🎀Vil's Skincare routine🎀

Twisted Wonderland

🌹Riddle Rosehearts

❤️Ace Trappola

♠️Deuce Spade

♣️Trey Clover

♦️Cater Diamond

🦁Leona Kingscholar

🍩Ruggie Bucchi

🐺Jack Howl

🐙Azul Ashengrotto

🍄Floyd Leech

👟Jade Leech

🦦Kalim Al-Asim

🐍Jamil Viper

🪞Vil Schoenheit

🏹Rook Hunt

🍎Epel Felmier

💀Idia Shroud

🤖Ortho Shroud

🐉Malleus Draconia

🦇Lilia Vanrouge

💤Silver

⚡Sebek Zigvolt

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters RuggiexYina (Oc by @loojii)

Notes I sat down today fully intending to write something for a super buff reader insert… and then immediately remembered that Loojii already created the absolute peak version of a muscular goddess. So this kinda spiraled straight into a Ruggie x Yina moment instead. She lives rent-free in my head and keeps flexing at me, I’m sorry. Please enjoy this accidental tribute to Loojii’s Amazonian hyena queen. 💪✨💛

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Ruggie thinks he’s alone in the courtyard.

The sun is low, turning Savanaclaw’s rough stone paths soft and golden. He slumps on a bench, rubbing the dull ache in his lower back. He looks tired in that quiet, heavy way he never admits. Too many errands. Too much running around. Too much everything.

He doesn’t notice the shadow that suddenly stretches over him.

A very tall shadow.

“Ruggieee. Oh my gosh, what are you doing sitting like that?”

Yina’s voice is bright and bubbly, with that unmistakable giggle.

When he looks up, he sees her standing there like a workout angel. A very tall, very muscular, very sun-kissed workout angel.

Yina is impossible to miss. She towers over him by a lot, broad shoulders blocking the sunlight. Her arms are sculpted from years of training, thighs thick and powerful, and when she shifts her weight to one hip he gets a tiny glimpse of the six-pack she always claims is “like, soooo annoying to maintain.”

Everything about her is warm and strong and… kind of distracting.

She leans down so she’s closer to his level, curls falling over her shoulder in a bouncy cascade.

“You look super sore,” she says, squinting at him with concern. “Like, for real. Your back is doing that sad little curve thing again.”

Ruggie tries to straighten up fast. “It’s not sad. I’m fine. Totally fine.”

“You’re absolutely not,” she giggles, placing her hands on her hips. “You literally look like you’re seventy.”

He bristles. “Do not call me seventy.”

“Well then stop sitting like you’re eighty.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Yinaaa…”

She giggles again, soft and friendly, and Ruggie has to look away because her laugh hits him in the chest every single time.

And because her physique is right there. In his face. Towering over him. Glowing in the sunset like a damn fitness magazine cover.

She notices his silence and tilts her head. “Hey. For real. What’s wrong?” She leans down even closer, bracing one strong hand on the bench beside him.

He can smell her. Citrus shampoo, gym chalk, and something warm and sweet that might just be her.

Ruggie swallows. “I just… overdid it a little. Errands. You know how it is.”

Yina frowns. On her, even frowning looks cute. “Ruggie. Babe. No. You’re totally wrecking your spine doing all that.”

His heart does a little flip. She calls everyone babe. But still.

“It’s whatever,” he mutters. “I’ll sleep it off.”

She straightens up to her full towering height, folds her arms across her chest, and gives him a look. A look.

“Nope,” she says cheerfully. “Not happening. You’re coming with me.”

“Huh? What for?”

“Oh my gosh, don’t be silly. I’m gonna help you stretch.”

He blinks. His brain short-circuits a little.

“You’re gonna what?”

“You need, like, a real athlete’s reset,” she says, reaching out and gently tugging his forearm. “And I’m, like, literally right here? And I know exactly what to do?”

Ruggie rises without meaning to. She’s just… very strong. And her hand is so warm. And she is so tall that he has to tilt his chin up a little when she pulls him along.

“This is unnecessary,” he mutters, even as he goes willingly. “Really. You don’t gotta go out of your way.”

Yina stops, bends down again so they’re eye-level, and smiles at him. It’s soft. It’s warm. It hits him harder than he expects.

“Ruggie,” she says gently. “You go out of your way for everyone. All the time. Let me help you, okay? Please?”

He stares at her.

At her big earnest eyes. At the sunlight warming the definition of her arms. At the way she kneels to talk to him even though she absolutely doesn’t need to.

“…Fine,” he murmurs. “Just… don’t make fun of me if I squeak or something.”

Yina beams. “Oh my gosh, you squeak? That’s adorable.”

“I didn’t say I squeak.”

“You totally did.”

“I didn’t!”

“You so did.”

Before he can argue again, she leads him behind the gym where a padded mat waits, still warm from the day’s heat.

“Sit,” she says, kneeling behind him. She has to lean forward to see over his shoulder, chest brushing his back for one terrifying second.

Ruggie’s soul leaves his body.

“Okay,” she says brightly. “Let’s start with your poor tired shoulders. Just relax for me.”

He tries. He really tries.

But when her big hands cup his upper arms, warming the muscles with an expert, gentle pressure, he almost melts.

“You’re always doing too much,” she murmurs. “Let me take some of the weight, okay?”

Ruggie closes his eyes.

He loves her height. He loves her strength. He loves the way she can basically fold around him with just her presence. And right now, the only thought in his head is how good her hands feel.

“…Yina?” he says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“This is… kinda nice.”

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters VilxReader

Warnings None

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The hall glittered like a jewel box, gold light spilling over crystal, velvet, and cameras. You’d been to events before, but never one of his.When Vil moved through a room like this, the air itself seemed to align around him. Every step, every tilt of his head was perfection rehearsed and redefined.

He offered you his arm as the photographers began to call his name. “Head high, mein Herz,” he murmured, voice smooth as glass. “The world will remember tonight’s photographs, so let them see how well you shine.”

You took his arm, the flash of cameras blooming around you. Vil’s smile never faltered. His perfect, practiced smile, but the pressure of his hand around yours was real, grounding.

The ceremony passed in a blur of applause, champagne, and speeches until his name was called for the final award of the night. He stood, calm and elegant, and kissed your knuckles before he stepped onstage.

From your seat you could see him framed in gold light, poised before the microphone like a painting come to life.

“Beauty is not a gift bestowed by fate. It is discipline. It is control. It is the art of refusing mediocrity every single day.”

His voice carried through the room, rich and measured. The light caught the gold threads of his jacket as he stood at the podium, immaculate even after hours under the cameras.

“I have heard people call me fortunate, as though beauty were an inheritance. How wrong they are.” A small smile curved his lips. “Beauty is work. Relentless, tireless work. It is knowing how to sculpt yourself, again and again, until the reflection answers to your will.”

A murmur of agreement swept through the audience, admiration palpable. But Vil’s gaze drifted to where you sat, his expression softening without losing its composure.

“And yet,” he continued, “the pursuit of beauty is not a solitary act. Even the most polished diamond gleams brighter when it meets another of equal brilliance.”

He paused then, as to take a breath for his next words. 

“Y/N.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “And, mein Herz, you’ve done all this without ever asking for recognition. So allow me to give it to you now.”

The crowd leaned forward. He stood taller, shoulders straight, crownless but every inch a king.

“To my colleagues, my supporters, and those who believe beauty is an act of courage, I thank you. But to you, Y/N… I owe everything. My calm, my inspiration, my heart.”

His next words came softer, but they carried through the hall with perfect clarity:

“Ich liebe dich.”

For a beat, the world stopped. Then applause erupted like thunder, echoing through the gilded walls. But Vil only held your gaze, serene and unshaken, the faintest curve of a smile ghosting across his lips.

Later, the noise of celebration had faded behind the heavy door of his dressing room. You slipped inside quietly, the air rich with perfume and warm stage lights. Vil stood before the mirror, removing his gloves one finger at a time, the faint trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You stole the whole show,” you said softly.

He glanced at you in the reflection, eyes gleaming violet. “As intended.” Then, quieter, “But you were the part I wanted them to see most.”

You stepped closer until you could see the fine lines around his eyes, the tiny creases that deepened when he smiled, details that the world would never notice but you had memorized long ago.

“The most beautiful thing about you,” you murmured, “is how you look when you see yourself. The way you search the mirror. The way you fix every imperfection, not knowing those are what make you perfect.”

Vil turned then, taking your face gently in his hands. His thumbs traced your lips, his eyes alight with something softer than starlight. “You always say dangerous things so sweetly,” he whispered.

“And I mean every word…”

“And I mean every gesture.”

He leaned down until his forehead brushed yours. The room smelled faintly of Hypnotic Poison by Dior, the hum of the world outside fading until there was only his breath, his voice, low and certain.

“I love you,” he said again, slower this time, as though tasting the words. “With all my being.”

Your reply was a whisper against his mouth. “Say it again.”

He smiled, royal, devastating, human all at once. “Gladly.”

His lips met yours in a kiss that was every bit as deliberate as his speeches. Controlled and elegant, yet warm enough to undo you completely. His hand slid to the back of your neck, the other tracing the line of your spine in a silent promise that this, too, was his art.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was softer, still threaded with that impossible composure.

