Hello, Welcome To My Cave

“Fascinating,” he murmured, watching the tsum flatten itself against the side of a fallen log and wiggle forward with impressive determination. “But I do believe that particular specimen is beyond our needs.”

The tsum had found a line of mushroom logs fenced in with wire — carefully tended, marked, and, from the looks of it, very much not part of the foraging route he had planned. Jade would know. He was the one to aid the owner in setting them up. His tsum pressed its tiny face against the mesh as though sheer will might allow it to slip through. A soft, eager squeak escaped it, followed by another, as if it were quite certain the mushrooms inside were being unfairly withheld from it.

Jade crouched, one knee brushing the damp earth, and lifted the tsum before it could be skewered. It fit neatly in his palm. “Those are not for picking,” he said, his tone pleasantly chiding. “They belong to yours and mine neighbor. We cannot disturb them.”

The tsum blinked up at him, a proverbial question mark on its forehead.

“To the person living in that dorm,” Jade clarified, tilting his head toward Ramshackle’s roofline visible between the trees. “I would hate for you to disturb their cultivation efforts. I hear they have been trying to grow morels.” His smile sharpened just a touch. “How unfortunate it would be if someone ruined all that work, hm?”

At the mention of you, the tsum perked so suddenly Jade almost laughed.

Its little body quivered in his palm, round eyes brightening with immediate interest, and it gave a high, delighted squeak that was entirely unlike the disgruntled noise it had made a moment ago. 

Jade’s gaze lingered. Ah. So your name held weight to this version of him as well. How…cute.

Before he could do more than consider the implications, the tsum wriggled free of his hold with surprising force, popped into the air, and landed with a soft bounce in the grass. It faced Ramshackle like it was summoned by the thought of you, then shot off before Jade could think to snatch it back up.

Jade straightened slowly, his basket swaying at his side.

He did not move to follow. Why should he?

Instead, he watched the path his tsum had taken and let a quiet, knowing smile touch his mouth.

How convenient.

He had, after all, been looking for a reason to stop by Ramshackle. Unprompted visits were the most fun when in your company. 

The tsum’s sudden interest in you simply made it more…hm, socially acceptable? Not that Jade cared for adhering to such things. 

-

Jade was, in hindsight, mildly disappointed in his own judgment.

He allowed the little thing to run off in the direction of Ramshackle with far too much confidence and not nearly enough supervision. In his defense, the Tsum had been stubborn, quick, and annoyingly determined once it had decided on its destination. In his further defense, he assumed it would behave at least a little bit like himself.

It had done no such thing.

By the time a half hour had passed, Jade made up his mind to search for it with a suitably worried expression and a very carefully measured pace. He gave the impression of someone responsibly checking on a missing companion rather than someone who had absolutely let the situation happen on purpose.

By the time he reached Ramshackle’s backyard, he was ready to play the part.

He lifted a hand to his chest, brows drawn just enough to seem concerned as he approached the line where laundry fluttered in the breeze. “How troubling,” he murmured to himself, loud enough to be heard. “I do hope my Tsum has not caused you any trouble.”

Then he stepped around the corner and expected to find you waiting with tsum in hand.

Yet, there his Tsum was, face-down in your clean laundry like a lazy, overaffectionate cat.

For a full second, Jade simply gawked.

The tiny thing was half-buried in a basket of freshly washed clothes, its little body squished into a pile of folded fabric. Every so often it would wiggle, squeak, and then burrow deeper like it had found the best place in the world and meant to die there. It looked nothing like the neat, composed little helper it had been when they started the day. It looked, rather, like a hopelessly spoiled creature.

Jade’s eyes narrowed to waning slits. 

You looked up from clipping socks to a clothesline as he came closer, and his expression smoothed into something more pallatable. Naturally, you greeted him first, like you were the one in the middle of a perfectly normal afternoon and not someone being ambushed by a clingy pillow with his face.

“Jade!” you perked, gleefully easy and warm. “I was just about to call you!” 

He gave you a polite smile in return and let his gaze drift over you in that calm, observant way of his. Your sleeves were rolled up. There was a bit of soap still drying on your hands. A few stray leaves had snagged in his own clothes, and he had, with some intent, made sure they stayed there as props in his act. Ones you took note of immediately.

You reached out and brushed them away once he was near, carefully pressing the lapels of his jacket afterwards.

Jade’s smile deepened just a touch.

It’s as he expected you to do, but still. How thoughtful of you.

“It seems my Tsum has found you,” he said, as if he had only just now discovered this unfortunate development. His tone stayed mild, but his eyes flicked at the little creature writhing in your laundry basket. “I was rather concerned when it went missing.”

The Tsum, at the sound of his voice, peeked up from the clothes.

Then it promptly ignored him and squeaked at you.

Jade’s eyelid twitched.

You laughed, telling him that it had appeared a little while ago and had been very eager to help — at least at first. The moment you spoke, the Tsum perked up, popped out of the basket, and launched itself straight into your arms with all the speed and desperation of a creature that was deprived of all love its entire life.

Then it grew three times its size in a moment, resembling more a stuffed bean bag than a pocket-sized hacky sack. Just the right size to be hugged in your arms. 

Jade watched as it nestled against you, little body squirming happily as it shamelessly blocked your attention from him. 

“How devoted,” Jade commented with false praise, “it seems you gravitate to the prefect like many other bottomfeeders. I do not blame you for it, they have an aura which surely attracts.” 

The Tsum squeaked smugly and pressed itself closer to you, as though daring Jade to challenge it.

Jade took one step nearer and held out his hands to regain custody. “Come now. You cannot simply steal yourself away and expect me not to notice. Think of the prefect’s schedule.”

