"A LITTLE COMPANY" Pairing: Sakusa X Fem!Reader

Haikyuu Anthology Series || It's Fate When Your Kids Are Friends

Haikyuu Dads! Scenarios | You x Kuroo, Suna, Atsumu, Osamu, Oikawa, and Sakusa

SUMMARY. Your adventures as a single, young mom meeting very eligible and equally single Haikyuu! dads. Sit back and have some fun with these bold, daring men.

WARNING. The italicized chapters for each, 'Third Time's The Charm', is smut. Please do not read if you're a minor or are uncomfortable with nsfw content. Skipping it will not affect the story.

Kuroo Tetsuro | TBA First Meeting > Second Date > Third Time's The Charm > Four Is Our Family You and Kuroo are quick to notice 'the parent trap' both your daughters try to spring on you but... what's the harm in playing along?

Suna Rintaro | Found You First Meeting > Second Date > Third Time's The Charm > Four Is Our Family What happens when your elementary school daughter arrives home unexpectedly with a surprise in tow?

Miya Atsumu | TBA First Meeting > Second Date > Third Time's The Charm > Four Is Our Family Atsumu can't understand why his son prefers spending more and more time with his new friend over his own father but he has a brilliant plan to work around it.

Miya Osamu | Little Delights First Meeting > Second Date > Third Time's The Charm > Four Is Our Family Osamu can't help but be intrigued when his daughter starts bringing home delicious desserts prepared by her best friend's mother.

Oikawa Toru | TBA First Meeting > Second Date > Third Time's The Charm > Four Is Our Family You get a call to send any parent into panic - your son is injured and at a stranger's home - you definitely never expected it would lead to dinner with Oikawa Toru.

Sakusa Kiyoomi | TBA First Meeting > Second Date > Third Time's The Charm > Four Is Our Family Every week, your daughter seems to have a cute new hand sanitizer or fancy tissue pack tucked away in her backpack but you're compelled to seek out the source when you find an unnecessarily expensive item.

A/N: This started out as standalone short scenarios for each of my Fayevourites and has now evolved into short, episodic fics instead! You can thank Suna for that :D I was working on Found You (the initial inspiration for the anthology series btw) when realized I was already over 3K words, at a good place to stop, and had enough left to still write for him that would fill not just one, but at least three, more chapters. I've got all the first meetings planned out, as well as all four Suna chapters, but I can (and may) choose to change any particular aspects as I write more. Hope you all enjoy! <3

© 2021 fayeimara. All rights reserved. Please do not repost, modify, or claim as yours.

The Woes of the Witch of the Wastes (Howl's Moving Castle AU)

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit (+ Reader x Neige LeBlanche) Word Count: 7.3k

Summary: The Witch of the Wastes has long come to terms with the fact that to keep a hold on his powers and beauty, he is going to have to be every bit the terrible monster that everyone assumes him to be. And then one day he goes and curses some stupid little hatter and his entire world is turned on its head.

A/N: Based on this horrid, mind-melting, brain rot that has not left me alone in days

Vil Schoenheit was only a small child of nine when he was swept up by the Royal Sorcery Academy and told he would ‘accomplish great things indeed.’ Madame Suliman, the King’s Head Sorceress herself, patted him on his head and proclaimed him the brightest talent of his generation.

Vil Schoenheit was fifteen when he cured his first ‘incurable’ poison. And then created his own draught that could actually bother to live up to such a lofty title. The Palace gave him all sorts of fancy medals and when he stood there in the throne room, the Crow King nodded at him in approval. ‘Vil Schoenheit is certainly meant for great things,’ he said, just as everyone always had. Meant for it. Like Vil didn’t wear himself ragged training, and fretting, and putting every part of himself into his work until there was nothing left to give. But that was fine—because perhaps being ‘meant’ for something and improving yourself enough to be worthy of those things in the first place went hand in hand.

Vil Schoenheit was well into established adulthood when he turned down a very lovely, very traitorous, offer from a foreign enemy, and his loyalty landed him yet another set of medals and even more slant eyed looks of admiration. ‘The most gracious treasure in all the lands,’ they called him. ‘A beauty unrivaled in both grace and intelligence. Someone who was no doubt meant for only the best life had to offer.’ Vil stood at the center of the room, beneath the spotlight of an entire nation, and grinned white and sharp. His beloved mentor approached him from amongst the throngs of near worshippers crowding the halls. There was a wispy, young, man at her side. The poor thing looked terribly out of place in the upper crest gallantry of the Royal Capital. He was wearing all the wrong colors, all the wrong cuts of fabric. He looked soft, and earnest, and like someone who would be eaten alive by court politics before he’d even managed to squeak out his first greeting.   

“This is Neige LeBlanche,” Madame Suliman introduced, with a sort of sickly, sweet, fondness that had Vil’s stomach souring into something entirely unpleasant. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him—from that messy business at the Coast.” (The business he’d stopped, she meant? The conspirators he’d ousted?) “Such a natural talent,” she crooned. “He really is exceptional.”

“Of course I’ve heard of him,” Vil offered, polite. He turned then to Neige with a smile that showed perhaps a few too many teeth. “I’m sure you’ll do great things.”

Madame Suliman squeezed her new ward’s arm and Neige LeBlanche went as pink as freshy plucked Meadowsweet. Vil fought to keep from digging his fingers into the fine edges of his champagne flute. The very one he’d been offered to toast his own successes.

“No doubt he’s the brightest talent of his generation!” Madame Suliman beamed, and Vil grit his teeth through the dark, curling, spike of something that speared through his gut.

Vil Schoenheit was sitting in his own, personal armchair, in his own, personal lounge (all gifted to him for his own, personal achievements), when Madam Suliman walked into the room with that same, dainty, interloper on her arm. ‘Excellent news!’ she’d smiled, in that way that wasn’t ever really a smile. Neige LeBlanche—with his stumbling, bumbling, kindness that bordered on idiocy, and his myriad of unimpressive successes built on nothing but luck and happenstance—had been named her successor. By decree of his Majesty the King himself.

Naturally, Vil decided to… politely object the announcement. Which very rapidly descended into black swirls of poison eroding the palace grounds and calls for his execution.

And So Vil was chased out of the home that he’d built for himself—that had been promised to him. He hid himself in the Wastes until he’d regained enough of his shattered arcana to ensure he could at the very least survive an encounter with his pursuers, even if the outcome would be far from pretty.

There were Demons in the Wastes. Strange, ethereal, things that Vil had once been ordered to eradicate on sight. But now he was one of those miserable, undesirable, vermin too, wasn’t he? So why not consort with the beasts? A Demon of Envy sought him ought first, offering justice like it was a fruit ripe for the picking. Like anything could be that simple. Then came a Demon of Fire, and another of Poison. All weaving their honeyed words and bowing low as they begged to take something, anything, of the Grand Sorcerer for themselves.

So Vil traded away bits of himself piece by piece. A lock of his hair, the flesh from his forearm. His skin cracked and dripped with inky, dark, magics that swam through his veins and worked to replace all the parts he sold away. And wasn’t that so funny? That these Demons put a high enough value on his little odds and ends that he could probably sustain himself off their fancy for an eternity, and yet the people whose favor he’d courted so earnestly, so faithfully, for his whole life had been so willing to offload the entirety of him at the first opportunity.

Vil learned to hide his cracks with a harsh-edged, grandiose, layer of illusions. He learned to wipe away the tar and to stitch himself back together into something better. He grew so quickly and so strongly under these new patrons of his that soon enough the hunting parties disappeared altogether. No one was willing to go toe-to-toe with someone who could curse you to a literal death with nothing but a wave of his hand. The common people whispered his name under their breaths like a dark incantation.

‘The Witch of the Wastes,’ they called him, in panicked, hushed, undertones. They spread rumors of him feasting on the hearts of virgins and laying towns to ruin under the weight of his black magic. They talked of his power as if it was a thing to be afraid of, and most certainly it was.

