Okay Okay, My Ideas:

In Your Defense [PT - 4 - Diasomnia]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Happy late V-Day :)

Malleus is forever amused at the many holidays humans entertain. They're certainly festive and unique. This one relies on red, pink, white, and sweets! He's absolutely fascinated by the sheer amount of heart-shaped items and clever cards but the idea of so many sweets turns his stomach a bit.

Just a bit.

The almost-cloying smell of sugar hits his nose and it's nearly enough to make him leave the shop. He reminds himself that he's not required to eat the sweets nor get anything massive and that does well enough to settle his stomach. He stoops to enter, green eyes turned skyward lest he tangle himself in the cute, frilly banners strung back and forth across the store. Sparkly pink pens draw his attention, the tops decorated with hearts, and he wonders if his grandmother would be interested in it.

Perhaps the heart-shaped trinket box next to it? She's always looking for things to sort and contain her hoard. He picks the deepest one, a great red heart, and puts it in his basket along with the pen.

He meanders through the aisles, picking up an obnoxiously adorable pillow for Lilia. It's meant to look like an envelope sealed with a heart sticker and would do well for his back on gaming nights (which are most nights). Silver and Sebek are much harder to buy for, as they're quite practical and not really prone to whimsy like Lilia. Malleus recalls Lilia trying to broaden Sebek's...people skills...and sets his basket between his feet as he peruses the books. Some of the titles are simple and honest but he thinks Sebek would be hurt if he opened How to Make Friends so he opts for Success in Every Situation.

For Silver, who has hobbies but is always wondering how to incorporate things into training exercises, he picks up a crocheting kit and an origami practice book. Both of these things rely on manual dexterity and patience, the perfect compliments to swordsmanship! Satisfied, Malleus rejoins the line. He's distracted, untangling a heart-shaped hanger with curly gold ribbon when he hears it.

He can't UNHEAR it! Not with his fae ears.

How much do you cost? Malleus clucks his tongue in disapproval, careful not to move his feet lest the magic push down into the shop floor and start to splinter it. Because it needs to go somewhere, he's not surprised that it radiates off of him and starts shaking the shelves. Glimpses of light peeking through slats in the front of the shop are snuffed out by darkness as thunder roars in the distance. The shop lights flicker and buzz as if to protest the conversation on his behalf.

The shop goes deathly quiet. It's enough for him to reign in his magic, that cretin's voice no longer grating on his ears. Malleus swallows down the smoke tickling his throat and walks calmly to the front. His shoes echo quietly but pointedly on the floor. He can see the cretin shrinking with every step and it has nothing to do with the fact that he towers over him.

"Be careful asking the cost of things, human," Malleus looks down at the man, "you may find yourself in a situation where the cost is too steep and the unwillingness to pay leaves you worse off than what you started. So ask yourself: what are you willing to pay? Is the price worth it?"

"No," he whispers in the absolute terror Malleus is all too familiar with. "No, it's not."

You were the first one to not look at him in such a way, and the realization hits him when he locks eyes with you. Yes, the man is running--tripping--out of the store but you look glowing and so happy to see him! His heart swells immeasurably in his chest. Fatally, he fears on occasion.

The lights flicker back to life in the shop, sun caressing the outside once more. Malleus apologizes to the people he cut in front of, gesturing for them to resume natural order but they refuse. He thanks them and hands you his basket. Before you can scan anything, Sam slides in to finish the transaction. "After I check out these lovely imps I'm going to close down for a bit and do inventory, check some things. You should grab what you were looking at earlier!"

You give him a curious look but take the opportunity. Sam probably didn't want to say he was worried about his freezers and fridges after that little stunt. Malleus' magic tends to cast a small effect field that wears off when he's not around. You're careful to hide the ice cream cake from Malleus, glad Sam has charmed bags for cold goods.

"Might I interest you in coming to Diasomnia for the holiday, Child of Man?" Malleus tips his head as he walks out the door. "We've had great success keeping Lilia out of the kitchen this time. He's not fond of marshmallows, you see."

"Sounds interesting! I'd love to! I have something to share, anyways."

"As do we!" Malleus takes your hand and teleports you to Diasomnia where you walk into a small feast catered by various places in town. Diasomnia students were picking and conversating. Malleus guides you to the tea room where there five places set. Lilia, Sebek, and Silver had made their plates and a pot of tea. Malleus pulls out your chair for you and takes your plate and his, not giving you time to make your own.

By the time he returns you've set out the heart-shaped ice cream cake.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Malleus!"

"Quite." he smiles down at you, careful to keep his hair from the food as he sets the plate down carefully.

----

Lilia is a bit put out that Valentine's Day doesn't really have any funny gag items like the April fool's day Sebek and Silver loathe. Surely there must be something, right? He can't stop his nose from turning up at the airy sweetness of marshmallows, finding them stuffed damn near everywhere in the store. Marshmallows have no place in his basket but crunchy suckers and candy hearts do. He giggles to himself as he tries on a pair of heart glasses and finds they actually cut the light quite well.

Super cute glasses for super cute him, right?

He gets Silver a cute stuffed squirrel holding a little sign saying 'NUTS ABOUT YOU!' and starts rooting around for something dragon related for Malleus. Lilia's forced to settle for a dinosaur card that says 'I love you THIS BIG! (My arms are short, okay?)' on the inside. Normally he'd get Malleus an ice cream treat but he found the secret stash and doesn't think Queen Maleficia would want him to have too much. Sebek is hard to buy for, as unyielding as Baur, but Lilia thinks a book of exercise challenges will keep him occupied.

Someone had stuffed a heart-speckled, tinsel-rimmed noisemaker near the book and he couldn't be more delighted. Lilia finds a Valentine's-themed confetti popper near fake mailboxes a few aisles over. Sadly, it's the only one of its kind. He consoles himself with a bottle of tomato juice and gets in line.

"How much do you cost? Come now, boy!" Lilia wants to bite his own tongue for saying 'boy' in public like he's old. He's not even 700 yet! Not very cute of him. "Why worry about the price when you don't even have your wallet?" he's waiving said wallet in the man's face.

Being an ex-general, it was nothing to pick his pocket. A mix of genuine skill and fae speed, naturally. Maybe a little magic to get him up to the front of the line. "H-Hey! Give that back!" the guy tries to grab it and Lilia casually flicks it back and forth out of reach.

Neither fast nor smart, this one. Sad.

"I'll trade you," Lilia offers with a sweet smile that belies the fact that he's not playing. "You leave this innocent cashier alone and you get your wallet back. Sounds good, yes?"

The man tries to grab it several more times before Lilia flicks it halfway across the store. It lands about six aisles over. Predictably, the whelp goes to get it.

"Next in line, please!" you call out, the two of you grinning at each other.

---

Silver knows he shouldn't enable his father's late-night gaming but when it comes to Lilia, he doesn't have a lot of ideas. The drinks are limited edition, colorful, and somewhat dessert-y. They claim to have vitamins and zero marshmallows so Silver thinks a can or two won't hurt. He picks up a few bags of popcorn and some 'mystery box' style candy snacks. Trying to guess the flavor of the jelly beans and fruit bars was sure to please Lilia's...unique palette.

Sebek's gift was a gamble; the artwork on the Fae and Folklore was absolutely gorgeous--gilded in gold and watercolor--but he didn't know if the contents would turn into a rant about humans and their inaccuracies. He decided he was willing to take the risk. Sebek was an avid reader and it might give Malleus a moment of reprieve (even though he didn't mind).

He'd really only come into Sam's for those two; he couldn't shop for Sebek while out in town with him and there were practically no energy drinks to speak of. Apparently online ordering was popular and someone had bought up quite a few. Malleus' gift was tucked away in Diasomnia because Silver was still on the fence about giving it to him. It was meant for children but you were supposed to be able to dig up your own bones and fossils like you were excavating.

It's the thought that counts, right?

Bags of mixed nuts catch his eye and he stops to grab a few. He meant to get some when he bought birdseed in town but it slipped his mind. Silver waits patiently in line, nearly lulled to sleep when the chatter melted into background noise.

"How much do you cost?"

He startles himself awake. That voice was so loud and begging for attention! Begging to be funny. Dredges of sleepiness disappeared with every blink; Silver's brow furrowed when lines upon lines of price stickers came into view. Who the hell was asking about the price of something when it was posted all over the store?! Sam was quite diligent in that; he would never leave you guessing!

Silver finds himself very awake when he realizes you're being accosted by this nonsense. He doesn't know if you look more mad or upset but the guy is clearly waiting for you to feed into something you don't want. Something in him burns and Silver finds himself clutching the handle of the basket so hard it almost cracks.

He stomps up to the man, his aurora borealis eyes boring holes into him. "Considering how you'll pay for the lack of consideration and insolence?" Silver asks him. He sets the basket down and crosses his arms.

He's prepared to roll up his sleeves and start swinging. Lilia would approve, he's sure.

"Lack of consideration?" the guy guffaws, "What do you mean--"

"Look around you! Who likes this? Who wants this? They don't!" Silver jerks his head to you, "And they don't!" he throws an arm out to the people behind him. The guy starts to look at different faces and Silver knows when his shoulders slump, he's won. Satisfied but still a little pissed, Silver goes to the back of the line and watches the man like a hawk to make sure he leaves.

"My hero!" you tease when he finally makes it up to you. Silver can only blush.

-----

Sebek didn't really see the point in Valentine's Day because you don't need a dedicated day to care for people. You also don't need to tell them, just show them! He's not quite disgusted at the amount of candy and sweets he sees but he doesn't know how to feel about it. It reminds him of all the times his father gave him candy and sweets unprompted. He didn't not appreciate it but he thought it was a little underhanded that his father was a dentist handing out sweets.

