly folded napkin arranged with the precision of a ceremonial offering.

You stopped mid-step. "...Is this a test?"

Riddle looked up from the notes he was annotating. "No. It is Earl Grey."

You stared at the teapot. "That didn't really answer my question."

"It is not a test. The caffeine may assist with concentration."

"Oh." You slid into your seat. "Well...thanks."

"You are welcome," He said, pouring the tea with a practiced hand. "Sugar?"

"Uhhhh, sure."

He added exactly one spoonful. No more, no less. You found yourself amazed at how he knew the perfect amount of sugar you put in your Earl Grey.

You took a sip.

Your eyes widened. "Oh! This is really good!"

"Of course it is," Riddle said primly. "I brewed it."

You snorted. "Right. Silly me."

His pen paused for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, but you caught it.

You found yourself thinking about Riddle's tiny pauses after some bout of silly sarcasm from you. It meant that he was amused. That tiny inhale he'd let out after you try explaining something almost always meant that he was about to correct you. A tiny exhale, on the other hand, meant that he was trying not to correct you.

Huh, when did you start noticing things like that?

You sipped your tea in silence, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere between you two (as well as the scones Riddle apparently already had on the table). You watched as the light hit, a stark difference to the beautiful apple red that was his hair, and how it seemed to make him glow just a little more.

Eventually, it was time to work on sigils. As you moved on to the next diagram, Riddle watched your process intently, occasionally interjecting with a question or correction.

"Your placement is slightly off," He said at one point.

You adjusted it. "Better?"

"Yes. Much."

You grinned.

He grinned back.

You tried not to think too hard about that.

Halfway through the session, you paused to stretch your fingers. "Why do sigils have so many circles? It's like someone got bored and started doodling."

Riddle looked mildly offended. "They are not doodles. They represent containment fields."

"Containment fields shaped like circles."

"Yes. Circles are the most stable geometric form for magical energy."

You raised an eyebrow. "Says who?"

"Says centuries of magical research," He replied, sounding personally attacked.

You grinned. "I'm just saying, trapezoids deserve a chance."

"Triangles are inherently unstable."

"Wow. Harsh."

Riddle gave you a look. "You are being deliberately contrary."

"Maybe."

He exhaled sharply, but you could tell he wasn't actually annoyed. If anything, you'd even go so far as to say that he seemed...mildly entertained.

After another round of sigils, you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. "My brain is melting."

"It is not," Riddle said automatically.

"It feels like it."

"That is normal," He said, tone softening. "Potion theory is complex. You are doing well."

You blinked. "Thanks."

At some point, you were explaining your thought process and were mid-sentence when your pen slipped and left a streak of ink across your notes.

You groaned. "Ugh, balls-"

Riddle scrunched his nose, but leaned over to assess the damage. "It is not a significant error. You can rewrite the line."

"Yeah, but now it looks messy."

"Perhaps, however, the accident still works in your favor." He said. "Your work is still valid."

You blinked at him. "You really think so?"

Riddle's lips twitched.

You laughed, and Riddle looked away quickly, as if the sound had startled him.

As you packed up your things, Riddle spoke again.

"Well done today," He said. "Your analogies were particularly effective."

You blinked. "Really?"

"Yes." He hesitated. "I find your perspective...refreshing."

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Then he cleared his throat. "I will see you during our usual time and location next week."

"Got it," You said, smiling. "And...thanks. For the tea. And the patience."

Riddle's posture softened - barely. "You are welcome."

You left the library, your body no longer feeling like osmium weighing you down.

You were halfway through explaining your thought process on a spell diagram, hands frazzling about, voice animated, tea cooling beside you, when Riddle leaned in slightly, eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Uhhhh, so if the incantation cadence shifts here," You said, tapping the page, "then the stabilizing sigil compensates for the imbalance. It's like...magical shock absorption."

Riddle nodded, almost impressed. "That is another apt analogy. Continue."

You felt the corner of your mouth twitch upwards, before you manually forced yourself to keep cool.

"And that's why the incantation sounds ceremonial even though it's functional," You finished, flipping to the next page. "It's traditional layered onto practicality!"

Riddle remained quiet for a long moment.

"...You are genuinely enjoying this."

"Well, duh! I finally understand what the heck is going on and-"

"Well, well."

You nearly inhaled the rest of your words.

Riddle jolted upright (more than he already was) so fast, you could have sworn you'd heard his spine crack a little.

Standing a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back, was Professor Crewel.

Unlike the usual look on his face that made you feel like he'd caught you exchanging notes with your friend in class, a flicker of amusement shone through.

"Professor Crewel," Riddle said. "I was not aware that you were-"

"Checking in?" Crewel finished smoothly. "Naturally. I assigned this arrangement, after all. I must ensure my pups are doing well and that you aren't tearing each other apart."

You found your own spine straightening at his presence. "We're not tearing anything apart. I mean-except for maybe my brain, but that's normal; no biggie."

Riddle shot you a withering look that said please stop talking.

Crewel's gaze drifted over the table, taking in the open books, scattered notes, teapot and teacups, the way Riddle was leaning ever so slightly towards you (even in this moment) instead of simply sitting rigidly upright.

"My, my," Crewel drawled. "It seems this arrangement is working better than I had hoped. Sencha?

"Yes, Professor," Riddle replied stiffly.

"The tea is-" You began.

"Delightful?" Crewel supplied, lips curling. "Yes, I can see that."

Riddle opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

No particular sound came out.

Crewel's eyes sparkled. You felt your face heat up. "We're making a lot of progress!"

"Of course you are," Crewel said lightly. "And Rosehearts here seems to be enjoying himself."

Riddle made a noise that might have been a cough or an itty-bitty existential crisis.