‘Perhaps it is not so terrible to be feared,’ Vil mused to himself, the sharp, small, smile permanently affixed to his painted lips twitching at the corners. ‘If it means I’m also revered.’

And so the years passed in this fashion, with the country growing more and more wary of the icy beauty who’d made the Wastes his fortress. When the Royal Sorcery Academy reported an upset in their ranks, finally admitted that despite their star pupil, their outputs were floundering and their students lackluster, Vil watched with a righteous sort of glee. When Neige LeBlanche inevitably fled from Madame Suliman’s tutelage—publicly absconding into the night with nothing but the ill-suited clothes on his back—Vil laughed and laughed until the storms curling off his tongue had wiped out an entire harbor.

So he’d won, hadn’t he? Neige had been run off, the Academy was near ruin—Madame Suliman more so. But when rumors started to swirl of a powerful, ethereally lovely, mage who traversed the countryside in his slowly crawling, architectural nightmare of a castle, that bitter part of Vil reared its head with a vengeance. It wasn’t enough for the rat to come in and swipe his cushy, imperial, position out from under his nose, but now he was gunning to take the Witch’s mystique for himself too?! People were even saying Neige was the one eating hearts! Which was entirely unfair!

And then one horribly, ugly, sunny afternoon, Vil encountered his nemesis entirely by happenstance. Despite years of outright hunting the man, in spite of all his well-planned traps and schemes, Neige LeBlanche had only finally appeared before him by accident.  

There he was, waltzing through the open market air with some ridiculous little commoner clinging to his arm. Vil watched the pair with open disdain—that inky, awful, part of him raking its claws up his spine. Neige stepped through the sky like he was descending some grand, ballroom, staircase, and the startled look of half-terror, half-awe on his partner’s face didn’t do much to improve its complete lack of remarkability.

Something even more bitter twisted in The Witch’s gut at that. What was it with these pathetic, mediocre, untalented, pieces of garbage that had his cohort swarming to them like dogs after a choice cut of meat? It was disgusting. It was unfair.

That evening, spite drove The Witch to darken your doorstep. This was a small town, and it was hardly difficult to track down one, insignificant, little nobody. Especially when that ‘nobody’ still wreaked of a too potent, too bright, magic that Vil could scent like a shark to blood.

“What a tacky shop,” he hummed as he stood in the foyer of your modest store. “I’ve never seen such tacky, little, hats,” he continued, amethyst eyes slipping over your tight countenance. It was such a stupidly, boring, plain, face. His own expression twitched into something sour. “Yet you’re by far the tackiest thing here.”

You raised your chin at him, your upper lip going stiff in a bitten off frown.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” you demanded, making your back to the front entrance and pulling it open with a brisk, irritable, tug. “The door is this way, sir. We’re closed.”

Vil leaned forward with a sharp bark of laughter, and the lights overhead flickered into shadow. A trail of inky wetness slid from the corner of his lips, and the air seemed to grow heavy with it.

“Speaking like that to the Witch of Wastes,” he tutted, reaching up to swipe away the smudge of stinking, black, goo. “How quaint.”

“The Witch of the Wastes,” you echoed, eyes widening almost comically in horror as that awful, cloying, sludge swirled around you like a storm. It settled over your skin and seeped through your clothes. Vil could feel the heavy pull of the curse as it took hold. He plucked at the magic like it was string on a harp, and he could feel it thrum through your veins—settling itself in like a terrible plague. He could already see the affliction working away. Your skin began to droop and fold, your back hunching up under the sudden weight of years you’d never even lived.

So ugly, so ordinary, he thought bitterly. Whatever made you worth anyone’s attention, it certainly isn’t there anymore.

“The best part of this spell is that you’ll never even be able to tell anyone else about it,” he chirped, entirely unpleasant, and glided out the door in a whirl of purple smoke. “Give Neige my regards.”

Vil didn’t see you or your wrinkled frown again for weeks, though the fact that you were alive still at all to cross paths with him in the first place was a bit of a surprise.

You were perusing the markets of a small fishing town with a little, grumpy, old man at your side. The tiny thing was clearly cloaked in some low-level illusion spell, with a staticky, lilac, beard that swallowed his head whole and puffed-up brows that seemed to weigh down his entire face like a tangible thing.

“Hrmf. I hate potatoes,” the boy masquerading as a retiree complained.

“Pay up,” you chirped, lining at least a dozen along the bottom of your wicker basket. You didn’t look quite as old as you should have—more of a ‘gracefully aging into your twilight years’ than the ancient, broken, hag you were meant to be. There were always caveats to curses. By their very nature, they were built to one day break. Finding the key to that lock, however, was meant to be the crux of the problem. And if one was keeping with that whole metaphor, Vil’s curses were very hard to pick. Had you managed to find something? Impossible. He was sure he’d battened the magic down as tight as it could go.

Vil watched you move about through the slitted eyes of one of his inky, purple, henchmen. If you were here, did that mean you’d managed to find refuge despite the curse he’d inflicted upon you? Or perhaps—his eyes narrowed—you’d been found. Shadows slithered out like grasping claws, and he could taste the burst of too bright, too wild, magic on his tongue. Neige.

You walked towards a fisher’s stall, cane clicking along the cobblestone. And despite his earlier grumblings, your little shadow snatched the basket from your hands and followed diligently at your heels.

“Hrmf. I hate fish,” it grumped from behind the mouthful of purple poof. And then held the woven basket up again when you went to lay a wrapped salmon amongst your other purchases.

“Epel, you’ll never get any taller if you don’t eat something better than bread,” you chastised, like the grandparent you were.

“I don’t need to get taller!” your companion hissed. “I can beat up everyone from down here just fine!”

You laughed, and it sounded young. The crinkles at the corner of your eyes deepened with mirth rather than manufactured years, and when you smiled some of the harsher lines of age vanished altogether.

“Of course you can, you little ankle biter.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Vil frowned sourly, but before he could do anything further, there was a commotion in the harbor. The King’s most recent war had clawed its way to even these outskirts it would seem. You and your little shadow disappeared in the chaos, but Vil was too distracted by the fluttering storm of recruitment fliers that followed to care.

‘All Able-Bodied Witches and Wizards Are To Report to the King’ they read. All of them.

And when The Witch of the Waste received his own, personal, invitation with Suliman’s signature sitting curled and elegant at the bottom, he couldn’t help the spike of private satisfaction that wormed through his veins. The parts of him crying ‘trap!’ were silenced by the much larger, much more smug, swirls of contentment settling heavy alongside his blackened heart. Of course they wanted him now—to clean up the mess that he certainly could have prevented entirely in the first place. Of course they’d come crawling back. Of course they’d finally realized just how much they needed him.

Running into you yet again as he made his way to the palace felt like more than a coincidence, but Vil brushed it off with a sneer. As if you were actually important enough for your presence to mean anything. Bah.

“Why, if it isn’t that tacky little creature from the hat shop,” he drawled as you walked alongside his intricate, feathered, carriage. There was a gangly, black, crow perched at your shoulder, and it glared at him with beady eyes. Vil curled his lip at the thing and it fluffed up like a startled cat. “What business does someone as poorly connected as you have here at the palace?”

“Job hunting,” you scowled, and the crow squawked like a protest. “And what about you? I didn’t think the Royal Guard would be prone to welcoming someone as reviled as the Witch of the Wastes into their ranks.”

Despite all that vicious scowling, somehow you looked younger still than the last time he’d seen you. Something small and bitter unfurled in Vil’s gut. Even some lackluster, magicless, commoner was breaking through his incantations now. He shook his head to clear the heavy, cold, press of inadequacy and tilted his chin back to preen.

“After all this time, the idiots running the palace have finally realized how much use they can find in my abilities,” he huffed, lips curled in satisfaction. You went quiet, and watched him with an odd sort of look in your eye.