Who wants soft things, anyways? They need to make crunchy Valentine's candy! He finds candy bracelets and his mouth waters a little, imagining the sweetness and the crunch. It was about the only tolerable thing in this store. The rest of it was an infestation of pink and red and cute.

Gross.

He weeds through bad puns and tacky cards until he finds one for his mother and father. Not too sappy but not cold, either. Sufficient. The attempt to find Malleus a decent, non-bedazzled pen was almost futile but he thinks his Lord will like it for letters to Queen Maleficia. Grandfather Baur gets snacks these humans might find a little tough but the crocodilian fae will like the chew and challenge.

Silver was last on his list. Sebek tried to control the disgust on his face as he looked at all manner of pillows---fluffy ones, pink ones, fuzzy ones, soft wispy ones, ones with happy faces on them--on the aisle. Against his better judgement, he began stretching and squeezing them. Being half fae, it was drilled into him not to be a poor gift-giver.

And if he had to stand near pink, fluffy, glittery pillows he wasn't going to half-ass this. As he flipped them and patted them, Sebek was sorely wishing he could've found something while he was in town. Lilia and Malleus came so easily!

WHY MUST SILVER BE A PAIN? DUMB HUMAN!

You know you don't mean that, Sebek thought to himself, frowning a bit as he tested what must've been the twentieth pillow. Confident with his choice but disappointed that it was a pink cloud pillow, he tries not to sulk as he gets in line. He snaps to alertness when he hears the idiot human ask how much do you cost.

He can hear you trying to steer the conversation back to checking out and the guy says 'yeah, I'm checking something out' and Sebek is done.

"YOU ARE INTOLERABLE AND THAT IS INAPPROPRIATE!" he shouts at the man, pointing a finger at him.

There is a pause. The man looks down at his basket. "I'm not taking that from a guy with a pink pillow." he snorts.

Something in Sebek snaps. He takes said pink pillow and closes the space before the guy can put his hands up.

"SAM! SAM?" you call out as feathers explode and start raining everywhere. IT'S A PILLOW!

SAM DOESN'T BUY CHEAP STUFF! HOW DID IT BUST?!

You watch as Sebek effortlessly dodges every sloppy punch, pillow bunched angrily in his fist. The guy's already been smacked in the face, the stomach, just about everywhere one could think to aim a pillow. It lands solidly and you're not sure if it's because of the feathers bunched in what's left of the pillow or how hard Sebek is swinging. All of a sudden, the pillow is abandoned and they're grappling.

Sebek has the upper hand in this, too. It's not really a contest when he can wrap around him, slip under him, and fold him up like a lawn chair. He lets the guy flail in his arms, knees pinned to his chest, and drops him unceremoniously. The guy tries to take Sebek down at the knees and he's unfazed. Sebek goes dead weight on the man, falling unapologetically and knocking the air out of him.

The man is stunned and Sebek picks him up in one arm like a limp toddler. He's muttering curses all the way to the door, lobbing the man out like a sack of potatoes. No one moves as he disappears between the shelf and reemerges with a new pink cloud pillow.

Sam walks out to the sight of Sebek AND HIS FLOOR absolutely LITTERED with feathers. Surprisingly, he's not angry. Sebek is allowed to check out on the condition that he helps you sweep. It wasn't your fault, of course, but you're currently on the clock. He waits to the side, cheeks dusted pink, until you hand him a broom.

"Thanks for that," you smile.

"Say nothing, human!" Sebek stares at the floor, sweeping so hard he cracks the broom handle. Sam just sighs and gets another one from the back.

Sam's shop having one of those gumball machines where you can get a cute little plastic ring, Yuu is there with their fave twst boy and immediately gives the little piece of plastic they got to him and states with a serious face-

"Were married now."

I need some teasing romantic fluff, can I request the housewardens reaction to being pulled into a random room by their lover and being smother with kisses. Please and thank you 💖💖

Kiss And Make-Out

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] dormleaders

- [𝐩:𝐬] suggestive themes . mentions of making out ofc

Note: Honestly thing took me shorter than I thought it would to write Lol. And I tried my best to not make it extremely suggestive... But I then realized I have free will and just made it regularly suggestive.

Riddle Rosehearts

The hallway was quiet, lined with the dignified wallpaper and polished wood of Heartslabyul’s east wing. Riddle was walking beside you, dutifully listing the upcoming events for the next dorm meeting, when you suddenly grabbed his wrist.

"Wait—what are you—!" he sputtered, blinking rapidly as you tugged him into a nearby, empty reading room.

The door slammed shut behind you. Bookshelves stood in neat rows, sunlight streaming through high windows. But you didn’t give Riddle a chance to take in the room. You spun him to face you, pressing your body close, your hands already cupping his cheeks.

“[Name]!” Riddle gasped, eyes wide, ears turning red. “This is highly improper—”

You kissed him before he could finish.

His breath hitched as your lips met his in a flurry of soft, passionate kisses—one on the lips, another on the cheek, then two more down his neck. His back gently met the shelf behind him, a soft thump muffled by his uniform. He stood stiff for a second, flustered beyond belief, but then…

"...You're being completely unreasonable," he mumbled between kisses, although his hands were now resting on your waist. "I can't focus when you do that."

But he didn’t stop you.

Your kisses moved down to his collarbone, and Riddle squirmed just a bit. His face was a flaming red now, his breathing shallow. You could feel the way his heart was thudding under your fingertips as you ran your hands through his soft red hair.

“I’m trying to behave…” he whispered.

“But you’re so cute when you’re flustered,” you replied sweetly, stealing another kiss from his lips.

Eventually, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a quiet, surrendering sigh. “Only you could get away with something like this…” he muttered, arms now wrapped around your waist. “But if Trey walks in, I’m blaming you.”

Leona Kingscholar

You knew Leona was headed back from Spelldrive practice—his shirt clinging to his broad chest, his hair tousled, golden skin glistening with sweat. You had timed it perfectly.

As he turned the corner toward the dorm hallway, you jumped out from behind a tapestry, grabbing his shirt with both hands.

“Tch—what the hell—”

You dragged him into an unused music room, slamming the door behind you.

“Oi, herbivore, are you trying to start a fight?” Leona snapped, eyebrows furrowed, tail lashing in confusion.

But your only answer was kissing him hard.

The snarl caught in his throat immediately vanished as you caught him by surprise, hands sliding up his toned chest, lips moving over his with soft, heated insistence. For a moment, he stood stock-still, blinking, your kiss leaving him dazed. Then you kissed the corner of his mouth, then under his jaw, and he let out a slow, very audible groan.

“You really woke up and chose chaos today, huh,” he muttered against your lips.

He let his bag drop with a thud. “You could’ve waited ‘til I showered, but nah, you want your king like this?”

You nipped at his lip playfully, whispering, “I want you like this especially.”

That was enough.

Leona’s hands gripped your hips with a growl, spinning you and pressing you back against the wall, kissing you with fierce hunger now. His tongue brushed yours, his fangs grazing your lower lip as he kissed you harder, deeper. His tail flicked behind him, betraying his rising desire.

“I should punish you for ambushing me like that,” he murmured against your ear, voice gravelly.

“But I won’t.”

His smirk was dangerous and lazy all at once.

“Not yet, anyway.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul had just finished another long meeting in Mostro Lounge. You waited until the twins had left him alone in the hallway before you struck.

“Azul, can I borrow you for a second?” you said sweetly, tugging at his sleeve.

“Ah, certainly, my pearl—wait, where are we—?”

You pulled him into a supply closet of all places. It was dimly lit, a little dusty, but private. Azul looked around in confusion, pushing up his glasses.

“I—is this about the contract I was drafting—?”

You didn’t answer. You kissed him.

The poor boy short-circuited. He froze as your hands slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp. You kissed his lips, then his cheek, then the underside of his jaw, and he visibly shivered.

“[Name]—w-wait—why now? I-I didn’t prepare—!” he stammered, glasses askew, already blushing violently.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, long and slow this time. Azul's knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself by gripping the shelves behind him. His breath was trembling as you ran your fingers down his sides.

“You… you’re going to kill me,” he whispered, eyes wide behind his fogged glasses. “This is too much for a man of my constitution…”

But even as he said that, his hands found your waist, gently pulling you closer. His lips brushed your ear.

“I suppose I shouldn’t complain about having such an affectionate girlfriend…”

You smiled. “You love it.”

“…Don’t tell the twins.”

Kalim Al-Asim

You caught Kalim just as he was coming down the golden staircase in Scarabia, humming to himself, all sunny and unbothered. His eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“[Name]!! I was just about to look for—WHOAAA!!”

You didn’t let him finish. You grabbed his wrist and yanked him into the nearest room—one of the spare guest suites with gauzy curtains and sun spilling in through the arched windows. He stumbled in after you, laughing the whole time.

“You’re so full of surprises today—ACK!”

You tackled him onto the cushions, landing right on top of him with a mischievous grin. Before he could ask anything, you started kissing him—peppering his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, and his lips with kisses so fast he couldn’t even catch his breath.

“Wha—mmf! Wahahaha—[Name]!! Wait!!” Kalim laughed uncontrollably, trying to catch your hands in his. “You’re kissing me too fast—I’m gonna pass out from happiness!!”

You finally paused just long enough to look down at him. His white hair was a little messy, his golden eyes gleaming, his face flushed and grinning like the sun itself.

“Was that all for me?” he asked breathlessly, cheeks glowing.

You nodded and leaned in again, kissing his lips a little slower this time.

He melted under you like butter on hot sand.