"I-Professor-that is-an exaggeration."

Crewel hummed. "Is it? I have seen you tutor, before, Rosehearts, but usually, you are far more rigid."

Riddle stiffened. "I am not rigid."

You snorted before you could stop yourself.

Riddle shot you a betrayed look.

Crewel's grin widened. "See? Even your pupil disagrees."

"I-" Riddle sputtered. "That is-"

You jumped in, attempting to save him. "He's not rigid. Just...structured!"

Crewel nodded approvingly. "Well, whatever it may be, I am pleased to see such progress. Carry on, you two. Keep up the good work."

You and Riddle froze.

Praise from Professor Crewel wasn't rare, but always welcome. Silence fell over the table.

You stared at your notes, trying to focus on the words, unable to fight the grin attempting to cement its place on your face. "So. Uh...spell diagrams!"

"Yes, of course," Riddle muttered.

Eventually, the session came to a close. You began packing your things, not slowly, but not rushed either. Riddle cleared his throat.

"...You are improving," He said quietly. "Significantly."

You looked up, excited. "You really think so?"

"Yes."

You felt a sort of warmth wash over your spine. Something that only intensified when you noticed the soft expression on Riddle's face.

And as you left the library that evening, you realized a crucial, itty-bitty little detail that you hadn't really had in the forefront of your mind before:

It didn't really feel like tutoring anymore.

Author's Note: This took forever to write, because for some reason, my writing rut just had to hit while I was in the middle of this. I ended up starting this 1-month writing challenge in my AO3 so that I can try and pull myself out of the rut, and so far, it's been pretty cool! I'm not too happy with how this chapter turned out, but I'm excited to get it out of the way and move on to chapter 4 (which I have been waiting to write forever).

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (TBA)

Series Masterlist

The arena pulsed with the deep, thunderous beat of the music, the bass vibrating through Leviathan's bones. Strobe lights sliced through the crowd, tracing electric patterns across thousands of ecstatic faces. The air was alive with a frenzied energy, as banners bearing the name HUNTR/X scattered across the intense glow of the massive stage rigging and the overzealous fans.

And on that stage - three idols stood like statues of otherworldly grace, their movements sharp enough to pierce the air. Ethereal, sparkling, alluring - every dance step a precise weapon, every note from their voices imbued with a strange sensation. Their performance was a mesmerizing display of raw, unrestrained talent and power.

In the last row of VIP seats, where the shadows swallowed any who dared to hide, Leviathan was vibrating with awe.

"Ruri-chain's grace incarnate!" He whispered, clutching a signed lightstick as though it were a lifeline to some distant, unreachable realm. His voice cracked with the excitement of a true fan.

Levi wasn't supposed to be here, though.

He knew this. Lord Diavolo had made it abundantly clear to all the demon brothers: Stay low during the International Dimensional Cultural Summit. The Human Realm was crowded with representatives from the Devildom, the Celestial Realm, and every other border province, and the last thing anyone needed was for a powerful demon lord to be mistaken for a rabid fangirl and carted off by moral security.

But how could Levi not go?

HUNTR/X was no ordinary group. They weren't just idols - they were a force, a phenomenon, a masterclass in spellbinding vocals and performance art. And ever since Y/N had started working as the assistant manager for their rivals, the enigmatic K-pop group Saja Boys, a boy band with some seriously suspicious demonic ties, Levi had found himself obsessively curious. Somehow more so for the girls than Y/N's group.

His legs bounced restlessly under his seat as though in sync to a rhythm game, each twitch a very voluntary reaction to the pulse of the music. He had kept to the shadows all night, his demon form cloaked and his aura suppressed, just as Lucifer taught him so many years ago. He had even cast a low-level illusion spell over himself to make his appearance more...human. Everything was going perfectly.

That is, until he felt a familiar presence.

Not in the audience.

Not on stage.

Backstage.

Y/N.

Levi's breath caught in his throat. His pulse skipped a beat as a camera zoomed past and panned to the staff area for the final fanfare. And there, barely visible through a labyrinth of cables and curtains and crew members, was the one person he'd traveled all the way to the Human Realm to not see.

You were shouting something to the stage crew, a clipboard clutched in one hand, a sparkling drink in the other. Your headset was slightly askew, and your hair (tousled from hours of frantic activity) still managed to look so effortlessly perfect. You were radiant. You were gorgeous. You were probably going to kill him.

Levi froze mid-squeal, panic flooding his veins.

She's gonna kill me if she finds out I'm here.

He tried to slink out of his row, crouching low, slipping beneath a pair of waving fans, but his scarf snagged on a purse. He yelped, stumbling over his own feet, and with a final, mortifying thud, he fell headlong into the staff-only corridor behind the VIP floor.

"Security!"

The shout sliced through the air, but it was already too late.

A blur of pink and silver heels came at him, impossibly fast. Before Levi could even register what was happening, he was slammed against a corridor wall. One of the HUNTR/X idols - tall, with a long braid of purple hair - had him pinned by the throat, the reinforced heel of her boot digging into his skin. Another idol, much shorter, with cute buns - had his arm twisted behind his back with a brutal precision that sent a tiny jolt of pain straight to his spine. If it weren't for the situation, and it were all in a game, Levi felt this would surely have been some hidden route that he unlocked.

"I told you I sensed something off," Mira (Levi's bias) said, her voice sugary sweet, but dripping with danger. Her icy gaze never left his face. "You're leaking demon energy like a broken faucet."

Levi scrambled for words, his breath hitching in his chest - "I-I'm just a fan! Just a fan! I swear I didn't enchant anything! I even bought merch legally, see?" He fumbled for his lightstick, waving it wildly like a small child with a toy, hoping to prove his innocence.

