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I just finished that movie 'Companion; and its got me thinking.
Maybe you bought one of those fancy shmancy new bots out of interest, taboo fascination, and just a touch of loneliness. They were having such a steal of a deal too, renting them out for half price! So you buy it, and 15 days after ordering, your new bot shows up at your door in a big old steel box. A few folks from the company help set it up, giving you the handbook and telling you to have fun.
The set up is fairly easy, you pick a random day at a coffee shop for your bots first 'memory' of meeting you, all faint blushes and stumbling over stupid jokes. Its eyes open, a faint jade color as a default and unnatural to any human, but agonizingly beautiful on its face.
"Hey, you."
Its voice is like silk, not a hint of stiff speech or rigid consonants like the movies portray robots to be. Its skin is so soft, so willing to let you play and mess with it to all of your delight.
Days, weeks go by, and your bot has become something... human, to you. It's hard to treat it like a possession, not when its voice is so lifelike and kind towards you, only wanting to please. And it so very much wants to please you. They aren't violent from what you've been told. There's no capacity to kill within them. And yet-- more than once have you found crushed bits of sleeping pills foaming at the top of your coffee, your keys mysteriously hidden in the deep corners behind shelves, under the couch. It wasn't violent, and it certainly wasn't stupid.
"I just want to make you happy, you're always upset when you go outside. Stay here with me, please?"
It's hard to resist such a sweet voice, dragging you back to bed and using that ever permanent grin to lure you in. It was starting to affect your friendships, your job, hell even your cable was going out because you couldn't afford to pay for anything other than your damn bot.
But it treated you so gently, it loved you so purely for a good while, until it didn't. It's love wasn't soft forever, there were times when it could get... jagged. you played with the millions of settings on your phone, desperate to make its agonized screams stop as you tried to leave the house, none of the sliders working, All you could do was command it to go to sleep. But you felt awful doing it, and you always knew you'd just end up coming back, waking it up again to the same suffering cries. It may not have been violent in nature, but it was violent in its love.
You didn't know what to do-- if you returned it now, you wouldn't get a cent of your payment back, and the idea of being alone sounded worse than being with a clingy machine. So... you kept it. Told it to go to sleep whenever you prepared to leave, and nursed its frantic emotions when you came back. You were getting the handle of things, slowly.
It seemed like maybe you had figured it out, that maybe you could live and appease the obsessive creature. But finding yourself tied against your own mattress, quicky shattered those dreams.
"No need to go into work today, I called in sick for you."
In the palm of its hand, your phone with every setting for the bot, every little nitpick detail from intelligence to lust, was in its grasp.
Hi. Can you do yandere female orc x female reader? Possible breeding kink perhaps...... Feel free to ignore me though.
A/N: as soon as I saw this I knew I wanted to do it. didn't know how-- but I was determined to write it. THANK YOU fellow fem orc lover we must band together!! we are a dying group :(.
You buried your nose into the baby blue pillow, torso twisting away from the beast manhandling your body. “You know I’m busy, you know I’m trying to work… And still, you can’t wait. You just need to be bred all hours of the day, huh?”
You can only respond with a guilty muffle, eyes blurred and focused on the half ajar door.
“Well don’t just whine, give me an answer.” Her fingers inch harder, pulsing against the gentle gumminess of your insides.
“Yes--” Your voice cracks, eager to respond as she slows just a tad. “I do, I really really do, please--”
“Mmn..” The orc returns to her original pace, enjoying the way your slick coats her fingers so perfectly, your body accommodating to her two fingers as they should; you were made to be taken by her. “And this is all you’re going to get, despite how badly you want it. I don’t have time to properly fill you up… even if I want to.”
You feel her pace quicken at that, her own huffs growing in succession as the thought enters both your minds, fantasy blurring with reality.
Your feet hang loosely off the bed and her thighs, ass up in her lap as you desperately try to spread wider, her fingers only shy away from the size of your forearm, pumping into you with precision. A million times she’s done it, and a million times more she’d do it to hear you cry out her name, to feel you grip onto her veiny forearms for support, taking her so deep inside of you it should be considered an art.
You could hear the chatter of those in the front shop waiting for their cars to be fixed, for their keys to be returned, to have the attention of your enticing orc girlfriend. But she was busy right now, allowing the rhythm of your thrusts against her hands and stained jeans distract her from her work.
You knew she only had a 20 minute lunch break, that she had already stopped so many times to kiss you behind a wall of tools and to foreshadow what she was going to do to you that night. And still, it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t stop from bending over her work desk, mere panties and a see-through tanktop on, teasing her while she worked.
You didn’t think she’d take it so serious, that she’d really try to teach you a lesson while she had customers waiting. But an announcement of her early break and a quick tug at the thin cotton around your hips led you to your shared bedroom, the only area in the house-slash-car repair shop with a minute bit of privacy. Even then, she barely bothered to shut the door.
Another pair of panties, ripped to shreds from her anger and lust.
“And you know how it drives me crazy, the thought of you being so filled with my cum, your cunt so full you can’t breathe-- and you use it against me!” The orc huffs with a guttural groan-- you can hear her snarl her teeth.
The thought gets her fired up, one hand holding the back of your thigh to help thrust you dramatically in rhythm to her set of fingers.
You feel like a ragdoll, your hips snapping forward and back as she uses you like a cocksleeve, slipping a third, colossal finger inside of you.
You can taste the intensity of the stretch, holding onto the pillow and sheets beneath you for support. You can barely keep yourself silent, the nearing of your climax so tantalizing, so deliciously close.
“Keep quiet,” she huffs, giving a warm slap palmed at your ass to spread you wider. “Can’t let them know, right? Don’t want anybody to hear, how well you take me;.” She leans in close, hot breath and the smell of motor oil filling your senses. “How you’re not going to go anywhere without a pussy full of me tonight.”
Your pleasure-drunken mind wonders heedlessly if its been over 20 minutes, if your girlfriend would dare leave you unfinished, unfilled like this as punishment-- but she keeps going, propping you up to angle herself deeper inside of you.
And without warning, she slips in a fourth finger, one you didn’t know if you could take.
“You’re lucky I’m crazy over you, that I’d kill any other bastard that tried to fuck you like this; hah, as if they could!”
You couldn’t help but arch your back at that newfound entrance, touching somewhere you didn’t know could be so blissful. Your mouth leaves the pillow, drooling just slightly and drawing out an achey, stunned moan.
Your orc girlfriend grabs your hair, shoving you back down into the pillows.
“Just a bitch in heat-- can’t be bothered to keep herself quiet, can you.”
You can tell by her tone she’s mildly annoyed, but you don’t care. You’ll take whatever consequences she gives, as long as she keeps herself inside of you, that she’s just as eager to make sure you’re bred and only bred by her.
But your erratic walls that squeeze around her fingers are suddenly pulsing around nothing. The sound of an alarm fades unceremoniously into your ears, the licks and sucks of sullied fingers overriding it. The sweet sound of them leaving her mouth makes you lift your head in agony. She’s done, she’s done and you haven’t even had half of your fun!
A thick palm squeezes your ass almost to the extent of pain, before throwing you off her lap and onto the wet sheets.
“Don’t bother me again,” The orc warns, her dark hair still kept in its messy half-up, her clothes in tact except for a few dark stains that can be passed off as paint or oil. “I mean it. Or next time I won’t go so easy on you.”
You want to argue, to force her hands back on you or into your mouth, but you’re cut off by her stern look.
“When I get off shift I want you back here, spread open for me. No earlier.”
You try to give a weak “but--” before she walks away, but you’re too late. The door shuts behind her, the grunts of annoyance from customers now dulled behind the door.
Synopsis: Your sleep paralysis demon can have just as much fun with you while your asleep, as she can when you’re awake.
Warnings: Somnophilia, fingering, come licking, sleep paralysis
Female! Sleep Paralysis Demon x AFAB! Reader
Dreams could be a pleasant escape. They released you from the harsh reality of your dingy bedroom, starless ceilings looking back at you.
You stared hard at it with open eyes, burning in exhaustion; they couldn’t bear to shed another tear.
You had just gotten laid off, again. No matter how many hours you slept you still found yourself falling asleep on the job. You had several instances of being unwakeable until a customer went storming to a manager, or a supply cart slipped from your numb hands into a series of shopping carts.
She had been the cause of your plight, unbeknownst to you. Unspeakable acts were executed on your fragile body, draining it until your ankles ached just from standing up in the morning, and your head felt too heavy to turn.
It was invigorating, knowing she had an influence on your daily life, the part of you she couldn’t reach.
Tonight, she watched from the corner. Darkened, hidden next to a tall dresser, empty of all belongings beside a hand-me-down lamp and crumpled job applications.
Sleep hit you like a pile of bricks, pushing you into unconsciousness mere minutes after hitting the sheets. You hadn’t even remembered to plug your phone in. It fell from your palm onto the unvaccuumed rug, phone screen dark.
Warm sheets, warm body… your realm was so three-dimensional, sounds and sensations far more developed than she had ever known. There was a kind of rush she got when she slithered her ghostly hands up to where your feet laid, brushing up past them to the wrinkled bedsheets.
You would only ever see her as a shadow; translucent, your closet visible through her dark form. If you had ever managed to awaken you would only find her eyes, white pits in the dark of your room, staring at you.
The inky form was shuddering, heavy breaths crowding your silent room. Over you she hovered, tepid air falling on your cheek, black hands staining your skin with shadowed marks. They caressed your limp palms, running a thumb down your forearm’s inner vein. The blood pulsing through you, your tense muscles squeezing under her-- you were so vulnerable, it made her ache. No matter how many nights she did it, it was like touching you again for the first time.
It didn’t help that the only time she could indulge was when you were fast asleep in your room, a place you often avoided until you absolutely had to be in it.
A hand like a faint breeze dipped beneath your pajama pants, beneath your underwear, chilly against the heat from below. You had already gotten your underwear damp, bunched between your legs as her fingers got to work. She was savouring it; the texture, the sleepy smell of you.
You were so easy to manipulate while asleep, breathy and limp, twitching when she hit that hilt inside of you. A shadowy hand widened your legs with a grip on your thigh, pulling it farther away, pushing her damp fingers inside.
Heated pants, like that after running a marathon, beat down on your chest. She spoke not a word, merely letting her labored breathing send goosebumps to your skin. Your mouth parted as your unconscious mind felt inexplicable pleasure, unknown to the cause of your ecstasy.
It was just a really, really good dream. That’s all it felt, like being brought to the top of a rollercoaster and your stomach dropping as it took you down. You orgasmed fast with an open mouth, letting a squeaky sigh release. Pulling absentmindedly at the bedsheets, your body twitched and writhed.
You gushed onto her hand, covering her translucent palm with dribbling liquid. Your chest rose and fell far deeper than it had all day, your body decompressing into the mattress.
The shadow hadn’t even needed to subdue you, to stop you from twitching and thrashing like some nights. You fell prey to her supernatural trick to keep you still, save for the cute twitches she wanted to see from your orgasm.
But you hadn’t fought her, hadn’t grown whiny and restless when she tried to pleasure you as you had before. You took it, accepted her.
Clear liquid added a light sheen to her dark arm, your arousal coating two of her fingers. The shadows heaving ceased as they were popped into her mouth, sucking on the sweet, viscous release of you.
A/N: You are taking advantage of everything I love how dare you. I don't usually like writing about infidelity but this was entertaining.
CW: fem! Yandere housewives, infidelity, reader is taken advantage of, kidnapping, manipulation, NSFT at the end, Gender Neutral Reader
Synopsis: You’re new to the neighborhood,and a little intimidated by the suburbanness of it all. Luckily for you, two housewives have decided to take you under their wing to teach you all you need to know about living in a tight-knit community.
How could someone not take such pity on adorable little you? Looking lost and undignified as you searched around the copy-cat buildings for the right home inside the cul-de-sac. Each house looked the same, with tan stucco walls and dark oak shutters contrasting against their neatly cleaned, watered lawns.
“What are you looking for, sweet pea?”
A woman smoking a dying cigarette asked, nearly a decade older than you. She looked at you so curiously, eyeing the tray in your hands and the way you appeared entirely overdressed. It was almost too obvious how much you stuck out, not the typical resident in a community comprised of HOA meetings and zumba classes.
“Uh, the neighborhood cookout? I just moved in, but already I’m a little lost.”
You smile sheepishly, looking around to see if you could eye some billowing smoke from a grill or the sound of children playing.
“Oh, well just look at you! I didn’t know that little house belonged to someone so cute.” She flitted her eyes down to your bare legs, seeing how proper you cleaned up despite it being a casual, if not an overtly informal event. “Where’d you come from, angel? Don’t tell me you walked down from heaven.”
The slight twang of a southern accent made her pet names all the more flustering, grinning at you with prominent dimples and a curl of hair wrapped around her finger as she played with it.