“If you’re so great and powerful, you could always get rid of the spell you put on me,” you offered, like that was any sort of incentive at all. And like you’d only even asked to keep yourself from saying something else entirely.

“Apologies, darling. But my talents lie in casting curses, not breaking them,” he crooned, entirely unsympathetic. And you didn’t even blink at his prodding. Vil let the curtain fall back over the small window of his carriage with a wave of his elegantly manicured hand. “Enjoy the arthritis.”

His carriage carried on as you shouted after him—waving your cane and threatening to beat him black and blue.

“If I didn’t have to worry about you being here I would have clobbered him,” you grumped at the little, decrepit, crow shuffling along your arm. It rattled its wings at you and you almost swatted the thing, before letting it teeter its way up back onto your shoulder with another frustrated sigh.

The Witch of the Wastes had only just crossed through the great, gleaming, gates of the Imperial Palace when his elaborate, peacock, carriage fell to bits—crumbling under the weight of talismans nearly as ancient as the fortress itself.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he snarled, and the guards assessed him like he was no better than anyone else who came stumbling through these gates. Like he hadn’t spent the better part of his life trapped within these very walls. And like he wasn’t here now, all these years later, on a personal invitation.

“Apologies, sir!” one barked. “Vehicles are prohibited beyond this point!”

A sharp and sudden crack rocked through Vil at his core, and the panic that followed was acute and near painful. Whatever these wards were, they weren’t just suppressing the magics he used for his carriage. This was… This…

But, no. He’d been invited. And powers dampened or otherwise, he would hold himself together until he could make his way through those grand doors.

Climbing the first few stairs felt like coming home, felt like pride. And then the Witch reached the fourth, stone, step and the elaborately crafted heel of his boot snapped like a toothpick—the magic sucked away like water being taken in by a sponge. He nearly stumbled over, and only just managed to catch himself without falling outright.

There was a surprised sort of gasp from behind him, and he whipped around with a snarl to see you standing at the base of the same stairs—eyes locked on his faltering steps with obvious confusion. Vil curled his lip at you in a silent challenge and you shook yourself out of whatever funk had settled over your brain. Then you too began the trek upwards, your cane clicking against the stone as your went.

The next splinter that worked its way through him was outright agonizing, and with no small amount of distress did Vil realize he was leaking. There was a sharp, thin, crack running from his temple to his jaw, and the burbling, black, goo welled up beneath it like blood to a wound. It dripped against the stone with an awful, thick sounding, plap. Thankfully this time, you had the self-preservation not to go making any confused noises at his situation, but your stare was a heavy weight on his back nonetheless.

Another crack appeared along his collarbone, and he could feel the endless layers of elaborately crafted, gem-toned, cloaks grow wet with the miasma slipping down his skin. He could feel a creaking, groaning, misery building along his joints—like a doll that was being slowly pulled apart at the seams. The Witch barely bit back a gasp when the delicate fabrics along his sides split against his cracklings ribs, and then you finally did grumble at him again.

“Why don’t you just give up?” you asked, shaking your head. Vil’s lips (or whatever remained of them at this point) curled up over his canines in a snarl. And while the words themselves dug at him in a way that was too personal for someone as ignorant as you to be fully aware of the bite of them, you didn’t look… mean about it. Your brows were tucked up, like it was a genuine inquiry—like you were concerned. Either way, he sneered up at you and you frowned harder, before offering a bewildered, “You’re killing yourself.”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited?” He spat. “Fifty years. Ever since Suliman—” he rasped, a spasm of sharp pain ripping through his hide like claws, “—banished me to the Wastes.”

You stared at his miserable, dripping, form for a long moment before you huffed and turned to continue your climb. “Too bad I’m not younger, then. I could have lent you a hand.”

Vil snarled and it bubbled up like tar. He felt a trail of it burst along his chin. “Next time I’ll turn you senile too.”

You laughed at that, and the bird on your shoulder squawked when your giggling jostled it around.

“I’ll hold you to it,” you smiled, and turned to keep making your way up towards the grand, gold, doors.  

You’d passed him by now—with your wrinkled, old, legs and withered muscles. Even with that ugly crow cawing and rattling around at your collar like the world’s most obnoxious scarf, you still managed to hobble your way to the top of the stairs before Vil had even reached the halfway point.

“Almost there!” you mocked, waving your hand at him.

But when he continued to struggle, you turned to one of the guards at your rear with a tight little frown.

“You should go help him,” you said, with just enough gentle fussing that you certainly must have been genuine, and Vil wondered deliriously for a moment if his ears really had melted off his head. When the guard spouted off some nonsense about ‘strict prohibitions’ and ‘court etiquette,’ you snorted and turned back to face Vil and his slushing, inky, mess with a tight thunk of your cane. “That’s ridiculous! The King himself invited him!”

When all those blank faced soldiers still refused to move, you offered Vil a little cheer that he hoped broke your stupid, elderly, knees.

“Come on, then!” you called after him, with another weird, wide, gesture. Though this one was far less antagonistic. “You can do it! Let’s go! Are you a Witch, or aren’t you, huh?”

“Shut up,” Vil seethed as he finally clawed his way to the top of the steps.

You didn’t reach down to pull him to his feet. He wouldn’t have let you do it even if you had, but you watched him with a grumpy sort of concern that had him feeling prickly in indignation. Who were you to pity him?

“Pull yourself together,” you ordered after a long moment of trailing at his heel like a skittish dog, and like he wasn’t literally being held together with the magical equivalent of some tape and a bungy cord. “Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for, hmm?”

The pain was terrible. Horrible. So sharp and miserable that Vil couldn’t even will a corresponding insult into his thoughts, let alone past his panting lips. You stared down at his hunched form with a tight sort of concern, and with that same stiff lipped not-frown that you’d been wearing the night he’d swept into your store and torn the youth straight from your bones.

You stayed at his side for the entire walk through the corridor, which meant you must have purposely slowed yourself to match his lagging stride. And when he began to sway beneath the weight of some heinous, creaking, mass of shadows, you dipped just close enough into his space that he was left leaning against you in a decision that was most certainly not of his own accord.

Soon enough though you were shuffled off into a separate room—the crow honking on your shoulder like some old, awful, squeaky toy. The cavernous hall Vil was led to was familiar, and instantly all those silenced rationalities about this being a trap came crawling out from where he’d so furiously buried them.

They bound him into a grand chair that was a mockery of a throne. Lights danced across the room, their high-pitched drone scraping through his ears and melting whatever remained of his panicked, terrible, thoughts to mush. He could see the shadowed outlines of all the Demons he’d contacted over the years—all their thin, pale, bodies twining around him in a macabre sort of dance. They locked hands and he watched his own split beneath the weight of beastly talons. He felt the remainders of his magic as it was stripped away layer by layer, leaving him bare, and hideous, and every bit the monster he’d tried so hard to hide behind crafted perfection for so many years.

When he was wheeled into the Gardens after they’d taken everything from him all over again, he felt like the main attraction in a freakshow being put up on display. The world was spinning, and whirling, and nothing would stay still. Suliman’s shadows stretched throughout the glass dome like an insect crawling through the muck. And you were there. Looking… younger again, somehow. Bright, and alive. And when your youthful gaze landed on him it filled with fire.

“Once he too was a magnificent sorcerer,” Madam Suliman sighed, speaking about her long-lost protégée with the same sort of emotional investment as someone lamenting over a spilled cup of coffee or a wasted coupon. “So much promise. He could have done such great things…”

The words stung nearly as terribly as the wounds spanning the whole of him. But before they could seep in further and tear out whatever living bits remained of him, you bolted up from your chair so quickly that you sent the thing toppling over. And then you were moving to stand between the monster and his maker, squaring your stance as if to guard him. Like you intended to protect this awful, wretched, melting, creature—

“You’re insane! I get why Neige was so afraid to come back here!” you barked. “It’s all a trap! You lure people in with promises and false invitations, and then strip them of all their powers!”