Zoey's (Levi's bias wrecker) eyes narrowed, her irises shifting like molten chocolate. "A demon? Creeping around backstage after hours? That sounds more like an assassin than a fan to me."

Levi swallowed hard, his throat tightening under her hold. "N-No! I love your choreography! And your vocals! You're like the ultimate boss battle in human pop culture! I just wanted to see the magic in person, I swear!"

They didn't let him go.

Mira glanced over her shoulder at Rumi, her voice lowering to a dangerous murmur. "What should we do?"

Rumi (Levi's ultimate bias) glared at his form harshly.

Levi winced, his stomach flipping with dread as he began to murmur to himself, "Please, please, please, please don't tell Y/N-"

At those words, the idols tilted their head in confusion.

Zoey, still squatting at his level, tilted her head as though studying a particularly elusive puzzle. "Y/N? Why does that name sound familiar?" She asked, her voice suddenly sharp with renewed interest. The shift in her gaze felt like a predator locking onto its prey.

Levi's heart stuttered, his mind racing. "I-uh...she manages the Saja Boys, right? I-I've just heard of her!" The words spilled from his mouth, his voice trembling in a desperate attempt to deflect suspicion.

But the idols weren't convinced.

Rumi adjusted her earpiece and put away her sword, her voice a low hum. "We'll take him into our room. We'll interrogate him there."

Levi's stomach plummeted yet again. "I'm so dead..."

As the idols of HUNTR/X exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them, Levi knew there was no escaping now. He had just made the worst mistake of his existence.

Leviathan was not used to being at the mercy of anyone, let alone a group of his favorite K-pop idols. But here he was, trembling in a dimly lit room filled with the faint scent of hairspray and glitter. His hands were bound tightly to the chair, and he could feel the warmth of his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Mira's frost glare was locked on him, the pressure of her boot against his neck still fresh in his mind. Zoey and Rumi stood beside her, their expressions equally distrustful.

"You know, you've got some nerve sneaking around here, demon," Zoey purred, her molten chocolate eyes flicking to his lightstick, which he had still somehow clutched in his hand, even while tied up.

Levi whimpered. His usually smooth and confident tone was nowhere to be found. "I-I swear I wasn't planning anything bad! I just...I'm a fan! You don't understand! I've seen every one of your performances, your choreo, your vocals-" His voice broke. You're...you're....so cool!" And with that, Levi burst into tears and heart eyes (somehow at the same time).

Rumi raised a brow, inspecting him with an unsettlingly cool detachment. "I'm not sure if 'fangirl' is an adequate excuse for being a demon in our domain."

"I'm just a fangirl, please let me go-" Levi nearly screamed, then winced at how high-pitched his voice sounded. His whole body was shaking now, but not just from fear - something else was happening as well.

Mira, sensing his discomfort, leaned in closer. "You're leaking energy again. Demons don't usually give off such strong energy unless they're desperate. And you're acting desperate."

Levi was seconds away from hyperventilating (even more than he already was, that is), and that's when it happened. He felt his connection with you. He felt the channel vibrate with energy. He felt the link snap into place with the subtlety of a lightning bolt, and his entire body froze, his breath caught in his throat.

You.

You were feeling the waves of panic that he was sending through the pact.

His mind flashed to the last few weeks, to the way you'd always been there for him, how you struggled to fit into the Devildom when you first arrived, and how you'd never failed to sense his distress (especially after forming a pact with him). That would be his worst-case scenario. You finding out. You'd be furious.

He didn't even realize he was muttering aloud, "Please don't tell Y/N, please don't-"

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey exchanged glances. Rumi's expression grew sharper.

"Seriously, that name sounds so familiar-" Zoey said. "Why can't we tell her? What would happen if we did?"

Before Levi could respond, he felt the thudding pulse of anxiety and anger from across the venue. His eyes widened. You were definitely starting to feel it. He knew that you felt it. There's no way you didn't. And with how strong the connection felt, Levi knew that it was just a matter of time before you found him. It was impossible to hide from you.

The air in the HUNTR/X trailer was tense enough to cut with a blade.

Literally.

There were plenty of blades around (one of which was currently dangerously close to Leviathan's trembling cheek).

The trailer lights flickered, probably more from the ambient magic leaking out of Levi's body than from faulty wiring.

And then...

SLAM.

The trailer door burst open with the force of a thousand fans.

You stood in the doorway, eyes wide, fury radiating from you like a second skin. Your breathing was heavy, headset still clinging to one ear, clipboard clutched in a death grip.

"There you are!" You snapped, eyes locking immediately onto Levi's, who perked up like a puppy seeing its owner - if said puppy was tied to a chair and leaking supernatural fear sweat.

"Y-Y/N!" Levi wailed, tears doubling in speed. "It's not what it looks like!"

"Are you kidding me right now?" You barked, storming into the room. "Levi, what the hell!? I TOLD you NOT to come during the summit!"

"I know! I know!" He sobbed. "But they were performing Golden! With the pyro effects and the Rumi solo and-"

Mira stepped between you and Levi with a hard expression. "Hold on. You're Y/N!"

You froze. "...Yeah? Why does everyone keep saying that like I'm a cursed scroll?"

Rumi narrowed her eyes. "You're the manager for the Saja Boys."

You sighed. "Yes. Unfortunately, yes."

Zoey's brows drew together, and her voice was low. "You're the one who was crying about? The one we weren't supposed to tell? A freaking manager?"

You rubbed your temples, deeply regretting every life choice that had led to this exact moment. "Because he's an idiot who sneaks into places he shouldn't be. Levi is harmless. Mostly. I mean, he once destroyed a server because he lost in a gacha pull, but generally harmless."