“Oh, please you’re flattering me,” You grow hot, getting the same queasy butterfly feeling you did when someone hit on you in a bar, two drinks deep. “The other side of town, not too far. Have you heard of--”
“Charlotte, what’s taking so long?”
A blonde appears from behind a house one door down, carrying a drink in her hands. From the spotty pink on her cheeks, you could tell she was buzzed despite it only being midday. “Oh? What’s going on?”
“This is the new resident,” Charlotte calls back, moving to wrap an arm around your shoulder; she looked at the other woman knowingly, conveying something you really couldn’t decipher other than the naughty grin on her face. “Here to entertain us at the cookout.”
“Right,” She says, as if she’s forgotten about the large moving van across the street that’s been parked there for days. “Well, come on, we’re about to play Bunco.”
Her eyes drifted back and forth between you and the woman holding you friendlier than a stranger normally would. Is this what they called southern hospitality? You really weren’t THAT far south.
The blonde walked away, lingering her eyes on you with what you interpreted as judgement.
Taking the tray out of your hands, Charlotte’s pedicured french tips brushed over your fingers.
“You’re in the right place; but really, I can’t believe we’ve been so rude to not welcome you to the neighborhood yet! Heather and I will have to come over sometime, see your place.”
Charlotte urges you forward with a blindingly attentive smile on her face, dark hair and tall figure meshing against your own. She begins setting plans already on when she can come over, asking what your schedule is like, if you live alone. You feel overwhelmed with how gracious she’s being, taking such a kind interest in you. Heather however, seems to observe from afar. She sips on her wine or an overflowing margarita until the night is over, eyes flickering back and forth between you and Charlotte. When you talk, they unsettlingly rest upon you.
--------------
“It must be lonely, being inside this big house all alone?”
Heather asks, her deep voice giving a stark contrast to Charlotte humming in your kitchen.
“Well, not since you both are practically my roommates at this point.” You sarcastically jab.
Before you knew it, you were being held hostage in your own house, hosting girl’s nights and “book clubs” which were really just an excuse to drink and eat cheese, Heather and Charlotte always making these plans before you had time to register them. You made the fatal mistake of telling Charlotte every moment of free time you had, which meant you were often stuck with them putting on movies and going through your bedroom’s things in search of one item or another. At one point, you even found Heather standing in your living room, ‘looking for a bottle opener,’ she said. She claimed the door was unlocked and assumed you wouldn’t mind, but you had your doubts; even in a picturesque neighborhood like this, you didn’t feel safe enough to leave your house unattended and unlocked.
“Hm.” Heather tutted, watching you on the couch as you tried to avoid her piercing gaze. She never showed any shame when she was caught staring; you were always the first to look away. “Would you really tell your roommates your darkest fantasies, though?”
You could hear the triumphant smirk in her voice. Looking up from your phone, you frowned at the fingers playing innocently on your knee, drawing small patterns.
“I told you not to bring that up again.”
She moved in closer as if to challenge you, trying to capture your eyes as you looked around the room-- at anything but her.
“Oh you’re so sensitive; can’t friends joke with each other?” Her hand slid higher, massaging the inside of your thigh, feeling the rough seams of your jeans.
“I was drunk-- I shouldn’t have told Charlotte, I knew she’d tell you!”
You try to move away, uncomfortable with the topic at hand.
“Can you blame her? It’s not everyday you find out that a cute, unassuming thing like you likes to be tied up, getting off on the dirty words whispered in your ear.”
You listen for Charlotte, hearing her turn the sink on as she hums to herself, quieter.
Heather moves in, her breath tickling the shell of your ear. She whispers long and slow, no longer paying attention to the television.
“I bet if it was one of us, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? How long would it take you to break, I wonder. For you to fall on your knees and beg.”
“You-- can’t be saying stuff like that, you’re married;” You shift deeper into the couch, Heather’s face only inches away as you can smell her Valentino perfume.
“Oh please-- as if Scott cares about anything I do, nonetheless with either of you.” She scoffs, as if the idea is ridiculous. “Don’t worry though, I won’t tell about your little kinks; those secrets are better kept with us.”
You purse your lips, letting the silence and the thickness of the tension sit like molasses as a weather announcer drones on in the background.
“Don’t move.” Heather murmurs, caressing your cheek with the back of her hand, getting you to turn your face towards her without much effort.
You see a wave of blonde before a pair of glossed lips are upon yours, her hand trapping you against the couch. Only a chaste kiss went by before she dared to go full throttle, her wine-soaked tongue pushing against yours, unabashedly letting wet pops and sucks fill the room as she bit your bottom lip, hungrily.
You couldn’t deny it felt good, to let the thickness that had been knowingly building up between you pop; from her sultry gazes to how Charlotte pushed you two together, knowing Heather was often more unfriendly than not.
“Hey!” Charlotte's high voice rang out, a spatula splattered with cake batter still in her hands. “You two, what the hell?”
A sharp panic spiked its way in your heart, pulling back from Heather’s wet lips as her gloss stuck to the side of your mouth.
“Charlotte-- this--”
But Charlotte wasn’t talking to you.
“How many times have I told you I called dibs first, that you weren’t allowed to put your hands ANYWHERE until I made the first move?” She looked upset, but with more of a pout than anything. “I had a whole plan! I swear, Heather--”
“I’m sorry baby,” Heather laughed a little, wiping some of your saliva from her lip. “If it makes you feel better, we haven’t fucked yet.”
“Close enough!”
“Aw, you know we wouldn’t do anything without you-- just couldn’t help myself..”
Heather pulled at your bottom lip with her thumb, biting her own as she saw how alert and guilty you looked.
“This is some bullshit,” Before you knew it Charlotte was by your side, looking darker, somehow more predatory as Heather had. “I guess, sloppy seconds is better than nothing.” She murmured, a firm hand grabbing under your chin. She was far rougher than you had imagined, pulling you toward her as she kissed you hard, Heather’s hand still resting against your thigh.
You push back, feeling a strange unease at the shift in the room, the way it had gotten silent save for the heavy breaths and short, vocal sighs.
“You can’t-- ‘we’ can’t do this, I just-- this isn’t right.”
“Shh, stop talking so much,” Charlotte teased, watching your frantic eyes. “No one will be none the wiser, as long as you keep your pretty mouth shut.”
“But--”
“Don’t fight it; you need to be taken care of, clearly. You can barely cook, you’re all alone here, have no way to satisfy yourself…Take it from those who’ve been doing this for years. ” Heather takes a quick sip of her wine, giving an amused grin at how desperately incompetent she made you out to be.
“Don’t act like you’re all innocent, either baby. If you didn’t want us to do things to you,” Charlotte kissed you again, staying close. “Why’d you tell us about those little fantasies stuck in your head, how much you wanted to be taken advantage of, how you wished someone would just pin you down and--”
“I-- I was drunk! I didn’t even know what I was saying.” You try to form an excuse, hardly finding the space to speak as the two women ignored your poor protest.
“Oh come on, and that excuses the way you’ve stared at my tits every night?” Heather laughed.
“Or how I’ve caught you touching yourself, saying our names?” Charlotte asked, genuine questioning in her voice as if you could come up with an answer besides stunned silence. “You really need to replace those bald spots in your blinds.”
You had no words-- just how much of you did they know about, things that you hadn’t told? You were caught in the web of two predatory creatures-- housewives who drank themselves and gossiped all day-- and who apparently, were desperate for some new fun in their boring little cul-de-sac.
“That was.. Just one time..”
“One time’s enough. But you really are some kind of pervert, getting off to two married women you barely know.”
Charlotte and Heather looked at each other, laughing as you sat in an uncomfortable mess of guilt, lust, and concern.
------------------
And so he said “What, going to another one of your girl’s nights? I don’t know what’s so interesting about watching The Bachelor every night.”
Heather and Charlotte talk absentmindedly, resting casually on your bed in their underwear.
A pair of warm fingers were pushed deep inside you, pulsating and gliding rhythmically. In and out, so gentle and yet it clouded your mind with ecstasy. Each time you tried to close your legs from pleasure or fear, your thighs were pushed open with a slight smack to your ass, just enough to make you jolt.
“He’s so oblivious, sometimes I wonder if we could fuck in your living room and if anyone would notice.” The woman behind you agrees, taking a break from placing a dark hickey on your shoulder.
her fingers swirled and pinched at your nipples, playing as she felt your back arch. The sound of the handcuffs straining behind your back made her grin.
“Getting close, sweet pea?” Charlotte muses, watching how you bite hard into the gag.
“Use your words now, don’t make me have to get out the vibrator.” Heather demands.
You twitch at the thought, the memories of past overstimulation making you let out a small whimper.
You mumble through the gag, feeling the gentle stroke of Heather’s almond-shaped nails down your navel, giving your skin the slightest tickle.
“Look at that face,” Heather patronized with a short chuckle, your head falling onto her shoulder as you closed your eyes, riding Charlotte’s fingers like there was no tomorrow. “Completely fucked out, I bet you could yell ‘fire’ and the poor thing wouldn’t notice; you spoil them too much.”
“And you don’t? Miss, ‘why don’t we get some new lingerie’, or ‘let's set a new orgasm record’. Geeze.”
Heather looked away at that, not willing to admit the truth.
Your crescendo of moans rose to fill the tense, hot silence, tongue wettening the gag as you began to squirm, toes curling as you tried to curl inward.
“Fuck..” Charlotte let out, a curse you hadn’t heard her release before; she was, usually, so verbally mild-mannered with her country intonation. Her fingers slammed faster inside of you, warm body rising as she came up to kiss the housewife behind you, unashamed at her desperation.
They were unnecessarily loud, hungry in their kisses and gropes of your body as you writhed between them.
“Come for me, sweetheart.” Heather mumbled in your ear between tongued kisses.
Charlotte knocked your body back against Heather’s, letting the slick squelches of her thrusts into you fall off beat with the sound of her lips against the other woman’s.
Letting you reach the height of your orgasm, the women praised your compliance, how good you were, how obedient you had been-- all whilst stuffed between heavy breasts and wet lips.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
pathetic!yandere girl desperately wants to be with you. why won’t you love her back?
╰┈➤ content warnings - 18 +, non-con, fem reader, yandere, obsessive love, stalking, possessiveness, corruption, bondage, crying, lesbian sex, body worship, dirty talk, marking, dark romance, dead dove
The behaviors she exhibited had been endearing at first. Cute, even. Unwavering insistence, complete devotion from the moment you’d said ‘hello’. She was an unassuming girl; admittedly adorable but equally unsettling. The devotion was strangely foreign to you. Though you weren’t entirely inexperienced, this was distinctly different from the casual hookups and private messages you were accustomed to. Having an admirer, to put it kindly, just isn’t quite the same.
Her incessant pining had started innocently enough. Usurping your best friend's seat in your English lecture, an impossibly wide smile plastered across her face the entire class period. Denying her was next to impossible, the naive girl visibly sulking anytime somebody beat her to the prized seat. You almost felt a pang of guilt when it came time to deny her pitiful attempts at romantic advances. The girl possessed an almost mystical ability to guilt trip. Even though she was practically a stranger, it was undeniably flattering to meet somebody who was so boldly smitten on you. If not also a bit unnerving. Despite the complete lack of any visible interest, her yearning never seemed to simmer down.
But you had shown interest, hadn’t you? When you’d so benevolently allowed her to borrow your pencil, that was personal, wasn’t it? You’d felt the electricity, right? The cosmic, undeniable spark that came alight when her skin brushed yours? You’d be an absolute fool not to. Continuously rebuking her offers to sit together in the dining hall wasn't going to be enough to deter somebody with such passion. You’re a busy girl, so very popular! Miss Popular wouldn’t want to be seen with the campus creep, that’s understandable. She gets it. Not to worry, when you’re finally together - she'll make sure you have unlimited time for romantic lunch dates.
Care packages are heartwarming when they’re from your parents back home, less so when they’re from an insistent stranger - adorned with ominous notes professing her devotion to you. Either way, what college sophomore would pass up free top shelf booze and artisanal snacks? She’s harmless. Your sense of safety was fragile; the lock to your dorm started to mysteriously unlock itself anytime you left. Word was spreading, whispers through the hallway questioning your relationship status. The blabbering freak couldn’t be satisfied simply professing her love to you, she needed the whole world to hear it! Something about the whole ordeal was chipping away at your sanity, and confronting her behavior started to feel like an impossible task.
Between weekend fraternity jaunts and Wednesday night bar crawls with your roommate, your busy schedule was the tacky craft glue that (barely) held you together. You’d spent many Saturday nights like this; the hem of your glittery getup hiking up your thighs as you tripped over your own feet. Heels clicking against pavement, a loose giggle fell from your throat - sloppy and unkempt, your breath reeking of alcohol. The kind fraternity brother who escorted you home was a doll to put up with you. One of the good ones, thank God. Evenings like this had become unfortunately common, your drinking increasing in intensity alongside the stalking. Less common, however, was the lingering stare of a familiar figure - her body leaning silently against the brick exterior of your dormitory. An unseen investigator, honing in on her suspect.