“Let the world remember me for my beauty if they must,” he murmured. “But you, mein Herz, you will remember me for this.”

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters VargasxReader

Warnings None

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You’d been working at the bar for a few years now, long enough to know every regular’s favorite drink, the best times to polish glasses to look busy, and which customers were safe to laugh with versus which ones you needed to dodge.

It wasn’t a glamorous job, but you liked it. The familiar hum of conversation, the sound of laughter under the low light, the way people always came back to this place after long days  it had its rhythm, and you’d made it your own.

And, well, there was him.

Coach Ashton Vargas of Night Raven College. He’d wandered into the bar one night years ago, all sparkling teeth and booming voice, proclaiming something about “hydration being key to true strength!” before ordering a pint of beer and tipping far too generously.

Since then, he’d become a fixture, your favorite loud, ridiculous, overly sincere customer.

He always came after long training days, still wearing his tracksuit, smelling faintly of cologne and chalk dust. He never drank much, instead he talked. Loudly. To everyone. He’d encourage tired patrons to “chase their dreams with the same vigor they chase these fries!” and somehow, people listened.

For you, though, he always had a softer tone.

“Ah, my hardworking bartender!” he’d say, flashing that dazzling grin. “Still standing tall after another shift, I see! You, my friend, are a pillar of endurance!”

You’d laugh, pretending to roll your eyes, but secretly you liked it. No one had ever praised you for showing up, for just doing your best.

Even if his compliments were over the top, they were genuine. Ashton Vargas never said anything he didn’t mean.

You’d graduated a few years back, from a simple college close to your parents’ house. You didn’t want to chase power or prestige, you just wanted a life that felt steady. Simple. So you took this job in Foothill Town , and on nights when you were tired of wiping down the same counter, Coach Vargas’ arrival was like a burst of sunlight through the door.

He had a way of making the air shift brighter and fuller. The other staff joked that the bar lights seemed to glow harder when he walked in.

And tonight the tavern was lively again, laughter, the clatter of mugs, the scent of cider and wood smoke in the air. You moved between tables with practiced ease, balancing a tray of drinks and a polite smile. You didn’t saw Ashton yet, and you secretly hoped he would show up tonight as well.

The regulars were cheerful as usual though, and the night had that cozy rhythm you liked. That is, until they came in.

Three men, loud, already half-drunk, and with the kind of swagger that spelled trouble. You felt their eyes on you as soon as you passed their table.

“Hey, sweetheart,” one of them drawled, leaning back in his chair. “How about a smile just for me, huh?”

You gave the same polite reply you always did. “Please enjoy your drinks, gentlemen.”

Another one reached out toward your wrist. “C’mon, don’t be like that-”

You pulled back quickly, heart hammering, but before you could respond-

“Now, that doesn’t seem very gentlemanly.”

The voice boomed through the room like a clap of thunder. Confident, theatrical, and utterly familiar.

Every head turned.

Standing in the doorway, tall as a statue and twice as imposing, was Ashton, still in his NRC tracksuit, hair perfectly in place, the faintest sparkle from his whistle catching the bar’s amber light. He finally came.

The man who had just grabbed for you dropped his hand immediately.

“Ashton,” you breathed, a mix of relief and disbelief.

He grinned. Not at you, but at the trio of men. “Ah, the spirits flow strong tonight! Yet perhaps too strong, hmm? Let’s all keep our hands to ourselves, gentlemen. True strength lies in restraint!”

The drunkest of them sneered. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Vargas straightened his spine, placing his hands on his hips in that heroic pose you’d seen a hundred times before. “I am Coach Ashton Vargas! Educator, athlete, and I know a scumbag when I see one.”

The bar went quiet for a heartbeat. Then one of the men muttered, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Ah!” Ashton’s grin widened, sharp and dazzling. “A joke? Excellent! I do enjoy a sense of humor in my opponents.”

You knew that tone. Half performative, half warning.

The man stood up, clearly planning to push his luck, but Ashton was faster. In one smooth motion, he stepped between you and them, a wall of muscle and motion. “I suggest you take your leave,” he said, his voice low now, steady but dangerous.

When one of the men muttered something under his breath, Ashton’s eyes flashed. “That’s quite enough.”

The next few seconds were a blur. A chair scraped back, a hand lifted, and then… Thud. One of the men found himself flat on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling.

“As I tell my students,” Ashton said, straightening his jacket, “if you’re going to pick a fight, make sure to get his right side.” He turned around towards the two remaining men and raised an eyebrow.

The other two scrambled out the door without another word.

The bar erupted into murmurs, and you exhaled shakily, still frozen behind him.

“Ashton…” you began, voice trembling. “I…”

He turned to you, his expression instantly softening. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “No, just… shaken.”

He frowned, then stepped closer. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“I can handle myself,” you said automatically but your voice came out smaller than you meant.

He hesitated for a heartbeat, then said quietly, “I know you can.”

Before you could respond, his arms were around you.

The hug wasn’t careful or hesitant. It was solid, grounding. His chest was warm against your cheek, his heartbeat steady, the fabric of his jacket rough from years of wear. You could smell faint soap and that familiar scent of clean sweat and pine.

“Easy now,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

Your fingers clutched lightly at his shirt, and he only held you tighter.

For someone who spent his life preaching strength and composure, there was something disarmingly gentle about the way he shielded you. Like he’d decided you were under his protection now, and that was that.

After a long moment, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. “They didn’t touch you?”

You shook your head again, still caught somewhere between adrenaline and warmth. “No. You got here in time.”

He smiled, not his usual theatrical grin, but something smaller. “Then I did something right tonight.”

You laughed softly. “You really didn’t have to start a bar fight, though.”

He chuckled, crossing his arms, puffing his chest just a little. “Oh, that? Merely a warm-up exercise.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could tease him again, he leaned down just enough for his voice to lower.

“Still,” he said, his tone suddenly sincere, “if anyone else so much as looks at you like that again…” His hand brushed your shoulder lightly. “they’ll have to deal with me.”

You smiled up at him. “My hero, huh?”

“Ah,” he said, finally grinning again, “you do learn quickly.”

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters SamxReader

Warnings None

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The path to Mr. S’s Mystery Shop was darker than usual that night.

The building sat just beyond the main courtyard.

You glanced over your shoulder once, twice, then knocked:

two quick, one slow.

The door opened before your last knock had even faded. Warm light spilled out, and Sam’s voice, smooth and familiar, drifted through the crack.

“Heh-heh… look who’s sneakin’ ‘round after hours. Come on in, my favorite little imp.”

You slipped inside. The shop always smelled like something magical, sweet, candles, spices, and faint smoke. Shelves glimmered with bottled potions and trinkets, the faint hum of enchantment filling the air.

And there was Sam behind the counter, coat slightly askew, sleeves rolled up, and his hat tipped back on his head.

“You know,” he said, leaning an elbow on the counter with that easy grin, “most students come by durin’ daylight like proper customers.”

You smiled, shutting the door behind you. “Most students aren’t your secret.”

That made him laugh, a low, genuine sound that always melted straight through your nerves. “Ain’t that the truth,” he said, shaking his head. “Can’t believe my luck, havin’ someone like you show up at my door.”

His tone was smooth, but there was a softness behind it, a kind of wonder he couldn’t hide.

Then you noticed the crates stacked behind him, overflowing with goods. “You got a big shipment?”

“Yeah, from Briar Valley.  Been tryin’ to sort it all night.”

“You look tired,” you said gently. “Let me help.”

He straightened immediately, waving his hands. “Oh no, no, no. Not a chance, darlin’. You came here to rest, not to lift boxes.”

You crossed your arms. “You shouldn’t overwork yourself either.”

He tried to smirk, but it came out more sheepish. “You’ll ruin my image if you keep bein’ so sweet to me.”

“Your image?”

“The suave businessman!” he declared dramatically, gesturing to his coat. “Mysterious! Composed! Too cool for….”

“for common sense?” you teased, already pulling a crate toward you.

He chuckled, helpless. “You really are somethin’ else, sugar.”

You both worked quietly for a while, organizing jars and restocking shelves. Every so often, your hands brushed, just little touches, but each one left his composure a little shakier. He tried to keep up his usual patter, but the way his words stumbled gave him away.

When the last box was empty, you turned to him. “See? Not so bad.”

Sam leaned back against the counter, watching you with that bright, disbelieving smile, the kind that said how did I get so lucky?

“Y’know,” he said softly, “I didn’t think folks like you existed. Kind, funny, and willin’ to spend your free time helpin’ an old peddler sort his shelves.”

You laughed, stepping closer. “Old? You’re dramatic.”

“Charming,” he corrected, flashing that grin again but the warmth in his eyes didn’t fade this time.

He took your hand carefully, bringing it to his lips. The gesture was smooth, until you saw the faint pink at the tips of his ears.

“I really do appreciate you, sugar,” he murmured against your skin. “More than I can say.”

You smiled. “I love you too.”

He chuckled again, soft, nervous this time and leaned in, kissing you gently. It was brief, warm, and full of everything he usually hides behind jokes and charm.

When he pulled back, his grin returned, smaller now, genuine. “I owe you a proper thank you.”

“Oh?”

“Tomorrow night,” he said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “No sneakin’. Just us. Down by the pier. I’ll cook my gumbo! You love my gumbo.”