“Wow,” he murmured, now dazed. “You’re… amazing. I think my heart just did a triple somersault. I should throw a party just to celebrate this moment!”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “You really would, huh?”

“Of course!! I’ve never felt this lucky in my life!”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was walking briskly through the upper halls of Pomefiore, hair and uniform immaculate as ever, when you stepped directly into his path.

“Vil,” you said, breathless and determined.

He arched a single, elegant eyebrow. “Yes, darling?”

Without answering, you grabbed his hand and pulled him into a side hallway, then pushed open a door into one of the unused dressing rooms. The full-length mirrors and velvet furniture gave the room an intimate feel—one Vil would usually approve of.

“What exactly are we—mmph!”

You shut him up with your lips.

You kissed him firmly, again and again, ignoring his stunned stillness. His back lightly hit the vanity table, and your hands found his jaw, tilting his head as you kissed a path from his lips to his cheek to that spot right below his ear.

Vil sucked in a sharp breath.

“[Name]… this is hardly a—ah—suitable location…” he said, voice breathy despite himself.

You kissed down his neck, and he gripped the edge of the table hard enough for the wood to creak.

“…I’m trying to remain composed,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re ruining my lip gloss.”

You kissed him again, slower this time, tasting the faint berry gloss on your lips. “I’ll buy you another one,” you whispered.

His hands finally slid up your arms, resting on your waist. His expression softened, pride melting into fond exasperation.

“You’re so bold when you want to be,” he murmured, brushing his forehead against yours. “But you should know… if you keep kissing me like that, I might not let you leave this room for a while.”

Idia Shroud

You had to be sneaky with Idia—if you startled him too hard, he’d vanish into a puff of blue flame and digital pixels.

So when you saw him walking back from the library with headphones in and Ortho floating behind him, you waited until he was alone—just outside the server room in Ignihyde.

You pounced.

“AHHH—SYSTEM ERROR, WHAT THE—?!”

You yanked him into an empty tech room and closed the door behind you. Idia stumbled backward, hair flaring slightly blue with panic.

“W-Wait, are we being chased?! Is this a boss battle? Did you glitch through reality again—?”

You didn’t let him finish.

You kissed him. Right on his startled, slightly parted lips.

His brain blue-screened.

Idia’s body stiffened like a glitching NPC. You kissed him again, this time on the cheek, then again, trailing little kisses along his jawline. His hoodie bunched under your fingers as you leaned into him, holding him close, while his hands flailed in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“M-M-M-M-Moe overload—emergency shutdown imminent—!!”

You giggled and pressed a softer kiss to the tip of his nose.

That seemed to reboot him. Slowly, his shaking arms wrapped around you, awkward at first, but growing tighter as you kept going. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Are you real? Like… for real real?”

“Very real,” you said, kissing him one more time.

He leaned into you then, forehead pressed to your shoulder, still flustered but clinging to you like you were the only stable thing in his world.

“…You’re OP,” he mumbled. “Totally broken character build. It’s unfair. Nerf girlfriend pls.”

Malleus Draconia

It was late evening, just after sundown, and you spotted Malleus walking alone through one of the lesser-used halls of Night Raven College—moonlight catching on his horns, his cape flowing behind him like royalty incarnate.

“Malleus!” you called, jogging up beside him.

He turned with a small smile, the kind that he reserved just for you. “Ah, my love. What fortune brings you to this path?”

Without warning, you grabbed his hand—cool, calloused, always gentle—and tugged him through the closest heavy oak door. The room was empty, dark except for the faint shimmer of magic-laced torches. Dusty furniture and a grand window gave it an old, castle-like feel. Perfect.

“Where are we going?” he asked, tilting his head. “Is there danger?”

You didn’t answer. You pushed him back gently against the wall and kissed him.

His eyes went wide, not in shock, but in the quiet kind of awe that only Malleus seemed capable of. You kissed his lips, then his cheek, then the pale stretch of skin along his neck. Your hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him closer, kissing him again and again—slow, soft, reverent.

“Dearest,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion, “your affection is… overwhelming.”

You kissed the tip of his jaw. “Is that a problem?”

“…Not in the slightest.”

His voice dropped low, velvety and deep, as he rested his forehead against yours. “You wield power greater than most—did you know? Not in magic, but in how effortlessly you undo me.”

You smiled and kissed him again, this time slower, and something in him finally gave way. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as his lips met yours again, more certain now, more claiming. His kisses were intense and unhurried—like time stopped for you and him alone.

“If this is what it means to be mortal,” he whispered between kisses, “then I never wish to be a god again.”

𑁍ࠬܓ how they react when they see you hurt (housewardens & jamil)

synopsis: pain is not something he ever wanted to associate with you. but seeing you injured—knowing someone dared to harm you—shatters his composure. for some, it’s rage; for others, panic. and for a few, it’s cold, terrifying control—until he knows you’re safe. but one thing is certain: someone will pay for this.

featured character(s): riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, kalim al-asim, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia.

content warning(s): angst, mentions of violence and implied revenge, mild injury descriptions (ex. bruises, wounds, pain etc.), spoilers for book 6 in idia’s part.

a/n: they’re just being silly, guys. <3

link(s): (masterlist)

riddle rosehearts

riddle prides himself on maintaining control.

his entire life has been shaped by discipline, by structure, by the belief that emotions must be ruled by logic. he does not allow himself to be reckless, does not allow himself to be overcome. everything he does is precise, calculated, deliberate.

but the moment he sees you hurt—

everything unravels.

his breath catches in his throat, his heart slamming against his ribs, his mind instantly abandoning all reason. his entire world sharpens to a singular point—you—and all at once, every ounce of restraint he’s spent years perfecting is hanging by a fragile, fraying thread.

“who did this?”

his voice is sharper than you’ve ever heard it, trembling with something raw, something dangerously close to rage.

he’s beside you in an instant, dropping to his knees without hesitation, his hands hovering—not touching, not yet, because what if he makes it worse? what if he hurts you somehow? his fingers tremble, itching to reach out, to make sure—

“tell me where it hurts,” he says, but his voice wavers. “tell me what happened.”

his hands are gentle but firm as he checks you over, his usually practiced movements clumsy with the weight of panic. he doesn’t even realize his breathing is uneven, doesn’t even notice the way his shoulders are shaking as he looks you over, as he takes in every bruise, every wound, every sign that something happened—

something he didn’t prevent.

“you should have been more careful,” he scolds, but the words come out thin, forced, like he’s trying to hold something else back.

you try to tell him you’re fine, try to brush it off, but he doesn’t believe you. his eyes flicker with frustration, his jaw tightening, his grip on your wrist just a fraction too tense.

“don’t be ridiculous—you’re hurt,” he snaps, and then immediately exhales, forcing himself to breathe. “just… stay still. let me handle this.”

he refuses to let you wave it away. refuses to leave it alone. you are not fine, and he will not let you convince him otherwise.

but even as he focuses on making sure you’re okay, something else burns at the edges of his mind, pressing against his temples like an unbearable weight—

who did this to you?

his hands clench into fists. his breathing evens out, but his posture remains rigid, coiled tight like a string about to snap.

because once you’re safe—once he’s certain that you’re okay, that you’ll recover, that he didn’t fail you—

then, and only then, will he deal with the one responsible.

his mother may have taught him restraint, but some things are unforgivable.

and hurting you is one of them.

leona kingscholar

danger.

his body registers it before his mind does, his instincts kicking in the moment his eyes land on you—hurt, vulnerable, not okay.

his vision tunnels, his pulse spikes, and suddenly, the world around him doesn’t matter anymore.

“what the hell happened?”

his voice is a low, guttural growl, thick with something dark, something uncontrollable. his hands clench at his sides, every muscle coiled, his body ready—ready to fight, ready to destroy, ready to eliminate whatever put you in this state.

but then he sees it—sees the way you’re holding yourself, the way your breath hitches, the way you flinch just slightly—and suddenly, the anger has to be forced down, swallowed like bile in the back of his throat.

because right now, you come first.

so he moves, closing the distance in a single step, his hands reaching for you before he can stop himself. his hands are gentle from the start, unusually so. these hands of his are capable of devastation, of turning flesh to dust, of summoning ruin with a mere touch. but against you, they are careful, restrained. the second he feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the tension in his hold eases, his hands softening, steadying you instead of breaking you.

“who did this?”

his voice is still dangerous, still thick with that barely restrained fury, but now there’s something else underneath it.

concern.

fear.

he hates how it makes his chest tighten. hates the way it lingers at the edges of his thoughts, nagging at him, clawing at something buried deep beneath his usual indifference.

he kneels in front of you, his sharp, emerald eyes scanning every inch of you with terrifying intensity. his fingers ghost over your injuries, his jaw clenched so tight you can hear his teeth grind together.

“tell me.” his voice is dangerous now.

and then—when you hesitate, when you try to brush it off, when you lie—

his patience snaps.

“don’t give me that.” his grip tightens just slightly, his expression darkening. “you’re hurt. don’t act like it’s nothing.”

there’s no room for argument in his tone. no patience for your stubbornness, no willingness to accept anything less than the truth.

if you try to keep it from him, if you refuse to say who’s responsible, then fine—he’ll find out himself.

because someone did this.

and once you’re safe—once he’s sure you’re okay, once he’s made damn sure you’ll recover—

then he’s hunting.

“stay here,” he mutters, standing to his full height, his tail flicking behind him in barely restrained aggression. “i’ll take care of it.”

and if you try to stop him?

his gaze flickers down to you, something sharp, something scorching, like the unrelenting heat of the desert sun at its peak—blistering, unforgiving, merciless.