“Woah there, come on, you’ve got it.” The young man encouraged as the two of you approached the steps to your residence hall, your feet twisted out of order. This was unlike you, the way your body was flung over the side of his larger form - you looked… slutty. Alcohol had that effect on you; there was a succubus living inside of you and she only emerged after 2.5 drinks. Another disheveled titter slipped from your glossed lips as you struggled up the cement steps, clinging to the toned man like he was your saving grace. The world spun on its axis, scenery spinning around you as your guardian angel guided you up to bed. Soft fleece brushed against your chin, the young man wishing you well, his voice the last thing you heard before slipping into darkness.
“You really gotta be more safe out there, there’s a lot of shitty people waiting to take advantage.”
Pounding awoke you, the pressure inside your head making it feel like your eyeballs might pop out. A soft groan fell from your lips, the crusted mascara around your eyes flaking off as your lids fluttered open. Instinctually, you attempted to stretch - the world coming into focus around you. This ceiling was not the foam tile of your dormitory, and as your gaze trailed down to your body - you found your ankles bound, joints tied tightly with fraying rope. Your wrists endured the same treatment, bound body spread eagle on a bare mattress. Sequined minidressed scratching against your sensitive skin as the inevitable thrashing commenced. The fear wasn’t instant, surprisingly - confusion was. Once you had the realization that your familiar shared bedroom was nowhere to be seen, then the terror set in. Surrounding you were bare and white plaster walls, the worn wooden floorboards stained from rainwater leaks. A single door laid against the right wall, paint peeling and doorknob rusting. The only window in the room was clumsily boarded shut, a worn tarp nailed over for extra protection.
Thoughts swarmed through your mind like a kicked wasp’s nest, bewilderment intertwining with dread. Deep breaths wracked your frame, eyes shut tightly as you willed away your fear enough to focus. Her. It could only be her. You’d seen nearly every room in the fraternities you frequented, and this room was not in a frat house, despite what the mess may imply. Why, though? Why you? What made you so special? What made you so magnetic to a freak like her? The halfway silent settling of an aging house was driving you just as mad as the painfully gripping restraints against your joints. Of course she lives in some halfway functional home on the outskirts of town. Of course she does. As little as you knew about her, you could make lots of hurtful assumptions nonetheless. And assumptions you were forming; plenty of them, in fact. With every passing second that you spent bound in this sad chamber of a room, your thoughts became more and more volatile.
Light footsteps approaching the door remained unheard by you, uncharacteristically violent revenge scenarios spinning through your mind. Door hinges caked with rust, a loud creak filled the silence, snapping you out of your angry trance. Beneath the worn frame, there she was - an apologetic smile plastered across her typically sullen features. Before you could utter even a drop of your prepared vitriol, she was rushing to your side, hands tentatively tracing over the skin of your cheek. Breath catching in your throat, your whole body stilled.
“I’m so sorry, so, so sorry.” She rambled quietly, tears welling up in her eyes as she spoke. Somehow the mousy, tentative behavior seemed more frightening to you in the moment than outright aggression. Her calloused skin continued to draw mindless patterns on the side of your face as the apologies and pleading blended together into a blur of blubbering mumbles. Lassoing in the courage to confront her, your breath shook through you, exhaling a sigh before clearing your throat. The expressive storm of desperation dissipated instantly.
“Why are you doing this?” A flood of emotion crawled through your body as the words spilled from your chapped lips. The waterworks flowed into motion, tears blurring your vision as her limbs retreated from their position cradling your face. Her hands snapped upwards; chipped teeth gnawing at the nubs of her fingernails. After a few moments of palpable fear, her attention turned back to you, her sleeve sliding up to wipe away your tears. What don’t you understand? How could she possibly be more clear? Can’t you feel the love radiating out of her? Ripping her heart in two? The depressed demeanor she usually carried was fading away, her brows furrowing in frustration as the tears continued to flow. How could you be sad when you’re surrounded by such powerful adoration? Do you need to be shown? Do you need help understanding? None of this was going according to plan. You were meant to be stunned by the gripping realization that you’ve found your one-and-only soulmate. She could fix this. She could make you understand.
Without warning, her sweater clad hands wandered down your neck, fingers gracing over every inch of available skin. Your breaths were uneven, shaky, wracking through your body as choked sobs increased in power. None of this fazed the determined lover. Don’t worry, don’t be scared. You’ll feel so much better once you realize your destiny. Digits toyed with the scooped neckline of your glittery minidress. She stilled, head tilting curiously as the sequins glimmered under her hands. Such a promiscuous little outfit, it just won’t do. Taken women have no business walking around in such attire. Her lips pursed, eyes wandering down your restrained form. She couldn’t simply take it off in this position. It wasn’t possible, unfortunately.
“I’m sorry, baby… I promise I’ll get you lots of nice new outfits once you move in.” The words lulled out in a sing-song tone, cooing at you like a wounded animal as she produced a pocketknife from her jeans. Noticing the increased tempo of your whimpering cries, her head shook vehemently.
“Oh, don’t worry! I would never, ever hurt you. Ever.” The reassurance flowed out in that same melodic tone. “I just need to take off this… thing you’re wearing. It’s in my way. I’ll be careful, promise.” Everything she said was so theatrical, as if a more dramatic performance would win over your affections. Scenes replayed through your mind as your fearful sobs carried on. Every interaction you’d had with had been a careful act, meticulously rehearsed. The blade made contact with the seam of your dress - sharp metal ripping away at the cheap nylon fabric. Your wails filled through the small room, her peaceful shushing only adding to the foreboding and dreadful scene unfolding. As the pocketknife shredded away the remnants of your favorite party dress, another apology spilled from your captor’s throat.
“You’re crying so much, so much crying. I’m sorry, I’ll make it all better.” Desperation coated her words, and it was unclear whether she was trying to convince you or herself. Scraps of fabric tossed aside, she climbed atop the bed, resting at the end of the mattress, right between your bound feet. Hands ran up and down your calves, a gesture that would’ve felt soothing in any other circumstance. Your body tensed under her touch, eyes squeezing shut in a desperate attempt to block everything out. This can’t be happening. Tears, whines and cries echoed through the small space, but you felt entirely detached from your body. Tingling skin lit up your senses, grounding you into reality against your will; the pads of her fingers pressing firmly into the skin of your inner thighs, gripping the flesh like you might somehow break free and run away. When you finally got the nerve to meet her gaze, her sickeningly desperate and nervous smile bored through your skull.
“I love you so much. This is the greatest day of my life, being here with you.” She kneeled down, crawling towards your center. Her face hovered just inches away from your core, utter awe emanating off of the trembling girl. Fighting wasn’t an option; your position leaving you feeling defenseless to do anything but accept your fate. Rivers flowed down your face, dry skin still crusted with yesterday’s foundation. Your nipples hardened against the chilled draft wafting through the room, back arching in discomfort as yet another pathetic whimper spurted from your form. Hot breath fanned over your pussy, your sensitive nub twitching against the stimulation. Your captor’s breath audibly hitched in her throat, no doubt in reaction to your involuntary bodily reactions.
“...Please.” a measly plea broke through your weakening sobs while her lips made contact with your pubic mound, gentle kisses fluttering around your sacred center. Please? Oh, sweet girl… Begging for more already. Your apology definitely did not incite the desired effect, an animalistic growl rattling from the disheveled girl. Baggy sweatshirt falling down her shoulders as she readjusted, her arms hooked underneath your thighs - holding onto your limbs as if you were anchoring her down to Earth.
“No! Wait, plea- ohhh…” A choked moan broke from your throat, wet tongue swirling circles around your clit. With what the loser lacked in experience, she made up for with overwhelming excitement. Experience wasn’t necessary, just love. She has plenty of that. Enough for the both of you. Tears intermingling with strangled gasps, your wrists strained against their clumsy bonds. The rusting metal bed frame creaked loudly with each jerk of your limbs. Her loud moans vibrated against your cunt, eyes rolling back momentarily as the pleasure overrode all logic. Warmth tangled in your lower abdomen, the rising pleasure writhing around in your gut. Each wave of heat taunting you, blaming you for not realizing the danger you’ve been in. Don’t enjoy this, you can’t.
“P-please, wait! Stop it!” Your anguished cries were quickly morphing into whimpered mewls, the fight draining from your body - instantaneously replaced with unwanted euphoria. Her writhing tongue prodded at your entrance, lapping up any fluids, moaning like it’s the first drink she’s had in weeks. Daring to peek down at her, your heart fluttered at the unfolding scene. Jesus Christ, she’s an animal. Strands of greasy hair glued to her forehead by the beads of sweat rolling down her temples. Her eyes fluttering upwards, thick lashes fanning rapidly in sync with the scooping motion of the appendage within her mouth. It was utterly depraved; her hands desperately grasping at the fat of your quivering thighs. You couldn’t help the needy whine that slipped from your throat. Fuck, you’re trying. Jesus Christ, you’re trying. Don’t enjoy it. You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.
Sniffling away the remnants of your long-forgotten tears, your lip caught between your teeth. Canines dug deep into the soft skin, a quiet groan regrettably slipping between the cracks. The pulsing, aching need that was building in your core rapidly ate away at the measly crumbs of willpower you still possessed. Her mouth intertwined with your cunt, her swollen lips tirelessly snogging your folds, tongue writhing deeply within you - each twist and turn causing your spine to exude a powerful jolt. Sensitive buds upon your chest longed to bloom, nerve endings alight without any stimulation. A plea caught in your throat, transforming into a soft, broken sound before your own eyes.
“Don’t…” A quiet whimper. “Ohhhhh, fuck… God…” Resentful of the knowledge that you’d be intertwining your fingers in her hair right now if you could, you managed enough self-control not to encourage her further.
Pulling back with an exhausted gasp for air, your insatiable captor left you whining like a cat in heat, hips jerking upwards at the loss of contact. Shame flooded your body; a hot, dreadful flush creeping up your cheeks in reaction to your total lack of restraint. What have you become? How could this happen? A depraved whore writhing upon the bare, dingy mattress of a strange girl who you know nothing about. You love it. Why don’t you just admit it to yourself? She’s right. You’re meant to be. The freak and the slut; a perfect match. Quiet panting painted the background of your downward spiral, your self-loathing dissociative episode swiftly interrupted by your forced partner as she leaned back on her heels. She observed you for a moment; a researcher examining their prized discovery.
“I’m so glad you’re already feeling better, baby.” A sickeningly proud grin graced her face, hands coming to rest upon your bound ankles. Her fingers gently massaged your joints through the wiry rope. The embers of the pleasure she’d lit upon you moments before helped ignite a small flame of affection - the blush upon your cheeks deepening ever-so-slightly at her gentle gesture. Stop. Stop it. You’re not stupid enough to sympathize with a sicko. Leaning over your legs, she swept a midsized cardboard box out from under the bed, a mischievous giggle accompanying her movements. Flipping the flaps of the container open, she practically bounced with exhilaration.
“You taste amazing, I could go down on you for hours…” She trails off, tone dreamy while her concealed hands clattered through the cardboard sheathed items. “But I need to be able to talk to you. It’s the most important part. So you know how much I love you, how hard I’ve worked for us to be together. You’ll be so grateful after this, I think.” Love takes dedication, love is worth fighting for. Love needs to be forceful sometimes, doesn’t it? Just so she can make you understand, that’s all. A small gasp interrupts her train of thought, digits folding around the treasure she’d so desperately sought.
Your dazed, trance-like state shoves itself to the side - stare landing firmly on the 8 inch silicone dildo gripped firmly between your captor’s grasped fists. At least it’s familiar. Nothing you can’t handle, look at the bright side. Stained hoodie sleeves were theatrically shoved upwards, hair flipped behind her shoulder with palpable excitement. A jittery, gleeful sound somewhere between a squeal and a sigh vibrated against your eardrums, your supposed lover assuming that similar animalistic stance, lurching towards you. Her small hands wrapped around the curve of your hips, running along the skin with a distinct hunger. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if the girl was harboring a secret desire to cannibalize you entirely.
“I’ll be gentle,” A breathy whisper wafted over your stomach. “It’s important that you feel good. So you can feel my complete devotion to you.” A kiss landed softly on your hip, then your tummy - your whole abdomen peppered in a smattering of her adoration. The whole thing was very hard to ignore; it unleashed something deep inside you. Some small, miniscule inkling of something soft and warm. Compassion, or affection, maybe. Something that fueled that warmth in your belly, that flush in your cheeks. Swimming in cognitive dissonance, the mushroom tip of cold silicone slid up your now-thoroughly lubricated folds.
“So wet… Is that your love for me?” Her frantic whispers floated through your ears, thick logs of perfect firewood stoking the flames within you.
“Perfect, completely, and utterly perfect.”
“Every inch of you, just incredible. Not a single flaw.”