You laughed quietly. “I would love that, but what if someone sees us?”

“Then I’ll tell ‘em it’s for a business venture,” he said with mock seriousness.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Hey, you love it.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

He squeezed your hand, still looking a little amazed every time you said it. “Go on, sweetheart. Before that housewarden misses you. Same knock tomorrow night, all right?”

“Two quick, one slow,” you said, smiling as you turned for the door.

“Don’t forget it.”

He caught your hand once more before you stepped out, pressing another quick kiss to your fingers. “And don’t forget me.”

You met his eyes. “Never.”

The door closed behind you with a quiet click, the night cool against your skin. Behind the windows, you could still see Sam’s silhouette moving among the shelves, hat tilted low, humming softly, the mysterious merchant everyone knew…

and the lovesick fool only you did.

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters CrewelxReader

Warnings None

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The potion lab was quieter than usual that night. Only one flame still burned, throwing soft amber light across glass and steel. The scent of lavender and iron hung heavy, and in the middle of it all you stood over a cauldron that refused to cooperate.

The mixture should have shimmered pale green. Instead, it sulked into muddy grey, hissing with every stir.

You exhaled, shoulders tight. Tomorrow would be your first time teaching the first-years, under Professor Crewel’s eyes, no less…and you couldn’t even perfect the demonstration brew.

A smooth, familiar voice broke the silence.

“Still awake, pup? You’ll wear yourself out before the lesson even begins.”

You startled, nearly dropping the spoon. Crewel was there, coat open, gloves immaculate, a faint line of fatigue beneath the composed exterior.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” you murmured. “I just can’t get it right. It keeps…”

“Mmm.” He crossed the floor, boots tapping softly on stone. “You’re stirring the potion to quick.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you said, though your voice trembled.

“Is it?” he asked, stopping just behind you. “Watch.”

He reached out, his gloved hands settling lightly over yours on the handle of the spoon. The leather was warm from his skin, steady and sure.

“Slow,” he said quietly. “Alchemy isn’t a race. Let the brew follow your breathing.”

You obeyed, your pulse loud in your ears. The spoon began to glide instead of jerk. The potion responded, clearing by degrees until soft light rippled through it like moonlit water.

“There,” he murmured. “Better. You see? You only needed to trust your rhythm.”

You nodded mutely. Every sense felt heightened: the faint scratch of his sleeve against your arm, the clean spice of his cologne, the way his breath brushed the back of your neck when he spoke.

“Good,” he said at last, voice low. “Now again, slow and steady.”

You tried. The motion faltered, and your hair slipped forward, falling into your face. Before you could fix it, he reached up, gathering the strands with gentle precision.

“Allow me,” he said, his tone still calm but softer now. He drew a white ribbon with black dots from his pocket and tied your hair back, fingers deft and careful.

The ribbon sat snug against the nape of your neck; his hands lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary before falling away.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “Much better. A proper alchemist should always be able to see what they’re doing.”

You touched the ribbon, cheeks warm. “Thank you, Professor.”

He studied you for a moment, expression unreadable. “Keep it for tomorrow. Consider it a charm for luck.”

You smiled faintly. “Does it work?”

“It had better,” he said, the corner of his mouth curving. “It’s one of a kind.”

The classroom hummed with the nervous energy of first-years and the scent of boiling herbs. You moved through the rows, voice steady as you explained each step. So far, nobody has exploded anything. A small miracle.

But when one of the students’ cauldrons sputtered louder than expected, you froze. For a heartbeat, panic threatened to unravel all your hard calm.

Then a shadow fell beside you.

Crewel stood there, eyes calm and steady. Without breaking the flow of your demonstration, he reached forward and adjusted the ribbon at the back of your neck. The same one he’d tied the night before.

“Breathe,” he whispered, low enough that only you could hear. “You’re doing perfectly.”

His voice was so even, so certain, that the panic melted away. You inhaled, exhaled, and the potion before you settled into its perfect hue.

The students applauded; you smiled, bowing slightly.

Across the room, Crewel watched, one gloved hand resting against his chin, pride flickering just beneath the composed façade.

When class ended and the chatter died down, he crossed to you once more.

“You handled them well,” he said.

“I had good advice.”

He reached out, brushed a stray curl from your face, and let his hand drop again. “Keep that ribbon,” he said quietly. “It suits you and it works.”

You met his eyes, a spark of amusement lighting your own. “Then maybe I’ll wear it again.”

His smile was small but genuine. “Do.”

And as he turned back toward his desk, the scent of smoke and spice lingered along with the memory of his hands guiding yours, the quiet murmur of his voice, and the ribbon that still held your hair, warm from where he’d tied it.

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters JadexReader

Warnings None

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The week had been nothing short of exhausting.

Ever since that Savanaclaw student had decided you were his newest obsession, you’d barely had a moment’s peace. He wasn’t rude enough to be openly hostile, just insistent, pushy in a way that felt more like hunting than flirting.

At first, you’d laughed it off. The second day, you told him no. By the fourth, it was harder to find a place where he wouldn’t appear.

He’d compliment your hair. Your smile. The way you walked. And most disgustingly the way you smelled.

“You smell incredible,” he’d said once, leaning far too close, voice low and smug. “Drives me mad, you know that?”

You’d pushed him away, muttering something sharp, but it hadn’t stopped him. He always came back.

By the end of the week, you were running out of places to hide.

That was how you found yourself at the Mostro Lounge late in the evening, long after most students had gone back to their dorms. The quiet blue light from the aquariums washed the room in a soft glow, and the sound of rain against the glass dome was soothing.

Finally, peace.

You slipped into one of the empty booths and let your head rest on your hand. For the first time that day, the tension began to fade from your shoulders.

A familiar voice broke the quiet.

“Good evening. It’s rare to see you here so late.”

You looked up and there was Jade, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, vest buttoned, every bit the picture of calm refinement. His mismatched eyes gleamed faintly in the low light.

“Ah… sorry,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. “I didn’t mean to bother anyone. I just needed a place to breathe.”

He tilted his head, that polite smile never faltering. “You’re no bother at all. In fact, I find it rather charming that you think of the Mostro Lounge as your refuge.”

You smiled faintly. “If I order something simple, will you promise not to upcharge me for sitting here?”

His laughter was quiet, but soft. “I’ll try to restrain myself. What will it be?”

“Just… water,” you said. “Nothing fancy.”

“Of course.” He inclined his head slightly. “Please wait a moment.”

He returned a few minutes later, but not with water.

The glass he set down shimmered faintly, the liquid inside a pale turquoise, bubbles catching the light like stars.

You frowned. “That’s not water.”

He folded his hands behind his back. “No, it isn’t. But it’s better suited for your mood, I think. On the house.”

You blinked. “Since when does Octavinelle give anything on the house?”

A shadow of amusement flickered across his face. “Since tonight. Humor me.”

You sighed, but took a sip and blinked. The drink was smooth, refreshing, lightly floral with a hint of citrus.

“Okay,” you admitted, “this is good.”

“I thought it might be.”

He didn’t leave. Instead, he took a seat beside you, not across the booth, but next to you, close enough that the faint scent of sea-salt and cool stone clung faintly in the air between you.

You raised a brow. “Aren’t you working?”

“I am,” he replied mildly. “But I find myself on break just now. I hope you don’t mind a bit of company.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. It’s… nice not to be alone.”

He smiled. That calm, polished smile that always seemed to hide a dozen thoughts behind it.

“You seem troubled,” he said, voice smooth as glass. “Would you tell me what’s weighing on you?”

You hesitated only a moment before speaking. The words came easier than expected. You told him about the Savanaclaw student, how persistent he’d been, how exhausting it was to keep avoiding him, how even now, you felt uneasy walking alone.

As you spoke, Jade said nothing. He listened quietly, chin resting lightly on one hand, expression unreadable, composed, but faintly sharpened at the edges.

When you finished, he finally said, “How very distasteful.”

You frowned. “That’s it?”

He turned slightly toward you, the light catching in his mismatched eyes. “Would you prefer I offer to make him disappear?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m teasing,” he said softly, though the faint curl of his mouth told you there was a grain of truth buried beneath. “I simply don’t appreciate such rudeness. Especially toward someone I…” He paused delicately, choosing his next word with precision. “...value.”

You felt warmth rise in your cheeks. “You’re too kind.”

“I assure you, kindness has little to do with it.”

He said it so smoothly you barely registered how close he’d leaned until the fabric of his sleeve brushed your arm. The movement was natural, fluid, but the space between you was gone before you noticed.

You laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension. “You’re sitting awfully close, Jade.”

He glanced down at your hands resting on the table, his voice calm as ever. “Am I? How careless of me.”

And yet, he didn’t move away.

As you talked, his proximity remained, subtle touches, soft brushes, gestures that felt innocent enough in isolation but built an unspoken rhythm between you. When you reached for your glass, his fingers brushed yours. When you laughed, his hand lingered briefly at your back as if steadying you. When you turned to face him, his shoulder met yours, casual, effortless, intentional.

You couldn’t tell whether it was flirtation or simply his way of disarming you, but somehow, you didn’t mind.

By the time his break ended, you felt lighter. Laughing, relaxed, maybe even a little giddy from the warmth of it all.

“I should return to my duties,” he said, standing smoothly. “I trust you feel a little better?”