The rest of the encounter was a bit of a blur—colored by nothing but the pain and shame mulling Vil’s senses into nothing but a perpetual curtain of static. There was someone else there eventually. Neige, he would guess, by the way Suliman was puffing up and throwing her magic around. And my, was there a lot of magic. Cold, tactical, enchantments that wore away even at his already shredded senses. You were shouting something, and he could feel your hands grasping at what were once his shoulders. And then the lot of you were flying away—higher and higher into the sky until Vil was too dizzy to tell up from down.

The pain and exhaustion took him eventually. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened—only that when he blinked back into consciousness, he was collapsed atop a heap of rubble and there was a little, blue, fire demon yowling in his face. When he woke up again (slightly more coherent this time), he realized he was in a room. A swaying, creaking, room. And ah, this must have been that Moving Castle he’d heard so much about.

You were seated across from him, looking a bit worse for wear, but when you noticed his eyes slide open you were immediately lurching to your feet rambling about bandages, and antiseptic, and ‘gods I need to get some food into you before you wither away.’

When you sat back at his side with a little first aid kit and reached for one of his battered, twisting, limbs, Vil snarled at you with a noise that was so inhuman he almost managed to startle himself in the process. The cracks along his skin pulsed unpleasantly, and the smell of ash and muck filled the air. You stared him down firmly for a few more moments before sighing and moving to stand back on your feet. You didn’t take your kit with you, just slid it a few inches closer before taking your leave.

When you returned a few minutes later, you were balancing a plate full of toast and toppings. You sat yourself down once again and went about buttering a thick, fluffy looking slice of bread. Once that was made up to your liking, you reached over to set a little pot of jam off to the side with a teaspoon sticking out of it like a flag post. When Vil made no move to partake in your offering, you stared at the Witch and the hulking, twisting, mass of shadows that made up the entirety of him. Then you stood back up with a hum and returned a moment later with a sturdy looking mug. You filled it about halfway with a ladle of light, herby, smelling broth.

“This might be easier to get down,” you said, but it mostly sounded like you were muttering to yourself.

He glared at the cup bitterly. His fingers—claws now—flexed against the table where you’d set his meals, and they left deep, crackling, gauges in the wood. You stared him down rigidly and after a long moment where you very nearly started tapping your foot at him, he reached out with his clunky, mucky, talons and scooped the mug into his hands. When he took a tentative sip, you beamed—all that petulant frowning melting into something outright indulgent. You immediately went doddering about to fetch him a bit more.

“Stop feeding it!” the fire shrieked. “You’re wasting perfectly good food!”

“That I could be giving to you, you mean,” you chastised, topping up the mug with more of that thin, warm, broth.

“He’s evil!” the fire squawked at your accusations but very obviously did not deny them, perfectly indignant. “And have you forgotten about the you know what that’s got you stuck looking like a you know who!”

You waved off the little Demon with a shrug. “Oh, he’s alright.”

“He is not!” the fire wailed.

“He’s just as cursed as the rest of us,” you said, with a note of stern finality to your voice.

With that, there was a great clatter at the stairs, and a horribly familiar face clamored down to join the rest of you.

Neige LeBlanche had grown into his awkward warmth, Vil would give him that at least. He wore those same loose-fitting pastels and billowing jackets like they were things of comfort, something carefree. His dark hair had grown out a bit shaggy, but it still sat in that same choppy, artfully mused, style atop his head. Like a fluffy, ebony, halo. There was a youthfulness to those bright, brown, eyes that would probably never fade, but at least he looked a bit more like a person now, and less of an over manicured doll sitting at Suliman’s beck and call.

“The Witch of the Wastes at my breakfast table?” the Wizard mused, not without kindness. The teasing tone had Vil grinding his molars. “Whatever possessed you to let him into my house, Grim?”

“I didn’t let him in!” the demon yowled. “Your stupid hatter crash landed a plane into my face!”

Neige burst into peels of delighted laughter and clapped a gentle hand against your shoulder. “I knew you’d make a great pilot!”

A few of the wrinkles around your brow vanished when you scoffed, your lips curling into a smile even as you rolled your eyes.

“Your wall has a new hole in it that would beg to differ.”

“Excuse me!” the fire wailed. “But are we just going to ignore the fact that the Witch of the Wastes is sitting in our kitchen! Looking like he just crawled out of the pits of Hell!”

“He’s my guest,” you said after a moment, face pinched up again like you were trying to look stern. You turned a pointed frown on Neige and squared your shoulders. “You said I should treat the Castle like it was my home, too.”

“I did,” the brunette beamed, looking positively giddy. About what, Vil didn’t even want to consider. Whatever awful, sentimental, drivel was woven into your declaration was none of his business.

“…I guess we can’t just kick him out,” the purple haired boy grouched after a moment, stabbing at his porridge.

“Yes! Yes we can!” Grim shrieked, and you made a motion like you were threatening to upend a cup of water all over him.

“Nonsense,” Neige chirped, brown eyes melting into something warm and gooey. “If my dearest friend trusts him, then so do I!”

Dearest friend, Vil wanted to scoff. Please. As if the affection bubbling up and out of him was in anyway platonic.

Not long after, Neige darted off with a promise that he was ‘preparing something special!’ You nodded at his enthusiasm as he swooped off through his magical Portal Door, and then turned back to Vil with that same stiff lipped determination you were so prone to.

You showed him to a little room off to the side of the main parlor and dubbed it his. You lowered the curtains to dull the sharp brightness of the afternoon into something more tolerable, and brought in extra blankets when the Castle walked through a chilly valley. Even though Vil sat through your fussing in obstinate silence, you still chattered at him every time you stopped in. You carried in trays of delicate, bland, snacks that would be easy on his stomach. When he refused to touch them, you brought more of that broth instead. You puttered about cleaning the inky miasma that pooled on the floor beneath his feet, and only silently offered him a fresh handkerchief and cup of water when the tar built up so thickly on his tongue that he couldn’t even manage to swallow it. When you caught his glare resting on the intricate mirror hung on the wall opposite his new bed, you rolled up your sleeves and bodily yanked the thing off its frame.  

“Is there something I should call you?” you asked, maybe a week into this new situation of his.

When he didn’t answer, you just hummed under your breath, considering.

“It just seems like—well, you mentioned that you were banished to the Wastes,” you mused. “So I can’t imagine you really enjoying being called their master.” You smiled a little crookedly, something teasing sparking in your eyes. “I know I wouldn’t like to go around with people calling me The Ruler of Retirement Homes, or whatever.”

“I am what I am,” he managed to croak after a moment, and didn’t even let himself feel too pathetic over how utterly miserable and inhuman he sounded.

“You’re whoever you want to be,” you replied with a shrug. “You can be a Witch if you like. I just figured I’d ask.”

You’d finished up your cleaning and were on your way out the door when he spoke up again.

“Vil,” he sighed, so quiet he wasn’t even sure you’d be able to hear him at all. But you stopped at the threshold and turned to look back at him with your head canted to the side—like a curious, little dog.

“Vil,” you repeated with a nod, and something entirely foreign cracked through his chest. For a moment he was worried that somehow there had been a part of him yet left unbroken, and that now he’d lost even that. But… This was a different sort of ache. Even if it was no less worrying.

Each day after that you greeted him with a cheery ‘Good morning, Vil!’ and brought him his evening herbal teas with a gentle ‘Goodnight, Vil.’ It was the first time in more than half a century that he’d heard his name spoken aloud. Sometimes he’d even wondered if he’d managed to forget the sound of it entirely. But here you were—some silly, little, hatter rattling it off like it was something easy, something palatable.

Then one day you came to visit him smelling like flowers, your brow scrunched in obvious unease.

“You’re certainly looking your age this afternoon,” Vil huffed at you, and the corner of your lips only just barely quirked in amusement before falling flat all over again.