The Tsum gave him an unimpressed look. You, unfortunately for Jade, looked far more amused than sympathetic and squeezed his tsum tighter. 

He accepted the fact with all the dignity he could muster.

“Thank you,” he said to you, and this time the warmth in his voice was genuine enough that it nearly made the expression on his face dangerous. “I was so worried.”

The last two words were aimed directly at the Tsum, and the little thing immediately went still in your arms. Jade’s smile split against his sharp teeth, one advantage he held over his little copycat. 

There you are. Best behavior or it might be a shoebox for the remainder of your stay, hm? He thought. 

Jade reached for it and plucked it out of your hold before it could glue itself any more firmly to your side. The Tsum squeaked in outrage, squirming in his grip and glaring back at him as it thrashed. 

Jade’s smile barely changes. “There now. You have had enough attention for one afternoon.”

He shifts the tsum into the laundry basket with far more care than his tone suggests, then turns back to you. His gaze flicks over the sheets still waiting to be hung and the clothespins lined up in your hand.

“Since I have taken it back into my care,” he says, “allow me to repay you properly for this disturbance."

He steps closer, reaching for the clothesline. “I can help finish hanging this. Consider it a payment for supervising my tsum.”

It is a very polished offer, but you can hear the underlying insistence in it. Jade is not ‘asking’ so much as arranging things so that he gets to stay.

His eyes drift to the basket, where his tsum has already begun pouting at being contained again. Even as it gets to snuggle back into your pile of bedsheets. 

“Then,” he adds, voice light, “I believe tea would also be appropriate to end the evening. I recall sending you a blend from Sam’s last week. You should still have it, yes?”

Before you can answer, he is beside you, close enough that his chest brushes your back as he reaches past you for the hanging twine. One hand steadies the sheet while the other helps you guide a clothespin into place, the motion smooth and deliberate. Intent laced into each minor movement, for both you and his tsum to see.

To which the tsum in the basket gives another tiny squeak of protest, although does nothing more. 

Jade does not spare it a glance. 

“See?” he says pleasantly, angling his head just enough that you can hear the smile in his voice next to your ear. “Everything is under control, my dear. Allow me.”

Jamil’s a man of schedule due to all his responsibilities. So when the Headmaster throws a wrench in his plans and he’s left scrambling to catch up on his tasks, there are few who can walk in his way and live to tell the tale. When he is elbow-deep in soap suds and already on his third irritated sigh, most can tell he is one inconvenience away from snapping a broom in half and stay away. 

His Tsum is little help in catching up. It is just as efficient as Jamil is, only with a far smaller body and a much sharper attitude to house it. The thing scrubs at the counters with a rag pushed between its stubs, pausing only to squeak something that sounds suspiciously like a complaint whenever Jamil drags another pot into the sink or critiques its work.

“There,” Jamil mutters, shoving the last of the stacked dishes aside. “If I can get this done now, maybe I will still have time to finish my homework before club hour.”

The Tsum gives him a short, unimpressed squawk. 

Jamil flicks a glare at it. “Do not start with me. I know.”

He scrubs at one especially stubborn pot relentlessly, the kind that had had something thick and burnt to the bottom, and mutters under his breath, “I was supposed to meet the Prefect in the library at this exact time, too. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to schedule a date? But no, apparently the universe decided I should babysit a miniature version of myself while Kalim invited himself to our dinner again. Which means this entire day has gone from being decent to barely tolerable.”

The Tsum pauses in its scrubbing just long enough to make a snarky little noise that feels a lot like it is mocking him. He has a mind to cover it with a soup pot for the next hour.

Jamil narrows his eyes, stopping to flick water at it. “Do not act like you are any better than him. This is ridiculous."

The Tsum squeaks again, sounding offended on principle. He almost feels bad yet it fades quickly. 

Jamil exhales through his nose and turns back to the sink, scrubbing harder than necessary as his muscles strain. “All I wanted was one quiet study hour. Just one. With them. In the library. No interruptions. Instead I’m here with you, while they’re likely asleep at one of the back tables…ugh. I have their notes too.”

He glances down at the counter to check on the Tsum when it doesn’t splash back or give any sort of retort. 

Only to find nothing but the rag left behind where it once was.

Jamil freezes, barely having a mind to pull his arms from the dirty dishwater before giving the kitchen a once over. It would be too easy for that small version of himself to drop in the trash or get stuck behind the stove. 

His eyes scan the kitchen once, then twice, then drop to the floor, the doorway, the pantry, the windowsill. Nothing. No mini in sight. 

“Well,” he says at last, agitation stirring behind his teeth, “shit.”

There goes Jamil’s study hour. 

Again.

–

Jamil knows himself too well. Which is precisely why he knows exactly where his Tsum has run off to without much guesswork. 

It’s gone to where Jamil usually wanted to be, yet his schedule rarely allowed  –  to be with you. 

He finishes the kitchen with the kind of speed that borders on reckless, dries his hands, grabs his bag, and heads out with barely contained frustration coiled tight in his chest. He tries to school his expression into something calmer on the walk over, but it does very little to ease the tension in his jaw. Half-jogging, half-speed-walking across campus does not exactly help either. Students part like the red sea at the sight of him. 

Jamil should have been the one with you in the first place, and yet his tsum thinks it can pull wool over his eyes? 

He was behind on his work because of this whole tsum mess in the first place, which meant canceling study hour in the library, which meant missing time with you, which meant having to think about how much he wanted that hour in the first place. 

Instead, he was stuck mopping kitchens and chasing after a miniature version of himself that was now doing its best to steal his place.

By the time he reaches the library, Jamil’s temper is still simmering under his skin.

There you are.