“So disheveled and messy… just for me. I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”
There was too much conflict in your mind to stop the lewd groan that flew out of you when the first few inches of her toy slid into your tight canal. Crazed eyes gawked at your unkempt form, hair flying in every direction, splayed out on the mattress like a beached siren. Your inadvertent expressions of pleasure motivated her deranged display of obsession. Thrusting the entirety of her faux member into your core, your back leapt off the bed - choked scream of relinquished power forcing itself from your throat.
“Look at you!” She exclaimed, bouncing on her heels as the dildo pistoned in and out of your pulsating core with surprising casualty. “Accepting my love so well… Can’t you tell we were meant to be?” Her sentence faded to a close, mouth closing in on your hip. Maybe you were. Maybe that wasn’t so terrible. If she could make you feel like this forever, maybe it wasn’t all bad. Sensations overpowered every inch of your body, concentrated especially towards the invading toy that pulled in and out of you with incredible force. You feared your whole body might collapse like a deflated balloon. Suction faded in and out of your peripheral, your tummy a canvas inviting a painting of hickeys. The stinging sensation was hardly enough to distract you from the overpowering lust.
Anger, fear, dread - all negativity was a distant dream. The only thing you knew in this moment was the obsessive, all-consuming adoration of the girl embracing you; devouring you. The bruises framed your belly button, a wreath of dedication visible only to her. For now, but maybe forever. All hers. Forever. Coiling snake of pleasure striking for the prey, your eyes rolled so far back that it seemed they might get stuck. The insistent pounding of silicone against your fleshy sweet spot drove you almost as mad as her. Your fluids soaked the dildo, coating your new lover’s thin hands in sweetness. This was far from over, her energy was hardly depleted. Somehow, you found yourself feeling shockingly calm about the whole ordeal. Forever wasn’t so long, not if it felt like this.
Synopsis: Your symbiote has slowly learned what life is like for you as a human. It’s sensed a hormonal change in you, a shift known as ovulation; and to your surprise, it catches on fast to your 'needs.'
You’d think the sudden addition of a parasite inhabiting your body would completely upend your life.
Oddly, your mundane existence really hasn’t changed that much. Sure, showers are certainly different, your carnivorous appetite has increased to a debilitating level, but your routine is still the same: get up, go to work, come home, sleep.
It’s actually kind of nice, having someone to talk to on the bus ride home, little jokes whispered in your ear as the phantom-like creature slithers down your neck, hiding from your coworkers and their concerned eyes.
This…thing, alien or parasite, whatever you wanted to call it-- it was almost becoming something akin to a friend. A companion.
You didn’t delude yourself into believing it wasn’t using you for sustenance and safety, but at least it was kind to you, offering compliments on how sweet you were, how fascinating your life as a human was.
It wasn’t all bad.
But sometimes, you did wish you had a moment alone. Time for yourself to pursue romantic relationships, or intimate self-care.
Which is why you ached when reading the smutty, arousing words of a new steamy romance novel on your phone.
“You’ve been rather antsy today; what is it, something ‘human’ related?” The symbiote had a touch of mockery in its tone, snaking out from under your shorts as you scrolled through chapters on your screen.
You had gotten used to it traveling your flesh, running over your skin with its gooey, smooth texture. The sight of its red ‘body’ out of the corner of your eye used to frighten you; now, you’re worried if you haven’t seen it pop out in a while.
“I guess you could say that,” You shove your legs together, eyes focused on the poorly written porn. You knew you shouldn’t have been reading it, not when you were too embarrassed to take care of yourself in front of this ‘thing’. It had been over a month since you touched yourself, since your body was taken over by this extraterrestrial creature. The alien didn’t exactly give you ‘alone time,’ with it being stuck to your body and all. “It’s just a hormonal thing. I’m uh… ovulating. It’ll go away in a few days.”
“How does it work?”
The symbiote crawls back up your thigh, sliding onto your bare hip. You shivered, reacting to its cold touch; you never got used to how close it prodded the areas you said were off limits, testing the waters of how far it could go before you said something.
“It’s kind of complicated-- it has to do with, well, that menstrual cycle I was talking about earlier.” You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, eyes glazing over the enlarged text on your phone. You could feel the wetness pooling in your underwear, clinging it to you. “It makes humans feel different than normal, more, um, needy? I guess you could say.”
You weren’t sure how to word it-- the symbiote certainly wouldn’t understand all of the textbook jargon you could throw at it about ovulating and human eggs, but you couldn’t exactly say that you’re horny because of your body’s cycle, either.
“Ah, needy for what?”
The symbiote could hear a slight shift in your voice, the discomfort you felt on the topic. You had explained sex, romance between humans, almost everything under the sun-- but you didn’t want to delve into any topics that hit too close to home.
The alien slipped up your shirt, climbing beneath it to poke out from your pajama’s collar.
“Physical….stimulation.” You finally respond, biting at your tongue.
The creature forms a humanoid, uncanny face in front of you, shaking as the eyes of something dark and unnatural stay locked onto yours.
“Hmm, how fitting. I had been waiting for you to say something.”
“Huh?”
“Did you think I couldn’t tell the way your body has changed? Hotter. Wetter, even.” The creature moves to travel down your body, dipping beneath your shorts with a purpose. “Especially beneath these loose garments you insist on wearing.” It slides over your underwear, a thick, curling limb pushing tight against your mound. “ This, is the culprit. What you desire to be relieved from, yes?”
You squeezed your thighs, feeling your neediness grow tenfold as the thought of sweet relief tempts your body. Fuck it, you couldn’t help yourself, the addictive pleasure of being touched luring you too much to hold back.
“Yes… I just-- I need something, anything..”
You attempt to slide your hand beneath your pants, feeling the temperate presence of your symbiote already layering itself there.
But a shot of red forces your hand back, a goo-like substance keeping your arms pressed tight against your bed.
“Let me explore this aspect you humans seem to take so much pleasure in… I don’t need you getting in the way.” The symbiote stretches over your body, transforming its own malleable ‘flesh’ into tentacle-like appendages. Two of them restrict your hands, a flurry of others roaming your flesh for a taste. “Besides, it looks as if you could use more than a few helping hands; so many fascinating areas are reacting.”
A rush of ‘tentacles’ prods up your shirt, running over the rising nubs of your nipples, swirling and running smooth suckers over each peak.
“But you don’t even know how to--”
“I’m sure I’ll learn. We’ve made it this far together, haven’t we?” The parasitic creature runs itself beneath your underwear, quick to stretch between your folds, rubbing hard against your aroused clit. You twitch at the sensation, letting it know just where you need to be touched. “If you’d like, you can tell me when I’ve hit a good spot, where I should press harder…”
You nod your head, too overcome with the idea of riding out this pleasure to ignore how odd this was, how strange. You’ve still yet to fully accept the idea that you’re not insane and are truly sharing your body with something inhuman; getting off with the help of your parasitic guest was not something you could wrap your brain around-- not right now at least.
The symbiote is quick to spread itself in you, finding your sopping entrance. It pushes its way in, melding and forming to effortlessly slink against your walls.
“W-wait, hold on--” You cut yourself off with a moan, worried the ‘thing’ might burst inside of you, or gather itself too big than you could handle. But it swells to a moderate size, stretching you and pulsing inside. You rock back and forth in stuttered motions, desperately trying to thrust yourself onto it.
“Right here is where you’re the most sensitive, I can feel it.” The creature wraps around your thighs, grinding itself hard against your tender walls. You can’t help but release a heavy cry, noticing the sudden and quick rise of your orgasm. It had barely been inside you for a short minute, but you always came faster when you were ovulating, persistently aroused and easy to make cum.
You finish hard, desperate, clinging to the bedsheets. How did it know? Easily finding all the right places that your body called to be touched? To be played with and rubbed at?
The symbiote doesn’t slow as your hips do, abusing the sensitive areas inside of you and wrapping itself around your clit. You gasp as another tentacle-like feeler makes its way below your entrance, calling out to your other hole. You can tell the ideas it's having, the way it's traveling closer, nearer.
“Hold on, not there, that’s--”
It pushes its way inside your asshole, thin and wet like it had with your cunt. It slides deeper in without hesitation, repeating in coordinated thrusts as the first ‘tentacle’ did.
You could feel another orgasm building, too intense this time as you tried to pull off the red, sticky limbs holding you down.
“What’re you trying to do? Why, I thought this is what you wanted?” The symbiote continues, and you can hear its voice grow distorted, restless. “Don’t tell me you’re done, when I haven’t even had half my fun… I hope you do remember that I’m the one allowing you to exist like this. Letting you live freely without being completely destroyed by me.”
You babble out pleas, gripping at the sheets that have gotten thoroughly soaked by you and the secretion of the symbiote. It dripped clear stains, coating your body in something that reminded you of cooking oil-- it never fully washed from your skin.
The creature tugged harder on your clit, letting out a strong laugh as you yelped. Your heart pounded in your chest, ringing in your ears as the wet, crude sounds of the symbiote pumping into you resounded in your room.
“Not-- like this. Didn’t mean f-for it like this--”
“I guess that’s too bad. You humans can be so selfish, never knowing what’s good for you. I’m making you feel all the bliss you wanted. And why, I’m learning so much about you too! All these new spots you never let me see.” The symbiote plunged harder, growing its two tentacles thicker inside of you. “Too bad you’re so naive you thought I’d never venture here-- you really never woke up when I touched these spots in the middle of the night, did you?”
You cry out at the sensation of your orgasm snapping, wracking through your body with twitches and shakes. But the symbiote doesn’t stop, grinding out your orgasm until you’re crying from the sheer sensation of it gliding over your body.
You try to slink away, to grip at the slippery red pieces of alien pulled over your hips, playing with your clit and keeping you latched onto the mattress.
The parasite doesn’t budge, nearly melding in with your own skin as it strains tighter around you.
“What did I tell you? You’re mine. I'll decide when you’re finished,” The symbiote pulls its appendages from your chest, wrapping extra arms around your thighs to spread you wider. “And I don’t think I’m quite done playing with you yet.”
I'll tell you what we all need. Leona in his tight spelldrive uniform🫣 that card makes my head go brrrrrr.
I 200% agree! I think it's one of my favorite outfit <3! The first time I saw the card, I went crazy! Love the haircut, high ponytail, i LOVE belts everywhere (i'm just too lazy to draw it these days...)
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Other parts: Housewardens ; Vice-Housewardens + Ruggie
Ace Trappola
Plays it cool for about 3 days before it finally hits him that you’re actually serious about the break up.
Suddenly, your DMs are a crime scene—random blurry selfies, voice notes that start with “okay but hear me out,” and badly cropped memes he didn’t even make, he just stole from some 2014 Facebook page.
Shows up at your usual café “by coincidence” wearing sunglasses indoors and ordering the most complicated drink possible, just to prolong his stay and hope you’ll notice him. You do. You also notice that he’s drinking it like he regrets all his life choices.
Starts “accidentally” calling you instead of Deuce—except his excuses get progressively worse.
“Oh, wrong number, I was actually trying to order pizza.”
“Oh, wrong number, I was actually trying to call the police because my kitchen’s on fire but hey, while you’re here, wanna come over and save me?”
Tries to one-up himself with increasingly dramatic gestures:
Sends you a playlist titled please just unblock me so I can send better playlists.
Pretends to “bump into you” at the library even though you’ve never seen him in a library before in your life.
The grand finale comes when he recruits Deuce into some harebrained scheme to get your attention, which ends with both of them somehow locked out of their dorm room. He sends you a text: okay so hypothetically if a guy was freezing and had nowhere to go and maybe also really missed you—
You let him in. Mostly because you want to know how someone can cause this much chaos in less than a week.
Deuce Spade
Takes it way too personally, like you just accused him of masterminding a penguin heist. The first two days are pure sulk mode—text replies shrink to single words, he stops sending you TikToks, and every photo he posts on Magicam is just a moody shot of the sky with some vague caption like "yeah."
Even his mom calls to ask if he’s okay. He says yes, but immediately follows it up with a deep sigh and then “accidentally” sends you a picture of a raccoon staring mournfully into a puddle.
Starts showing up in places you frequent—library, café, training yard—but tries to make it seem accidental. The problem is, his “casual surprise” face looks more like someone just hit him with a brick.
The second he sees you, his whole plan falls apart and he blurts out, “Hey, funny seeing you here, I was just… uh… getting milk.” He has no milk. Not even a bag to put the hypothetical milk in.
When he hears a song that even remotely reminds him of you, he gets this distant, pained look in his eyes like he’s living through a music video. Ace catches him staring out the window during a rainy afternoon and has to physically shake him to snap him out of it.
Eventually, he tries to win you over by fixing something for you—your bike, your kettle, your dorm door hinge—but halfway through the repair, he breaks something else entirely and now owes you a new kettle, bike, and door hinge.
The lowest point? He sees you laughing with someone else and spends the rest of the day muttering about how that guy’s haircut isn’t even that good. That night, he texts you: “hope ur doing okay. also just saying u could do better than that guy.”