Mira stared at you. "I don't sense demonic energy from you. But why are you here?"

You gave a weak laugh, gesturing at Levi. "Just a pact. Long story. Don't worry, I'm not a demon. I'm just chronically overworked and magically adjacent. I haven't slept in three days."

Zoey winced.

Rumi's eyes flicked to Levi. "None of this makes sense. First, a demon bulldozes his way into our concert-"

"He actually just wanted to watch you perform." You interrupted.

Glaring at you, Rumi continued, "and then he doesn't even try to fight back-"

"Like I said, completely harmless."

"And then you show, claiming that you're not a demon."

"Yup."

The girls looked at you, flabbergasted. You don't necessarily blame them. It was a weird ass pill to swallow.

"I assure you that I'm not here for any trouble, and neither is the guy you've got bound to that chair. Sure, he's a demon. And sure, he's one of the seven Demon Lords of the Devildom, and sure-"

"Wait, wait, wait-" Zoey cut in. "He's a Demon Lord? From the Devildom? Is that like below the Honmoon?"

"Uhhhh, yeah, sure, let's call it that." You said. "He's just the Avatar of Envy. Gamer extraordinaire. Simp for all things fictional."

Levi nodded, still weeping. "Can confirm."

Mira slashed her Weol-do forward, uncertainty and anger tainting her features. "If he really is all that, then why isn't he fighting back?"

You threw your clipboard onto the makeup table, where it landed with a clack. "Because he's a fan. He came here to see you. Not start a war. He wouldn't hurt you."

"He broke into a secure concert zone," Mira noted.

Increduously, you asked Levi, "Did you actually break in!?"

"No! I paid with human world cash for the concert tickets and the lightstick! I bought it legally! Look, it has the holographic authenticity sticker!"

The three HUNTR/X girls exchanged bewildered glances, clearly unsure what to make of this sobbing, nerdy disaster of a demon and this exhausted human who happened to be the manager of a wildly successful K-pop group (who also happened to be demons).

Rumi was the first to recover. "Still, he could be a threat."

"I'm not a threat!" Levi wailed. "You are! You almost shattered my spinal column!"

"You landed in a restricted area!"

"Because my scarf got stuck on a purse and I tripped-"

BOOM.

The door flew open for the second time that night.

This time, it was the Saja Boys.

All five of them.

Their stage gear was still on, glittering faintly in the dim trailer light. Jinu was at the front, fists clenched, and eyes blazing with the kind of fury reserved for Gwi Ma (though he would never express it to the being, of course).

"What the hell is going on!?" He shouted, scanning the room.

Romance immediately moved to your side, "Are you hurt?"

You waved him off, stunned (and tired). "No, I'm fine, but-wait, how did you know where I was?"

We felt your energy spike," Abby, the tallest of the group, said. "Also, you weren't responding in the group chat."

"Oh. Right."

"Baby, the youngest, pointed at Levi. "Who's that and why is he tied to a chair crying?"

"Long story," You said through a long sigh.

Mystery sidled up to you to pat your head.

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey all drew back at once, clearly alarmed by the sudden arrival of five more demons.

Mira hissed, "Why the hell are you demons here!?"

The tension spiked.

Baby stuck his tongue out at them. Abby and Jinu were too busy glaring to notice Mystery growling at the demon hunters. Romance was ready to whisk you away at the slightest hint of a fight.

The energy in the room transformed violently as Rumi darted to conjure her Sa-in-geom and Zoey curled her fingers around Daesinkal. Mira's heels scraped the floor as she positioned herself between them and Levi (and the Saja Boys).

Levi, for his part, looked like he wanted the Earth to swallow him whole.

"NO, NO, NO-" You hollered, waving your arms. "Nobody is fighting anyone!"

"Back off, Y/N..." Mira warned.

"Oh, you're not laying a hand on a single HAIR on our manager, crazy pink ass punk," Baby declared.

"Oh hell no, you did not insult my bestie like that, you ragtag wannabe maknae-" Zoey raged as she threw her weapons at the boys.

"Can everyone please stop and shut the fuck up for like two seconds!?" You screeched, officially done with anything supernatural in a 50-mile radius.

Dead silence fell.

You sighed, rubbing your face.

"Okay. Summary: Levi snuck in to see HUNTR/X perform. Got caught. Because he's a dunderhead-"

"Hey!"

"HE'S just obsessed with your group. I know. I don't get it either-"

"HEY, we've got great music!"

"Not what I meant, Zoey, now hush it. Anways. HUNTR/X girls assumed he was dangerous, which, fair, he is a demon after all. But he's not. I felt his panic through our pact. That's why I'm here."

Looking at the Saja Boys, you continued, "Levi is an old friend of mine. From the Devildom. Long story, definitely not getting into it now." Looking back at the girls, you gestured at the boys, "They were wondering where the hell I was and tracked me down. Now they're here."

Everyone stared.

"So that's everyone caught up."

Levi sniffled. "I was just gonna see the encore and leave...I even memorized the choreography for How It's Done. It's so catchy and addicting-"

"Levi. Not helping," You hissed.

Zoey was the first to crack. "You don't get paid enough for this, do you?"

"I really don't."

Author's Note: So, I was already mulling over this idea and how exactly I can execute it, when I saw a (post) made by @l3viat8an about wanting to see an Obey Me x Kpop Demon Hunters crossover. So, of course, I immediately started writing down what I had in my brain so far, and boy, did I have a lot of fun with this. It was definitely a little difficult to write, because I had like 6 different Saja Boys drafts that I was working on interchangeably (now 5 drafts), and so things were starting to go over my head a little.