You nodded, smiling. “Much. Thanks to you.”

“Good,” he said softly, eyes glinting faintly. “That’s all I wanted.”

It was late when you finally left the Lounge. The rain had eased into a fine mist, cool against your skin. You were halfway down the hall when you heard the voice you dreaded.

“Well, well. Look who it is.”

You froze. The Savanaclaw student leaned against the wall again, a grin spreading across his face.

“Thought you could hide from me here? You know, I can always tell when you’re around.”

Your stomach twisted. “Please, just……”

He took a step closer and stopped.

His grin faltered. A strange look flickered across his face, confusion, then discomfort, then something that almost looked like fear.

He sniffed the air once, sharply, and stumbled back half a step. “What… the….?!”

You blinked, bewildered. “What’s wrong with you?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, muttered something under his breath, and turned on his heel. Gone. Just like that.

You stood there, heart racing, too confused to even call after him. The only thing out of the ordinary was the faint, unfamiliar scent lingering around you, cool ocean air, spiced cedar, faint traces of something deep and mineral.

You recognized it instantly. Jade.

You brought your sleeve to your face, and your pulse jumped. The scent clung to you. Light, subtle, but unmistakably his.

Your lips parted in disbelief. “…You sneaky eel.”

The next evening, you found yourself back at Mostro Lounge.

When Jade appeared at your table, his usual serene smile was already in place.

“Ah,” he said smoothly. “Back so soon. I trust your evening stroll was more… pleasant this time?”

You folded your arms. “He ran away.”

Jade’s smile didn’t falter, but his tone softened with amusement. “Did he now? How curious.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He rested a hand over his chest in mock innocence. “I assure you, I simply provided good company during my break. If my presence left a lingering impression…” His gaze dipped meaningfully toward your shoulder, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “…then I won’t apologize.”

You felt warmth flood your cheeks. “So you did it on purpose.”

“Perhaps,” he said, leaning slightly closer, his voice a low hum. “Let’s just say I wanted to ensure you were left… undisturbed.”

You tried to scowl but couldn’t hide your smile. “You could’ve just said something.”

He laughed softly. “And miss the chance to prove a point so elegantly? Perish the thought.”

Then, with gentlemanly precision, he bowed slightly and offered his hand.

“Still,” he murmured, eyes glinting, “if ever you feel unsafe again… you need only come find me. I’ll be certain the matter is handled…. quietly.”

The way he said quietly made your heart skip a beat.

And as he straightened, brushing a stray droplet from your sleeve, you caught that same subtle scent again, cool, oceanic, distinctly his.

You didn’t mind in the slightest.

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters AcexReader

Warnings None

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It started like most of your fights with Ace. Something stupid, something that shouldn’t have mattered.

You’d been waiting for him outside the classroom, arms crossed, while he laughed with Deuce and a couple of Heartslabyul guys. You’d reminded him twice about the group project that was due tonight. He’d forgotten again.

“Seriously, Ace?” you said the moment he sauntered over. “We were supposed to meet an hour ago. Do you ever take anything seriously?”

He blinked, caught off guard, then scoffed. “It’s a project, not a life-or-death mission. Relax.”

“I would if you didn’t keep treating everything like a joke!”

“Oh, here we go,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You nag more than Riddle. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much.”

You felt your stomach twist. “Excuse me?”

Ace sighed, rubbing his neck. “You just- you act like my mom sometimes, okay? Like you gotta fix everything I screw up. It’s annoying.”

That one stung more than you expected. “Maybe if you cared enough to fix things yourself, I wouldn’t have to!”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t need you babysitting me all the time.”

You stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, frustration flashing across his face. “You’re not my keeper, alright? You don’t get to tell me what to do. If I wanted someone on my back 24/7, I’d go back home.”

You took a step back, voice low. “Wow. You really think I’m just here to boss you around?”

He laughed bitterly. “You sure act like it sometimes. Always correcting me, always watching me. It’s like you don’t trust me to do anything right.”

“Ace, that’s not fair-”

He cut you off, words sharp before he could stop them. “Maybe I don’t want you around if all you’re gonna do is make me feel like crap.”

The silence that followed hit harder than the words themselves. Even he seemed surprised he’d said it.

You just stared at him, the sound of your heartbeat roaring in your ears. “Right,” you said finally, voice shaking. “Got it.”

You turned and walked away before he could see your eyes start to water.

For a second, he didn’t move. Then he kicked at the wall, muttering a curse under his breath. “Nice going, Trappola,” he whispered to himself. “Real smooth.”

You told yourself you didn’t care. You always bickered. It was what you did. But when hours passed with no messages, no dumb emojis, no “yo, still mad?” texts… the silence started to ache.

When there was a knock on your door later that night, you almost didn’t answer. But then you heard his voice.

“Hey. It’s me.”

You opened the door just a crack. Ace stood there, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, his usual cocky grin nowhere to be seen.

“…Can I come in?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated, then stepped aside.

He didn’t talk right away. He just stood there, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere except you. “You, uh… probably still mad, huh?”

You crossed your arms again, but your voice came out smaller than you wanted. “You said some pretty mean things.”

He winced. “Yeah. I know. I was bein’ a jerk.”

Silence. He kicked at the floor, frowning. “It’s just… I get all stupid when we fight. You get under my skin, and then I say stuff I don’t mean, and then-” He sighed, looking up at you finally. “Then you look at me like that, like you hate me or somethin’, and it freaks me out.”

You blinked. “What do you mean, freaks you out?”

He hesitated, then shrugged, trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked a little. “’Cause I don’t want you to hate me. I can handle anybody else gettin’ mad, but not you. You-” He exhaled, frustrated with himself. “You’re kinda the only person I actually don’t wanna lose.”

That hit you harder than you expected.

He rubbed his arm awkwardly. “I know I act all cool and stuff, but… I’m not, okay? I say the wrong things ‘cause I care too much, and it comes out all messed up. You think I don’t care, but I do. I can’t not care. About you.”

You softened. “Ace…”

He laughed weakly, scratching his cheek. “Man, this is embarrassing. You’re supposed to be the sappy one.”

“Not tonight,” you murmured, stepping closer.

He looked at you then, really looked. The guilt in his eyes melted into something warmer, rawer. “You’re seriously not gonna make me grovel?”

“I might later,” you said with a small smile. “But for now… just don’t walk away like that again.”

He exhaled, shoulders finally relaxing. “Yeah. Deal.”

You thought that was it until he suddenly pulled you in, his arms wrapping around you with a clumsy sort of urgency, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair. “For being an idiot. For makin’ you think I didn’t care.”

You leaned into him, the familiar scent of his hoodie grounding you. “You really scared me, Ace.”

“I scared myself,” he admitted, voice cracking again. “I can’t do that. I can’t-” He swallowed hard. “I can’t live without you, okay? There, I said it. Don’t make me repeat it ‘cause I’ll sound pathetic.”

You laughed softly, hugging him back tighter. “You already do.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, burying his face in your shoulder. “Yeah, well… you’re stuck with me anyway.”

When he finally pulled back, his grin was back, smaller, gentler, but real this time. “Next time we fight,” he said, “just remind me I said all this, yeah?”

“Gladly,” you said.

“Figures,” he muttered, smirking. “You’d use my own feelings against me.”

“Only to win.”

He rolled his eyes, but his thumb brushed lightly over your cheek. “You always do.”

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters EpelxReader

Warnings None

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Vil’s list crinkled in your hands like a scroll of impossible demands.

“Let’s see…” you read aloud. “Tea from the specialty shop, fabric samples from three boutiques, a specific hair oil, and, oh come on ‘an assortment of seasonal fruit for presentation practice’?”

Epel groaned beside you. “He’s makin’ us do grocery shoppin’ and callin’ it ‘refinement.’”

You laughed. “At least we get to go into town.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, pushing open the shop door for you, “but I’d rather it wasn’t on an empty stomach.”

The bell jingled overhead as you stepped inside the tea shop. Shelves of glass jars and dried flowers filled the air with a mix of lavender, citrus, and mint. The old lady behind the counter smiled sweetly at Epel. “Aren’t you just the most darling thing. Oh! You and your sweetheart shopping together?”

Epel nearly choked. “Wh- no, ma’am! We’re, uh, on an errand!”

You grinned, leaning on the counter. “He’s shy.”

The woman chuckled, clearly unconvinced. “Well, shy suits him. The apple tea is on sale today, dear.”

Epel gave you a look that could’ve boiled water. “Don’t even start.”

You handed the coins over, laughing as you left the shop. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to,” he grumbled, cheeks still pink.

By the time you’d gathered the fabrics and hair oil, the sun had started to sink low, painting the cobblestones in gold. Epel carried most of the bags despite your protests, insisting, “It ain’t that heavy,” every time you offered.

You walked side by side down the narrow street, the scent of baked apples drifting from a nearby stall. He paused for a second, staring at the pies cooling on the counter.

“Wanna grab one?” you asked.

He hesitated, clearly torn between his appetite and what Vil would say about “unrefined indulgence.”

You nudged his arm. “Come on. Vil doesn’t have to know.”

Epel’s grin broke through at last. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

He bought a single mini pie, splitting it in half with a tiny wooden fork. “Here,” he said, handing you a piece. “You did half the work today, least I can do.”