You stared out the window with an absent sort of expression on your face. Distant.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, hoping he sounded more sour and put upon than he probably did. A trail of dark, wet, muck slid down his cheek to land on the floor with a heavy plap and you moved to his side to wipe it up.

“…Sometimes I just get this feeling that all this is likely to change at any moment,” you said finally, quiet. “That even though I’ve worked so hard to make a place for myself—to be happy here—that it could all just…”

Something painfully familiar curdled in Vil’s gut. The hot sting of failure, the bitter inadequacies that had dogged his steps his entire life. He reached out to lightly thwack you across the back of the head with one of his too-long, clawed, hands. A couple of drops of inky magic splattered along your cheek and you frowned at him petulantly. Good. Pouting was better than whatever that miserable look had been.

“Get over yourself,” he huffed. It rattled oddly in his wrecked throat, like something animalistic. “You think you’re special enough that the whiles of the Universe would seek out your sad, little, life to ruin? Please.”

You spluttered at him indignantly for a moment before that irritable puffing melted into hiccups, and then finally laughter. You laughed into your palm like a secret, and something in Vil’s chest eased that he hadn’t even realized needed easing to begin with.  

“Of course, Vil,” you beamed. “How silly of me. Thank you for reminding me how meaningless I am. It makes all the difference.”

He sniffed, putting on as much an of an air of irritability as he could manage.

“As if that was for your benefit,” he argued pointlessly. “There’s only enough mops in this place to allow for one person to be leaking unmentionables all over the floors at a time. The last thing this poor, hideous, Castle needs is to be stained with your tears on top of it all.”

“That would be quite the inconvenience,” you agreed, warm.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, almost nervous. And then you ducked forward quickly to wrap yourself around him in a hug that was more a desperate sort of clutching than anything else. It was tight and small, and with all the cracks and holes in him, it was certainly far from enjoyable. There wasn’t even enough time for those grotesque talons of his to tuck around you in return. Not that he would have! It just—it was only an observation! You’d just… darted in and out. Like that tiny crutch of affection was all you dared take. Nevertheless, that same, strange, thing in Vil’s chest yawned open all over again. Even though his body was literally splintering into bits and his throat was always bubbling over with the horrible consequence of selling himself away, this was the first time he’d really felt like he was drowning.

“Thank you, Vil,” you said again, softer than he’d ever heard you, before slipping back out the door.

When the War he’d been summoned to help the Crown fight finally made its way to their doorstep, Vil was unsurprised when Neige rushed forward to clutch at your hands and urge you to safety.

“I’m tired of running,” the Wizard said, pale fingers twisting with the telltale shadows of magic overuse. “Especially now that I have something worth fighting for.”

And oh, Vil realized with startling clarity as bombs dropped around their strange, walking, home and smoke filtered through the air. That was it, wasn’t it? The key to the curse he’d so thoughtlessly bestowed upon you.

‘Who could love such a retched, ugly, thing?’ he’d thought.

But they had—they all loved you. The fire demon that cooed for your attentions and the little boy that curled into the fringes of your cloak like it was his favorite blanket. And Neige, with his open doting and the soft heart he wore on his gaudy sleeves. All that love had slowly worn away the dark ailment he’d cast upon you, like water beating down the jagged edges of a stone.

You were shouting something at the little fire demon, and then the Castle was groaning and heaving like a dying beast. It felt like the world was collapsing in on itself, but with the swirling weight of his musings curling through his thoughts like the headiest of drugs, he couldn’t really find it in himself to care. Even when the ceiling crumbled on top of him, nearly burying him alive, it was hard to focus on much else beside the horrified look in your eyes as you stared after him with your youthful, lovely, face.

But why now? He wondered a bit blearily, as you kicked through the wreckage of the Moving Castle to crouch at his side. You prodded at the gashes on his cheeks like he could still bleed, like the little wounds he’d collected meant anything in the grand scheme of all his aches and miseries. Why now when all these poor fools had clearly already cared for you for so, very, long?

“It’s going to be okay, Vil!” you smiled at him, a bit teary, and helped him to his feet. “I promise!”

And as those last dregs of black magic were washed from your features—when those thin, lingering, lines faded back into the sharp determination of youth, and all that remained of your ailment was a shock of silver lightening your hair—he had another, horrible, moment to think oh.

No wonder it’d broken.

Because how could it not? When he loved you too.

By the time you managed to dig them all out of the shattered remains of the Castle, Vil couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Neige had gone and died. If that’s why you’d come into his room the other day, sniffling about change and happiness. If you’d known he was about to sacrifice himself so that his little, hobbled-together, family would be able to survive the upcoming trials at least somewhat intact.

There was a lump sprawled out across your lap that didn’t look entirely human—blot ridden and blood soaked. And maybe… With the way you were staring down at it with a trembling mouth and misty eyes, surely that had to be him. Surely that was—that was it then. It was over. But then the little fire demon was swirling up and around, jumping about in a wave of blue sparks and spouting nonsense about returning his master’s heart.

With a final indignant yowl, Grim curled over the empty cavity beneath Neige’s collar and vanished in a gentle roll of sapphire flames. There was a burst of sparks, a bout of excited, feline, trilling, and then Neige LeBlanche was jolting up with a gasp.

“Ack,” the Wizard groaned, immediately falling backwards with a wince. “It—Ouch. It feels like there’s a weight in my chest.”

“Of course there is,” you laughed, scrubbing away the relieved tears that were brimming along your lash line.

Your soft, warm, gaze traveled fondly along the wizard sprawled out in your lap, then to the little, lavender, boy and the ancient crow perched atop his shoulder. And finally it settled on Vil—a heavy, tangible, weight that he could feel all along his spine.

“A heart’s a heavy burden,” you said, soft.

And Vil, who had spent the better part of his life breaking his own into splintered shards to barter away to whoever would take it, couldn’t help but agree.

.

.

Kenma :)

if ur sexc hot and fun take this quiz for ur hq soulmate 💃🕺 rb and tell me who u got !!

a whisker away― 2 | HQ Movie Collab!

COPYRIGHT © 2021 BY VELES. DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, OR READ MY CONTENT AS ASMR OR AUDIOFICS.

SUMMARY: After a strange series of events, turning into a cat becomes part of your daily routine, in which you visit your crush- Kenma, every day after school. But he doesn’t know you’re the cat that visits him. And to make things worse, you’re not sure how long you’ll be able to keep this up before your world spirals out of your control.

PAIRING: Kenma Kozume x fem!reader

GENRE & THEME:  A Whisker Away! AU (movie), fluff to angst to fluff, pining. [(two part) ONE-SHOT] [Haikyu Movie Collab!]

TAG’S & TW: Cursing, a bit of unhealthy family dynamics (mentions of parents fighting). Mentions of social anxiety, bullying, rejection + anxiety attacks. Some angst, mentions of insecurities and small graphic violence. Reader might come off a bit as yandere-ish/obsessive but she’s just head over heels over Kenma, who’s barely discovering his feelings as well.

WORD COUNT: 10.1K!

A/N: This took me one more week than expected to finish writing LOL I’ve been writing long-ass fics lately…but anyway, I really enjoyed writing it, so I hope you’ll enjoy it too! Will be focusing on finishing my Shigaraki fic now :D  Please REBLOG, like and COMMENT if you enjoy!

Ever since you’ve been having a second life as a cat, it feels like you’re living in a movie. There’s been no incidents, nothing that’s disrupted your mood. Both your parents have been peaceful lately, school is going smoothly, you’ve spent more and more time with Kenma and you’re sure you’re only sinking deeper in love. But you can’t find it in yourself to care or to worry about it, not when it feels like you’re walking on clouds. 