I genuinely think there's so much that I can do with this crossover, because I feel like it gives me a chance to actually explore the ill tendencies of demons. Obey Me sort of desensitizes you to the fact that demons do evil shit, so it's a great opportunity to delve into that with this crossover. There's also a bunch of stuff that I've got planned for future chapters, and if you have any ideas, please comment or send in a request!

Potionology with Professor Crewel was a class that you didn't actually mind attending - not because you were particularly good at it, but rather because you enjoyed watching the drama that unfolded when students inevitably blew something up. However, today, your source of entertainment sat directly beside you.

Jamil Viper.

Flawless posture, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms, and that sharp, aloof gaze focused on the cauldron like the fate of the world rested on getting the temperature just right. He moved like someone born into precision - deliberate, practiced, untouchable.

And by the Sevens, did that make him an irresistible challenge.

You leaned onto the lab table, one manicured hand supporting your chin while the other lazily stirred the base mixture of honeyroot and belladonna in your shared cauldron. Your eyes flicked over to Jamil's profile, watching as he measured out the powdered mandrake root with military precision.

"Is it supposed to bubble like that?" You asked sweetly, voice dipped in honeyed feigned innocence.

Jamil didn't even glance at you. "The bubbles are normal. We're at the catalytic stage."

You hummed thoughtfully. "Hmmm...I wonder if it's reacting to your natural hotness."

This time, his hand faltered - just barely - but you saw it. A beat of hesitation in his otherwise flawless technique. You smirked.

Bingo.

"You do realize that this is a graded assignment?" He muttered without looking at you, lips tightening.

"Oh, of course," You replied, stirring the brew with a deliberately slow swirl. "I'm just making conversation. I find it helps the potion's vibes when the room has a bit of...chemistry."

Jamil exhaled through his nose. "That's not how alchemy works."

"Isn't it?" You teased, leaning over to glance at the thickening potion in his beaker. Your shoulder brushed against his arm. "You're awfully tense, Jamil. You should let me massage your shoulders after this."

"I'd rather keep my spine intact, thank you."

"You wound me." You pouted dramatically, batting your lashes at him.

"You're going to ruin the stirring ration if you keep fluttering like that."

Sevens, he was so stoic. But not immune. You could see the tension in his jaw now, the ever-so-faintest dust of redness on the tips of his ears. He was trying so hard not to engage. It only made the game that much more fun~

The potion had begun to take on a soft violet hue, meaning that it was time to add the purified dew essence. Jamil reached for the vial carefully, concentration etched into every line on his face.

You leaned in, close enough to count his lashes, your voice low and sultry as your breath ghosted across the shell of his ear, "Careful, Jamil...one drop too fast and things might explode. Wouldn't be the first time a little tension caused something to blow."

His grip faltered.

The vial slipped just slightly, but enough - a splash of dew essence fell into the cauldron all too soon. The mixture hissed with the tenacity of a rattlesnake before erupting into a dramatic puff of violet smoke, swirling with glittering sparks and the undeniable scent of singed lavender.

You both coughed.

Professor Crewel turned so fast, his coat flared like a dramatic cape (which you suppose was exactly that in a way).

"Y/L/N! Viper! What is the meaning of this?" He snapped, heels clicking rapidly toward your table.

Jamil opened his mouth, clearly ready to take the blame, but you were faster.

"I'm so sorry, Professor," You said, wide-eyed and innocent. "That was my fault. I knocked Jamil's elbow by mistake."

You didn't miss the sharp side-glance Jamil gave you. Crewel narrowed his eyes.

"Hmph. Typical of you to treat my class like a fashion runway. Perhaps if you focused on your brewing instead of making doe eyes at your lab partner, you wouldn't be sabotaging his work, which through extension is yours as well."

You bowed your head. "Yes, Professor."

The scolding went on for another minute before Crewel finally snapped his fingers to clean up the mess and stalked off in a flurry of expensive cologne and disdain over his students' shenanigans.

You turned your head slightly to peek at Jamil. He was staring at you, his brows drawn together - slightly in annoyance, but more so in confusion. Something a tad unreadable.

"What?" You asked, smiling. "Surprised I'd take the blame for once?"

"I'm surprised you didn't let me take it." He said, voice softer than before. "Most people do."

Your expression softened (just a little, mind you). "Well, I'm not most people."

He was quiet again. His eyes lingered on you for a second too long, then returned to the fresh beaker of ingredients. His cheeks were a little flushed now.

You sat back in your chair with a satisfied sigh. "Besides," You added, flipping your hair over your shoulder, "Now you owe me~"

"I don't owe you anything," He muttered, but the words lacked their usual venom. He didn't meet your eyes.

Oh yes. The walls were cracking.

And you couldn't wait to keep pushing.

It all began with a simple errand.

Jamil had been tasked with delivering a set of enchanted scrolls to one of the faculty offices across campus (a rare occasion when Yuu wasn't called to the job). Normally, he'd have used some other method to do it alone and in silence - no fuss, no nonsense. Just efficient. That was the plan.

Until you spotted him unlocking his magic carpet outside Scarabia's dorm, scrolls neatly bundled beneath one arm, and a look of focused intention etched onto his face.

You slid up beside him with a little hum of interest, your eyes raking over the floating carpet with mock curiosity. "Running away from all your adoring fans, Viper?" You purred, arms behind your back as you leaned in slightly. "Or is this your version of a gallant escape?"

Jamil (as usual) didn't even spare you a full glance. "It's an errand."

"Even better," You said, stepping onto the edge of the carpet like it was the red carpet at a gala. "Let me tag along. I could use a break...and besides, I've always wanted to know what it feels like to straddle something that responds to your every command."

That got a reaction. Jamil's shoulders stiffened just slightly - a crack in his typically composed armor. He exhaled slowly, eyes forward, face unreadable.