“no one lays a damn hand on you and gets away with it.”

and then he’s gone, a storm of unbridled wrath, a lion on the hunt.

azul ashengrotto

azul is a man of careful calculations.

every word, every action, every decision he makes is deliberate. he has spent years crafting a persona of charm, wit, and effortless composure—one that allows him to stay in control, no matter the circumstances. he does not flinch, does not waver, does not lose to uncertainty.

but then he sees you hurt.

and suddenly, all of that control is gone.

his breath catches, his body locks up, and for one horrifying moment, his mind is utterly blank.

“you—what happened?”

his voice doesn’t sound like his own. it’s too sharp, too raw, lacking the usual smoothness he prides himself on.

he rushes to you without thinking, but the second he’s close enough to touch, he hesitates. his fingers hover inches above your skin, his knuckles white with the force of his restraint. his mind is screaming at him to act, to do something, but a terrible thought wedges itself into his panic—

what if i make it worse?

he doesn’t trust his own hands, doesn’t trust his own judgment, not when the sight of you like this is unraveling him from the inside out.

“tell me what hurts,” he demands, his words tumbling out in a way that’s almost frantic. “is it serious? how bad is it?”

his thoughts spiral immediately, jumping to the worst possible conclusions. is it critical? should he be calling for medical attention? what if you’re downplaying it? what if he’s not fast enough?

and then you try to brush it off.

“nothing?” he echoes, breath hitching. his voice almost cracks—and he hates that. “how can you say that when you’re—when you—”

his hands clench into fists, shaking slightly as he forces himself to breathe.

“just—just stay still,” he mutters, voice tight with strain. “i’ll take care of it.”

because if there is one thing he knows, one thing he can control, it’s fixing things. making deals. offering solutions.

“i’ll call a healer. i’ll get whatever you need—whatever you want.”

his words come too fast, his mind still racing, but through it all, his hands never leave yours.

his grip is too tight, fingers wrapped around yours like a lifeline, like letting go isn’t an option he’s willing to consider.

because if he lets go—if he loses you—

he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle it.

and when it’s over—when he knows you’ll be okay—he still doesn’t let you out of his sight.

“you scared me,” he murmurs, quieter than before.

his voice is steadier now, but you can still hear the remnants of his fear, lingering in the way his thumb brushes absentmindedly over your knuckles, in the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath this entire time.

and for the first time since you’ve met him—since he built the persona of azul ashengrotto, the untouchable businessman, the man always one step ahead—

he lets you see just how fragile he becomes when it comes to you.

kalim al-asim

kalim is always smiling.

he is a beacon of joy, a burst of light in every room he enters. when things go wrong, he looks for the silver lining. when people are hurting, he lifts them up with his boundless energy. sadness is something he refuses to dwell on, something he fights against with warmth and laughter.

but when he sees you hurt?

his entire world stops.

“oh no, oh no—”

the words leave him before he can think, his breath catching as his heart lurches in his chest. he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause to process what he’s seeing—his body moves, fast and instinctive, rushing to your side.

his hands cradle your face, warm and steady despite the frantic tremor in his touch.

“are you okay? what happened? does it hurt? how bad is it?”

his voice is shaking. he’s shaking.

and when he finally really looks at you, when he takes in the way you wince, the way you hold yourself like you’re trying to hide the pain—his chest tightens, his stomach twisting into something awful.

“why didn’t anyone stop it? why didn’t i stop it?”

guilt. overwhelming, suffocating guilt floods him like a tidal wave.

“i should’ve been there! i should’ve protected you!”

his grip on you tightens—not enough to hurt, just enough to let you know he’s here. he isn’t letting go. he won’t let go.

and then, before you can stop him—before you can tell him it’s not a big deal—his eyes start to glisten.

“kalim, are you—”

“i’m not crying!” he absolutely is. “i just—you scared me!”

his voice wobbles, and suddenly, he’s pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around you too tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“don’t move, okay? just stay right here! i’ll get someone to help—i’ll fix this, i promise!”

if it’s something small—just a minor scrape, a bruise—he still treats it like it’s life-threatening. he refuses to let you walk it off, refuses to let you act like it’s fine.

if it’s something worse? if you are seriously hurt?

he panics, but his movements are certain. without hesitation, he lifts you into his arms, holding you to his chest like you’re something precious, like you belong nowhere else but safe in his hands.

“i’ve got you,” he whispers, voice breaking. “i won’t let anything happen to you.”

and when he finally gets you to safety, when he finally knows you’re okay—

he still won’t stop fussing.

“you need to rest! do you want pillows? i’ll get you pillows! or tea! do you want tea? i’m sure jamil will—jamil! we need tea!”

“kalim, i’m fine—”

“no, you’re not fine! i was so scared!”

his fingers squeeze yours.

and later, when you’re patched up, when the worst of the moment has passed—

he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes.

“don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?”

his voice is softer now, the usual excitement dimmed into something deeply sincere.

“i don’t ever wanna see you hurt again.”

jamil viper

jamil was raised to handle crises.

he has spent his entire life being the one who steps in when things go wrong, the one who fixes things while everyone else panics. no matter the situation, no matter the chaos, no matter the pressure—he is always in control.

so when he sees you hurt, when he registers the way you’re holding yourself, the way your face twists with pain—

his stomach drops.

but his body moves on instinct.

“where?”

his voice is steady. too steady. his mind is screaming, but his tone doesn’t waver, his movements are calculated, precise. he crouches in front of you immediately, eyes scanning you with sharp, assessing precision.

“how bad is it? let me see.”

he doesn’t waste time. doesn’t ask what happened—not yet. because right now, the only thing that matters is making sure you’re okay.

his hands are warm but firm, brushing over you carefully as he checks for injuries. his fingers ghost over your wrist, your arm, the side of your face—everywhere that might be hurt—his touch gentle but filled with purpose.

“it’s not broken,” he murmurs under his breath, half to himself, half to reassure you. “no major swelling… does this hurt?”

and then—when you flinch, when you let out the softest hiss of pain—

something inside him snaps.

his jaw clenches. his breathing slows.

“who.”

his eyes flick up to meet yours, and for the first time, there is something dangerous in his gaze.

“who did this?”

if there is a culprit—if someone is responsible for this—then they are not leaving unscathed.

but even as fury thrums through his veins, even as his mind races with ways to handle the situation, he forces himself to prioritize you first.

“can you walk?” his voice is softer now, his tone slipping back into something controlled, something measured.

if you say yes, he doesn’t let you prove it. he supports you immediately, one arm around your waist, guiding you effortlessly as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

if you say no, he lifts you without hesitation. no warning, no asking—just picking you up, his hold secure, unshakable.

“don’t argue,” he mutters, barely sparing you a glance. “just let me take care of it.”

because he will.

and once he gets you somewhere safe, once he’s made sure you’re being treated properly, once he knows with certainty that you are okay—

then, and only then, does he allow himself to breathe.

“you’re reckless,” he mutters, his voice a mix of exasperation and something far too raw. “i don’t have time to deal with this every time you get yourself hurt, you know.”

but his fingers tighten just slightly where they rest against your arm, betraying the truth behind his words.

because if something had happened—if things had been worse—

he doesn’t even want to think about what he would have done.

vil schoenheit

perfection is vil’s standard.

not just in beauty, not just in his work, but in everything—his composure, his discipline, the way he carries himself. he does not allow himself to be reckless. he does not make careless mistakes. he does not let emotions rule him.

but then he sees you hurt.

and something inside him fractures.

his lips press together, his expression unreadable, his body rigid—the only betrayal of the storm brewing beneath his flawless exterior is the way his fingers tighten just slightly at his sides, the way his breath is a fraction too controlled.

“where are you hurt?”

his voice is steady. cold. clinical. but his eyes—his eyes—

they burn.

he crosses the distance between you in two strides, his gloved fingers already reaching for you. his touch is firm but delicate, brushing over your skin with the kind of precision only someone like him could possess.

“sit down.” it’s not a request. “don’t move until i’ve assessed the damage.”

you try to downplay it, try to insist that it’s nothing, but his sharp gaze cuts through you instantly.

“do not insult me by pretending this is fine,” he snaps, his voice sharp as glass. “you are hurt. i can see it. so let me handle it.”

his fingers ghost over your injuries, his touch meticulous, searching. he catalogues everything—the severity, the placement, the way you react when he presses too close.

he is silent as he works, but the tension in his shoulders speaks volumes.

“this never should have happened.” the words slip out low, almost a whisper, but the weight behind them is undeniable. “i should have—”

but he cuts himself off before he finishes the thought.

vil schoenheit does not dwell in should haves.

he fixes things. he prevents disasters before they happen.

but right now, all he can do is make sure you are okay.

“i’ll handle this,” he says smoothly, already preparing to tend to your wounds himself. “stay still.”

his movements are precise, every action perfectly executed—cleaning, bandaging, ensuring no imperfections remain. but his touch lingers just slightly longer than necessary, his fingers brushing over your wrist, your palm, the curve of your shoulder with a tenderness that is almost imperceptible.

and when it’s over—when you are properly cared for, when the worst of the moment has passed—he finally exhales.

“you worried me,” he murmurs, and it is softer now, less controlled, less rehearsed.

and then—just for a second—his fingers ghost against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him.