You took it, biting into the warm crust. “Mmm. Maybe errands with you aren’t so bad.”

“Course not,” he said proudly. “I’m good company.”

“Oh, definitely,” you teased. “Between your complaining and your blushing, I’m having the time of my life.”

He stopped mid-bite, sputtering. “Blushin’? I ain’t blushin’!”

“You were practically glowing in that tea shop.”

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, shut up...”

That earned you a snort and a laugh, and just like that, the mood lightened again. You wandered toward the bus stop together, bags swinging between you, talking about anything and everything, country fairs, classes, even whose cooking was worse.

By the time you boarded the bus, you were both smiling for no particular reason.

The bus rumbled to life, swaying gently as it rolled out of town. You rested your head against the window, the hum of the road making your eyelids heavy. Epel sat beside you, arms crossed, muttering something about how “he ain’t tired.”

Five minutes later, you shifted. The window was cold, and without really thinking, you let your head tilt sideways right onto Epel’s shoulder.

He froze.

Every muscle in his body went stiff as a board, his breath catching halfway through a sigh.

“Wha- hey-” he whispered, looking down at you. You were already asleep, your breathing soft and even.

His first instinct was panic. His second was panic for an entirely different reason.

He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Why’s my face hot? he thought, frowning at the reflection in the window, his cheeks were definitely pink.

“C’mon,” he muttered quietly to himself. “Don’t go blushin’ like some kinda kid.”

He risked a glance at you again. The way your hair brushed against his shoulder, the small smile on your face, it made his chest feel all weird. Warm, but not in a bad way.

He swallowed. “Guess… guess this ain’t so bad.”

The bus jolted slightly, and your head slid a little closer. Reflexively, Epel straightened his back, sitting taller like he could somehow look more manly about the whole thing.

“Yeah,” he murmured under his breath. “S’all right. I can handle this.”

The driver turned up the radio, a soft country tune filling the bus. Epel relaxed by degrees, the motion of the ride lulling him too. His eyes drifted toward the window then back to you.

You looked peaceful. Safe. Trusting.

That thought did something funny to his heart.

You murmured something in your sleep, his name maybe, and snuggled a little closer.

Epel froze all over again. “…Oh geez.”

He turned his face toward the window, cheeks burning hotter than the sunset outside. “Don’t… don’t do that, you’re gonna make people think things,” he whispered, though his voice was barely more than breath.

He stayed still anyway, pretending to sigh like it was a bother. “Fine, whatever,” he muttered under his breath. “Just this once. You look comfortable or somethin’.”

But a tiny smile crept onto his lips before he could stop it. He tilted his head the slightest bit until it rested lightly against yours.

“Don’t go tellin’ anyone I let you do this,” he mumbled, eyes half-closed. “It’s just ‘cause you looked tired, that’s all…”

The bus hummed softly beneath you both. By the time it rolled back into the gates of Night Raven College, Epel was still pretending not to care. His face warm, heart thumping, your head tucked perfectly against his shoulder and whispering to himself, barely audible over the engine. 

“…You’re real cute when you sleep, though.”

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters LiliaxReader

Warnings None

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

It was one of those sleepless nights when the air felt too still to rest. You’d gone outside for a walk, drawn by the cool quiet of the courtyard. The moon hung low, reflected in the rippling fountain, and you were lost in thought when a voice broke the silence, smooth, amused, and unmistakable.

“Couldn’t resist the night air either?”

You turned and found Lilia stepping out from behind a column, arms folded loosely, a faint smirk curving his lips.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admitted. “You?”

He chuckled softly, coming to stand beside you. “Sleep? Ah, that old habit. I’ve been trying to break it for centuries.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Haven’t lost my charm yet.” he said with a grin. “What brings you here, so late at night?”.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admitted. “Too many thoughts.”

“Ah. Those can be troublesome.” He leaned back, gazing up at the stars. “They tend to grow louder when the world goes quiet.”

You followed his gaze. “You traveled a lot, right? You’ve seen all kinds of skies.”

Lilia smiled faintly. “That I have. The stars look different everywhere, you know. In the Briar Valley they shimmer green like emerald fireflies. In Sunset Savana, they burn gold, so bright it almost hurts to look at them.”

You listened, captivated by the way his voice softened. “That sounds beautiful.”

“It is.” His tone was wistful now. “Every place has its song, its scent, its color. I’ve seen deserts where the air sings, forests that glow when it rains… But there’s always more to see.”

The two of you stood in companionable quiet for a moment, the fountain whispering between you. Lilia tilted his head toward the sky. “Nights like this remind me why I travel,” he said. “Every place has its own kind of moonlight.”

“You’ve really seen the whole world, haven’t you?” you asked.

He smiled. “Bits of it. Mountains that hum like bells, cities that never sleep, lakes so still they swallow the stars whole.” He glanced sideways at you, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’d like it, Y/n. I can already picture it, us riding dragons across the desert, dining with kings, maybe teaching a few along the way how to cast a spell.”

You laughed. “That’s quite an itinerary.”

“I do have good taste in destinations,” he said, lips twitching. “And in company.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, so now you’re recruiting me for your grand adventure?”

“Of course,” he said breezily. “You’d handle the maps while I charm our way into every palace and tavern.”

“And when you inevitably annoy someone important?”

“I’ll rely on you to talk us out of trouble.”

You snorted. “So I’m the responsible one.”

“Exactly.” His grin softened, the teasing fading into something quieter. “Truth be told,” he murmured, “it does sound nice… traveling the world with someone kind.”

You looked at him, surprised by the shift in tone. His eyes weren’t playful now, they were thoughtful, distant, touched by something that almost looked like longing.

“I’ve seen a great deal of this world,” he continued. “But lately, the places blur together. The stars don’t look quite as bright when you’re always seeing them alone.”

You didn’t say anything, but the gentle curve of your smile was answer enough.

Lilia let out a slow breath, the faintest smile returning. “Ah, forgive me. I’m being sentimental. Must be the moon.”

“It suits you,” you said quietly.

He chuckled, though the sound came out softer than usual. “Careful. Keep saying things like that, and I might actually take you with me one day.”

“Maybe I’d say yes,” you replied.

That made him pause. Then, with a crooked grin, he said, “Then it’s settled. Someday, we’ll go. I’ll show you where the sky hums, and you’ll remind me what it’s like to see it for the first time again.”

The night hummed around you, cool and gentle. Lilia’s eyes lingered on the moon, but his smile was for you alone.

“Until then,” he said softly, “let’s stay right here a little longer. I rather like the view.”

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters General!LiliaxReader

Warnings War, Blood

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The battlefield burned red beneath the Briar Valley sky.

Flames licked across the shattered ground, and the scent of smoke and iron choked the air. Screams of both steel and fae magic rang out across the valley, sharp, blinding, unrelenting.

You’d long lost track of time. Every breath was fire, every motion instinct. Your blade was slick, your magic depleted, and your vision blurred from exhaustion. Somewhere in the chaos, you’d been separated from your squad.

But then…

A blinding flash. A spell, wild and fast. Pain… white-hot and searing through your side.

You stumbled back, eyes wide, the world tilting. You tried to summon a shield, a counterspell, anything, but your strength gave out. The last thing you saw was a flash of crimson hair cutting through the smoke.

A voice shouted your name, fierce, desperate, unmistakable. Then everything went dark.

When you woke, it was to the soft rustle of fabric and the faint crackle of firelight.

Pain bloomed along your side, sharp and heavy. You groaned, blinking slowly as your surroundings came into focus, the canvas of a field tent, the dim flicker of lanterns casting gold across rough-hewn tables and scattered bandages.

And there, kneeling beside your cot, was Lilia.

Fierce, unflinching, and utterly focused. His armor was gone, replaced with a dark undershirt rolled to the elbows. His hands were stained with your blood as he pressed fresh cloth to your wound.

“Ah. You’re awake,” he said quietly. His voice was steady, but the faint tremor underneath betrayed him.

You tried to speak, but the effort sent a bolt of pain through your ribs. “G-General…”

“Don’t,” he said, more sharply than intended. He exhaled, closing his eyes briefly before softening his tone. “Don’t speak yet.”

You could see the strain in his face, the faint lines around his mouth, the tightness in his jaw. His hair was damp from rain or sweat, his eyes shadowed with something between anger and relief.

“Where…” you managed. “Where are we?”

“Safe enough,” he murmured, reaching for a fresh roll of bandages. “Our forces pushed the enemy line back. The healers were overwhelmed, so I took charge of you myself.”

He dipped the cloth in cool water and began to clean your wound again, careful but firm. His movements were precise, efficient, the hands of a soldier who’d seen too much of this.

You tried to smile, though it hurt. “You… shouldn’t have worried. I’ll heal.”

That made him pause.

He looked at you then, really looked, and his expression shifted, his eyes narrowing with restrained fury.

“Shouldn’t have worried?” he repeated, voice low but dangerous. “You charged directly into enemy fire with half your magic drained. Do you have any idea how close you came to dying?”

You flinched slightly, caught between guilt and the strange comfort of hearing him angry. “I was trying to cover the flank….”

“I know what you were trying to do,” he interrupted, his hand tightening around the bandage before he forced himself to relax. “You were following orders. My orders. And it almost killed you.”

He sat back slightly, staring at the floor, breath uneven. For a moment, the only sound was the rain outside and the faint rattle of the tent walls in the wind.