You’re at your usual table in the back, exactly where he would have looked for you first if he came of his own accord like planned. His tsum is nestled comfortably against your chest while you read from a textbook, seemingly enjoying an afternoon siesta. 

The nerve. No version of Jamil, even a cute pillow-shaped variant, knows how to sleep anywhere but his own bed after at least seventeen hours awake. 

That tsum isn’t tired at all. It’s just making use of a very good opportunity. As Jamil nears, it opens one eye and even without a mouth to smirk, he’s certain its ego couldn’t get bigger. 

Jamil walks up to the table, sets his bag down without a word, and takes the seat beside you while angling the chair so it screeches against the tile floor. The second you look up at him, he is already scowling with words on his tongue. 

“You should have texted me the moment you found my tsum,” he says flatly. “I’ve been looking all over for it.”

It is an obvious lie. He came straight here. But the expression he gives his tsum makes the point clear enough.

The little thing opens both eyes, peers at him, and plasters on an innocent look with a cute chirp to stake its innocence. Nothing like the sour sport he’s been carrying all day. 

You blink at him, then glance back at the tsum in your arms. “I didn’t text because I figured you were busy. I didn’t mind watching it.”

Jamil’s jaw ticks under tension

You add, just casually enough to make the words sting, “It’s good company. Besides, you were the one who canceled.”

Technically, yes, he canceled. And technically, no, he hadn’t wanted to. And technically, none of this would have happened if the tsum had not made a beeline for you the second it got the chance.

Jamil drags in a slow breath and lets it out again.

“Fine,” he says, clipped. “I am officially canceling the cancellation. Don’t worry about my schedule. I’m here now and I can do my work with you…so…”

Jamil  takes your silence as an answer in itself and begins to sift through his bag for the notes he was holding onto before. Although his courtesy does not extend to the newly-dubbed rat that looks too much like him for comfort. 

Jamil reaches over, plucks the little traitor from your chest, and sets it on his school bag instead. The tsum immediately glares at him, tiny body squished indignantly into the fabric.

You let out a small laugh, and it does something unpleasantly warm to his chest.

“Are you jealous?” you ask.

Jamil looks at you for a long moment, then at the tsum, then back at you. A fresh idea clouds that brief bitter feeling that comes from being the end of your jokes. 

“Yes,” he says, with zero hesitation, “I am. Why should it get to take my hard-earned spot? Am I so easy for you to replace, Prefect? Hm?” 

Jamil watches with open satisfaction as a flush spreads across your cheeks, reaching to feel its warmth through your skin with the back of his hand. 

Jamil’s eyes narrow. “You know exactly what it is thinking, do you not? It is a variant of me. There is no reason for me to pretend otherwise for the sake of playing nice, not when I know exactly how I would act in its position” he hisses on the tail of his words, knowing you’re not so innocent as to miss his meaning. 

The tsum makes a tiny, smug squeak from atop his bag, as if it is very pleased he has proven his point for him.

Jamil clicks his tongue.

He reaches down, catches the bottom of your chair, and drags it closer to his in one quick pull until you are sitting flush beside him. Close enough that the space between you disappears. Close enough that he can feel the shift in your posture, see the way your attention snaps toward him instead of the room.

His satisfaction is immediate. You go on the look out, turning to check whether anyone noticed, and Jamil’s eyes narrow just enough to make the point that he does not care who saw. Let them look. Let them gossip. He is not the one who created this problem, and he is certainly not the one losing ground. 

Without further comment, he reaches to drag your textbook to lay flat between you both on the desk. His sandwiched arm snakes around your waist as he checks your progress. “You wanted to study with me, right?” 

The question is rhetorical. He already knows the answer. He also knows you are going to say yes, because you always do.

So he gives the tsum one last pointed look, a warning without words, before settling in. 

“Then let’s ‘study’ while we still can.”

And this time, the only one getting your attention is going to be him. 

Floyd is already bored when the day starts, which is never a good sign for anyone around him.

Unfortunately, even his own tsum seems determined to be as annoying as possible. Nevermind that this thing appeared out of nowhere from the sky and that its buddies are bouncing around campus like loose beach balls far out from shore.

It sits across from him at a stray lounge table in Octavinette, tiny body puffed up with attitude, staring him down like it is offended that it has been assigned to him. Even if they’re the same person, different font. Floyd stares right back, head cradled in his folded arms, long fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the table.

The two of them are so alike it’s dull. This is why Floyd would use cloning spells to get extra chips. Why clone people or things? It’s so dumb. 

Same face. Same temperament. Same awful habit of deciding cooperation is optional. It is like putting two spinning tops on the same surface and acting surprised when they keep banging into each other.

Floyd’s mouth twists to a scowl.

He hoped maybe this would be fun in a weird way, like they’d go on a trip to return the little guys home. Or at least amusing. But no, his tsum is not in the mood to be cute, and he is definitely not in the mood to pretend he enjoys babysitting a miniature version of himself while the headmaster piles on chores.

He lets out a long, drawn-out sigh and slumps lower over the table.

“Ughhh. This is so boring,” he groans, voice muffled against his arms. “I would rather be hanging out with Shrimpy.”

The tsum blinks at him. He wonders if in its world, your copy is a stuffed shrimp or an even tinier pillow..jelly bean…thing. The thought alleviates his bad mood just a smidgen. 

Floyd lifts his head just enough to glare at it. “Or literally doing anything else. Anything would be better than this.”

The tsum squeaks back at him, pissed and unimpressed.

“Hey,” Floyd says, eyes narrowing as his finger keeps tapping. “Don’t act like you’re not bored too. Can’t you just go home already?”