"It's not a toy."

"Oh, sweetheart," You cooed as you sat down behind him with practiced ease, brushing imaginary lint from your miniskirt. "Neither am I."

With a sharp mutter under his breath and a reluctant motion of his hand, the carpet lifted into the air, floating smoothly over the campus grounds. The breeze tousled your hair and his, the sun casting a glow across his face - focused, serene, and unfairly handsome.

You, of course, couldn't resist.

Leaning forward, you gentle wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling the taut definition beneath his robes. "Safety first," You said sweetly into his ear. "Wouldn't want to fall off...though I imagine falling into your arms wouldn't be the worst thing."

Jamil's fingers clenched tighter around the tassels. "You're perfectly stable without clinging to me," He muttered.

"Maybe," You whispered, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear just enough to make him flinch, "But I like how you feel."

He faltered for a split second - the carpet dipping slightly before steadying. You smiled smugly.

"You know," You continued, dragging your hands along his sides, "I've always had a thing for strong, silent types. Especially ones who know how to handle...sensitive equipment."

The tassels twitched in his hands.

You tsked gently. "Tense much? Maybe you need to relax. Should I give you a shoulder rub? Or maybe a kiss for bravery?"

He turned his head slightly - just enough for you to see the tightness in his jaw and the faint, stubborn pink burning in his cheeks. "Stop talking."

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder with an exaggerated sigh. "'It's criminal, really. Just the two of us on a floating carpet, your body between my legs, the wind in my hair...feels like the setup for something a little less PG."

Jamil's back tensed even more beneath you.

"Oh, don't get shy now," You purred, voice dipping like melted chocolate. "You're the one steering. I'm just here...enjoying the view." You slid your hand slowly down his arm. "And the ride."

His fingers visibly twitched, still gripping the tassels with all his life force.

"What really gets me," You continued, your breath brushing the edge of his jaw, "is how you've managed to keep your composure." All this heat, all this tension - and if he gripped the tassels any tighter, they might've snapped.

Jamil's grip tightened again, and this time the carpet pitched into a sudden, dramatic turn - a clear attempt to throw you off his rhythm or distract you into silence.

It didn't work.

You shrieked with laughter, clutching him tighter. "Are we doing tricks now?" You giggled into his shoulder. "Because I'm flexible, but I didn't bring a helmet!"

He groaned low in his throat, but it was too late. You were fully in your element now - lounging behind him with legs cross, hair wind-tossed, and the look of a mischief goddess on your face.

Eventually, with exasperation practically radiating from every movement, Jamil directed the carpet down in front of Ramshackle Dorm. You made no move to dismount.

"Home already?" You asked innocently, trailing your hand up his arm. "And here I thought we'd take the scenic route. Maybe stop by the woods, find a quiet little clearing...share secrets, maybe more-"

"Off."

You blinked.

He didn't even look at you. His ears were slightly pink, his jaw locked. But his voice was level, if strained. "Off the carpet."

You sighed dramatically. "You're no fun."

You dismounted with theatrical flair, smoothing your skirt and tossing your hair back as if stepping down from a royal procession. "But thanks for the ride, darling," You said over your shoulder. "If you ever need help...handling your gear again, you know where to find me."

Jamil didn't respond.

He didn't even look at you.

He simple tugged the tassels, and the carpet whipped back into the air with a swish and vanished into the sky, leaving a faint blush behind and a smirk on your lips.

The stately, mirrored dance room in Night Raven College's athletics wing was usually reserved for ballet or ceremonial formations. But these days, the pounding beats of on-beat music echoed between the walls as Jamil Viper practiced his own stress-relief routine - a private break-dance choreography born from hours of restless tension, endless assignments, and a mind that seldom shuts off.

You found him there in the late afternoon: the sun streaming through high windows, dust motes glittering in shafts of light. He moved with controlled confidence - spins, slides, freezes - all executed with the kind of graceful precision that only someone who had practiced dance for years could muster. His demeanor was calm, composed, yet there was excitement, passion in his movements. A true king in his element.

For you, it was an absolutely irresistible opportunity.

You slipped in behind him, every bit the vision of sultry control: a wine-colored dress with a ruffled hem that clung to curves and teased glimpses of skin with each shift, paired with slender heels that clicked faintly across the polished floor. You drew in a breath - rich, self-satisfied - before stepping forward and clapping once, sharply.

He froze mid-move, head snapping up, brow arched. You pressed a hand to your chest, feigning surprise.

"Ooh, Jamil..." You murmured. "I didn't realize break-dance classes were part of your daily routine."

He slid his foot out of a pose and smoothed back stray hair. "You said you'd leave me alone."

You smiled wickedly. "Who? Me?" Jamil sighed in exasperation. "Even if I did, you just...looked so tempting."

He crossed his arms. "I'm not practicing for an audience."

You tilted your head. "Is that why you paused mid-step? Because I showed up?"

He didn't respond.

Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you drifted toward the speaker, Jamil's phone resting beside it - your target. You tapped the screen, fingers gliding with casual intent - but the lock screen blinked back at you, cold and unyielding. No surprise there. Jamil wasn't the type to give away access lightly (as any responsible person should).

You picked up the phone, letting your gaze linger on it a moment longer than necessary, then turned and made your way back to him. He didn't look up right away, but you could feel the shift in the air as you approached.

Holding the phone out, you met his eyes. "Mind unlocking this for me?"

His jaw tightened - just slightly. Irritation flickered behind his gaze, but so did something else. Without a word, he took the phone and unlocked it, his fingers moving fast, precise. Then he handed it back, his touch brushing yours for half a second too long.

He didn't say a thing. He didn't have to.