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i’m just thinking about akaashi

maybe i’m thinking too hard… gaahhhhh i love him. anyways

akaashi who never outright laughs, but he lets out a quick exhale and scrunches his nose up. if it’s really funny you might get a soft chuckle.

akaashi who gives you a deadpan look every time you say something dumb. he makes a sarcastic jab at your intelligence and ruffles your hair while doing it.

akaashi who is such a gentleman, but in the most subtle way. he isn’t one for pda, but he’ll fix your messy hair. he isn’t overly protective, but he will put himself between you and any possible threat. when he’s around, you will never pay for anything. ever. if you tell him anything, no matter how insignificant, he will remember it for the rest of his life.

akaashi who is so intelligent and thoughtful. when you’re around him you stop thinking, simply because he thinks enough for the both of you. he doesn’t mind, he likes that you have so much confidence in him.

akaashi who carries a bag with him at all times. he has a little navy blue cross-body pouch with a cream colored strap. it’s small and modest, with a small daisy pin that bokuto gave him. bokuto found it on the ground. he carries everyday items like his wallet, chapstick, and hand sanitizer. but he also carries around items that he knows you might need like pads, hair ties, and even a comb.

akaashi who opens his arms for you to run into. it’s not demanding, but it’s such a sweet invitation. when he first did this, he did not expect you to smush your face straight into his chest and squeeze the air from his lungs. but with you, anything is game really.

akaashi who crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, just watching you. akaashi who rubs your hips while kissing you. akaashi who lets out high pitched whines when he….stretches. akaashi who narrows his eyes when he gets jealous, which happens surprisingly often. akaashi who, when cuddling, just puts his face in the crook of your neck and breathes you in. he grumbles when you complain about his breath tickling your neck. and god forbid you try to move him away. he’ll grab your wrists and give you a sharp, “cut it out. i’m not moving.” oh my god. i just know he knows how hot he is. god.

Pride & Prejudice: A TWSTed AU

A Beautiful Tyrant: V. Schoenheit

Introduction, or Pick another route!

Vil x GN! Reader

Warnings: P&P-level angst and miscommunication, Vil tendencies, talks of stress, the Power of Meddling Friends (ft. Jack and Epel)

Notes: I thoroughly enjoyed writing this part. It took several hours of overthinking, but this is probs my favorite. And I twst-ed Lizzy and Darcy. Hope you enjoy, this has been my contribution to the twst community, thx everyone <3

You smelled Vil before you saw him.

A musky, regal scent wafted into your nostrils and you felt your body tense automatically. Here comes the Queen, you sighed, shifting the stack of script papers in your arms.

Earlier that week, Vil sought you out. When he and Rook finally cornered you in Alchemy lab, he asked (demanded) you help him out with the Film Research Club’s latest production. You weren’t exactly at liberty to say no, because you knew you wouldn’t have a moments peace from Rook, Vil, and any one of Vil’s mob of fans at NRC if you did.

This all wouldn’t have started if Vil hadn’t walked by when you were reading Prejudice and Pride. It was after-hours, and you were reading under the Fairest Queen’s statue on Main Street for a change of scenery from Ramshackle’s dusty sitting room.

As luck (or misfortune) had it, you two started chatting. After you showed him what you were reading, Vil mentioned thoughtfully that he’d been looking for inspiration for a new Film Research Club production. Apparently, Prejudice and Pride was a classic on Sage’s Island, as it was in your world - a classic that Vil thought was just perfect to perform. And wanted you to help with, since you were now reading it.

So, here you were - up at 5am, yawning as the sunrise came up, waiting for Vil who somehow looked very put together (complete with perfume and a full face of makeup and a chic outfit, on a Saturday). It was just you, him, Ortho, and a handful of other club students at the moment.

“Set that over there, Jack,” Vil nodded, and the two of them walked to you. You smiled at Jack, a bit surprised. “Hey, what brings you here?” Your fellow first year smiled back at you, surprisingly energetic despite the early hour. “Vil and I usually run together around this time, he said he needed a hand with the set. I thought I’d help him out.”

You were about to respond when you yawned, stretching a bit. Vil set down a box, side eyeing you, “keep your eyes open, Prefect. I want all your attention.” You sighed, picking up your clipboard, “on it, Vil.”

—•—💜👑💜—•—

You were exhausted.

It was safe to say that, after working for a month with the Film Club, it was tough to get out of bed at 5 in the morning, deal with Vil’s weird iciness, and then trudge through the rest of the day.

Somehow, a conversation about the character dynamics of the two main leads snowballed into Vil thrusting the movie script into your ‘capable’ hands. Apparently, no one else in this world could fully understand the complex relationship that the main characters, Ellis Benner and Mr. Darby, had except you and Vil. When you began protesting, Vil’s sharp gaze locked onto you.

“Enough of this. I will not have this production fail before it even begins, and if it means learning on the job, then so be it. I do pride myself on seeing potential, (Name).” Gingerly, he put a finger under your chin. Maybe the light played tricks on your eyes, but you thought his gaze softened fondly at you, “I wouldn’t give you this if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

And that was how Vil Schoenheit schmoozed you into writing the next blockbuster hit. No pressure, or anything.

So far, the production had gone off without a hitch. You’d been at it for a couple weeks, and had gotten into full swing of things. Vil took the helm as director, while you were doubling as production manager and script writer. You’d lamented to Jack that you were more like Vil’s second-hand when it came to the production. You were glad Jack was popping by a little more often, since some of the work had to be done done before classes began at 8am.

Currently you were going over the script with Rook. A few times, Rook’s flamboyant gestures and over-the-top comments made you laugh, causing a few students to look over. After a while, you noticed that every time you laughed, Vil seemed to look at you with a frown - as if he was mildly annoyed with your amusement. Even when you weren’t laughing, you saw him glance at you out of the corner of his eye. After a while, you had enough.

You leaned closer to Rook quietly. “Rook, be honest. Did I offend Vil?” Rook looked at you, eyes wide. “Pourquoi? Le Roi du Poison doesn’t seem offended by you at all.” You glanced over at Vil. Yep, he was still staring at you, but now his brows were pinched in a deep frown, violet eyes stormy. Rook looked over aghast, “Mais non! He will get wrinkles!”

Vil abruptly rose from his seat and all but stomped over to you and Rook. Stray students jumped away from his path, as if his mere aura made them skittish. You tensed, staring him down.

“Prefect,” he said icily. “Vil,” you responded evenly, looking him in the eye.

“I seem to recall that I put you in charge to look over the script. You don’t seem to be doing that.” You drew yourself up, head raised to look up at Vil, “I found some errors. Rook was helping me.” Vil’s eyes darted to Rook, who smiled pleasantly. “The tricksteur has a keen eye! The production will shine with both your beauties when it is done!” This seemed to calm Vil down.

“Yes, it will…” he murmured to himself, then his eyes snapped to you. “I’ll see you back at the dorm, Rook. Prefect, I expect a full report by tomorrow. We’ll go over the changes together.” Vil marched off, and you sighed heavily. Rook patted your arm affectionately, before giving you a cryptic smile.

—•—💜👑💜—•—

“Cut! Absolutely not!”

You watched Vil with a frown, shifting in your chair, “I didn’t think that one was bad.” For the past few days, Vil wanted the contenders for the main lead and love interest to act out a scene together - a ‘chemistry test’ between actors to see if they’d work well together. Earlier, you’d offhandedly mentioned how you wanted the ballroom dance scene in the script to have a good balance of tension and romance. At that, Vil looked thoughtful, “perhaps we should make sure our leads work well together.”

You were dragged out of your thoughts as the two students acting on the stage muttered to themselves as they stalked off. You hummed, leaning back in your chair, “let’s end it for today. Everyone’s already tired as it is.” As everyone cleared out, you looked at Vil carefully, “we can start again tomorrow. But I really thought those students were fine.”

You couldn’t understand why Vil looked so annoyed. “Prefect, playing the roles of Ellis Benner and Mr. Darby goes deeper than just acting well for a scene. It has to be believable. And I’d like it to be faithful to the book.” You sighed, “is this all because one of them stumbled during the dance? It’s harder than it looks, y’know.”