The tsum does not deign to respond in any way that would be useful. It just sits there, but does writhe as if it’s going to lunge. Too bad it doesn’t have the teeth to bite with. Sucka. 

Floyd drags a hand over his face. The headmaster had really chose the worst possible time to dump work on him. He could be with you right now. He could be following you around for no reason, draped over your shoulder (until your knees buckle and he gets to crush ya), bothering you until you laughed or got flustered or told him to knock it off. Maybe you had those tasty marshmallow snacks like last week. 

Instead, he is stuck in his own dorm, watching a tiny copy of himself act like a miniature headache with feet.

Floyd’s mood sours even further. He wants the marshmallows. 

“Maybe I should just leave you here,” he mutters, though the threat is half-hearted at best.

The tsum’s head perks.

That is the wrong reaction.

Floyd narrows his eyes. “Don’t get excited. I’m still deciding.”

He flops backward in his chair, then forward again, then side to side with restless energy building up fast enough that his seat starts to feel too small. His limbs go loose with frustration, and he flops over the table like a child having a case of the zoomies doubled with a tantrum.

“I hate this,” he says into the air. “I hate the work. I hate being bored. I hate that you look exactly like me. I hate that you can’t even talk. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh –” 

The tsum makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

That is it.

Floyd starts to sit up just enough to flick it in the forehead, but when he finally drags his head up, his tsum is nowhere within reach. 

In fact, it’s not in the room anymore at all. 

Floyd checks the floor. Nothing. The chair beside him. Nothing. Under the table. Still nothing.

For one miserable second, he just stares at the empty spot where the tsum had been and resists the urge to treat the damn thing like a chewtoy once he does manage to spot it. 

Well.

This is just great. 

Before, he was just bored. Now he’s  bored and responsible for making sure a tiny, troublesome version of himself did not get crushed, eaten, or otherwise murdered by some idiot on campus before he found it again. And if it got hurt, he would be the one who got blamed for it, which sounded like a giant pain in the ass.

Floyd pushes himself upright with a groan, reaching for the ceiling until that familiar pop comes. 

“Seriously? You run off now?I didn’t say we could play hide ‘n’ seek…”

He looks around the room again, more alert this time, irritation sharpening into something more active. If the tsum has already gone wandering, then he needs to catch up fast.

Floyd clicks his tongue, gets to his feet, and starts after the little troublemaker with a scowl on his face. Until he crosses a vending machine with those marshmallow candies in stock, and promplty forgets entirely about it. 

–

Two hours later, and Floyd is still Tsum-less.

An entire evening might have passed without him starting his search. If it got eaten or hurt – well, eh. Them’s the breaks. Floyd wasn’t in the mood until Azul came back and told him that if he had nothing better to do, then he could pick up some overtime working the Mostro Lounge kitchens.That put a spark in Floyd’s step because; again, he really didn’t want to babysit. One tsum is far easier to tolerate than a school of fish during dinner rush. 

So he set off without any concern motivating his actions and went wherever his legs wanted to go that got him away from Azul’s annoying lecture. Now if they take him to Ramshackle all on their own and bypass that rusty old gate you never bother locking? 

Well, there’s a chance his tsum might be with you. So it’s technically not against any rules to stop inside for a break. He’s been searching real hard for a total of twenty minutes. That’s a lot for a poor, harmless little eel who’s had his entire Saturday stolen. 

He does not bother knocking. It’s not as if the front lock works anyways. 

He just pushes the door open and wanders in like the place belongs to him, all loose limbs and lazy confidence, already grinning to himself at the thought of scooping you out of bed if you happen to be napping. It would be funny. It would also be easy. Especially if you are half-asleep and soft and warm and not expecting him. Maybe he’ll let Jade have their dorm room to himself and stay over, or make you join the game of hide ‘n’ seek. 

Much better than chasing some bratty little tsum around campus.

He pads down the hall, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other swinging at his side, until he catches sight of your foot dangling off the couch in the living room.

Perfect.

His grin turns sharp. Oh, this is gonna be good.

Floyd leans over the backrest, already reaching for you, planning to scoop you up in one smooth motion and drag you into whatever nonsense his tsum has gotten itself into. Maybe he’ll make you help look for it. Maybe he’ll just keep you and let it sleep outside.

The whole plan drops. 

Because there, sprawled right on your stomach like it owns the place, is his tsum.

Fast asleep.

On its back, snores carrying in the air. Where are they coming from? It’s not like the thing has a mouth. What? It rises and rolls with each one of your breaths, completely dead to the world, while you lie there with one hand half-curled near its side like you’ve been together for hours. 

Floyd should’ve known. 

His eye twitches.

No. Absolutely not. He leaves it alone for a few hours and it goes and hogs your lap? Your stomach? Your attention? That little thing is so dead.

Floyd’s cheeks stretch in a way that is not friendly at all.

“...You little shit,” he hisses through his teeth, voice almost sweet if you ignore the plan for murder in it.

He doesn’t bother waking the tsum up. All day annoying him and now it decides to nap? 

Why would he give it that mercy?

Instead, in one swift motion, Floyd snatches the tsum off your stomach and flings it down the hall like a baseball. It disappears with a tiny squeak, flailing its nubby arms as it nearly clips one of the ceiling lights, and a hard thump echoes from down the hallway. Striiiiiiiike OUT. Maybe Basketball was the wrong club to choose, Floyd thinks. 

It’ll live. Maybe.

Floyd wastes no time taking its place, or more accurately put as his rightful spot.

He drops down between your legs and curls his arms high around your torso, letting his full weight smoosh you into the cushions like a blanket, pressing his cheek flat against your stomach. Floyd settles in with a long, satisfied sigh; now this is what Saturdays should be. 