When he spoke again, his tone had softened, the steel replaced by something raw.

“I saw you fall,” he said quietly. “Everything else stopped. The battle, the noise… I could only see you.”

Your heart clenched. You’d never heard him sound like that, so fragile, so undone.

“I thought….” He broke off, closing his eyes briefly. “I thought I was too late.”

You reached out weakly, your hand brushing his wrist. “But you weren’t.”

He looked at you again, and something in his face broke, the mask, the composure, the careful walls. He covered your hand with his, his palm warm and trembling slightly.

“Don’t do that again,” he said softly. “Don’t make me watch you fall like that.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s an order, isn’t it?”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him, half amusement, half disbelief. “Yes,” he murmured. “A direct order from your commanding officer.”

He leaned over to check the bandage once more, and when he was satisfied, he sat back, exhaling a long, quiet breath.

“Your pulse is steady,” he said. “You’ll recover.”

“You sound relieved,” you teased gently.

He gave a small, weary smile. “I am. Though I’ll deny it if anyone asks.”

You chuckled, which immediately turned into a pained hiss. “Ow….”

“Careful,” he murmured, his hand steadying your shoulder. “You’re still healing.”

He lingered there for a moment longer than necessary. His gaze drifted to your face, soft, searching, before he finally leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to your forehead.

It was brief, barely there, but the warmth lingered.

“Rest now,” he said, voice quiet again. “You’ve done more than enough for one night.”

You blinked up at him, fighting sleep. “You’ll stay?”

He hesitated, just a moment, then nodded once. “Until you wake again.”

As your eyes drifted closed, you felt his hand brush yours once more, his voice barely audible through the haze of exhaustion:

“You frightened me, little one. Don’t make me feel that again.”

When you woke hours later, the storm had passed, and Lilia was still there,seated at your side, armor half-polished, head resting lightly on his hand. His expression was calm now, the faintest ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he watched over you.

And for the first time since the battle began, the world outside the tent felt quiet again.

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters ErnestoxReader

Warnings None

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The crowd on the corner roared with laughter and applause, coins flashing in the dusk light as Ernesto twirled his cane like a maestro of mischief. You’d only meant to stop for a moment. But somehow you’d ended up on stage with him, holding his battered top hat while he worked the crowd with that quicksilver grin.

“Now, ladies and gents!” he cried, voice smooth as caramel. “My lovely assistant here will prove that miracles do exist. If only you pay enough to see them!”

The hat filled fast. When the police whistle blew, it filled faster.

Ernesto glanced at you, grin sharp. “Time to make our grand exit, dove.”

You didn’t ask how he planned it; you just ran.

Through alleys that smelled like rain and smoke, under laundry lines and over crates, the two of you darted like foxes. Ernesto laughed the whole way, cane clattering against the stones. “Nothing like applause followed by a good chase! Builds character!”

“You call that character building?” you panted.

He shot you a wink. “I call it cardio.”

By the time the shouts faded, you were both leaning against the wall of a half-crumbling building, catching your breath. Ernesto straightened his hat, still chuckling. “Well, my daring volunteer, you’ve got talent. Quick feet, quicker smile.”

You tried not to grin back. “You could’ve warned me about the illegal part of the performance.”

“Illegal’s such a dreary word,” he said. “I prefer profitable but misunderstood.”

He twirled his cane once more, then softened. “Come on. You look frozen. You’ve nowhere to go, do you? I’ve seen you plenty of times on these streets.”

You hesitated. “…Not really.”

Something flickered behind his eyes — sympathy, maybe. He tilted his head toward the narrow staircase beside you. “Then you’re in luck. My grand estate is open to guests tonight.”

His “grand estate” turned out to be a single, drafty room above a shuttered tailor shop. Gino was already asleep on the couch, a little pile of blankets rising and falling with his quiet snores.

Ernesto rubbed the back of his neck. “’Fraid there’s not much to offer. Couch’s taken, floor’s cold, and the bed’s… well.” He looked sheepish. “It’s a bit small for two.”

“That’s fine,” you said quickly. “I’ll take the floor.”

He frowned, tail flicking. “Not a chance. I might be a scoundrel, but I’m not heartless.”

He rummaged through a trunk and pulled out a thick wool blanket. “Here,” he said, laying it out on the bed. “We’ll share. Strictly for warmth, you understand. Efficiency.”

You arched a brow. “Efficiency, huh?”

“Entirely practical,” he insisted, though the tips of his ears twitched pink.

Under the blanket, the night was quiet. Too quiet for Ernesto’s usual patter. He’d changed out of his flamboyant coat and vest, the hat and gloves folded neatly on the little nightstand. In their place he wore a thin, worn tank top and pajama pants covered in mismatched patches. His arms were lean and freckled, the color of copper and candlelight, a few scars scattered here and there. He caught you looking and laughed softly.

“Not what you expected from a showman, eh?” he said, tugging at a loose thread near his knee. “Can’t exactly sleep in all that velvet. The coat’s for show — this is the real uniform.”

You smiled, eyes drifting to the fabric. The pajama pants were full of patchwork, some pieces newer than others, stitched carefully in crooked but sturdy seams. “You did all those yourself?”

“Mm.” He gave a little shrug, but his voice softened. “Gino finds the scraps. I do the sewing. He’s got an eye for colors, that one. You wouldn’t think someone quiet as him could argue, but he manages it well enough.”

You tilted your head. “Argue?”

“Oh, sure.” Ernesto’s smile grew fond. “He’ll scowl at me if I pick the wrong thread. Or shake his head until I change it. Doesn’t need words — that boy’s got opinions, believe me.”

He ran a thumb over one of the patches, the stitches catching faintly against the calluses on his hand. “These trousers’ve seen better days, but they’re strong now. I did the same to his jacket last week — elbows were torn clean through. Took me half the night to fix, but he beamed like I’d handed him gold.”

A soft chuckle slipped from him. “Guess that’s one thing I am good at: keeping things together. Clothes, plans… people.”

He looked down at his handiwork again, eyes thoughtful. “He’s a good one, that boy. Smart, quick..too quick, sometimes. I try to keep him out of the real mess of things, but you know how it is. This world doesn’t offer much mercy, especially for the likes of us.”

He leaned back on one elbow, gazing at the cracked ceiling. “When I found him, he was running the same streets I used to. Couldn’t let him rot there. So I taught him the trade, how to spot the honest from the truly dangerous. How to smile, even when your pockets are empty. He deserves better than all this.”

You turned a little toward him, the blanket shifting. “He’s lucky to have you.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, and for once the grin faded into something weary but real. “I try, dove. I’m not strong, not gifted, but I can keep the boy fed. That’s worth something.”

“You do more than that,” you said.

He looked at you then, orange eyes catching the candlelight. “You really think so?”

You nodded. “You keep him safe. You make him laugh. That’s a lot.”

For a heartbeat he didn’t move. Then a faint, crooked smile returned. “Careful, dove, you’re making me sound like a decent man.”

“Maybe you are,” you said, teasing gently.

He chuckled, but it came out a little shy. “Don’t spread that rumor around. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

As you got under the blanket, you both tried to find a comfortable space. Him ever so careful to not overstep any boundaries. His arm brushed yours, warm and solid. And he froze, every bit of his charm slipping for a second.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

“It’s fine,” you said softly.

He swallowed, then smiled without quite looking at you. “Good. Wouldn’t want to give you the wrong impression, you know.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed. “You’re doing great, maestro.”

That earned a quiet laugh, the kind that sounded almost like a sigh. “You really are trouble,” he said. “Sweet, but trouble all the same.”

“Then we match,” you whispered.

He went quiet again, tail flicking lazily beneath the blanket. “Yeah,” he said finally, voice barely above a murmur. “We do.”

And for the first time that day, Ernesto Foulworth didn’t talk himself out of the moment. He just stayed there beside you, eyes half-closed, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing, his hand resting lightly over the edge of the shared blanket, close enough to feel the warmth, but careful not to take more than he was given.

Outside, the city muttered in its sleep, but inside the little room everything was still. Ernesto’s voice drifted once more, softer now, meant only for you.

“Sleep well, dove.”

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters SkullyxReader

Warnings None

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Halloween Town was quieter than usual that evening.

The usual eerie laughter and shrieking wind had softened to a low whisper, the crooked houses standing solemn under a pale crescent moon. Lanterns shaped like grinning pumpkins swayed gently in the misty breeze, their light flickering on the cobblestone streets.

You walked beside Skully, the echo of your footsteps mixing with the low hum of a melody that drifted through the air. Slow, mournful, and almost too soft to place.

It wasn’t clear where it came from. Perhaps some unseen musician in the square, or maybe just the wind moving through hollow bones and distant chiming bells. Either way, it sounded like something from another world, something made for a night like this.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Skully’s posture was as proper as ever, hands behind his back, his voice measured when he finally broke the silence.

“It is strange,” he said quietly, “to be somewhere made entirely of fear… and find it beautiful.”

You smiled faintly. “It suits you, though.”

He gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “I wonder if that’s a compliment or a gentle warning.”

“A compliment,” you said. “You belong here in the quiet parts of Halloween. The ones no one else sees.”

He looked down, his eyes soft beneath the brim of his glasses. “You say that as though it’s a good thing.”