“i won’t let this happen again. not ever.”

his voice is gentle. his eyes are not.

because if anyone had a hand in this—if someone is responsible for this pain—

then they will regret ever daring to touch you.

idia shroud

idia doesn’t do well under pressure.

he was not built for high-stakes situations, for stress, for emotions so raw they leave no room for second chances. he hates unpredictability, hates chaos, hates not knowing what to do.

so when he sees you hurt—

his mind shuts down.

for a full second, he just stares, his breath caught somewhere in his throat, his fingers twitching but unable to move.

no, no, no, no, no—

his brain latches onto the worst possibilities immediately. how bad is it? is it fatal? what if you’re bleeding out? what if it’s internal? what if he doesn’t react fast enough?

what if he loses you?

his stomach twists violently, a familiar, awful panic rising in his throat, threatening to choke him.

because this—this exact fear—is something he’s lived through before.

he remembers the first time. the real first time.

losing ortho was something he never saw coming. something he never thought could happen. and even though he’s built him again, recreated him, brought back a version of his little brother—

he still remembers.

remembers what it felt like to be too late. to fail someone he loved. to stand there, frozen in horror, helpless to stop it.

and now—

now it’s you.

you, the only person who matters to him besides ortho. you, the person who understands him, who stays, who chooses him despite all the reasons not to. you, who has somehow become his entire world without him even realizing it.

“oh seven—okay, okay—don’t freak out—no, wait, i’m the one freaking out—”

he rushes toward you but stops short, his hands hovering inches away, shaking.

“w-wait, should i touch you? would that make it worse?? oh seven, what if i make it worse—”

his mind is short-circuiting. too many variables. too many possible failures.

“idia,” you start, but he whirls on you, wide-eyed and frantic.

“y-you have to tell me exactly how bad it is, okay? give me a numerical rating—no, no, wait, i don’t trust the pain scale, um—can you move?? do you need a doctor??”

his breathing is erratic, his fingers clutching at the edge of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

but then—just like before—you try to reassure him.

“i’m okay.”

he stops.

his whole body locks up, his mind struggling to catch up.

”…are you sure?”

his voice is so small. so uncertain.

because he’s already lost someone before.

and if he lost you too—if this was his fault, if he wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, good enough—

he doesn’t know what he would do.

even when he’s finally convinced that you’re not dying, he still refuses to leave your side. he hovers awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, clearly itching to do something to make himself useful.

so he does what he knows best—

“d-do you wanna lay down? i, uh, set up a recovery station in my room. blankets. snacks. medkits—y’know, just in case. w-we can watch something comforting, i won’t even complain about the genre. promise.”

his voice is still wobbly, still slightly frayed at the edges, but the tension in his shoulders finally eases when you nod.

and later—when you’re safe, resting, and no longer in pain—

his fingers brush against yours, hesitant, unsure, before finally intertwining them properly.

“never scare me like that again, okay?”

his voice is quiet. but this time, it doesn’t shake.

because he won’t lose you too.

he can’t.

malleus draconia

malleus has lived longer than most.

a century and more has passed since his birth. he has seen generations rise and fall, watched mortals grow old in the blink of an eye. nothing unsettles him. nothing disturbs his calm.

but then he sees you hurt.

and the entire world stands still.

his breath halts, and the air around him shifts—the very atmosphere bending beneath the weight of something primordial, something as vast and unrelenting as the storm-laden skies over the land of briar.

his first instinct is not panic.

it is rage.

“who did this?”

his voice is low, steady, but beneath the surface, something dangerous lurks.

his emerald eyes gleam, faintly glowing in the dim light. the shadows stretch taller, the wind outside stills, the very earth itself seems to pause, as if the land itself knows what kind of wrath is building within him.

his hands twitch at his sides, claws curling, magic crackling faintly at his fingertips—not for you, never for you, but for whoever was foolish enough to harm you.

but he stops himself. forces himself to breathe.

because you come first.

he is in front of you in an instant, his movements as fluid as shadow, his expression unreadable. his hands—hands that could command storms, reduce castles to rubble, shatter the very sky—reach for you with an almost unnatural gentleness.

“let me see,” he murmurs, his fingers ghosting over your injury, tracing the bruises, the cuts, the places where pain lingers.

his touch is featherlight, his movements precise, but beneath it all, his body is rigid with barely restrained fury.

“who did this?” he repeats, quieter now, but infinitely more terrifying.

if you don’t answer, if you try to downplay it, if you lie—

his gaze darkens, something thunderous in his silence.

“do not shield them from me.”

he is not so easily deceived. he sees the hesitation in your eyes, the way you waver, the way you avoid his gaze. if you refuse to tell him, it does not matter—he will find out on his own.

but first—

“hold still,” he murmurs, raising his hand.

a pulse of magic hums through the air, a whisper of ancient power curling around your form like a protective shroud. the ache dulls, the wounds begin to close, the pain fades.

“better?” he asks, softer now, something tender hidden beneath the weight of his fury.

but even as he tends to you, even as he ensures you are safe—

his mind is already elsewhere.

because someone hurt you.

and for that, there will be consequences.

malleus does not act rashly. he does not lash out blindly.

but the guilty party will know fear.

“stay here,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek for just a fraction of a second, his touch lingering. “rest. recover.”

and then, as he turns, the air thickens, the weight of his presence pressing down like the hush before a storm, like the crackling stillness before lightning splits the sky.

because someone has made a grave mistake.

and if the gods are watching, they would be wise to offer their mercy—because malleus draconia will not.

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw(Here!), Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Leona Kingscholar

Let’s just rip the bandaid off. Leona dates to marry. He’s not someone to invest his time in something troublesome, and frankly? Not many people catch his interest. Sure. He might think someone is physically attractive, but there’s a difference. He doesn’t follow the traditional path either. The ‘dating’ stage doesn’t last long because he’s already made up his mind prior to it.

Dating is pretty much just formality. The moment you agree to it, you’re essentially agreeing to marry him. He’s not going to put in effort for just anyone. Bonus points if he’s the one to confess his feelings first. That is basically concrete confirmation that he intends to marry you.

Leona proposing is inevitable. Only two things stand in his way: time and pride. Time, because he is no idiot. Your ways are unlike his people, and unlike him. He’s patient. He knows how to play the game. He can wait, but not forever. He’ll observe you over time and slip in questions here and there about your goals in life. Then he’ll find a good time frame. Please remember that Leona is not just an ambitious hot-head. He’s a smart one.

Then there is his pride. He will not put himself in a position that has a chance to fail. No. He will play dirty, and wait until you are tinkering with the idea of marriage. He’ll steer conversations towards talks of the future, and make it so you’re the one who starts them. All to get you warmed up to the idea of spending your life with him, and to a stage where he can clearly tell where you lie emotionally. He might appear neutral on the outside; however, it’s all according to plan. While you are just beginning to imagine your lives together, Leona’s already had the thought process long prior. You don’t need to know that though.

The icing on the cake is when you visit his home. Checka is Leona’s secret wingman. Your soft spot for the boy is something he takes advantage of, and lets Checka consume your attention during a tour of the palace. You meet his elder brother, who irritatingly pries for details about your relationship. Leona lets it go. Just this once, because he knows you feeling at home is more important in the long run. You share a room with him during your stay, and he made arrangements for small changes according to your tastes. You’re also gifted with a new wardrobe of traditional clothes for your stay, and given free reign of the area. Naturally you are guarded in secret, as per the King’s orders. His brother knows as well as Leona does that it is imperative that your stay goes well.

You will be touring landmarks and tourist spots within the continent as well. While Leona would much rather laze his free time away in his room (away from his family), he goes. Word spread that he was bringing home his partner. Thank the gossiping maids for that. Walking with you makes the rumors official, and is safer than having you walk alone with Checka and some royal guards. That would have arisen suspicion, and been troublesome. More troublesome than walking around and confirming to the public that you are not to be touched.

Ignoring the many remarks about how Leona is unusually active during his visit (thanks to you), his pride is high. You’ve thoroughly been slotted into his life, and are accepted. Any apprehensions about you denying him were snuffed out. The way you took to living with him so easily proves it. If you weren’t welcomed by his family? Well, it wouldn’t change anything. This scenario just makes what he’s about to do easier.

The first night you arrived, Farlan presented Leona with a Kingscholar family heirloom. A ring that has been in their family for generations. Not meant to be worn permanently, and only for proposals. Farlan used it to propose to his wife, and at the ceremony presented her with the ring he picked out. Now Leona will use it to propose to you.

One look at it and Leona declined. He’s spent his whole life chasing things that he couldn’t have because of his birth status. He would not yield this moment to tradition. Farlan was shocked, but rescinded the offer with a supportive smile. His brother had found himself, and the King was proud.

On the evening of your final night at the palace - Leona finds you alone on the balcony of your shared room. If he was going to do anything, it would be now. Initially he was 100% confident in getting your acceptance, but the longer he watches the less sure he becomes. Deep down there is rooted fear that he will once again become second choice, and that you’ll choose to return to your world over him. His hands are in his pockets, and one of them fists around the ring he prepared long ago.

Right when he moved to back out, you turned to come back inside. Your serene stature brightened at the sight of him, and he gained back some confidence. If you could only look at him that way forever…well, here goes nothing.

What are you doing out there without a coat? It gets extremely cold in the Savannah during the night. Do you want to get sick? I won’t be the one taking care of you….,” he sighs, pushing the door open, “Stubborn mule. Make some room, I’m coming out there….I’m near-certain that you figured it out, but this isn’t just a normal vacation. I brought you here to ask for your hand. What?? Stop playing dumb. Not your ‘hand’ hand - oh, for crying out- marriage! I am asking you to marry me!….I am taking the laughter as a yes, now give me your finger”

{ 'Everything the light touches...is our kingdom' - A golden sunrise. Befitting. He used to hate them. Hate that phrase too. Yet you are the sun that Leona has been searching for. He continues to fight against fate in hopes that his efforts will bare fruit, and you are living proof that there is a chance. Maybe not easily. His life might not be what he originally dreamed. He may not get to sit on a throne of light . Yet there is a light in his life, and he likes to think that fate did not bring it to him. No, he found you all on his own.}

Ruggie Bucchi

'I don't see why you haven't proposed to that young darling yet. Keep waiting and you'll miss your chance, boy'

Well, of all the things Ruggie expected to hear during his visit home, that wasn't one. Normally he'd be nagged over being away too long, or not writing home enough. This? It caught him off guard. Grandma was always sticking her nose where it didn't belong...but, maybe she had a point this time.