He feels you stir beneath him and adjust to wrap your legs around his torso in turn. 

You ask why he is here, voice still rough with sleep, and then ask him the time like it suddenly matters more now that he has shown up unannounced and taken over your couch.  If you didn’t care about your plans enough to stay awake before, why should you care about them now? 

Floyd blows a raspberry into your stomach as a response, snickering as you fully wake up and start pushing his face away. It’s an easy victory, as he grabs your wrists and pulls your hands back to his scalp. Another when he feels your tummy dip with an exhale, before you scratch at his nape in the way that feels like an electric current through his spine.

He tilts his face just enough to glance up at you. “I finished pest control, ya’know…your dorm was infested with bugs.”

It is a lie, technically, but a very good one. It’s just one bug. A tiny, jelly bean sized, Leech. Though he’s sure you’ll scold him for it later whenever the tsum regains consciousness. “Ya can thank me later, hehe. Just go back to sleep.”

Lilia watches his little tsum bounce in place in the palm of his hand, those bright magenta eyes full of restless curiosity.

How utterly adorable.

Also, entirely predictable. He expects nothing less. A tiny thing like this, dropped into a place as large and strange as Night Raven College, is bound to get itself into trouble the moment it is left unsupervised. Which, to be fair, is not much different from Lilia himself whenever he visits a foreign land. So it would be quite hypocritical of him to police this little creature during its stay. 

He hums thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Off you pop, then. Have some fun, little me. Do bring back a story or souvenir.”

The tsum perks up immediately, as if it had been waiting for permission to shed its decorum. Bless that the tsum alternatives of Lilia’s children and charges were in the care of his family. Otherwise he doubts his tsum would be able to truly go about carefree. 

Lilia chuckles under his breath, setting it down with a gentle pat. “Just make sure you find your way back to me by dark, all right? I would hate to have to come looking for you.”

The little thing gives an eager squeak, then bounces off at once, tiny body disappearing around the nearest corner with all the confidence of something that has no boring plans to spend its time.

Lilia folds his hands behind his back and watches it go, smile turning fond. 

Honestly, what could it get up to? His mind folds over a few ideas of what he’d do in its position, but nothing more. 

Probably not anything too serious, surely. 

Maybe it would peek into someone’s room and search for treasures. Sneak a snack from the cafeteria staff. Startle a first-year by hitching a ride in their pocket. Hide in a backpack or play in the garden ponds. Cause a little harmless mayhem most certainly. That sort of thing.

Ah. There are so many possibilities.

No, really, the little creature has all the makings of disaster in miniature. A smaller, less talkative Lilia is still Lilia, after all. Which means it is likely to be clever, nosy, difficult to catch, and just cute enough that people will forgive it for being a nuisance.

Or try to, at least.

Lilia’s expression brightens as he goes about his business. Surely it will come back with a tale or two. Should he bake the little creatures some biscuits before they’re sent home?

He watches the last bit of movement vanish as it seemingly already found its first target  and lets out a low, amused little laugh. Too cute, indeed. 

Someone out there is about to have their day ruined by a hand-sized troublemaker with his face.

Lilia can only hope they survive the experience.

–

Lilia does not panic when midnight rolls around and his tsum still has not returned.

That would imply surprise, and surprise would imply he had not already seen this coming from a mile away.

No, what he feels is the familiar, fond sort of exasperation one gets when watching a child wander off with the confidence of a king and the sense of direction of a potato. He has known his tsum for all of five minutes and already knows exactly what sort of trouble it is capable of. The only question is which kind of mischief it has chosen tonight.

So he sets off to find it himself.

A nuisance, yes, but not a difficult one. Lilia sticks to the rooftops and the quieter paths, the sort of places where gossip lingers in the air and students forget to look up. That narrows his search nicely. If the little thing is anywhere interesting, it is likely somewhere it should not be.

He lands lightly on a roof, peering over the edge with bright, knowing eyes.

“Now where would I go if I were a cheeky little tsum with too much freedom and not enough supervision?” he muses to himself.

The answer comes to him at once.

Why, the place where one might find a little nighttime fun, of course.

Naturally.

A grin spreads across his face as he mutters a spell, and in the next instant he is perched on your bedroom windowsill, one leg already inside your room as he takes a quick look around. It is a familiar habit by now, his little acts of charming intrusion, though he always makes sure to do it with enough flair that he can hardly be accused of sneaking.

He checks your bed first, floating over to see if the comfortor had a prefect-shaped lump underneath. He found a neat and tidy bed waiting with nothing but your slippers missing from their place by the sidetable. 

Hm.

On the top pillow, Grim lies sprawled like he has been felled in battle, mouth hanging open, one paw draped over the ledge, drool threatening to ruin the fabric entirely. Lilia blinks once, then smiles coyly and closes Grim’s maw with one finger. The second he does, it slacks open again with a loud snore. 

“Kehehe~ I now see why my little dove has such striking eyebags. I can sleep through anything and anywhere; it seems you can as well.” 

Of course the dire beast is asleep where he can be of the least use. It’s no wonder you barely notice whenever Silver’s nodded off, if Grim’s this heavy of a sleeper. 

Satisfied, Lilia slips across the room, shuts the window behind him, and closes his eyes to listen.

There. 

A murmur, hushed and gentle, coming from downstairs.

He follows it at once, moving as quietly as a mouse while walking the seams in the floorboards. The voice leads him toward Ramshackle’s kitchen, where warm yellow light spills into the hall and the air smells faintly of honey and cinnamon.

Ah.

There you are, my sweet. 

You’re standing at the counter in your houserobe, pouring honey into a mug of warm milk, the late hour having softened your voice into something with a sleepy drawl and more private. It is the sort of sight Lilia finds himself rather partial to, if he is being honest. Entirely too endearing to be shared with others. 