“It is.”

A silence fell again. Comfortable this time. Then, as the melody swelled faintly through the mist, Skully’s voice came softer still.

“…Would you care to dance my pumpkin?”

You blinked, surprised. “Here?”

He inclined his head slightly, offering his hand. “The music is rather insistent. It would be impolite to ignore it.”

You laughed under your breath. “You’re impossible.”

He smiled, a small, sincere smile and waited.

When you took his hand, it was warm through the glove, his grip light but steady. He guided you carefully into a waltz, his movements precise but tender, perfectly in time with the faint melody that wrapped around you both like a lullaby.

The sound of your boots and his echoed softly through the empty street. The music blended with the sigh of the wind, until even that began to fade beneath the first drops of rain.

Skully didn’t stop.

As the drizzle deepened, he only held you closer, his coat brushing your legs as he turned you through another slow step.

“The heavens have decided to accompany us,” he murmured.

You smiled. “I think they approve of your form.”

He chuckled softly. “Then I shall endeavor not to disappoint them.”

The rain grew heavier, turning the cobblestones to mirrors. Droplets beaded on his hair and the shoulders of his coat, but he seemed not to care. His eyes stayed on you, calm, reverent, almost awed.

“You are shivering,” he said quietly.

“Only a little.”

He hesitated, then reached up, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. His touch lingered for just a heartbeat too long. “Forgive me,” he said softly. “I forget my manners when I’m near you.”

You smiled. “Then forget them more often.”

For a man so practiced in control, that single line seemed to undo him. He laughed once, softly, shaking his head. “You’ll have me behaving like a lovestruck fool.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

He opened his mouth, perhaps to disagree, perhaps to protest, but instead, he simply leaned closer. The rain pattered gently between you, a quiet applause.

“I…” His voice faltered, rare hesitation breaking through the calm. “I find it very difficult to think clearly when you smile like that.”

You tilted your head up, close enough to see the faint droplets clinging to his lashes. “Then don’t think.”

Before he could reply, you kissed him.

It was soft, fleeting, the kind of kiss that carried the promise of something delicate and unspoken.

Skully went utterly still, the rain washing through the silence between you. His gloved hand rose, touching his lips as if in disbelief.

“Ah…” he breathed, voice quiet and unsteady. “That was… quite unexpected.”

You grinned, brushing rain from your cheek. “You always kiss my hand. I thought I’d return the favor.”

He gave a faint, flustered laugh, lowering his hand slowly. “That was not a ‘favor,’ my pumpkin, that was… something far more dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” you teased.

He cleared his throat, visibly trying to compose himself. “Indeed. My heart is still attempting to recover.”

You giggled, and the sound pulled a real smile from him, warm and shy.

After a moment, he straightened, regaining just enough composure to lift your hand once more and press a familiar kiss to your knuckles.

“If I speak too freely now,” he murmured against your skin, “forgive me… the rain appears to have washed away my restraint.”

You smiled softly. “I don’t think I mind.”

The melody that had started your dance faded completely, leaving only the gentle sound of rain on stone. But Skully didn’t let go. His thumb brushed over your hand once, lightly, before he whispered,

“Then let us linger a while longer… before the world remembers we don’t belong here.”

And so you did. two outsiders standing beneath the crooked towers of Halloween Town, dancing quietly as the rain fell harder, the warmth between you brighter than any lantern flame.

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters RolloxReader

Warnings None

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The late afternoon sun filtered through Noble Bell College’s tall windows, scattering golden light across the marble floors.

You had become a familiar sight at the school by now. Whenever you could you visited Rollo though he always insisted you “didn’t need to trouble yourself.”

You came anyway.

At first, the students of Noble Bell had been curious. Then, they had begun to whisper. “They must be close,” they said. “President Flamme never spends that much time with anyone.”

Some even went so far as to call you more than a friend,  though neither of you had ever confirmed it.

Rollo never spoke about such things. He was polite, always composed, but his demeanor was as closed as the old chapel doors he often studied behind. His attention was fixed on duty, virtue, and the next task ahead. And you respected that.

Still, the whispers followed you both.

And lately, they had begun to sting.

You were sitting across from him now in the grand library, the two of you surrounded by quiet and the faint scent of candle wax. He was working, quill gliding neatly across parchment, posture straight, expression unreadable.

But your thoughts were far away.

“Is something the matter?” Rollo’s voice broke the silence, even, formal, but faintly laced with concern. He didn’t look up from his writing.

You blinked. “Hm? Oh… no. Not really.”

He set down his quill, the smallest pause in his rhythm. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”

“I was just… thinking,” you said softly.

He exhaled quietly, glancing toward you at last. “About?”

You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your book. “People talk about us.”

He stilled. “…They do.”

“They think we’re… you know.”

Rollo’s brow furrowed slightly. “A couple.”

You nodded, trying to smile. “And they say that if we are, you don’t act like it.”

He blinked, the faintest tension flickering across his expression. “…I see.”

For a moment, the only sound was the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall. Then he leaned back slightly, hands folding neatly atop his papers.

“That sort of gossip is beneath you,” he said, tone calm but quieter now. “The opinions of idle tongues do not define what is true.”

“I know,” you said quickly. “It’s just…..” You exhaled, searching for the right words. “Sometimes I wonder if maybe they’re right. That maybe I’m imagining how you feel.”

Something unreadable crossed his face, surprise, perhaps, or guilt.

He reached for his handkerchief, purple fabric patterned with golden stars— and pressed it briefly against his mouth, a nervous gesture. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, almost hesitant.

“Do you truly doubt me so?”

“I don’t want to,” you said. “But… you don’t really show what you feel.”

“I have never been skilled in that regard,” he admitted, lowering the handkerchief. “Restraint was taught to me as a virtue. Emotion, as… weakness.”

You said nothing, only watching him quietly.

He hesitated again. Then, with slow deliberation, reached beneath the table and rested his hand atop yours.

It was a small gesture, careful and hidden, his palm surprisingly warm. His grip was steady, but his thumb trembled slightly against your skin.

Your breath caught. “Rollo…”

“Please,” he murmured, eyes fixed straight ahead. “Allow me a moment’s weakness.”

You stared at him, surprised, then turned your palm upward. His fingers hesitated only a second before interlacing with yours, hidden safely from every curious gaze.

It was such a small thing, but to him it felt like blasphemy and blessing all at once.

He spoke quietly, the words barely audible over the rustle of pages. “I wish I could show them that you mean more to me than duty. But if I do, everything I’ve built will be questioned.”

“I don’t want you to lose anything because of me,” you said softly.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “And yet, I find I would risk more than I should.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing his heartbeat back into rhythm. “Forgive me. I am… torn.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You don’t need to be perfect with me.”

Rollo opened his eyes again. Something fragile and painfully human flickered there—hope, fear, longing, all chained by discipline.

He exhaled, the faintest trace of a shaky breath escaping before he caught himself. His handkerchief rose again, briefly hiding his mouth as if to compose what emotion had slipped through.

When he lowered it, there was a rare, small smile. “You have a terrible influence on me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He hummed faintly — amusement, though carefully hidden.

Under the table, his hand remained in yours, unseen by anyone. The world above the wood was orderly and composed, but beneath, a secret warmth pulsed between your fingers — a promise made in silence.

The bells began to toll, soft and slow, echoing through the high ceilings. Neither of you moved to let go.

Finally, Rollo spoke, voice calm again but laced with quiet sincerity.

“I do not know what I have done to deserve your patience,” he said. “But I am… grateful for it.”

You smiled softly. “You don’t have to thank me, Rollo.”

“Then allow me this instead.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze under the table. Brief, proper, but heartfelt. “You are dear to me,” he said simply.

Your chest ached, warm and full. “You’re dear to me too.”

He looked away quickly, the faintest shade of pink returning to his cheeks. “You should not say such things so easily.”

“Why not?” you teased softly.

“Because I do not know how to answer them,” he said, voice quiet but honest.

You laughed softly. “That’s alright. You already did.”

He blinked, unsure what you meant but when you squeezed his hand once more, his lips parted in silent understanding.

For a moment, his expression softened completely, all the walls gone.

And though Rollo Flamme would later tell himself it was unbecoming of the Student Board President to engage in such undignified displays, he didn’t let go until long after the bells stopped ringing.

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters OrthoxReader

Warnings None

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

You were halfway down the hallway when a cheerful voice echoed from behind you.

“(Y/N)!!”

You turned just in time to see Ortho zooming toward you, glowing eyes bright and hair flickering with excitement. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his flight boosters hummed softly.

You smiled immediately. “Hey, Ortho! What made you so happy?”

He landed in front of you with a tiny fwump! sound and a grin that could outshine any LED. “I made something for us! Well….. technically I made it, but Idia helped with the calibration part. It’s a surprise!”

That earned a raised eyebrow. “Idia helped? Voluntarily?”

Ortho giggled, covering his vizer with his hand. “He said it was a ‘total normie-level friendship stunt,’ but then he spent three hours making sure the glow sync worked perfectly!”

You laughed softly. That sounded exactly like Idia. dramatic protest first, then quietly giving 110% because he cared too much to half-do anything for Ortho.

“Okay, you’ve got me curious,” you said. “What’s the surprise?”

Ortho’s eyes sparkled. “Ta-da!”