Your relationship. It's not something Ruggie has given much thought. It's uncharacteristic of him to get comfortable enough not to look a few steps ahead, but he's gone soft. A fact that he begrudgingly accepts with a grain of salt.

Naturally, he doesn't admit this out loud and instead changes the topic. On the outside, he acts normal and helps out around the house. However, internally he is thinking over his grandmother's prying.

Marriage. It's not necessarily 'beneficial,' to say the least. With only a few months left until graduation, he'll finally be entering the rat-race to secure himself a comfortable position for life. He's worked hard and developed connections to make it happen. The finish line is right there.

Where does that leave you? He can't necessarily be as flexible if he has a partner to worry about. It's a weak link, and might cause problems in his plans. The smart thing to do would be to break things off. After all, how many school romances get a happy ending? It's so unrealistic. He'll be busy with work, you'll have your own responsibilities, and eventually it will be like you are strangers with a title tying both of you together.

This reasoning alone is enough to settle the problem. It's just - he doesn't like it. It's the most realistic path and he hates it. If it was about finding a companion, then he could do it later in life.

But when he tries to picture that lifestyle with anyone other than you, it doesn't sit right. It's physically upsetting, and makes him nauseated.

Sleep evades him that night. Ruggie finds himself sitting in the kitchen doing homework, burning the midnight oil until he can think with a clear head. Naturally, his all-knowing grandmother finds him there and makes him spill his thoughts.

She's direct with her advice. It's rare for Ruggie to be stumped considering his quick-wit, and understanding emotions is a wisdom you gain with experience.

For someone like Ruggie, who's always maximized every outcome and thought ahead - you're a weakness. Something that he can't control, and yet exactly what he needs in life. We don't get to choose who we love in life. Love is unpredictable, and Ruggie's found it at a young age. Career opportunities come and go, but he will never get back the time spent at your side...so why not maximize that instead? Hm?

He leaves for NRC the following day. For the last time, considering it is his final year. On the way he stops at multiple markets and dips into his savings. With nothing but a ring and an idea, he ditches his stuff in his dorm and heads to Ramshackle.

He's not nervous. That left his system the night prior. His grandmother's tough advice hardened that up quick.

He knocks on the door, half expecting one of the resident ghosts to answer. Instead it's you, and he's down on one knee before you can speak. With one hand, he holds out the ring. The other itches his nose in attempt to hide his wobbly grin.

"Shishishishi~ I don't have to explain what's going on, right? I'm sure you can put two-and-two together quickly. Are you really so surprised that you have nothing to say? Hmm, I guess that I can take the lead. Pretty soon I'll be leaving. You still have another year here, and I can't promise that I will be around much. Until now, I had no plan for us. Likely because being with you is the most natural thing I have experienced. I've always aimed for a life of comfort, but now I want you in that picture too, y'know? So...when you graduate next year, will you marry me? I'll be patiently waiting, shishi~”

{Rose Quartz. The symbol of unconditional love and family. Something Ruggie hasn't experienced much in his life, and is grateful for. Ruggie did not want to choose a generic gem. Not for this. He may be known for cutting corners, but this is too important. He has done his fair share of trading, and knows exactly what to look for when shopping. No salesperson alive could convince him otherwise. You may not understand the meaning behind the gem, but that's alright. He doesn't mind, because this is the ring he'll see on your finger until you're both old and grey}

Jack Howl

Jack takes the longest out of all in his dorm. In result, his proposal is the most natural. Not to say that he does not put thought into it! Oh no, this poor lad hella overthinks the event. It's just getting him to the proposing stage is - well, anticlimactic?

All Jack requires is time. Once you've both settled in to your lives on an individual standpoint, with time comes thoughts of taking your relationship to the next level. As adults who have been together for years, it's only natural? At least for Jack. He has never been for or against getting married. So, there really is no internal battle for him to fight. He just? Lets himself be happy with the idea? I know, I know. It sounds too easy - but think about it. Jack is responsible, kind, and a bit like a golden retriever (or should I just say wolf?). He doesn't ignore his feelings. So if he feels that he want's to marry you, then why not? The worst that can happen is you say no.

There was no epiphany. No spark or overwhelming feeling of affection that made him want to marry you. No impending doom, nervousness, or special moment that he can pinpoint as 'the moment'. Nothing. You weren't even around.

He was merely finishing up morning jog and heading home. The thought casually entered his head, and he let it stay. Over time it reappeared over and over, until he felt that he'd heard it enough to act on it.

Jack is high-key observant and knows your likes and dislikes by heart. He feels that such an important moment is something he needs to think through deeply, and on his own. Many have been at the receiving end of his determination, and that doesn't exclude you. Once he's set his mind to something, there is no holding back. Over the course of weeks he proceeds to undergo self-reflection, and craft a proposal that he feels is perfect.

One question he spends time thinking about is 'where,' because Jack would prefer to do an intimate act like proposing somewhere private. The last thing he wants you to feel is pressure to accept, so he chooses to propose on a late night walk. This might arise suspicion since he isn't in workout gear, which is rare. Yet it's a price Jack is willing to pay. He's never been great with surprises anyways.

He tries to uphold some element of mystery though. Do not laugh, but he put the in a plastic bag and hid it inside the container for his protein powder. When times get tough, you have to get a little creative.

Right before your evening stroll, he says that he wants to make a shake (under the pretense that afterwards he'll work-out). In actuality, he takes an empty bottle and slips the ring inside.

While you're both walking, he shakes it around and 'complains' that nothing is coming out. With you completely unknowing, he opens the cap and feigns surprise. It makes you curious, and he hands over the bottle a bit too eagerly

It's light, you note instantly. A glance inside reveals the ring, and when you pull it out Jack stops walking. His face sets with determination despite the red hue overtaking his neck and ears.

Will you marry me?? -- oh wait, that was too blunt, wasn't it? Hang on!, " he takes a breath, and coughs into his fist, "So. I've been doing some thinking. We've been together for years now, and to me you've become irreplaceable. I don't know how else to describe how I feel, other than to say that you are the person I want to spend my life with. I can only hope that you feel this way too,"

{He isn't a man of the arts. Jack has no eye for fancy jewels, or what's an appropriate design. He originally thought to have the shop keeper help him decide. Yet, that felt impersonal. So he perused many stores, and did his best to imagine your reaction to seeing each ring. Nothing caught his eye until this peridot. A simple cut with an eye-catching color. Sure, it's not what others would recommend but he liked it. Who would Jack be to deny his gut instinct?}

"It feels weird being apart from Jade. Why'd we get put in different classes? Would've been nice to stick together."

"Floyd sometimes comes to visit my class. He's more tender than he seems."

Let's Be Crazy

Floyd Leech x Gn!Reader

*Notes: I included some photos from the game... let's just pretend he isn't standing in Ramshackle, lol. Also, I'm a big believer that Floyd would appreciate a partner who stands up for him when people call him crazy or make fun of his mood swings cause I feel like it would kinda upset him when people did that. Finally, there's swearing in this.*

Your morning started as usual: breakfast with Grim and walking to class with Floyd. Unfortunately, Azul had called him after class about an emergency at the Mostro Lounge that required immediate attention. You reassured him that you would meet up with him at lunch. He left with a relaxed smile, but his eyes were squinted just enough to give you the impression that he was annoyed to be called in while trying to spend time with you. That had been a couple hours ago, and lunch had started, but there was no Floyd to be found. So, you went looking for him.

It didn't take long as you quickly heard screams and shouts from the courtyard. Looking around a pillar, you see your boyfriend squeezing the life out of a Scarabia student. His friends shout for Floyd to let him go while the student struggles and screams for help. You take a deep breath; why do people always have to provoke him? ... Well, to be honest Floyd normally gets provoked when people aren't trying, but still.

"Hey!" you call out, causing Floyd to swing around to face you, the Scarabia student flailing in his arms. Noting the stern look on your face, he tosses the boy to the side where he hits the ground hard.

Floyd opens his mouth to explain, but his expression changes to shock when you gently cup his jaw.

"What happened?" You whisper, "Why are we angry at him?"

Floyd stays quiet in a curious turn of events, breaking eye contact with you. Your brows furrow, but when you realize he isn't going to say anything, you turn and walk to the Scarabia student still lying on the ground.

"What the fuck did you do?" You hiss, looking down on him.

The student looks at you in offense that you would assume he did anything in the first place. He stands, glaring at you while his friends huddle closer.

"I didn't do a damn thing, he's just crazy!" The boy yells, gesturing to Floyd behind you.

Before anyone can react, you swiftly kick the boy in the groin. As he doubles over in pain, you push him back onto the ground.

You gasp in surprise as if you weren't the one who did that, but you quickly collect yourself, leaning closer.

"I'm honestly not that sorry because you've been very rude. I'd hate to hear what people say about you..." you glance up at his friends, who look torn between defending him and keeping their distance from you.

Looking back down, you force the boy to make eye contact, "Pull that shit again, and I won't be so gentle... maybe you'll come to learn who's truly the crazy one."

You bring your leg back, making it seem like you'll kick the boy again. He flinches, scrambling back to his friends who surround him as they walk away.

Holding back a laugh, you turn back to see Floyd's rare soft smile.

"Hey, Shrimpy, you didn't have to do all that." He mumbles, his cheeks flushing a little.