Tucked up against your neck, nestled between your warm skin and the lapels of your robe, is his tsum. The little stowaway looks positively delighted with itself, eyes closed in permanent crescents as it squeaks a reply to your idle musings. 

It is warm there, Lilia can tell from across the room. Your body runs hot compared to fae. He’s guilty of syphoning heat himself from time to time. His tsum has found the best possible place in the entire dorm and made itself right at home, tiny body half-melted against you as if it has always belonged there. 

How brazen.

How very, very like him.

Lilia’s eyes narrow with amusement rather than annoyance. Honestly, he cannot even be mad. The creature has excellent taste.

You are talking softly, likely not even expecting company, and the tsum is soaking up every second of it like a little gremlin wrapped in a blanket of your attention. A tiny thief. A shameless one.

Lilia slips up behind you with all the grace of a ghost and none of the intention of remaining one. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, settling comfortably against your back, and dips his head to press a small kiss to your cheek.

“Good evening, little songbird,” he says, voice low and cheerful. “You and I seem to have a guest. Care to introduce me?”

His pupils thin to slits as he glances at the tsum in your collar, not waiting for your answer. “Thank you for taking care of my love while I was away, mini me. I should have expected you’d be drawn to them after a day of adventure.”

The pat he gives the tiny thing is light, but the look on his face says the words ‘thank you’ should not be mistaken for permission to indulge itself further.

The tsum huffs at him, displeased at being reminded that it has been found.

Lilia only smiles in response. 

It is not that he is jealous, exactly. Lilia does not much mind sharing your company, not on principle. But that does not mean he is going to let a hand-sized version of himself hog all your warmth without at least making a scene out of it.

So he keeps his arms snug around you and shifts closer, making himself very difficult to ignore.

You lift your mug for a sip, and before you can take it away again, Lilia slides one hand over yours and guides the cup closer to his mouth while you are still holding it.

“Oh?” he hums, utterly shameless. “How thoughtful of you.”

He drinks from the very same spot you just sipped from, all while keeping you tucked neatly against him. The tsum in your collar notices immediately and tries to lean toward the mug too, as if it has any right to copy him.

Lilia makes a small sound of disapproval and nudges you just a little tighter against his chest.

“No, no,” he says sweetly, as if explaining a basic lesson to a particularly stubborn child. “Sharing is a very important lesson, but I am far from the age where I must behave selflessly.”

The tsum lets out an offended little noise yet doesn’t persist. Not when you poke its cheek with a muttered apology.

~~

The atmosphere in your now-shared bedchamber was thick as Diavolo pinned you to the bed, tie loose and shirt fully unbuttoned. You had left your wedding reception not an hour earlier, giggling like children in the backseat as Barbatos drove you back to the castle. Now, every trace of laughter was gone as your new husband pressed his face into the crook of your shoulder.

His thick cock bullied in and out of you as he held your hips up, legs over his shoulders so he could hit that perfect spot inside you. As badly as he had wanted to bend you over in the time you were dating, he strictly held to the standard he was expected to upkeep, waiting until there was a ring on your finger to undress you. Not that he hadn't teased plenty in the time leading up to now, but it was the first time he got to really feel you.

He paused to wrap your legs around his waist, pressing into you as far as he possibly could. Your back arched as you cried out softly at the feeling.

He raised his head to lock eyes with you, a mix of desperation and dominance in his gaze, "Can I scent you, love? Please?" His hips knocked into yours gently.

You grinned, nudging his nose with yours, "I'll be quite upset if you don't."

He didn't need any more permission, picking up his brutal pace once again as his hands ran their course over your frame. They settled on your hips, fingers pressing into you as he nuzzled his face into yours. His mouth followed their path, placing small kisses and bites along your torso. The combination of affection and the harsh thrusts had you on the edge, your nails digging bright red lines into his back.

"Cum for me, my love," Diavolo growled into your ear, lips quickly pressing into your neck. Your body reacted immediately to his voice, clenching around him as you rode out your high.

He followed soon after, folding you into a mating press to release inside you as deep as he could. He pulled out of you slowly, propping your hips up with a pillow underneath you. Lying down next to you, the comfortable silence that followed was only broken with your deep breaths, and eventually Diavolo's voice,

"So... round two?"

barbatos

- he wouldn't scent you until you're officially a couple. he has a level of professionalism to upkeep, and that includes not giving into temptation

- he does hand-make you many outfits, though - each one infused with his scent as he sews. you can't pick up on it, but every demon you come across knows exactly who made you those clothes. his scent is simply a product of hand-sewing, definitely not on purpose (nobody knows he purposefully takes his gloves off)

- after you two get together, he's so subtle with it you aren't convinced he's actually scenting you for a while. he chooses to scent you in ways that can be passed off as casual, like holding your hand, or doing your hair in the morning without gloves on

- he won't scent obviously you in public, choosing subtlety in these moments, too. he'll keep an arm out for you, or hold a hand out to help you down the stairs

- he tries not to do it in front of Diavolo, seeing as the demon will always notice. he can get away with it in front of anyone else, but unfortunately, his boss will never not at least throw a smirk his way

- once you've been together for longer, he gets bolder in private. eventually, he'll come up behind you in the mornings, and nuzzle his head into your shoulder, hands on your waist as he tells you how pretty you are, even though you just woke up

- he doesn't like scenting you that much during intimacy, choosing instead to curl you against him afterwards as he runs his hands over your back

~~

You felt confident today. It was a rare day off from RAD and any household responsibilities, and you took advantage of the free time to visit your butler. He had greeted you with a kiss and soft smile, telling you he had a surprise for you.