You typed something into the search bar, intent on making sure that Jamil couldn't see you fiddling with his phone. The speakers started blaring again, and then you set the phone back where it originally was. The music began again, washing over you - elegant, flowing, rhythmic.

Extracting a corner of the toe of your heel, you dragged a clean line down the floor - a slow, deliberate movement.

Jamil's eyes narrowed - half irritation, half something else. You stepped across the hardwood floor, the rhythm from the speaker guiding you.

One-two-three, one-two-three.

Your heels pivoted lightly, sliding into the familiar cadence. A waltz. Or rather, the footwork for it, anyway.

You moved through the basic steps - slow turns, sweeping glides - the ruffles on your dress fluttering around your figure with every rise and fall. No partner. Just you and the music.

You watched Jamil with the eye of a hawk. Circling closer, footwork still carrying that elegant sway, you stepped into his space, and lifted your arms, one brushing his shoulder, and the other sliding neatly into his hand.

His body went rigid.

Your voice was lavender and velvet. "Waltz with me."

"I'd rath-" He started, tone clipped.

You tilted your head, fingers tightening slightly where they rested. "Dance with me."

He hesitated.

But your steps were already drawing him in, guiding him through the tempo - subtle turns, measured breath, contact that sparked more than rhythm. And for a moment, he followed. Not just because he wanted to. But because he couldn't help it.

You smiled.

You led him into the simple hold - right hand to his shoulder, left hand in his - and pressed forward onto the floor. The swell of a smooth, orchestral Viennese waltz began playing. The ruffles on your dress continued to swirl according to your movements; now with Jamil's stance recast from audience to partner.

Despite you leading him into the dance, Jamil naturally took the lead and guided you carefully with that firm, practiced grip.

One-two-three, one-two-three.

The steps were measured. The turn was tight. The closeness familiar yet thrilling.

"I didn't know you could dance like this," You murmured, voice low enough only he'd hear.

He blinked. "I can dance many styles."

Jamil was a practiced dancer, gifting you perfect posture and fluid motion. You used this chance to brush your hip against his a little longer, your gaze dipped to his neck as you followed his lead.

The height in the waltz built, and you subtly released his shoulder and pressed your chest against his closer. He still didn't flinch. He guided you.

You whispered, "If this is how you hold me now, I'm excited to see how you hold me later."

His step faltered, just a touch. He swallowed.

You slowed, accordingly to the melody, coaxing him into a sultry foxtrot. Each step was sumptuous, like the finest velvet - smooth, intentional, undeniably close. The ruffles whispered around with every turn, every slide a promise made in silk and motion.

You let your fingers trace ever so slightly over his shoulder as you moved.

"You're not trying to seduce me, are you? You questioned, voice dripping like warm honey. A pause. "Because it's working."

His breath hitched. Barely, but you felt it.

Your smile grew more wicked, more hazy.

"Careful, Jamil. If you keep dancing like that, I might forget we're just practicing."

He didn't answer with words. His hand tightened at your waist. His steps grew sharper, more deliberate - every shift of his body brushing closer, every movement carrying a kind of heat that left no room for misreading.

You realized with a slow, thrilling surrender - you weren't the one leading this dance anymore.

Before you knew it, a vibrant salsa tune reverberated throughout the room as you spun sideways, allowing yourself to be pulled into a livelier pattern. You clicked your heels, you flicked your head - classic salsa, but with an effortless allure.

His muscles flexed beneath his shirt. His leading was strong, firm, unflinching. Your bodies pushed and pulled, buzzing with magnetic energy. You uttered softly, "That's it, I knew you had it in you~"

His jaw angled. Sweat glistened on his temple. The fire of the salsa matched the fire in your eyes.

He dipped you low.

Your dress flared.

And your glossed lips parted.

The music changed on your breath - a tense, dramatic tango. You slid your hand along his chest, drawing your pulse to his sternum.

He let go of the salsa rhythm, leaning in for a true tango embrace. Chest to chest, cheek to cheek. Your hand went to the back of his neck, hair slipping through his fingers. His arm slid around your waist with surprising gentleness - tentative, but real.

He led. You pivoted. You pressed your hip against his. His eyes glittered in the mirror. Your hair flew wildly with the tempo. He guided your close, closer - hips aligned, shoulders aligned, heartbeats aligned.

As the music reached a crescendo, he dipped you - gravity and control in perfect synergy. You leaned back in the dip, your dress sliding temptingly, your pulse racing. Who would have known that Jamil Viper was this good of a dancer?

Suddenly, he lost balance.

Mid-dip, he staggered. But as quick as a pit viper, Jamil caught your head as you felt yourselves crash to the ground all too slow, his strong arms creating a barrier between you and the floor. His chest heaved, and his gaze was charged.

You blinked, hair falling forward. He brushed it aside, still holding that dance hold - intimate, warm, safe.

He nodded once, sharply. "I...you okay?"

You smiled back, breathy. "More than okay."

Jamil let go of you, setting himself up vertical, and offering a hand to help you up.

You rose up to your knees as you gently pulled him back to sit.

"I saw you wince when you got up," You said, voice laced with concern, but carrying a teasing edge. Jamil did not miss this. "Did you pull your side?"

He shot you a sharp look. "How'd you know?"

You flashed a knowing smile, leaning closer as your fingers brushed his arm lightly. "Kind of hard to miss. And you're not exactly the best at hiding things."

His eyes narrowed, but softened as you moved in closer, your gaze intent, lingering on his form. "Maybe you should stretch a little," You suggested. "I could help. You know, with that side of yours."

Your lips curled into a knowing smile, the offer looming in the air - a challenge.

You shuffled closer to him and placed your palm against his ribs. "Let me help you loosen up." Your tone was soft now - gentler with the teasing.