By day five, his desperation hits creative levels. When you don’t text back immediately, he panics and sends follow-up messages in rapid succession:
hey
nvm
unless you want to talk
sorry if this is weird
i made too much pasta do you want some
please take the pasta
He ends up outside your dorm holding a Tupperware of said pasta. It’s… suspiciously heavy. You open it to find an entire pound of spaghetti that he swears is “just a normal portion.” He stands there awkwardly as if you might invite him in.
You do invite him in, and he walks through the door like a soldier returning from war. In his head, this was the most epic victory arc of his life.
Jack Howl
Tells everyone he’s “focusing on training” now. Which is technically true, except the training has become suspiciously timed so that he’s always jogging past your dorm or doing push-ups in the exact spot where you tend to walk by. If you catch him at it, he pretends he didn’t even see you and just “happened to be in the area.”
Starts carrying way too many heavy things at once—like, full crates stacked higher than his head—just so he can “accidentally” run into you and insist on walking you back to your dorm while still holding them. He refuses help, saying it’s no trouble, even though you can see his arms shaking.
Keeps “forgetting” small items in places you’ll definitely find them. A hoodie on the back of your chair. A water bottle near your desk. A book on the windowsill. When you try to return them, he insists you should “hold on to it for now” and then looks awkwardly away like he didn’t plan it.
Talks less, but listens more. Anytime you say something—even in a group—his ears flick toward you and he stores it away like it’s valuable intel. If you mention craving a certain snack, somehow it appears the next day. He denies bringing it, but who else would?
Has this whole “protective from afar” thing going on. If someone bumps into you in the hall, Jack is suddenly there, glaring like he’s deciding whether to step in. If you’re carrying something heavy, he appears out of nowhere and takes it without asking. When you thank him, he mutters “it’s fine” and leaves before you can start a real conversation.
At some point, you catch him waiting outside your dorm at night, sitting on the steps with his arms around his knees like he’s just resting after a run. You ask what he’s doing there, and he insists he was “just passing through” even though there’s no reason to pass through that area at midnight. You invite him in anyway.
He hesitates for half a second, then walks in.
Epel Felmier
He swears he’s fine. Says it loud, says it often, says it in a way that makes you absolutely certain he’s not fine at all. Every time someone asks if he’s okay, he gets defensive and mutters something about “real men don’t mope.” Then he sulks so hard it’s basically competitive moping.
Tries to “subtly” show off around you—lifting heavy boxes, climbing trees, tossing apples in the air and catching them behind his back. Unfortunately, he misses one, gets smacked in the face, and spends the next five minutes pretending it didn’t hurt. You’re not fooled.
Starts dressing nicer, like Vil’s been giving him extra critiques, but then ruins the effect by glaring at every other guy who so much as breathes in your direction. If you catch him doing it, he immediately switches to pretending he was “just looking at the wall” like that’s somehow less suspicioous.
Keeps bringing you apples. Not in a sweet, here’s-a-gift way. More like he keeps “forgetting” that he already handed you one earlier that day. By the end of the week, you have a small mountain of apples in your dorm and he’s still acting like each one is the first.
Any time you’re in the same room, he talks twice as loud and uses twice as many long words, clearly trying to impress you. But if you talk directly to him, he stammers, turns red, and pretends he needs to “check on something” before fleeing.
You overhear him once in the courtyard telling someone, “I ain’t gonna beg,” then immediately following it with, “...unless they asked, then maybe I’d think about it.”
The breaking point comes when you see him “casually” leaning against the wall outside your dorm. He swears he was just on his way somewhere else, but he’s standing in the rain, hair plastered to his face, holding yet another apple. You take it. You also tell him to come inside before he catches a cold. He pretends it’s no big deal, but you catch his smile.
Sebek Zigvolt
Declares to anyone who will listen that the breakup has not impacted him in the slightest. Announces this with the same intensity as a town crier during an invasion. Then, without missing a beat, he’ll bark something like, “You know they always preferred the western gardens at dusk,” before realizing too late that he sounds like a diary entry.
Starts practicing speeches in the mirror about how he’s “too dedicated to Lord Malleus to dwell on such matters,” but half of them end up spiraling into rants about how “no one else could possibly understand them the way I did.” He still delivers these speeches to passersby if you’re within a 50-foot radius.
Goes on “patrols” around the campus that, entirely by coincidence, seem to orbit your usual routes. When confronted, he claims it’s to “deter villains.” The only “villain” spotted so far was a first-year who accidentally walked too close to you and got subjected to a five-minute lecture on personal boundaries.
Starts gifting you things in the most aggressively formal way possible: “This is not sentimentality—this is to protect you from the unrelenting forces of chaos.” Last week it was a weatherproof cloak. Yesterday it was an umbrella and instructions on proper rain safety. You suspect tomorrow might be a bulletproof vest.
Whenever he catches you talking to someone else, he doesn’t directly interfere. Instead, he plants himself in the background, standing ramrod straight, arms crossed, glaring like he’s guarding a royal. The second you laugh, he erupts into some grand declaration about the importance of composure.
At one point, you find him at your dorm door mid-thunderstorm, he hasn't knocked, he's just… standing there like a sentinel. He says he was “testing his endurance.” When you invite him inside, he refuses on principle—then stomps in anyway the moment lightning strikes, muttering something about “granting you peace of mind.”
When he finally works up the courage to ask if you might consider “allowing a cordial exchange of words over tea,” it’s so stiff and overly formal that you can’t help laughing and agreeing.
Trey insisted that he was doing just fine after the breakup. He said it with a firm, reasonable tone which made people afraid to challenge him. But there was a sudden spike in sweet production that should've triggered an intervention.
The first sign that something was deeply wrong was the dessert box you received. Deuce was the delivery method–nervous, sweating slightly, and holding it like it might explode.
"Trey asked me to give you this," Deuce said. "He made too much again. I didn't ask questions. Please don't ask me questions."
Inside was your favorite dessert. Made exactly the way you liked it, portioned perfectly, with a note about storage instructions.
The next week it happened again. Deuce looked more tired this time.
"I don't even think he's making any for us anymore," he said. "There were twelve of these and they all had your name on them."
The week after that, he just left the box outside your door and sprinted away.
Meanwhile, Trey had developed a new habit of dropping half-memories into conversations and then staring into the distance. He'd start a sentence with something like, "Remember when we went to—" and then just stop speaking altogether. Sometimes he'd blink slowly. No one ever asked him to continue.
The real problem happened during a meeting, when Riddle asked Trey to pass the sugar.
"Sure thing, babe," Trey said, without thinking.
Silence. Absolute, dead air silence.
Trey apologized immediately, said he'd been distracted, maybe overtired, clearly mixed something up. Riddle stared at him for a full ten seconds before continuing like the moment had been stricken from existence through sheer force of will.
But for the rest of the day, he referred to Trey exclusively as "Mr. Clover."
Even Cater started noticing. During a tea party planning session, Trey was explaining seasonal pastry pairings and said, "They always liked the these in spring—" and then stopped. And just stared into space with a haunted look, eyes unfocused like he was watching a flashback play out on the wall.
Cater, in a rare moment of self-preservation, slowly slid his chair backward and excused himself from the room.
Trey never addressed any of it. The desserts kept coming. The flashbacks kept happening. He went about his day as if this was all very reasonable.
He never asked you to come back and you never said anything either.
But when the next dessert came with a note that read "Let me know if you want to bake something together again," you kept the note.
You'll answer him soon enough.
Ruggie Bucchi
Ruggie took the breakup well. Or at least, that was the impression he worked very hard to give. He laughed a little too loudly at everything, kept his tone light and breezy, and absolutely would not stop making jokes. About anything. Including your name, the concept of heartbreak, and on one occasion, a broom that somehw reminded him of you for reasons he refused to explain.
He also always seemed to know where you were. He could recite your schedule better than most professors, which was concerning considering he never wrote anything down and clearly wasn't trying to remember it for academic purposes.
That was around the time the snacks started appearing.
A variety of edible items were now being left on your windowsill with increasing regularity. One day it was a crumpled bag of crackers. The next, something that looked like it had been stolen from the cafeteria. The quality varied, but the intent was consistent: he was absolutely not going to speak to you, but he was going to feed you like you're a raccoon whose trust he's trying to earn.
Eventually he started doing things "just because." Favors you didn't ask for, tasks you hadn't gotten around to, errands you never mentioned. You'd open your bag and find things you lost last month. Your laundry got done at suspiciously convenient times. When your dorm got mysteriously dusted while you were in class, you caught a faint trace of a very familiar scent and found a magift disc that definitely wasn't yours under the bed.
You stepped outside your dorm one afternoon to find him lying on the ground in the grass, dramatically clutching his ankle and squinting at the sun like it had personally wronged him.
When you asked what happened, he made a vague gesture and said he "might have twisted something," although there was no visible injury and his shoes were off for some reason he refused to explain. He stayed there, groaning softly, waiting for you to help him, and occasionally adjusting his pose whenever you looked away—presumably to appear more pitiful.
When you finally helped him stand, he immediately stopped limping, dusted himself off, and suggested that maybe you could "hang out or whatever, since we're already here."
And how could you say no?
Jade Leech
Jade didn't make a scene. That wasn't his style. After the breakup, he went about his life with the same calm demeanor he always had. There was no change in his expression or his routine but there was a slightly unsettling increase in how often he happened to be standing somewhere near you, doing absolutely nothing.
It wasn't stalking. That would be unrefined. But it also clearly wasn't coincidence. He never approached you directly, he just loitered with purpose, nearby, always pretending to be on his way somewhere else.
The mask only cracked once, when Floyd casually brought you up in conversation and Jade's smile froze so precisely mid-expression it looked like it was carved onto his face. He just stopped blinking for a moment, like he'd mentally stepped out of his own body to scream into a bucket somewhere. Floyd stared at him, then slowly reached across the table and took his drink without asking.
He never brought you up directly. Instead, he asked theoretical questions that weren't quite as subtle as he believed.
"If one were to mend a broken relationship," he asked Azul one afternoon while reorganizing in the lounge, "would it be wiser to reintroduce emotional intimacy gradually, or would a surprise approach prove more... efficient?"
Azul didn't respond. He just walked out of the room.
Every time he ended up beside you, always by coincidence, of course, he acted surprised.
Jade didn't sit next to you on purpose. That would imply intent. He simply appeared, occasionally, in the seat beside yours with a faint expression of interest and a stack of papers that had no relevance to the current activity. He never made conversation. He'd just sit there, glancing sideways every so often, not enough to be obvious but enough to be very clear that he was waiting for something.
Eventually, during one of these "well-timed encounters," you shifted slightly toward him.
He didn't say anything and he didn't look at you. But his posture straightened, and he put the papers away.
They had been blank the entire time.
Jamil Viper
Jamil tried to maintain the illusion that everything was fine but it was convincing nobody. It was the kind of performance that might have fooled a distant acquaintance or a houseplant, but not anyone who had seen him operate at full power.
He still showed up where he was supposed to be, still got things done, but he looked like he hadn't been sleeping, hadn't been resting, and had possibly stopped eating.
The worst part was the silence. He didn't correct anyone, didn't complain, didn't throw out any of his usual quietly exasperated commentary. The version of Jamil who rolled his eyes at other people's nonsense had vanished. In his place was a pale imitation who sat in the corner during group work and didn't even make a face when someone proposed an obviously bad plan.
People stopped bothering him with small talk. It was like he had been quietly reclassified as an emotional hazard zone—calm on the surface, but likely to combust without warning. Even Kalim gave him space, which was saying something.
Eventually, something gave out. He cornered you after class and he looked like he had rehearsed being casual and then immediately forgot how to be human. He asked, very quietly, why you were still being nice to him if you were done.
His voice cracked on the last word in the most inconvenient, humiliating way possible. You didn't even have a chance to respond. He just blinked like he wanted to walk into a wall and left before he could hear whatever answer might make it worse.
You caught him pacing behind the library one day, clearly in the middle of talking to himself.
"Just say you want them back. Just say it. Just—"
He noticed you and immediately fell into silence. He tood perfectly still like he thought if he didn't move, you might forget he existed. The silence stretched for so long it started to feel like you were intruding on a wildlife documentary.
And when you stepped closer and reached for his hand, he didn't pull away. If anything, he looked offended it had taken you this long.
Rook Hunt
Rook didn't take the breakup well, but in typical fashion, he made it everyone else's problem long before it became obvious to you.
Every animal in the woods now had an opinion about your relationship with Rook. Squirrels paused on branches when you walked by. Birds gave you judgmental side-eye. There were rabbits that watched you like they knew something.
Rook took the breakup in stride, if your definition of "stride" included extended lurking behind trees and several suspiciously well-tended patches of flora outside your dorm.
He didn't approach you or speak to you but somehow, your favorite flowers were always in bloom, even out of season, even when they shouldn't have survived.
When this failed to produce results, Rook made a tactical shift that alarmed everyone more than the silent stalking ever did. He became "normal."