The surprise in question was a full new outfit, hand-sewn by Barbatos himself. He’d taken your favorite colors, styles, and textures into consideration, creating an outfit you couldn’t help but adore. You had proudly put it on, deciding to wear it while you spent time assisting Barbatos with his duties. (He insisted you never had to help. You do anyways because the reward is always kisses)

By late afternoon, Barbatos was called away to handle an urgent matter in the castle's kitchen, leaving you with a gentle kiss on your forehead and instructions to “behave.” You decided instead to head to Diavolo’s study alone. The prince had mentioned to you that he needed a second opinion on some upcoming festival plans, and you figured it was the perfect excuse to show off your new clothes.

The heavy oak door creaked open under your knock. Diavolo looked up from his desk, golden eyes brightening instantly, "Ah, there you are! I was hoping-oh?” He tilted his head, nostrils flaring slightly as you approached. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face.

“You smell like Barbatos,” he teased, voice warm with amusement, “Not just a hint, either. It’s all over you - like he’s wrapped you in his scent on purpose.” Diavolo rose from his chair, circling you once with exaggerated interest, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed your ear, "New outfit? Hand-stitched, I’d wager. Only he pays such meticulous attention to every little detail that pleases you.”

Your cheeks warmed as you smiled brightly, "He made it for me this morning.”

Diavolo laughed, the sound loud and friendly, “Of coursw he did. My butler spoils you more than he spoils me some days. I’m almost jealous of how much care he puts into these things.” He reached out and lightly adjusted your collar with brotherly fondness, “It looks excellent on you. Tell him I said so - and that he’s set a high bar for gifts. Next time he makes something, I might have to commission one for myself just to keep up.”

You laughed and swatted his arm. Diavolo’s delighted laughter once again filled the room as he pulled out the festival notes. Even without Barbatos present, his quiet care still lingered sweetly around you.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

simeon

- angels scent glands aren't as strong as those of demons, but their scent can still be picked up on by both celestial beings

- i think it would be considered taboo to angels to scent a human, so he wouldn't do it until you're officially together

- you learn from Luke's big mouth that angels can scent people, and ask Simeon why he's never tried to do it do you. does he not like you enough?

- he explains that angels don't scent others as.. flippantly as demons do. there's more rules around it, more things that could go wrong if he did

- eventually though, as his loyalty to the Celestial Realm starts to fade, you notice him purposefully rubbing his hip against yours when you cuddle

- he doesn't bring it up - so you don't either - when he pushes his head into your neck at a certain angle, or makes sure your fingers are interlaced when you hold hands

- once he turns human, he's content with sharing a perfume or cologne with you. he's confident in your relationship at this point and doesn't feel the need to be possessive in that way, but he'll proudly wear whatever scent you ask of him

- he's more enticed by physical proof of possession, like matching jewelry. if you're lucky, you might be able to get him to agree to a small tattoo

~~

Something was bothering Simeon - that much was obvious. He had been uncharacteristically moody at RAD, hardly speaking to anyone besides you. When he did talk to you it was strained, like he was holding something back.

Now, sitting next to him in your room as you watched a movie, he was still stiff. Still distracted, clearly thinking something over. He'd spent the entire movie almost refusing to look at you, mouth moving like he was whispering something to himself.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was gonna break up with you.

What he did instead was; slowly, as if afraid he was going to scare you off, he grabbed your hand in his. Not the way he usually did - his go-to was never intertwining your fingers, the way they currently were. You knew he couldn't control his scenting, and he was afraid the consequences that could come along with it.

But in this moment, he seemingly didn't care. Weaving his fingers between yours, you knew his scent was rubbing off on you. Simeon squeezed lightly, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand - another risky move. He didn't turn to face you, eyes trained on the movie, but you could see the tips of his ears heating just a little.

solomon

- it's solomon so obviously he uses magic to bring out the natural pheremones in the two of you. this way, you can scent each other!

- he can and will alter the scents the two of you give off if you want (he can turn you into a yankee candle if you really want), but he prefers to ramp up your natural smell pervert

- honestly prefers you scenting him. he likes to see the demons at RAD get pissed when he simply walks by

- he'll create a potion that gives you both the same scenting capabilities that demons have, and then immediately start complaining that you aren't affectionate enough

- sits you in his lap while he writes up new spell ideas, and won't let you leave until he's satisfied your scent has rubbed off on him enough (plot twist: he's never truly satisfied, sometimes he just has to pee)

- if you get too close to another demon or try to scent one of the brothers in front of him, he immediately casts a negation spell to get rid of your stronger scent. he's petty like that

- and if you come home smelling like anyone else but you or him? now you're getting pinned to the bed and he's scenting you

~~

The glass vial glowed soft gold as Solomon swirled the liquid one last time, "Bottoms up, darling.”

He had called you to Purgatory Hall roughly an hour ago, for what he called, "a simple experiment." You'd ended up being forced to help him harvest the nectar from about 100 golden, sweet-smelling flowers, with him insisting the entire time it would be worth it.

You looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and drank. The potion tasted like starlight and honey, sliding down your throat with a warm shimmer. Almost immediately, your nose sharpened - every scent in the room sharpened into vivid color. And Solomon… he smelled like ancient parchment, ozone, and something dangerously sweet, like night-blooming jasmine and mischief.

He immediately pounced on you, pulling you into a hug to nuzzle his face to yours, "Ha! Now everyone at RAD will know who you really belong to."

He pulled back, mischievous grin on his face, "Your turn."

You reached your hand up, and he leaned down with an expectant expression. You hesitated, and then...

Tapped his nose. Complete with a little, 'boop!'