He held out two small boxes wrapped in holographic paper that shimmered like rainbow light.

“For me?” you asked, surprised.

“For us,” he corrected proudly. “I wanted us to have matching accessories!

You smiled so wide it made your cheeks ache. “That’s really sweet, Ortho.”

“Open it! Open it!” he urged, bouncing slightly.

You carefully unwrapped the box, inside was a delicate bracelet, sleek silver-blue metal with softly glowing lines tracing across it like constellations. The light pulsed faintly in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“Oh, Ortho…” you breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

He opened his own box and raised an identical bracelet, already glowing faintly from his built-in power source. “Now we match! See?”

You compared the two, identical in shape, but when he leaned closer, you noticed a difference: tiny inscriptions on the inside of his bracelet spelled your initials in digital code.

“Did you make these?”

“Yup!” he said proudly. “I designed the circuits myself, but Idia helped me with the emotion-sensor program.”

“Emotion sensor?”

Ortho nodded, eyes bright. “The color changes based on how we feel! Watch!”

His bracelet blinked yellow for a moment, cheerful, excited. Yours flickered to match, syncing perfectly.

You gasped. “That’s amazing!”

He giggled. “Idia thought it was kinda embarrassing at first. He said, ‘You’re basically making normie mood rings for your emotional support human,’ but he still stayed up till 2 a.m. debugging it for me.”

You chuckled, warmth filling your chest. “That’s because he loves you, Ortho.”

The little android’s face softened. “Yeah… I know. He doesn’t say it a lot, but he always helps me. He really is the best big brother’”

He looked up at you, his expression bright again. “And now you have a bracelet too! So you’ll always know if I’m happy or sad. And I’ll know if you are too. That way, we’re never really apart!”

Your heart absolutely melted. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Without thinking, you pulled him into a hug. “You’re the best little brother anyone could ask for.”

Ortho’s circuits made a happy chime as he hugged you back tightly, his lights flickering pastel pink. “Aww, now the bracelets are showing affection mode! Look, they’re pink!”

You laughed softly against his shoulder. “That’s adorable.”

When you stood again, Ortho suddenly pointed toward the corridor. “Oh! Idia’s in the lab! You should thank him too! He’s pretending he’s ‘not emotionally invested,’ but he kept muttering things like ‘It has to be perfect for them’ all night.”

You couldn’t stop smiling. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”

“Yay!” Ortho said, spinning happily in midair. “Wait! let’s take a picture first! So we can upload it to my memory archive!”

He raised his wrist, the small camera in his hand projecting a soft blue light. You held up your arms, showing off the matching bracelets as Ortho floated beside you, beaming wide.

Click!

When he checked the image, his eyes softened. “Perfect. I’m saving it as ‘Best Memory 1287: Matching Bracelets.’”

“Good choice,” you said, smiling.

He tilted his head, voice gentle now. “I’m really happy you like it, (Y/N).”

You reached over, gently brushing over his hair. “How could I not? You’re impossible not to love, Ortho.”

If his programming could blush, you were pretty sure he would’ve. His hair flickered from bright blue.

“Hehe… I think my emotional sensors are going haywire,” he said bashfully. Then smiled again. “Then this was a success! Operation ‘Matching with (Y/N)’ …. Complete!”

He floated back, waving as his boosters flared. “I’m gonna tell Idia it worked! He said you’d think it was cheesy, but he was wrong!”

You laughed, watching him zip down the hall, a trail of light and laughter following him.

Later that night, your bracelet pulsed faintly. A notification blinked on its side — a custom message from Ortho:

💙 I told Idia you smiled when you saw it! He said ‘of course they did, Ortho. you made it perfect.’ I think that means he’s happy too! 💙

You pressed your hand over the glowing band, smiling to yourself.

And just like Ortho promised, the light warmed from blue to a soft, glowing pink,  matching his perfectly, even from across the School.

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TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ

Characters ChenyaxReader

Warnings None

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Royal Sword Academy was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt rehearsed.

The air was too still, the white stone too polished, and every student you passed walked like they’d practiced their posture in front of a mirror. You tried to blend in, clutching the stack of papers Crowley had insisted you deliver personally.

You turned one corner, then another, the sound of your footsteps echoing like you were the only person alive in the whole school.

And then…

A grin appeared in the air ahead of you. Just… a grin.

“Lost, are we?”

You froze. “What the-”

Two golden eyes blinked open above the grin, glinting with mischief. Then the outline of a head shimmered into view, the rest of him slowly fading into existence as though the air itself decided to draw him.

“Now, now,” Chenya said, his smile wide and easy. “No need to look so startled. We don’t bite here. Well, not all of us.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, pressing a hand to your chest. “You appeared out of nowhere.”

He tipped his head, pretending to think. “Mm, I suppose I did. It’s more fun that way, isn’t it?”

“Not for my heart rate.”

He laughed quietly, that kind of laugh that sounded like he was genuinely entertained. “You’re from Night Raven, yeah? The little dorm with the creaky roof and the talking ghosts. Ramshackle, was it?”

You blinked. “How do you know that?”

“Word gets around,” he said, hands slipping into his pockets. “And besides, you don’t look like you belong here. The way you frown at the clean walls gave you away.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m just here to drop off some paperwork. Would you happen to know where the Headmaster’s office is?”

He grinned wider, tail flicking lazily behind him. “Ah, directions. I could tell you straight” He paused, tilting his head. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You sighed. “You’re kidding.”

“Never. All right, listen closely, Ramshackle.” He began pacing in a slow half-circle around you. “You’ll want to follow the hall that smells faintly of lemons—ignore the one that doesn’t. Then turn where the sunlight falls on the third pillar, not the second. And when you hear the fountain? Go the other way.”

You stared at him. “That’s not helpful.”

He looked offended. “It’s very helpful. You just have to feel the direction.”

“Feel it?” you echoed, incredulous. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

Chenya’s grin widened, sharp but not unkind. “Oh, you know. Let the halls speak to you. The air shifts, the walls hum. You’ll hear which way to go if you listen close enough.”

“...You’re enjoying this,” you muttered.

“Immensely,” he said without hesitation. “You should see your face, Ramshackle. You look like you’re solving a riddle with your life on the line.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I am trying to solve something. How to get out of here without strangling you.”

“Ouch.” He pressed a hand over his chest, eyes wide in mock offense. “Such violence from our little guest. I thought NRC students were all about discipline.”

“We are,” you shot back. “We just use it on people who deserve it.”

His laughter was low and genuine. “Careful, Ramshackle. You start threatening me, and I might start thinking you like me.”

You groaned, walking past him. “You’re insufferable.”

He matched your pace effortlessly. “And yet you’re still following me.”

You stopped. “That’s because you’re the only one who knows where the Headmaster’s office is!”

“Exactly,” he said cheerfully. “You see, you are good at following directions.”

“You haven’t given me any!”

“Oh, haven’t I?” He pointed vaguely down one corridor. “That way. Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Well, it’s either that door,” he gestured left, “or that one.” He gestured right. “One leads to the Headmaster’s office. The other to the choir room.”

You stared at him. “Which is which?”

He grinned, eyes gleaming. “Wouldn’t it be fun to find out?”

“Not if I have to explain to your choir why I’m delivering school paperwork.”

He chuckled again, walking backward now so he could watch you with an almost lazy ease. “You’re adorable when you’re irritated, Ramshackle. All puffed up like a little hedgehog.”

You gave him a look. “Keep talking, and I’ll find a way to actually strangle you.”

“Oh, promises already?” He winked. “We’re moving fast.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed, trying to hide it behind a sigh. “You really don’t stop, do you?”

“Not when I’m having fun,” he said simply. “Besides, I don’t get many NRC visitors around here. You’re like a rare bird.”

“I’d say more like a lost pigeon,” you muttered.

He smiled wider. “Ah, but even pigeons can be charming when they coo in the right tone.”

You shook your head, exasperated but amused now. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re smiling,” he said quietly, almost proud. “See? My methods work.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to act unimpressed. “You’re lucky you’re at least being a good tour guide.”

He gasped dramatically. “Good? Ramshackle, I am an exceptional tour guide. Look—” he pointed ahead, “—that’s the Headmaster’s office. Told you we’d get there eventually.”

You blinked. “Wait… this actually is the office?”

“Of course it is,” he said, grinning. “What, you thought I’d lead you astray?”

“Yes.”

He laughed, eyes half-lidded with amusement. “Fair.”

You turned toward the office door, but he added lightly, “Next time, you could just ask for me right away. Saves you the trouble of getting lost.”

You glanced back over your shoulder. “And miss out on all this? Never.”

His grin softened just slightly, voice dipping to that teasingly gentle tone of his. “Careful, Ramshackle. Keep saying things like that, and I might think you enjoy my company.”

You smirked. “Maybe I do.”

He blinked once. Surprised, then pleased. “Well,” he said, tail flicking, “now that’s a first.”

You laughed, and he stepped aside, gesturing toward the office. “Go on then. Deliver your papers before I make you late.”

“Thanks for the weirdest directions I’ve ever gotten.”

“You’re welcome,” he said brightly. “I pride myself on being unforgettable.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin lingered. “That you are, Chenya.”

His smile curved wider. Slow, knowing, and just a little smug. “Good,” he said softly. “Means my work here is done.”