Vil gave you a pointed look, “no, but both of them should dance better.” He sniffed, “Although I disagree. I’ve made the dance quite simple.” Vil looked over at you, something swirling in his eyes, “even you could grasp it.”

You bristled at his words. “Oh? Even me?” you echoed, frowning at him. Vil nodded, clearing his throat. “Yes. I’ll show you.” Suddenly you were swept to your feet, Vil’s hand in yours, leading you to the stage. His expression was unreadable as he faced you. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, “now, (Name), follow my lead.”

The beginning of the dance’s violin music wafted in the air delicately as you and Vil stepped together. “Focus, Prefect.”

You were definitely focused, if only to make sure you didn’t show how flustered you were. All you could see were Vil’s deep violet eyes, and you were hyper aware of his perfume. You weren’t sure how long you were clasped together, panting, until-

“Hey Vil, I brought the boxes you wanted, where should-?” You nearly jumped out of your skin as you parted from Vil, face feeling hotter than lava. Poor Jack looked baffled, muscling a heavy-looking box with props. You hurriedly straightened your shirt, glancing to Vil. Even he didn’t look fully composed, swallowing thickly.

“Yes, just-“ Vil cleared his throat, “just set them over there. Thank you, Jack. We’ll see you in the morning.” Jack ran a hand in his hair, confused, but nodded and left. You were suddenly aware you were still holding hands with Vil. You quickly let go, abruptly saying “well, we should go too. I- well, good night!” And you ran as fast as you could out of the set, not seeing the forlorn look on Vil’s face.

—•—💜👑💜—•—

“What?!”

You gaped at Rook, eyes wide. He looked equally distressed at the news. Apparently, during Spelldrive practice, Epel had fallen off his broom and gotten injured. “Is Epel okay?!”

“Oui, mon cher, he is alright. I just came from the dorm, the nurse gave him a healing potion. He will be fine, but alas! He will not be able to attend the practice dinner Vil is hosting!” Rook sighed dramatically, hands open wide next to him as he shook his head.

You bit your lip, “do you know if it’d be ok if I went to see him later? I’m sure he’d at least like the company…” Rook’s gaze warmed, “Oui! The company of a friend is always welcome,” he looked outside. “Although, it will likely rain later.”

You glanced out, snorting. “It’s bright and sunny out, Rook. I doubt it’ll rain.” Rook looked at you, mischief in his eyes, “bah oui, tricksteur. A hunter knows.”

—•—💜👑💜—•—

Needless to say, you will never doubt Rook again. Ever.

He said it’d rain, and rain it did. As soon as you got out of the botanical gardens after Herbology, a mini flood rushed your way down the dirt path. You hunched your shoulders and ran up the path to the Hall of Mirrors to get to Pomefiore.

Once you made it to the elegant halls of the Fairest Queen’s dorm, you trudged to the common room. You were about to make a beeline to the dorms, when-

“Great Sevens, Prefect, did you walk through the rain?!” Vil’s voice made your limbs freeze. Your eyes widened. Vil’s eyebrows knit together as he stood up, looking at you. He was oddly quiet, any other criticism halting on his lips. The two of you stared at each other strangely, until a student on the couch cleared their throat, wanting to talk to Vil.

You suddenly found your voice. “I’m so sorry,” you realized you were dripping dirt onto the nice carpet floors, “uh, is Epel in his room?” “Yes” Vil’s eyes bored into yours. You opened your mouth silently, then said “thanks.” You glanced at the other student, before nodding to yourself and leaving.

Silence passed, while Vil stared at your leaving figure after you disappeared down the hall. “By the Sevens, Housewarden did you see their clothes? Dripping water all over the floor,” the student said snobbishly, looking at the trail you’d left. “And their shoes and pants hem just caked six inches deep in mud.” He looked at Vil, thinking his upperclassmen would agree, but a chill went through him as Vil’s violet eyes bored coldly into his. “That’s enough. Now, did you want something or are you wasting both of our times?” The student shut up.

Meanwhile in Epel’s dorm, you were relieved to see him on the mend. He was just glad he could avoid Vil for a bit. In any case, you could tell he was fine because he had no problem complaining with you, which warmed your heart.

You groaned, flopping back onto the mattress. “He just-! Sometimes we’re completely fine with each other, and sometimes he just hates me, Epel!” Your friend just sighed, “look, Vil doesn’t hate you. It’s the opposite really-“ “He’s weird around me!” That got Epel’s attention. He angled himself and listened intently.

You balled up your fists, gritting your teeth. “He just stares at me!” You threw your arms open, “MENACINGLY!”

Epel watched you, unimpressed, piecing together what you said, and Rook’s cryptic words and Vil’s strange fascination with working with you. He hummed, “Maybe he likes the challenge?” You stopped your rant, looking up at him, “huh?” Epel shrugged, “no one else can speak to him like that.” “Not even you?” You teased, nudging him. Epel gave you a look before throwing his now-empty apple juice at you. You dodged it, laughing loudly.

—•—💜👑💜—•—

“Ah, there you are.”

You looked up from your lunch. Across the table from you stood Vil, arms crossed. You felt Epel tense, and you mentally prepared yourself to listen to a long speech.

A chill went down your spine when Vil stated “You can stop looking so tense, Epel. I’m here for (Name).” What could he want? You’d already given him the final script, and castings for the production. This could’ve waited till club time.

Vil began, “I’ve looked over the script, Prefect, and I think it’s good.” Wonderful. “But, I’m going to change one thing,” he inhaled, and looked you in the eye firmly, “You will play the role of Ellis Benner.”

Epel’s fork clattered down onto the plate, and his jaw dropped. You stared back at Vil, stomach churning anxiously. “Vil, I can’t play Ellis, I have no time. Besides, you didn’t have me do any readings-” Vil cut you off, “We’ll discuss this later. For now, go over what you can, and we’ll rehearse together.” As he walked off, you frowned. A single word he said echoed in your mind - ‘together’?

—•—💜👑💜—•—

You rubbed your eyes as you trudged to the set. You held your script in-hand, filled with highlights and written notes in the margins. There was no way today was going to go smoothly. After your mini-scare with Vil in the cafeteria, you didn’t think you sufficiently went over your lines. Sure, Vil was a little overbearing, but hopefully he’d be understanding.

You were surprised to see no one at the set. “Uh, hello?” You said hollowly, peering at the empty set. You were spooked when Vil stepped out into a spotlight. “Prefect, you’re here.”

You put your things down, and walked to him. “Look, Vil, I didn’t get a lot of time to prepare,” you looked around again for good measure, “and I guess the actor for the Darby isn’t here, so we’ll have to postpone it for today.” You couldn’t hide your relief.

Your heart dropped when Vil responded, “There is no need to cancel. I’ve decided on an appropriate actor for Darby.”

“Who?” You asked. Vil looked over at you, something swirling in his eyes, “Myself.” Your eyes widened as Vil took your hands and swept you towards the stage. “We will be going over the confession scene, the one in the rain.”

You blinked, trying to flip to the scene in your script. You hadn’t gone over this part. Still, you guessed you could improvise some lines with Vil, maybe?

“Vil, why do you want to play Darby? I thought the other actors were good. And the ones for Ellis were good, too.” Sure, you knew he always wanted to play the hero, but this seemed sudden. Vil turned to you, a hand on his hip, “I only want the best for this story. Such a classic needs two main leads who do it justice, and who better than you and me?” he sounded haughty, eyes daring you to challenge him.

You sighed through your nose, and launched into the scene without delay. “Fine.” If Vil wanted a good Ellis, you’ll give him a good Ellis. You steeled yourself.

“‘Mr. Darby? What are you doing here? In the rain?’” You asked, chin lifted in defiance.

Vil switched seamlessly, standing across from you. “Ellis, finally. I’ve struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer.” It was like the air shifted as he got into character. “These past few months have been torment. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and l-love you.” Vil took a deep breath, and you couldn’t quite describe it, but you felt his demeanor slip.