He gasped, straightening up with an offended hand on his chest. "Not enough,” he declared, tugging you flush against him again with surprising strength.

His nose pressed to your throat, voice muffled and petulant, “Fix it. Scent me properly or I’ll brew a stronger batch and you’ll never leave this room again.”

The group is horrified as they plan a tactical retreat, finding it easier to thwart the Fantasy Villain’s attacks which are suddenly less frequent.  The group just assumes you’ve been enchanted because since you’ve locked eyes with him you’ve been unable to stand on your feet. Wide-eyed and breathing heavy you just can’t stop the heat climbing over your face and ears as you replay the moment you met over and over. 

“You realize he’s a part of the ugliest most horrible race known to all of Azarothan.”

“If that’s ugly then I’m dead!”

“M-maybe he did enchant them?”

Meanwhile, the Villain’s returned to home base, shedding his armor and dismissing his entourage. Sat on his throne he replays the words you’ve said to him…over and over….and over again. His ears are turning a deep blue and he can’t help the involuntary reaction of the volcano attached to his castle bubbling with excitement.

“They-they think I’m beautiful?!”

He’s reeling with an overflow of energy and unknown vigor when he recalls your awestruck face as you fell to your knees clutching your enchanted tool. He can’t stop the thought of you in that same position but in a different setting. Cursing his lacking imagination he concocts his usual magic to spy on the troupe with his crystal ball but this time he’s focused solely on you. 

“Surely they’ll brag about the enchantment they left on me…..and maybe talk about their own infatuation again.”

It strokes a different kind of pride when he hears you deny being cursed. The feelings are mutual. He’s over the moon all four of them. You have to understand the Fantasy Villain has never been told something so flattering. 

“From another world….figures. This world could never make such…a perfect soul.”

Since their upbringing, they’ve been met with nothing but scorn and hatred. Vowing to rule and change the world that did that to him. If others did express interest it was because he had power or was literally about to kill them. Your reaction, your unadulterated feelings for him, the tug at his soul is the only sign he needs before his objective changes. 

“I wanted to rule the world so I could change the world for me. But now I’m going to change the world so I can rule with them.”

He means it. The troops are given new orders, the deadly nightmarish beasts are given new tasks, and he’s already concocting a million different plans to attain you. He watches the crystal ball relentlessly trying to hear and see as much as he can to learn more about you. He realizes very quickly that he really hates those adventurers of yours.

“C’mon (Y/n)! Just because you’re attracted to the enemy doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to destroy the world!”

“Yeah (Y/n), you’ve got to get your head in the game. We need you!”

“I–your right…sorry guys…I just don’t think I’ve ever seen someone who fits my preferences so perfectly.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“But one look in his galaxy-like eyes and it felt like I did.”

He really hates them. Listening to them talk you out of your feelings for him. Before you arrived they were minor pests. Simply a small roadblock that he would eventually crush to shatter the hopes of the people when they needed them most. Now they were just obstacles in the way of his goal–you.

“Sire those adventurers you told us to keep an eye on are on the move. Should I give the order to attack?”

“No…summon the siren I’d like to take a different approach.”

He gets incredibly crafty, despite only meeting you once he can tell you aren’t heartless like he. He’s certain should you find him to be responsible for the death of anyone you’ve met you’d reject his love. So he’ll make it his plan to slowly break your little troupe, such spunky and erratic individuals may be just the only tool he needs.

“My orders, My Ruler?”

“Join their group. Do what you like with whoever you wish. 

“?”

“Bring discord how you see fit.”

“Yes, My Ruler!”

His plan is perfect and the group isn’t nearly suspicious enough to reject his double agent. Who’s presence triggers the cracks that this group had always had. When the group splits apart needing to cool off you’re left alone, a perfect chance for a moment with you. 

“Hello, little hero.”

“Whoa, what are you doing here? My troupe’s not too far! A-a-a-nd I–I’m willing to fight this time!”

“That’s a shame because I came to speak to you.”

“Really! Ahem, I mean about what?”

“About those words, you said to me….I wonder did you know what they’ve ignited.”

Taking advantage of your easily lowered guard, he speaks the truth. Coming in close enough to feel the heat escaping from your armor, he’ll share the tale of his past. Which as he predicted makes you so sympathetic and just as willing to sing his praises as the moment you met. 

“But you’re not ugly or horrid like they all say.”

“No?”

“I think you’re beyond handsome. One of the most ethereal beings I’ve ever met.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I know so… I’m just sorry no one else has told you that.”

“I’m happy it was you.”

When you let him dive in for a kiss, naturally you accept it. Returning his vigor in kind if not with sympathy or just your attraction, you miss how he places a magical mark on your neck. Or how he casually enchants your armor to protect you better. Or how he influences the flora and fauna of the forest to curve in the direction you came from essentially blocking the path back to your camp. When he reluctantly releases you he further promises he’s never letting you leave his grasp. Promising to one day have you on the throne beside him.

“I must return and so must you. Your friends will worry.”

“Oh…you’re right.”

“Don’t sound so sad, we’ll meet again.”

“Not just in my dreams.”

“Not just in your dreams.”

He leaves not only giddy with love but with a new plan in mind. He prepared to be faced with a struggle, to have to fight for your affection as the enemy you’d be fighting. But he wasn’t prepared for your heart to be swayed so easily. Licking your remnants on his lips, he knows that you can be deceived, and conveniently so can the rest of the world.

Fantasy Villain devises that if the history of his race’s banishment and exile were portrayed in a certain light. You could defect to his side without guilt and if some of the more stubborn adventurers were to also agree that’d make things so much easier. Pretending to be persuaded to sign some peace treaty after being gifted enough land to rule over with you beside him didn’t sound too bad.