"Of course I did. There is no way I'm letting him insult you, especially to my face." You walk closer, wrapping your arms around Floyd's waist.

Immediately, he squeezes you tightly to the point that you start to lose your breath. But you don't stop him, which he laughs gratefully at.

"Wanna tell me what that dick did?"

Floyd looks at you with a somewhat sheepish smile, "Ohhh y'know, talking 'bout how you must be deranged to date a psychopath like me."

Your hands tighten on the back of his coat, and you take a calming breath before smiling brightly at him.

"Well, I think that's none of his business. If I wanna date someone most people on campus are scared of, that's my choice. Plus, I always want you to express your emotions, even the heavy ones. Your feelings are valid, and I'm not going to push them away; we'll deal with them together."

Floyd can barely contain his excitement with each word out of your mouth. The moment you pause, he hurriedly crushes his lips to yours. You can feel the pinpricks of his teeth as he becomes overwhelmed by love.

When he finally pulls away, he whispers, "Thank you... Y/n."

Can you write a floyd x touch starved reader because their family on earth isn't all that affectionate?

Squeeze First, Act Later

𝖆/𝖓: starting to post fics with no header because it keeps tweaking out TUMBLR WHY IT WAS WORKING FINE BEFORE and WOAH TWO IN ONE DAY?!

𝖙𝖜: none

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: floyd x touch starved!reader

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘: 990

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe @oya-oya-okay @writingattemptsxx

Floyd Leech wasn’t exactly subtle about his affections. If he liked you, you knew it. If he really liked you, you were getting lifted, squished, teased, and dragged around like a personal toy. For most people, it was a lot.

But for you?

It was everything.

Because back home—on Earth—hugs were rare. Your family wasn’t bad, exactly. Just... cold. Distant. Not the kind to ruffle your hair or pull you into a sleepy cuddle on the couch. Not the kind to hold your hand when you were sad or lean against you just because.

And here was Floyd, invading your space from day one like he’d always belonged there.

At first, it overwhelmed you. All the sudden touch—arms slung around shoulders, hands tugging at your clothes, fingers flicking your forehead. But instead of shrinking away, you found yourself... craving it.

Needing it.

Even when he was teasing you, it felt like warmth in your chest. Like something had been frozen for a long time and was finally starting to thaw.

One lazy afternoon in Octavinelle, you sat on the couch in the lounge, head tilted back, eyes closed. Floyd plopped down beside you with zero warning, sprawling dramatically across your lap.

“Eeeeeh? You look all gloomy again,” he drawled, staring up at you upside-down. “You gonna cry or something?”

You blinked down at him. “No, just tired.”

He didn’t move. If anything, he melted further into you, head resting heavy against your thigh. One hand lazily reached up, fingers toying with yours.

You stiffened slightly at first—then let him. The casual intimacy made your heart squeeze, but you didn’t pull away.

Floyd’s sharp gaze flicked up to your face. “You always get all stiff when I touch you,” he said, tone unusually serious. “But you never stop me. Weird, huh?”

You swallowed, not meeting his eyes. “I’m not used to it.”

“Huh?” He propped himself up on one elbow. “Used to what?”

“…Being touched. My family wasn’t really... affectionate.”

Floyd stared at you. Not laughing. Not smirking. Just watching.

“Like, no hugs and stuff?” he asked after a pause.

You nodded.

“…That suuucks,” he finally muttered, as if personally offended. “No wonder you always look all surprised when I hug you. You’re like—‘whoa! what’s this??’” He mimicked your expression, then flopped back down dramatically.

You huffed a laugh.

He was quiet for a moment. Then—

“Hey, shrimpy.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna try it?”

“…Try what?”

“Hugs. All the time. No reason. Just ‘cause.”

Your breath caught. Slowly, you nodded.

Floyd sat up, wrapped his long arms around you, and pulled you into a tight squeeze. His chin rested on your shoulder, hair tickling your cheek.

“Like this?” he murmured.

You couldn’t speak. You just buried your face in his chest, fingers gripping the back of his jacket like you were afraid he’d disappear.

Floyd didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

From that day on, you never had to ask for affection. He gave it freely, generously, with all the intensity that was so him. And every touch, every nudge, every sudden arm slung over your shoulders, felt like rewriting a part of you that had gone too long without love.

It started with the small things.

Floyd wasn’t any less chaotic—he still skipped class, still dragged freshmen around by the collar, still threatened to squeeze anyone who annoyed him.

But there was a softness now. A strange, quiet shift that only those who knew him best could spot.

Azul noticed it first.

“Floyd,” he said one afternoon, eyeing the scene before him with a furrowed brow. “Why are you… braiding their hair?”

Floyd glanced up, lazily twisting another lock of your hair between his fingers.

“‘Cause I wanna, duh,” he grinned. “Shrimpy said no one ever played with their hair before. So I’m makin’ up for lost time.”

Azul stared. You were seated on the floor between Floyd’s knees, shoulders relaxed and eyes half-lidded in contentment. If Azul didn’t know better, he’d have said you were about to fall asleep right there in Floyd’s lap.

That was new.

“…I see,” Azul said, adjusting his glasses. “Just don’t skip your shift again. We have guests at seven.”

“Uh-huh,” Floyd hummed, clearly not listening. He patted your head twice—gently, as if memorizing the shape of it. “Shrimpy first, work later.”

Azul opened his mouth to protest, then stopped. There was no menace in Floyd’s voice. No biting sarcasm. Just something warm and unfamiliar.

Jade, meanwhile, had been watching this change with quiet fascination.

Later that night, while Azul reviewed the lounge’s earnings and Floyd dozed off with his head on your shoulder in the back booth, Jade leaned over and said softly, “I think he’s happier.”

Azul glanced over the rim of his teacup. “Hm?”

“Floyd,” Jade said, smiling faintly. “He’s been more even-tempered. He hasn’t threatened to sink anyone in days.”

“That’s… unsettling.”

“And he lets them hold his hand.”

Azul choked slightly on his tea.

Floyd Leech, who bit people for touching him wrong, letting someone hold his hand?

“You think they’re—?” Azul asked, eyes narrowing.

“In some way,” Jade mused. “Floyd doesn’t do anything halfway.”

Azul’s gaze drifted back toward the two of you. Your hand was loosely linked with Floyd’s, his fingers curled around yours even in sleep. You looked peaceful.

And Floyd, for once, didn’t look like a live wire about to snap.

Azul exhaled. “If this makes him easier to work with, I won’t complain.”

Jade chuckled, eyes gleaming. “Oh, I wouldn’t say easier. But definitely more tender.”

Later, as you gently brushed Floyd’s bangs from his face, you murmured, “You okay with them watching us like that?”

“Mhm,” Floyd mumbled without opening his eyes. “Lemme show off. I like bein’ yours.”

You smiled. “I like being yours too.”

He cracked one eye open, grin sharp but affectionate.

“Then I’m gonna keep touchin’ you until you never feel lonely again.”

And true to his word—he did.

credit to @fae-and-wolf for divider

hold on where are you seeing the boys in the basic t shirts i wanna seeeeee

they've been posting them on the twst_jp twitter account, and the merch for them is up on the Aniplex+ store! they're literally just drawings of anime characters wearing black t-shirts, but the art is really cute and, I dunno, there's just something about the Twst boys posing in their little matching t-shirts that is hilarious to me. it's adorable.

and of course, there's something about Mal especially that is just like

Pretending You Didn't Know Their Birthday Was Today

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/drama - no prns .

- [𝐜𝐡.] deuce . ruggie . jade . floyd . epel

- [𝐩:𝐬] Mild emotional distress . Romantic themes . Light teasing/pranks .

Note: This is such a mean prank to do on them guys (ﾉД`) But yk me, I LOVEEE writing drama (; ω ; ).

Deuce Spade

At first, Deuce tried not to take it personally.

You had been acting totally normal all day—sweet, attentive, just like always—but… that was the thing. Just normal. Not a single “Happy Birthday” from you. Not a cupcake, not a “Hey, wanna do something later?” Nothing. And at breakfast, when Ace loudly tossed Deuce a small box and yelled “Happy birthday, dumbass!”, you just… smiled politely and went back to your juice.

He told himself you probably had something planned. That maybe you were just being subtle. But as the hours passed, his confidence started to crumble.

By mid-afternoon, he couldn’t even focus in class. Every time he looked your way, his stomach did this weird, anxious twist. Maybe you were mad at him? Maybe he’d forgotten something important? No… your smile didn’t look fake. You laughed at his jokes. You walked to class with him like usual. But still—nothing.

By the time lunch rolled around, he couldn’t take it anymore.

You were sitting together under a shady tree in the courtyard, sharing fries from a bag. He stared down at his lap, fingers fidgeting, his voice awkward and small.

“H-Hey… um… did you… maybe forget what today is?”

You blinked at him, biting into a fry. “Hmm? Oh… is something happening today?”

The color drained from his face.

“…O-Oh. No. Never mind. I just thought—no, forget it,” he said, trying to hide the flash of hurt in his eyes. His posture stiffened, clearly trying to pretend like he didn’t care, but it was so obvious he did.

And that’s when you pulled out the surprise.

From your bag, you retrieved a small, neatly wrapped box and set it in his lap. “You’re so easy to mess with, Deuce. Happy Birthday, baby.”

He stared at it. Then at you. Then back at it.

“…You knew?!”

You giggled as he turned bright red, torn between relief, embarrassment, and this ridiculously bashful happiness. “Of course I knew. You really thought I’d forget my favorite person’s birthday?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, still stunned. “I… I thought I messed something up. Man, you’re evil for that,” he said with a pout, even though he looked like he wanted to hug you and never let go.