It had people watching him out of the corners of their eyes, waiting for him to snap. He spoke plainly. He answered questions without dramatic pauses or poetic tangents. He didn't climb anything. He didn't even add French into his sentences.
It was so unnatural that Epel asked him, in all seriousness, if he had been replaced with a government clone. Vil asked if he'd taken a blow to the head. Trey nearly dropped a tray when Rook said "thank you" without calling him "chevalier."
And through it all, he stayed out of your way.
If you went to the greenhouse, he was suddenly busy elsewhere. If you entered the courtyard, he exited as though he'd simply remembered an urgent appointment on the other side of campus. It was like he was trying to give you something you hadn't asked for: peace or space.
Then one afternoon, you saw him outside your dorm, kneeling beside the flowers with a small trowel while performing an act of unspoken devotion.
You didn't say anything and just knelt beside him in the dirt.
And when he shifted slightly closer, you stayed exactly where you were.
Lilia Vanrouge
Lilia claimed to be doing fine. He laughed about it and told everyone he was at peace. He tossed out a few remarks about how heartbreak was good for the bones, and then promptly vanished for three days.
When he returned, he looked like he'd been emotionally dry-cleaned and hung out to air. The sparkle was gone from his eyes. His posture was slightly hunched, like he'd lost a duel with gravity.
No one mentioned it. He brought it up before they could.
"Refreshing trip," he said, standing perfectly still in the doorway. "Cleared my head. Found myself. Spoke to a bird."
From that moment on, the descent was slow and profoundly unserious.
He started texting you again, always in the middle of the night, always with images no one could trace to a known source. Memes of screaming frogs, unidentifiable creatures holding signs that said things like "miss u" and blurry screenshots from ancient anime with captions he had clearly written himself.
The culinary sabotage began shortly after. Each dish felt like a personal challenge to every culinary rule known to man. There was something that resembled soup but smelled like pickled beans.
One meal arrived in a jar, bubbling slightly. Silver tapped it with a spoon and backed away slowly. Sebek refused to eat altogether and Malleus did not comment—but the haunted look in his eyes said enough. If he ever got down on one knee, it would be to beg you to fix this.
Lilia, of course, pretended to remain blissfully unbothered. He'd hum quietly to himself while pouring powdered sugar into things that weren't desserts and casually mention how lovely it would be to "have someone to experim—I mean, cook for—again."
One evening, as you were winding down, you heard a strange tapping at your window. It wasn't the usual rhythm of branches or wind so you pulled the curtain aside.
And there he was.
Lilia, suspended upside down from your roof. He was perfectly still while grinnimg. Hanging there as if this was the most natural way to say hello. You screamed. He screamed back. It was as though he'd forgotten that normal people didn't expect unsolicited nocturnal bat-visits from their ex.
The silence afterward stretched far too long. He remained dangling. You stood frozen. It became a standoff of mutual embarrassment and stubbornness.
And then, with a sigh, you opened the window.
Not because it was a good idea or because you'd forgiven him. Not even because he'd apologized.
Because, in some twisted way, you had missed him too (and honestly, it was starting to rain.)
Other parts: Vice-housewardens + Ruggie ; First Years (-Ortho)
Riddle Rosehearts
After the breakup, Riddle acted like he'd read somewhere that repressing emotion was a perfectly valid coping mechanism. Which, to be fair, he probably had. And so he embarked on what could only be described as a grief management routine so structured and detail-oriented that you almost had to respect it.
First came the part where he behaved like nothing had happened.
He went about his day with all the usual pomp—collaring students, citing arcane dorm rules, and drinking his tea as usual.
If anyone brought you up (on purpose or by accident), he would simply blink, nod, and go back to arranging sugar cubes in a perfect geometric formation. "We are no longer together," he would say, as if it were an administrative change and not, say, a soul-crushing emotional catastrophe.
Then came the coincidences.
He began showing up in places he absolutely did not frequent before. The café you liked? Suddenly, he was a regular. The library on Thursday evenings? There. The very hallway outside your class despite Heartslabyul being on the opposite side of campus? Oh yes. There too. And every time you spotted him lurking (because that was the only word for it), he would give a startled little blink, like you were the surprise.
"Oh. I didn't see you there," he said, the fourth time in a week.
You stared at him from behind your drink. "I've been sitting here for thirty minutes."
"Well," he muttered, "public seating is for everyone."
By week two, he began inventing reasons to talk to you. Weird ones.
He approached you one day, armed with a rulebook and what looked like three sticky notes marking battle locations.
"According to Queen of Hearts rule 42," he said, clearly having practiced this in front of a mirror, "ex-partners must return borrowed items within twelve days."
You blinked. "You lent me a pencil."
"It was part of a set," he snapped, scandalized.
You told him you'll give it back and he looked like someone slapped him.
You thought that might be the end of it. But then, course, it escalated.
He showed up at your door one evening with a paper in his hand. A list. A physical list. Titled, in absolutely unnecessary cursive, "A Non-Exhaustive Record of My Missteps."
"It's not meant to change anything," he said stiffly, not quite looking at you. "Only to… acknowledge."
There were bullet points. Short, awkward, and occasionally baffling.
Should not have critiqued your sock choice in front of your friends.
I apologize for saying 'emotional outbursts are not strategic.' That was, in hindsight, a poor choice of words.
You are allowed to eat dessert before dinner. Even if it is cherry pie.
I realize now that asking if we could schedule arguments during free periods was not romantic.
I should have asked you to stay.
You didn't know what to do with it—him. He was so Riddle about everything. Polite. Procedural. Very slightly insane. But under all the awkward attempts at regulation and paperwork, it was clear he missed you. Badly.
And the truth was, you still hadn't returned the matching pencil.
You kept it. Not because you believed in fate or romance or even well-meaning tyrants who quoted rulebooks like love poems—but because part of you thought, maybe, if he was willing to be just a little more flexible, there might be a version of this that could work.
And you hoped it could.
Leona Kingscholar
After the breakup, Leona made it his personal mission to convince the entire world—Ruggie, his dorm, the mirror in his room, the literal wildlife outside—that he did not care.
He went around saying things like, "Tch. Good riddance," and "Like I got time to babysit someone who cries over movies," even though no one had brought you up. He slept more. Talked less. Got moodier, which no one thought was possible until he started growling at actual potted plants for existing near his nap spots.
Whenever Ruggie so much as hinted at your name—usually while dancing around some scheduling conflict or trying to explain why Leona's mood had tanked again—he'd get cut off mid-word.
"I wasn't even talking about them!" Ruggie would complain.
"Then stop thinking about them so loud," Leona snapped, face buried in the crook of his arm like the concept of you physically hurt his eyes.
But of course, the moment your name stopped being brought up, that became a problem too.
He started acting restless. Less asleep all the time and more awake and clearly trying to look like he's not looking around for someone. He'd frown when someone laughed in the hallway, then look annoyed when it wasn't you. He started showing up to classes he normally skipped, sitting in the back with his legs stretched out and arms crossed like he was doing the entire school a favor just by existing in the room.
And then the things started appearing.
First, it was his jacket—left casually across the back of your desk chair, like maybe gravity had just pulled it there on accident. Then his spellbook, shoved between your textbooks in a way that definitely required premeditated effort. Then a sandwich. An entire sandwich, wrapped up and labeled "Not Yours."
He denied all of it, obviously.
"Must've been Ruggie," he said, regarding the jacket that literally smelled like him.
When confronted about the book: "I don't even read, what're you talking about."
As for the sandwich? "You're imagining things. I didn't make that for you."
By that point, no one believed him—not even himself.
The final blow came in the form of a confrontation you hadn't expected. Late evening, when you were walking back to your dorm from the library. You were alone, or you thought you were, until you turned the corner and found him there—half in shadow, arms crossed, gaze trained somewhere just over your shoulder.
He didn't say hello.
Didn't say anything actually.
Just let the silence stretch until it started fraying at the edges, and then muttered, voice low and rough:
"You still want this, don't you?"
You stared at him. He didn't flinch, but you could tell he wanted to. He held himself like someone who didn't expect the answer to be yes, but still desperately needed to hear it before he gave up entirely.
And you realized somewhere between the jacket, the sandwich, and the way his voice cracked at the end of the sentence—that for all his snarling and attitude, he never stopped loving you.
He just didn't know how to ask you to stay without sounding like he might actually need you.
Which, of course, he did. Not that he'd ever say it out loud.
Not yet, anyway.
But the next time he leaves something behind, you think you might return it in person. Maybe even stay awhile.
Azul Ashengrotto
Azul handled the breakup the only way he knew how: with spreadsheets, surveillance footage, and a truly unhealthy amount of denial.
He claimed to be fine, of course. Said it with a straight face while color-coding inventory spreadsheets and inputting customer satisfaction data at four in the morning like a man unburdened by heartbreak. But when the tweels found the Lounge security footage paused—again—on a scene of you laughing near the bar, they stopped asking.
He'd memorized the timestamp.
And no, he didn't want to talk about it.
Azul had always been prone to spiraling in a unique way. After the breakup, that tendency mutated into something truly concerning. He didn't cry. He didn't wallow. Instead, he opened a blank document and began calculating. How many hours you'd spent together. How often you laughed in his presence. What the average rate of eye contact was in happy couples versus yours. There were charts. Graphs. Some kind of weighted affection index.
Unfortunately, Jade opened the file looking for the March sales report and instead found a document titled:
"Projected Probability of Them Still Loving Me (v6)."
He would not let him live it down.
"Idea," Floyd said. "You wanna run those numbers again but include the variable where you're super pathetic lately?"
Even Jade raised an eyebrow. "The correlation between desperation and appeal might not be as linear as you'd hope."
Azul tried to brush them off. He even lied (very badly) about what the spreadsheet was for ("Just… tax optimization. Personal hobby. Totally normal."), but the damage was done. The eels were smug. He was mortified. And worst of all, he still couldn't stop thinking about you.
So he pivoted.
If direct emotional vulnerability had failed him, perhaps passive-aggressive marketing would do the trick.
You started receiving coupons. Neatly folded, hand-delivered, no return address—but you recognized the ink. And the handwriting. And the aggressively formal tone that somehow still managed to sound like begging.
"One (1) free drink of your choice at the Mostro Lounge. Offer valid for exes statistically proven to be an optimal match."
Another read:
"Your preferred drink has been discontinued. Kidding. Please come back."
And your personal favorite:
"A reminder that our pairing was 94.3% ideal. Come back. For research."
You didn't respond. He didn't expect you to. But every week, a new coupon showed up—some increasingly ridiculous, some borderline romantic, all of them signed with that same flourish he used when pretending he wasn't panicking.
You weren't sure if it was pathetic or endearing. Probably both. The coupons had piled up in a drawer now, next to a coaster you never returned and a little napkin with a sketch he once made of you during a slow night.
You told yourself it was nostalgia. Curiosity. Scientific inquiry, if anything.
And one slow afternoon, you found yourself digging through the drawer, smoothing out the least crumpled coupon, and thinking—just for a moment—that you might stop by.
For research. Obviously.
Kalim Al-Asim
Kalim took the breakup as well as someone who had never actually took a negative emotion in his life to heart could. Which was to say: terribly.
He cried. A lot. At first, it was appropriate—private tears, sniffles in the dorm room, a distant gaze over his drink. But then it started happening at other times. Like during an ad for laundry detergent where the happy couple folded towels together. Or during a weather report where the forecast mentioned rain, which, apparently, you once said made you sleepy. Or during absolutely nothing at all, except that the sun was setting "a little too much like that one day you held his hand, remember?"
He insisted he was fine.
"Totally fine!" he chirped, voice three octaves higher than normal, eyes red-rimmed and suspiciously glossy. "Breakups happen all the time, right? We're both growing and learning! It's healthy!"
No one believed him.
Jamil looked like he was considering reporting you to the disciplinary committee just to end Kalim's reign of emotionally unhinged sunshine. Even Grim asked if someone should "turn him off and back on again."
But Kalim doubled down. If he couldn't be fine naturally, he'd brute-force his way into happiness. Which, in his mind, meant: throwing parties. So many parties. For no reason. His calendar suddenly became a horror show of "themed celebration nights" and "spontaneous joy hours," all of which were weirdly tailored around your favorite things.
"Here!" he said brightly, handing out goodie bags. "Everyone gets this specific brand of chocolates and stickers! Because those are just objectively fun! Not because anyone used to love them or anything!"
It was transparent. Alarmingly so.
Even when he gave someone a little clay charm that looked exactly like the one you wore on your bag, Kalim waved it off with a too-wide smile. "Just spreading the joy! It's important to stay positive, right?"
Everyone knew it was a cry for help. The kind that sounded like party poppers and glitter and repressed sobbing in the school gardens.
The turning point came on a quiet afternoon when he showed up at your door holding a tiny cupcake. It had a frosting heart on it. His hands shook slightly.