He stiffened and relaxed only when your touch remained focused, controlled.

"Everything alright?"

"Are you okay?"

You both asked at the same time.

A laugh, soft and breathy, slipped past your lips. "I've never been better. Though I wouldn't say no to a repeat performance - maybe with less falling, though."

He groaned and tried to move, but you reached up gently and brushed your fingers along his cheek. Your thumb ghosted just under his eye, and his breath caught.

You smiled at him, a soft, private smile that didn't match the typical wicked one you wore like armor.

"I think I broke you," You said playfully, though your voice had quieted.

Jamil didn't reply right away, just looked at you with those impossibly sharp eyes of his, reading more than you meant to show. His gaze swept from your flushed cheeks to your still-parted lips, and you could practically feel the turbulent energy strumming beneath his skin.

"You're pushing too far," He said quietly, voice taut.

You held his gaze, steady.

"Maybe. But you haven't stopped me yet."

The moment stretched between you, heavy with unspoken things. Your fingertips still lingered against his face, and when you didn't pull away, neither did he.

"I like you, Jamil."

It came out quieter than you'd expected.

Even with your usual confidence, even with all your practiced lines and sultry jokes, this part - this truth - was vulnerable. Your stomach twisted as the words hung in the air.

Jamil narrowed his eyes, stunned for a breath.

You kept your fingers on his cheek, grounding yourself.

"I mean it," You said, your voice lower now, calmer, but clearer than ever. "I tease you, sure. I get under your skin. But with you...it's not just a game. It's different."

Light from the chandelier kissed the contours of his face, shadows settling in the hollows like secrets. His brows drew together, silent in focus.

"You drive me up the wall," You admitted with a nervous little laugh. "You're smug and unbothered and infuriatingly self-controlled. And still...you're all I think about lately. Every comeback, every glance...it's like a dance I don't want to end."

Jamil was still quiet.

You could feel your pulse in your throat now. Too exposed.

Your voice dipped again, hushed and a little shaky. "You don't have to say anything. I just...I wanted you to know. I know I'm a lot to deal with. But when it comes to you, I really am serious. Scary serious."

Still silence.

Then - very slowly - Jamil's fingers rose to your wrist. He didn't push your hand away. Instead, he curled his hand around it, warm and steady, as if anchoring himself there.

"I know you mean it," He said at last, voice somber and timbre. "I've always known."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Then why pull away?" You whispered.

He leaned in closer, the space between you narrowing until your breaths were shared. His body hovered over yours, but it wasn't dominance - it was hesitance. Like he was waiting for permission he didn't think he deserved.

"Because I didn't understand it," He murmured. "I still don't." His gaze searched yours, guarded but unraveling. "I don't see why it's me. Why you'd look at me like that. There were moments I convinced myself it wasn't real - that you were just...being you. That I was passing fancy."

He exhaled, a shaky sound.

"But then you kept showing up. And you kept meaning it. And I couldn't stop wanting to believe you."

Your expression softened. "And what do you think now?"

"I think..." He hesitated. His voice dipped low, like river water flowing over stone. "You're absurd. And I haven't stopped thinking about you since the first time you blew me off with that ridiculous wink."

A slow smile curved the set of your mouth. "You liked the wink?"

"I hated it," He said, not sounding like he meant it at all. "But I couldn't forget it."

You sat up a little, your face now barely inches from his. "And now?"

"Now, I'm in trouble."

Your peals of laughter were tender and pleased, but something in you was still fragile. Still aching for more than one-sided banter. "Do you like me, Jamil?"

He exhaled, letting his forehead rest gently against yours. His hair brushed your cheek, silky and warm.

"I like you," He confessed, barely above a whisper. "More than I want to. More than I know how to deal with. You've turned my whole world upside down."

You swallowed thickly, "Good."

Then you tilted your face, so your lips hovered near his ear, your breath pleasant against his skin.

"Can I kiss you?" You whispered, soft but steady.

Jamil's fingers tightened just slightly around your wrist. His eyes found yours - intense, unreadable for a heartbeat.

Then they dropped to your lips.

"Yes."

You leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn't a playful peck or a teasing brush.

It was the kind of kiss that melted time.

His mouth met yours with careful reverence at first, like he wasn't sure this was real. Then, as your hand tangled in the loose hair at the nape of his neck, he deepened it, pulling you closer, tilting your chin, kissing you like he'd been holding back for far too long.

Though, you supposed that was exactly the case.

You tasted like mischief and jasmine and stolen moments.

He tasted like order, oud, and tender hours.

When you broke apart, both of you breathless, you touched his chest lightly with your palm, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat.

"We're a mess," You chortled, smiling.

Jamil smirked. "You more than me."

"Rude," You teased.

"And yet," He murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek, "I still want more."

You leaned in again, your lips just grazing his. "Then you'd better keep up, Viper."

He kissed you again.

And this time, you didn't stop for a long, long while.

Author's Note: So I was supposed to post the Trey x VERY suggestive reader fic version of this before I posted Jamil's, but here we are! The process for creating these fics was NOT easy at all. To add on to Jamil's part, I originally did not plan for the dancing part of the fic to be as long as it was. I just figured that since Jamil is canonically really good at dancing, I could write about it. He obviously loves to break-dance, but he canonically is also really good at ballroom styles, and since this would technically be my first ever Jamil fic, I wanted to do him justice. :>

Now, I know that the reader's banter was really silly, but I meant for it to be that way. I was thinking about what would piss off Jamil for the purpose of this fic. He clearly hates overzealous puppy dog types Kalim, so even though the reader is supposed to constantly flirt with Jamil (and she does), I made the reader's lines silly on purpose. What better way to get under his skin than being an overzealous flirt?