Later that night, you surprised him again with a little party in Ramshackle with his closest friends and a handmade cake. And as he sat beside you, eating your lopsided but delicious creation, he leaned close and whispered in your ear:

“You scared the hell outta me today. But… that just makes this even better. Thanks, babe.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie had been dropping hints for weeks.

Not because he expected much—he never really did on his birthday—but because the idea of you remembering something special about him… it made his chest feel warm.

So when his birthday finally came around, and you—the one person he thought would for sure say something—didn’t, he didn’t know how to take it.

The sun had barely risen when he bounced into your dorm with a grin. “Mornin’, babe! Sleep well?”

You nodded, still wrapped in a blanket burrito. “Mmhm. Wanna grab breakfast in the cafeteria?”

“…That’s it?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

You looked at him, head tilted. “What?”

“Nothin’, nothin’,” he said with a wave of his hand, brushing it off with a chuckle. “Just thought maybe you had somethin’ special planned for today. Like… a surprise churro. Y’know. For, uh… no reason at all.”

You blinked innocently. “Why would I do that?”

“…No reason,” he muttered, a little too fast.

As the day went on, he kept waiting for something. A “Happy Birthday!” A present. A note in his bag. Anything. But there was nothing.

At some point, he began to seriously wonder if you just… didn’t care.

That stung more than he wanted to admit.

By evening, he sulked into his dorm, only to find you waiting inside with a bright grin, his favorite snacks on the bed, and a banner that read Happy Birthday, Hyena Boy!

He froze in the doorway. “Wh-What the—?! You knew?!”

You laughed, pulling him into a hug. “Of course I did, silly. You’ve been hinting at it all month. I just wanted to mess with you a little.”

“Jeez, and here I thought I was bein’ subtle…” He rubbed his temples, a smile cracking through his flustered expression. “You little sneak. I almost cried in the middle of laundry duty.”

“Aww, don’t worry. You can cry now—in happiness!”

“Pfft, yeah right,” he scoffed, turning away dramatically… only to spin around and tackle-hug you onto the bed. “Okay, maybe just a little happy cry. Maybe. Don’t look too closely.”

That night, as you both lounged on the bed sharing snacks and laughter, he kissed your cheek and mumbled, “No one’s ever done something like this for me before… Thank you, babe. Seriously.”

And just like that, all the teasing in the world couldn’t hide how much he really appreciated it.

Jade Leech

Jade is not the type to let his emotions slip so easily.

So when the morning of his birthday came and you greeted him with your usual serene smile and a sweet "Good morning, Jade~," he returned it effortlessly—mask flawless, voice calm. But the second you walked away without even a hint of birthday acknowledgment, he blinked once… and a curious smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

How… intriguing.

He didn’t say anything. Not then. Not at lunch, either, when you asked if he wanted to go herb-hunting later like it was any other day. Not even when you kissed his cheek in the hallway and said “See you after class!”

But every time you looked away, he was watching you. Observing you in the same way a predator watches prey, fascinated and a little amused. The wheels in his mind were turning.

You had to know, didn’t you?

…Or did you forget?

He couldn’t quite tell. You weren’t nervous. You weren’t acting strange. No subtle glances, no hidden smiles. Your performance was suspiciously perfect—which only made this more entertaining for him.

By the time evening fell, Jade accompanied you into the Mostro Lounge for "a quick drink," following along with that same soft smile on his face. You chatted like always, sat in your usual booth, sipping tea. Nothing seemed different.

Until the lights dimmed.

And Azul’s voice came over the mic—“Happy Birthday to Jade Leech”—and a cake was brought out, decorated with ocean-themed shells and pearls, your handwriting proudly scrawled across the fondant.

And that’s when Jade laughed.

Not a quiet chuckle. A genuine laugh, melodic and laced with amusement. He turned to you with sharp but delighted eyes.

“Oh my. So you did remember.”

You gave him an innocent blink. “What? Of course I remembered. I was just having fun watching you squirm a little.”

He placed a hand over his chest, mock-wounded. “Me? Squirm? Dearest, I was merely observing your fascinating acting skills. Though I must admit… I nearly believed you forgot.”

You smirked. “Then the plan worked.”

Jade leaned in closer, his voice a silky whisper near your ear. “You’re quite the mischievous little eel, aren’t you? I might have to return the favor someday…”

And though he wore that ever-pleasant smile the rest of the night, you could tell—underneath it, Jade was thrilled. Not just because you remembered, but because you played his game so well.

Floyd Leech

Floyd was hyped for his birthday.

He didn’t say it out loud, but everyone could tell. He was unusually bouncy that morning—tossing students over his shoulder with more enthusiasm than usual, humming a weird little tune while walking to class. Even Azul was keeping a safe distance.

So when he spotted you coming down the hallway, his eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.

“Shrimpyyyy~!!” he beamed, immediately throwing his long arms around you in a tight squeeze. “Guess what day it isss?”

You blinked, looking puzzled. “Umm… Tuesday?”

He froze.

You tilted your head. “Why? Is something happening today?”

His arms slowly dropped away. His smile faltered. “…You serious?”

You gave him your most convincing innocent look. “Did I miss something?”

“…You serious?!”

Now he looked genuinely offended—like someone had just told him there were no snacks left in the vending machine. “You forgot my birthday? My own girlfriend?! What kinda low-tide tragedy is this?!”

He slumped dramatically over your shoulder like a dying fish. “Shrimpy doesn’t love me anymoreee~ I’m gonna cry…”

“Floyd—”

“No, no, don’t talk to me! I’m gonna go sulk and punch a wall or something…”

And off he went, dramatically dragging his feet down the hall.

…Only for you to text him twenty minutes later with “Emergency in the Lounge. Come quick.”

He came stomping in like a storm cloud, pout still fresh on his face—until the moment he saw the room.

Balloons. Streamers. A giant cake shaped like a sea turtle. And you, standing in the center with a party horn in your mouth, grinning.

“Happy birthday, big guy~”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

“…You LIAR!” he laughed, bolting forward and sweeping you off the ground in a bone-crushing hug. “You tricked me, shrimpy! That was so mean!”

“You deserved it,” you giggled, arms wrapped around his neck. “I had to keep you on your toes somehow.”

Floyd nuzzled into your hair, tail practically wagging. “I was this close to crying real tears! You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He spent the rest of the night showing off to everyone, dragging you around and introducing you like you were the best gift of all. And before bed, he curled up beside you with a satisfied little sigh.

“You’re lucky I love ya, shrimpy. Next year, I’m pranking you. Hardcore.”

Epel Felmier

Epel didn’t like to make a big fuss over his birthday.

He wasn’t the type to announce it to the world, parade around the dorm, or demand gifts. Still… he was kind of hoping you’d remember. Just a simple “Happy birthday” from you would’ve meant everything. He didn’t want something fancy—just… you.

So when the day arrived and you didn’t say anything, he tried to play it cool.

Tried.

“‘Mornin’, sugar~!” he greeted with a bright grin, brushing his hair behind his ear the way you liked.

“Mornin’, Epel!” you chirped back casually, linking your arm with his as you both walked down the hall.

He waited. One second. Two.

Nothing.

“…Anything special goin’ on today?” he asked, trying to act nonchalant.

You blinked. “Uhh, I don’t think so. It’s Tuesday. Why?”

He felt his heart sink a little.

“…No reason,” he mumbled, gaze flicking away. “Just… felt like today was s’posed to be important or somethin’.”

You tilted your head. “Did I forget a test?”

Epel forced a smile. “Nah, nah… forget it.”

But he didn’t forget it.

All day, he kept sneaking glances at you, silently hoping you were just pulling his leg. Maybe you'd jump out with a cake or tackle-hug him and yell, “Surprise!” But each hour that passed without so much as a cupcake made that hope dim a little more.

He tried to laugh it off with his friends. “Guess I ain’t worth rememberin’, huh?” he joked, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

By the time the sun dipped behind the walls of NRC, he had retreated to his room, lying face-down on his bed, arms folded beneath his head.

“…It’s fine,” he muttered to himself. “Ain’t a big deal. Birthdays’re for kids anyway. I ain’t soft.”

But just as he was wallowing in his disappointment, there was a knock at his door.

“…Epel?” your voice called softly from the other side. “Can you come with me for a sec?”

He rolled over, groaning a little. “Not really in the mood, darlin’.”

“Please?”

He sighed. “Fine…”

You led him outside Ramshackle—under the stars—into the courtyard where the fountain glowed soft gold. And that’s when he saw it.

Fairy lights strung up between trees. A little picnic blanket with two slices of apple pie and warm cider. A small, wrapped box sitting atop a folded note with his name written in your handwriting.

“…You didn’t forget,” he whispered.

You turned to him with a gentle smile, a flicker of mischief in your eyes. “Course not. I just wanted to see your pouty face. You’re so cute when you sulk.”

He gawked at you, cheeks burning red. “Y-you—! Ugh, I oughta put you over my shoulder and shake the mischief outta you!”

You laughed and took his hands, pulling him toward the little setup. “Happy birthday, Epel. I love you.”

The tension melted from his shoulders all at once. He dropped down beside you, arms wrapping tight around your waist as he buried his face into your shoulder.

“Dang it… You really got me,” he muttered, voice muffled. “Thought you forgot. Thought I didn’t matter…”

“You matter to me every single day,” you whispered back. “Today’s just an excuse to prove it.”

And under the starlight, as you fed him a bite of pie and leaned on his shoulder, Epel couldn’t stop grinning. He might not be the kind to shout it from the rooftops, but tonight—he felt special. Loved. Yours.

“…Next year, I’m gettin’ ya back for this, y’know,” he said with a playful smirk. “Hard.”