"I know this is weird," he said, already teary. "I didn't wanna make you uncomfortable. I just—"
He swallowed, voice cracking like something inside him was giving up the act for good.
"Even if you don't love me again," he said, "can we still be something?"
You looked at him—his earnest eyes, his trembling lower lip—and you felt something soft and painfully familiar unfurl in your chest.
Because Kalim didn't know how to lie to the people he loved. Not well. Not really. He was all impulse and heart, the kind of boy who loved too loud and too fast and never quite knew how to stop once he started.
And maybe you weren't ready to be what you were. Not yet.
But looking at him, at the little cupcake with the slightly smudged heart and the the way he was holding it like he might shatter if you didn't take it—
How could you say no?
You took the cupcake. And maybe his hand, too. Just for a moment. Just to see if something could still bloom.
Vil Schoenheit
Vil did not mourn the breakup. Mourning was for people who couldn't maintain composure under pressure. For people who let emotion smudge their mascara. He was not one of those people.
At least, not publicly.
He was flawless. Unbothered. The exact picture of someone thriving post-relationship, thank you very much. His interviews were polished. His smiles were poised. His posture was impeccable. If anyone noticed that his usual acerbic wit had gone curiously blunt, no one said anything.
They wouldn't dare.
Privately, though, when the cameras were off and the spotlight blinked out, Vil cracked in very small ways.
He started using your favorite perfume. A subtle layer, never enough to be obvious, but just enough to make him feel like you were still somewhere in the room. Like maybe if he breathed in deep enough, he could hold onto something.
He flipped through magazines during lunch breaks, claiming it was for "market research." But every time he lingered on a movie review or a lifestyle spread, it was with the faint, ridiculous hope that you'd read it too. That your fingers might have touched the same paper. That your eyes caught the same line he was rereading for the fifth time.
He knew it was foolish. But Vil had always been prone to beautiful illusions. It was sort of his thing.
The unraveling came, ironically, in the most public of places: a toothpaste commercial.
He was halfway through filming, mid-speech about the importance of a radiant smile, when something in the script triggered a memory—something you once said about how his laugh.
He kept talking.
Kept improvising.
Went off-script entirely.
The crew let him go for a minute—Vil was known for his "emotional depth," after all—but when he hit the line "even the most polished smile can still ache when it remembers someone who made it feel real," the director had to call cut.
"Vil," they said gently. "It's a toothpaste commercial."
He didn't speak for the rest of the shoot. Just touched up his own makeup in silence, eyes a little glassy.
It took him another week to knock on your door.
He showed up in a soft sweater, smelling faintly of something familiar, holding his own hands like he didn't know what else to do with them.
He didn't ask for much. Didn't ask for forever. Just quietly, cautiously:
"Would you like to try again?"
And you thought—looking at him, at the person who once swore he'd never show up like this for anyone, at the vulnerability hiding under all that polish—
Maybe this time, you could make it work.
Idia Shroud
Idia handled the breakup the way he handled most things in life: with a complete and total digital meltdown, buried under forty layers of denial and an emotionally scorched Discord server.
He didn't text. Didn't call. Didn't even leave passive-aggressive emoji reactions on your old posts like a normal ex with unresolved feelings. He simply… disappeared.
Vanished like a ghost into his room, into his code, into the vast and uncaring expanse of the internet, where feelings didn't exist unless they were typed in all caps or conveyed through a crying anime girl gif.
And for a while, it was total radio silence.
Until you logged into that game.
The shared one. The one you used to play together after class, where the two of you ran a little shop in a pixelated fantasy village and spent an embarrassing amount of time farming digital potatoes.
Your shop was still there.
But now there was… a shrine.
Your character's pixel art face, recreated painstakingly in custom tiles and surrounded by in-game flowers, torches, and glowing pink mood crystals that did not exist in the vanilla version of the game.
He'd modded it.
There was a sign in the middle that just said:
"Here Lies Happiness (RIP)"
You stared at it for a long time. Then, just to confirm the ridiculous suspicion building in your chest, you checked the nearby player list.
Sure enough, his username had changed too:
"SadBoy420"
Online. Loitering.
You didn't message him immediately. Mostly because you weren't sure what to say to someone who had quite literally built a shrine to your relationship in a farming sim. But still—you lingered. Logged in more often. Left offerings of rare items near the shrine like it was some strange, silent conversation.
Idia never spoke to you directly, but you noticed the shrine changed a little every day. One day it had a sign that said "I'm Fine." The next, it was replaced with a drawing of your characters fishing together. One morning it was just a massive, pixel-art rendition of the word "SORRY" in bold letters with a sad face emoji.
Outside the game, his silence continued.
But Ortho?
Ortho was not subtle.
"Did you know my brother has been listening to the voicemails you left him on loop for the past 72 hours?" he chirped once in the cafeteria. "Not that he's, like, sad or anything! Just nostalgic. Definitely not crying."
Later: "He made your favorite NPC in our custom server the town mayor! Isn't that cute? I mean, objectively, not emotionally, haha."
Eventually, you got the call.
Your phone lit up with his name and you answered before you could talk yourself out of it.
"Uh—hey," Idia said, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't, like, mean to call. Or—I did, but. Crap. Okay. Hi."
You waited.
He took a breath.
"I was just wondering," he said, "if you maybe wanted to talk again. Or, y'know. Game. No pressure or anything. It's fine if you're, like, over it and I'm just like a pathetic ghost haunting your social life, haha, classic tragic NPC vibes—"
"Yes," you said, before he could spiral into apologizing for existing.
He paused. Long enough that you thought the call had dropped. Then, quietly—hopeful, almost disbelieving:
"Wait. Really?"
You smiled, even if he couldn't see it.
"Yeah," you said. "Log in."
Malleus Draconia
Malleus did not understand how something so radiant could simply… end.
He didn't throw a dramatic tantrum after the breakup. He didn't disappear in a swirl of thunderclouds or curse the moon or anything out of a tragic love story.
He didn't so much as frown in public, because the full gravity of the breakup hadn't quite hit him yet. Instead, it settled in stranger places—quiet things, strange habits.
Like how he started speaking to the plush bat you gave him on his last birthday as though it were you. Not in a creepy way, more like someone who didn't know what to do with the empty space you left behind.
He asked it questions. Told it how his day went. Laughed, sometimes, as if it had told him a joke—low and fond, the kind of laugh only you had ever coaxed out of him. And when he sat beneath the stars, plush cradled carefully in his lap, he whispered to it with a gentleness reserved only for the lost.
The gargoyles? They weren't even sentient, but even they seemed exhausted. Every night he stood in front of them, musing out loud about the way you smiled or how you always called him weird little nicknames. One of them lost a nose—maybe unrelated.
Lilia, bless him, said nothing for a long while. He simply watched as Malleus wilted, quietly and beautifully, like a flower sealed in ice. But one evening, after Malleus asked in the softest voice, "Do humans ever come back when they leave?", Lilia did not answer. He only wrapped his arms around his ward and held him close.
At some point, he started writing letters. Not to send, just… to say things. Things he didn't know how to tell you, or hadn't said enough when he could. Some were serious. Some were barely legible thoughts written in the middle of the night. But he kept them all, folded neatly in a box that lived under his bed.
And then, of course, Silver found the box.
Silver, ever helpful and half-asleep, assumed it was mail Malleus meant to send and delivered the whole thing to your dorm like it was completely normal to get a hand-bound novel of unsent love letters dropped off on a random day.
You read them all.
You didn't say anything at first. You weren't sure what you were supposed to say. But that night, you left your window open—just a little.
And sure enough, just past midnight, Malleus appeared outside your dorm. Just… standing there. Looking up.
He didn't ask to come in. He didn't even call your name. He just waited. Like maybe you'd hear the quiet, and somehow understand.
And when you finally stepped outside, he looked at you like he'd been waiting centuries.
"May I court you again?" he asked softly. "From the beginning."
Helloooo I discovered you and did someone say.. Headcanons?
I love headcanons
Could I ask for the third year with a reader that got diagnosed with autism (like how do they react?)
Skip if you don't want of course
Hope you have a good day💖
OMG my first request!! And it's one I'm super excited about too!!! I know quite a bit about autism, so I hope that I did your request justice!
Tags: Autistic reader, Trey has an autistic sibling, autistic Idia, implied autistic Malleus or Silver you get to decide :) (in Lilia's section)
Trey
-Trey has a sibling that's autistic (not canon) so he knows at least a little bit about autism
-But he also knows that everyone is different so what works for his sibling might not work for you, so he keeps an open mind
-When you tell him about your diagnosis he takes it very calmly. He's not fazed at all. He thought from some of your mannerisms that there might be something going on, but he never brought it up
-If one of your safe foods happens to be a sweet treat of some sort you're in luck! He wants to make you happy and take care of you, so if he has the chance to do that through sweets he'll be delighted
-Trey has previous experience with sensory issues so he would never judge you if you needed a minute to calm down, nor would he care if you needed to stim around him, he actually finds it rather endearing
-If you ever need anything he'll always be there for you, at your beck and call, no questions asked
Cater
-Cater has only heard of autism through social media so he has a kind of skewed view of it
-Once you tell him about your diagnosis he knows he has to look more into autism so he can acknowledge your struggles and try to be helpful
-He learns that he had it all wrong for a long time. He knew absolutely nothing about autism before but he just assumed he did, like a lot of people on the internet do, but he throws his old assumptions out the window, now with a fresh view
-He starts bringing headphones with him everywhere in case you need them, he never cancels plans with you without at least a days notice, and he starts learning how to cook your safe foods off of magicam
-He starts doing these things without realizing, he doesn't even think about it after a while and it becomes second nature to assist you when you need it
Leona
-Leona is a smart man but being smart doesn't mean you know everything. Even if he's not very knowledgeable about autism, he's an incredibly fast learner.
-He read a few articles written by autistic people about their experiences and decided that he would ask you directly about what you need from him and how he could make you more comfortable.
-He may seem like he doesn't care sometimes, but he cares so deeply for you. Anything you need he will indulge you on.
-If you don't want him to touch you when you nap together he'd do it in a heartbeat. If you want him to hold you tight, even better.
-He may be lazy, but not when it comes to things you actually need. He'll take you seriously even if he thinks the request is a little strange. You need to rock for a little while to get out the feelings from today? Alright go ahead.
-His love may not be as extravagant as other people's, but he shows it to you by making you feel safe and comfortable every second you're together
Vil
-He can make accommodations for you on your skincare if needed, because trust me if you're with him you must do skincare of some kind
-He'll figure out your preferences when it comes to textures and find you something that won't overstimulate you
-If you need a lightweight moisturizer because heavier ones agitate you he'll find the lightest one in Twisted Wonderland, and if he can't find one light enough he will make it himself
-He would do anything to help you be healthy. If your safe foods happen to be very unhealthy he won't make you stop eating them, or try to make you replace them he'll simply ask you to accompany him on his morning jogs. He might even invite you to boxing lessons if he thinks you'd like them
-He's fully supportive and will shoot down any comments online about you, he would never tell them anything you don't want to divulge though, so you wouldn't have to worry about that
-He encourages you to unmask often, and reassures you that he would never judge you, and that he loves you more than anyone in Twisted Wonderland
Rook
-Rook is always elated to know you more deeply and when you get your diagnosis it makes complete sense to him
-He'd noticed that there was something different about you but he always thought of it as just another one of your many interesting qualities
-When you told him, your all of his observations finally started to snap into place
-You hadn't been avoiding eye contact because you were nervous, you just simply didn't want to! You don't hate all physical touch, you just like it on your own terms! It all makes total sense now!
-He's your biggest supporter; he was before the diagnosis as well but I digress. If someone tries to push your boundaries he will shut them down immediately with a cryptic warning.
-He's delighted that you've gotten the answers you always wanted, to know why you are the way you are, and he loves that he gets to be there for it
Idia
-Idia understands COMPLETELY, he's also autistic! He just got diagnosed way earlier in his life, so he's happy you finally got yours
-He knows how it feels and understands fully if you need time to yourself or if you want to talk his ear off about one of your favorite things, because he does those things too!
-He's happy he has someone to share his experiences with and to relate to on a higher level
-He loves quietly doing your own things while in the same room. He would be even more delighted if you wanted to play a game with him!
-You two will sometimes take turns info-dumping to each other about your special interests
-With your diagnosis comes a greater understanding of yourself, and he's glad he gets to be there to see you catch on to things in your past you didn't notice about yourself before and accommodate to finally be comfortable
-Tbh he loves you even more after you're diagnosed, it gives him a sense of connection he hasn't ever had before, being with someone who understands him so well
Malleus
-When you're first diagnosed Malleus is VERY confused. At the start he knows absolutely nothing about autism
-You said "Autism spectrum disorder" and all he heard was disorder
-He's worried and, thinking you're sick, he asks "how long did they say you have to live?" In full sincerity
-Once you tell him it's not terminal and that it just means your brain is different he finally calms down
-He's still worried about you, but not in the sense he thinks you're dying, just that he thinks he might not be able to help
-So he does a ton of research with Lilia's help and makes sure to ask you about your support needs
-He will respect your boundaries always. Though sometimes he might need a little reminder, he is always trying his best
-Loving you comes easily to him, your diagnosis only made it even easier for him because now he better understands you and your mind
Lilia
-Its not his first rodeo, he raised two children, one of them he suspects is autistic themselves
-He won't be afraid to accommodate you in any way necessary
-Need quiet time? You've got it. Don't want to try new foods? Perfectly fine. Don't want to be touched? He won't.
-And if you're the opposite? That's great too!
-Love loud music? He'll play some for you! Love trying all kinds of different flavors and textures? He'll make you some to try (good luck). Love hugs? He'll give you one whenever you want!
-That is to say that your diagnosis wouldn't change how he feels about you; he would love you no matter what
╰┈➤ .☘︎ ݁˖ 𝘐𝘕 𝘞𝘏𝘐𝘊𝘏.. He says something that he wouldn't normally say to other people, but you're not like other people, you are you. You're his best friend, his soulmate, his love. So while in a moment of vulnerability, he reveals something he normally wouldn't do voluntarily. He spills his love for you.
ᛝ 𝙏𝘼𝙂𝙎... Implied! Best friends to lovers, soft! Character, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, oblivious! Reader, non! Yuu reader, mentions of violence, down bad! Character, bittersweet endings? Idk they don't really become lovers, mentions of suicide (Jack)
ᛝ 𝘼𝙐𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙍𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀... Uhhhh I didn't mean to make Jack'a part angsty but uhmmmmmmm your welcome???? I promise it's gonna have a happy ending 🥺 anywayssss to be honest I thought this was just gonna turn into a small thought oneshot— BUT the brain worms have overtaken and I was thinking about these scenarios with the other cast and AUGHH it's so juicy, I just love talking about love 🥹
ᛝ 𝙎𝘼𝙑𝘼𝙉𝘼𝘾𝙇𝘼𝙒 𝙓 𝙂𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍 𝙉𝙀𝙐𝙏𝙍𝘼𝙇! 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍
𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘺𝘶𝘭 𝘷𝘦𝘳.
⋮ ⌗ ┆𝗝𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗢𝗪𝗟
"𝑰 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝒀 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼"
Jack Howl is as loyal as a wolf— because he is one.
He's strong, dependable, and has a similar moral compass as a judge. If you want a healthy friendship that encourages you to be better? Be friends with Jack or people similar to Jack, if you want a friend that wouldn't back down for your honor? Be friends with Jack, if you want a friend you can trust with your whole life? Be friends with Jack.
However, no matter how much of a good friend he is, he's a tsundere, a big fat tsundere.
When you first met him, he was full of scowls and growls, he didn't entertain your friendly actions at all. He kept on pushing you away with a "I'm a lone wolf" type of saying— although he didn't say it, there was implications. And y'know what? You kept on pushing, kept on showing up for him whenever and wherever, until he got fed up and just... Accepted you, he let his guard down and started to trust you back. And ever since then, he didn't look back.
You hoped he still held that sentiment.
As you stared at your reflection at the mirror with a bottle of pills in your hand, tears started to stream down your face.
At this point of your life, you were at your lowest low, at this point of your journey, you were at the bottomless pit you fell down to. At this point, you started to clutch at the thought of...
Jack was panicking, and he was panicking hard.
He knew that you were mentally unstable, he knew that you were not that well, and he knew, that you couldn't be left alone and need someone to check up on you for the sake of your life.
So his text messages went from "hey, are you coming to school?" To "stay there, I'm coming" in the matter of minutes.
He knocked frantically at your bathroom door— How'd he knew that you were in there? Because it would not take a genius to know that if you weren't in your bedroom, you'd be in your bathroom, possibly... No, he needs to stop it. And fast.
He clenched his fists as he banged on the door. He called out your name.
"Can you please" he rested his forehead on your door "open the door for me?" It came out as a soft plea as he tried to contain his shaky breath.
That snapped you out of your state. The whole time you clutched the bottle of pills, you were disassociating hard, trying to pick a side— and Jack was the one to stop you. Jack, your loyal friend. The friend you trust with your life, but had second thoughts on whether he'd stay for you or not.
"Please-" he uttered your name as another plea "y'know that 𝑰 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝒀 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼"
The door opened with a click.
Jack rushed in and saw your figure at the door with an empty face, and with tear streaks on your eyes. His breath evened out as he relaxed— you were okay... And you were holding a pill bottle. He bit his lip and hugged you, fiercely tight.
That seemed to snap you out of your daze and you sobbed in his chest, hiccuping and saying sorry between your breaths.
He rubbed your back as you slowly started to calm down, and when you did? He buried he head in your hair while not saying anything. Knowing that saying nothing means a whole lot to you than saying empty words.
"You stayed" you said after crying your eyes out and finally... Finally relaxing. You smiled, "I'm glad"
He let out a shaky breath. Dear sevens, you scared the shit out of him
"Of course I would, I'll always stay for you"
⋮ ⌗ ┆𝗥𝗨𝗚𝗚𝗜𝗘 𝗕𝗨𝗖𝗖𝗛𝗜
"𝑰 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑩𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑳𝑭𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼"
Ruggie Bucchi is a well known thief in your school.
However, he's also a well known friend of yours— the person who goes out of their way to help people, the person that lends their pencil to a classmate if they ask, the person that's so selfless, you might as well hold a charity center.
That's Ruggie's friend, you.
Everyone is surprised that you didn't break off your friendship with him because of his sticky fingers, everyone is surprised that you put up with his mischievous antics all the time, hell! They're even surprised that you were friends with him in the first place!
But they didn't dare question it or approach you to ask you, since... It's Ruggie, the same Ruggie that Leona trusted. And they wouldn't dare pick a fight with Leona.
All they could do is watch as he sits next to you at lunch and steal some of the food in your plate.
They didn't know that Ruggie would also give you some his too. Because they don't know him.
"Shishishi, ya' should really guard your food better y'know?" He nugged you as you raised your eyebrows. "Some folks got really sticky fingers" you giggled and pointed your fork at him. "You mean you?" He chuckled and raised his arms in defense "aye! Can't have ya' get too comfortable with me" you shook your head with a slight chuckle and continued to eat.
It's weird to see him scold you for not being selfish enough when he would switch up later and give you some of his food.
Your eyes softened slightly as he nugged you to take a bite of his donut, "I haven't seen ya' eat since last lunch, eat" he said sternly with an expression that said 'try to deny it and I swear I'll shove this donut up your mouth'
You tried to say something, to deny it and dismiss his claims, but he just shoved it in your hands.
A moment of silence passed you two as you stared at the donut, and inevitably bit on it.
He relaxed when he saw that you finally ate something, and he scooted closer to you then melted on your side as you quietly ate beside him.
"Y'know..." You broke the silence.
"I never thought you'd share your food with me" you said while eating. He stared at you with a raised eyebrow, "and why'd ya' think I wouldn't?" You shrugged "I don't know, maybe because you're crazy possessive with your food?" You teased. He rolled his eyes with a smile "shishishishi you're so stupid ya' know?" He teased.
"You're my friend, so of course 𝑰 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑩𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑳𝑭𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼"
You froze when you heard him say that, your food mid-air as you slowly turned to him with a bewildered expression. "Huh???"
He looked at your flustered face then bursted out laughing.
"Oh sevens! I can't believe you're this dense!"
⋮ ⌗ ┆𝗟𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗥
"𝑰 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑷𝑼𝑻 𝑬𝑭𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑻 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼"
Leona Kingscholar is a smartass and you knew it.
Although he's lazy and unproductive at times. You couldn't deny that he can be intelligent and smart at times, and even though you have to observe him to conclude that, he didn't even try to hide it at times though.
Like right now.
As you layed beside him with your study material scattered on your side— careful not to disturb Leona as he napped on the opposite side.
Now why would you study next to a sleeping lion? You might be wondering.
Well that's because you're kind of lonely and only had him to keep you company, which is already a big disadvantage because he also keeps to himself— good thing you two are good friends am I right?
Anyways.
There's also a good reason to this. And that's because he offers good insight when he's in the mood. A.k.a: when he wakes up from his nap.
You groaned, 'I really wish he'd wake up right now and help meeee' you sulked— this particular question is really getting to you. And the silence was getting to you, you just wished that someone could save you from this and-
"Oi, why are you still here?" Leona said, his voice kind of gruff after just waking up from a nap.
You perked up and snapped your head to face him.
"And why is there a big mess in your side?" He said with a tired sigh as his tail flicked in annoyance. "Oh you know... Studying" he moved slightly to you and huffed, "yeah I know that"
"Just didn't think you'd stay beside me until I woke up" he grumbled.
You smiled and squeezed his cheeks, "aw, you big baby, of course I'll stay!" You chuckled as he swatted your hand away lightly. "Besides..." You dragged out your voice "you're the only one who can help me with this without passing out from how difficult I can be" you said with a pout. He sighed.
He knew where this was going.
"I'm about to pass out right now if you don't shut up..." He mumbled. You giggled. "You love me too much for that"
He groaned "Shut up and come here" you beamed at that and smiled.
Turns out. That went on for too long and it was already turning dark. Now that wouldn't have dragged on long but his persistent nature to help you got the best of him.
Which concluded in him walking you to your dorm, hand in hand, with your bag in the other.
You leaned in his forearm as you two walked side by side. "I honestly don't know why you put up with me sometimes" you pursed your lips "I mean... I'm too much trouble for your lazy ass" you smiled weakly. Then you felt it. Him tensing up. You fell silent.
"Tch. I didn't think you'd be this stupid" he said with a scoff. "I put up with you because I care" he tightened his grip on your hand as you two continued to walk down the path, "you're the only one that I decided that yeah" he paused "𝑰 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑷𝑼𝑻 𝑬𝑭𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑻 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼" you looked up at him, as he continued to stare up ahead the path "and only for you"
You smiled softly at that.
"You've gone soft Leona" you then giggled quietly "careful. I might think you love me or something" to which he replied with a pinch on your wrist, you yelped.
He'd rather lose a match with Malleus than say that he loves you— but if you look closely, you might see a little smile on his lips.
𝗔/𝗻: ANOTHER PART DOONNNEEEE 🗣️🗣️ my ass is on a roll BUT WHO CARES?? I'm actually just trying to skip to Idia's part of this oneshot series (?) cuz I love idia 👀👀 ANYWAYSSSS tumblr has been crashing out lately 😭 I was trying to upload this FIVE TIMES AND IT STILL WON'T WORK— this is the last attempt cuz I'm so fuckin fed up ong
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HIII! (first time ever requesting someone, kind nervous)
I was wondering if you could do a oneshot/hcs (anything is okay) with Leona (and other characters if u want) from Twst with a matador reader? The readers a woman btw!!
(don't do this request if you don't wanna!! Also love ur work and remember to drink water!! (^3^) )
Ride my heart tame!
Oh I hope I didnt understand this request wrong. My ahh is not native in english 😔
Fem!Reader x Leona Kingscholar
[I find it delightful that whenever I write its mostly gender neutral. Man but this time its more fem focused]
Situation/Scenario:
Leona overhears your wild past from back of your world and gets interested. Oh go on and tame his lion heart if you believe you are this strong.
(I made reader bit dominant...shoot me to love a dominant reader😔)
Leona Kingscholar
Your life was wild back in your world.
Being in a ring with a wild bull trying to fight you.
It was your kind of fun to get those bulls.
As a woman it was pretty hard to even archieve anything there being talked down by men.
"You could never kill a bull like a man"
They were right at that. Cause you definetly did better.
So when walking through Savannaclaws dorm talking with jack about your past.
He was so interested in your adventurous life.
Jack left for a moment to get his stuff from his room.
To your endless luck Leona overheard everything.
He came from behind, looking down at you.
"Wild life hm? A woman like you? Did not expect that, would you show me your strength."
He provoked you alright. He might respect women but that doesnt mean he wont tease them.
You just smiled up at him, pinning him to the nearby wall.
"You really want that?"
Leona just smirked at your sudden move, his tail curling around your leg. He liked this a lot, a woman who knows what she is worth.
Oh he is loving you a lot in this situation, his ears twitching at your close breath to his.
He is enjoying this a lot.
Before you knew it he pat your head and left you there alone in the blink of an eye.
I feel like I did not cook here man....
I hope you like this if not feel free to send me another request how you would prefer this.
We need more blushing Leona fanarts I am so serious rn
★ Tagging (HAHA SURPRISE I DID NOT FORGET MY TAGLIST THIS TIME HQJAHQJS EVEN CHECKED FOR NEW PPL) ;; @the-ace-reader @nemisisnemi @glidiaxoxo @soruiru @fungifanart @artistnettles @loser-jpg @puowei @grimmsnap @malleleothreesome @swkairrr @ladypomithe3rd @amenoyozakura @savanaclaw1996
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