“I’ve fought against the inferiority of your status, rank, magical ability-” what? You thought, magical ability? That didn’t come from the book, “- and circumstance, but I’m willing to put them aside.” Vil held your gaze firmly, and you felt your heart in your throat.

He continued, taking a step closer to you, voice becoming thick, “I’m asking you to end my agony, (name). I beg you-” you didn’t realize he’d taken your hands, and your script fell to the ground, “please do me the honor of courting you. Please accept my hand.” You held his gaze, your next line falling silent. Something felt strangely… intimate about this rehearsal.

You were taking too long to deliver your line. Vil frowned impatiently, “(Name), your line please?” You sucked in a breath and took a step back, letting go of his hands. “What?” Vil asked, and briefly, hurt flashed in his eyes. “Vil,” your voice wavered, throat thick, eyes wide, “You said my name. During the line, y-you were supposed to say Ellis, but you said mine.”

You saw Vil slowly realize what just happened. He cleared his throat, and you saw the tips of his ears turn red. Was The Vil Schoenheit flustered? He spoke, “Yes well, I did have an… ulterior motive to casting you as Ellis, and myself as Darby.”

He took a deep breath, holding your gaze, “I didn’t exactly want to tell you like this, but I do indeed…” he ground his teeth, and forced out the words, “have feelings for you. I have tried to stop them, but…” He shook his head, and continued, “Well, I do understand that it may be shocking to you, what with you having no magic or connections in this world aside from Grim, and living in Ramshackle of all places, but I suppose it can’t be helped.”

You looked at him, dumbfounded, as he continued in a matter-of-fact way, “But I can overlook that. You could switch dorms, and come to Pomefiore.” He stopped, waiting for your response. As if it were no other thing you would possibly do. You felt yourself grow angry under Vil’s gaze.

“So, that’s it then?” You looked at him, and he seemed shocked at the anger in your eyes, “you wanted to tell me that despite all of these things you’re willing to associate with me? That I’m not good enough for you but you’ll like me anyway?” Vil’s eyes widened, but your voice grew louder. “Is that what this production is about? You trying to confess in some twisted, insulting way?” Vil frowned, eyes becoming stormy, “You have some nerve speaking like that to me, Prefect-”

“You are so arrogant.” Your eyes stung, “You expect me to date you, even after you said all of that to me? After making me work tirelessly for this stupid production and stressing me out? You don’t even like that you like me.” You laughed humorlessly, “Forget it, Vil. I’m never going to date you.”

You turned on your heel, feeling your eyes well up. You went straight back to Ramshackle and flung yourself onto your bed, ignoring Grim’s yelp and pats on your back, trying to ask you what’sa matter henchhuman?

Back on the set, Vil stared at you as you left, feeling the same way he did after he overblotted. He slowly gathered his things and began trekking back to Pomefiore in silence, replaying every word, action, and emotion as if he were rewatching takes from his movies, wondering if he was acting or if he really was diabolical. He didn’t notice the water dripping from above until he stepped into a puddle, the water soaking his socks. Ah, he thought, looking up to see the grey sky, it’s raining.

—•—💜👑💜—•—

You didn’t return to set for a week. You weren’t quite sure how to feel when Vil didn’t reach out.

After that day, you were sure that consequences known as Rook Hunt would be… well, hunting you. You couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched, and whenever you turned around to look, you noticed Rook looking at you with a somber expression. Still, he didn’t approach you. Some part of you sort of wished he did.

You couldn’t deny that your days were much shorter and less stressful now that you didn’t have Film Club, and since its members weren’t reaching out to you. Still, sometimes you found yourself a little too idle. Even your friends had noticed your moodiness, but thankfully didn’t tease you much whenever you’d pull out Prejudice and Pride to read. At first, Ace started to tease you that maybe you oughta switch dorms to Pomefiore if you were gonna read the stuffy classics! but when he saw you upset, he laid off.

You still did see Vil, but he simply went about his day normally, never glancing in your direction. Hurt pooled in your stomach whenever you saw him, and even when you scrolled through MagiCam, it felt like you only saw Vil. Advertising a movie. Old clips of his past films. Product promotions. His MagiCam account.

“I heard you quit the Film Club, Prefect. You okay?” Jack asked, setting his lunch tray down. You shrugged, pushing around the food on your plate. Epel nodded, “I overheard from Rook that ya quit, too.” Epel didn’t mention that what he’d heard was Rook waxing poetry to Vil to try and get him to go after you to explain himself, but he didn’t think you needed to know that. Especially when you looks clammy as soon as you heard Film Club.

“The work got a little… much,” you responded after a bit, “that’s all.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, “Vil’s been looking stressed without you. He’s been trying to find actors fast. He said the original ones he had in mind didn’t work out, he looked pretty bummed out about it.” You tensed, and it didn’t go unnoticed by either of them. Finally, the bell rang, and you all but sprang up to leave, “bye guys, see you after class!”

Epel frowned as you escaped, “they have potions with me after lunch. I’m literally their lab partner.”

Jack’s frown matched Epels. “Something’s going on with them, and it’s been happening before this.” Epel agreed, “I overheard Rook talking to Vil. I’m thinkin’ something went down when the Prefect left Film Club. Not to mention, Vil’s been a real pain in the behind,” he said disdainfully, “He’s been real snappy lately.” Jack shook his head, “I don’t know, I think something else happened. Before (Name) left, I was delivering boxes to the set, and I think I interrupted ‘em or something.” Mentally, he cringed when he remembered that. Talk about being a third wheel, damn.

The warning bell sounded, and the stragglers in the cafeteria stood to get to class on time. Jack crossed his arms, ears twitching. “I have to stop by Film Club later, Vil wanted my help.”

Epel nodded, and as they went their separate ways, Jack thought back to last week.

—•—💜👑💜—•—

A week ago Jack was walking with Vil to the Film Club set. “So, I guess Prefect is gone for good?” Vil’s step faltered, barely noticeable, “I haven’t seen them since,” Vil said in a clipped tone.

“Did they get busy or something? It’s not like them to just leave like that,” Jack commented. Vil frowned, looking frustrated, “I agree. I’ve had to take care of many things for the production. Not to mention, I have to find new actors…”

Jack crossed his arms, “Y’know, I heard a few people were real interested in playing a part. Why not just ask them?” Vil pinched the bridge of his nose, “No one seems to understand. I had a very specific image for this film, and I needed Prefect to-!”

Abruptly Vil sighed, seemingly exasperated. “I’m sorry Jack, I’m not sure what came over me. I just…” Jack noted that Vil didn’t meet his gaze. “I’m just…” Vil seemed to struggle for a word, “frustrated that the Prefect and I didn’t see eye to eye.” Jack rubbed his name, “They were pretty busy when they were doing the production. It was a lot, not to mention all the other stuff they have to do. It’s not easy being Ramshackle Prefect.”

Vil bit his lip, “Well, I suppose it was only natural for them to disagree…” Vil swept his hair over his shoulder, muttering “...even if they were wrong. And I would speak to them, but I don’t think they’d want to see me.”

That was odd, what did he mean by that? Jack was about to question Vil, when the third year nodded to Jack, “I appreciate your help. I should be alright, will you be coming later on?” Jack nodded, deciding leave it at that. “See you later, Vil.”

—•—💜👑💜—•—

Ah, you thought as you shut your book. It’s raining again.

You really didn’t have a reason to continue reading Prejudice and Pride, but you told yourself there wasn’t anything else to do. Even though you did have other books, and finally got a movie player, and a stack of old movies that Sam had given you. You pinched the bridge of your nose. You’d gotten to the part where Darby confessed to Ellis, but you couldn’t stop thinking back to that day. Vil rehearsing lines to you. Telling how much he loved you. Holding your hands, as if he really meant it.

Maybe you wished he meant it. Wait, what?

You quickly shook your head, getting up. Maybe you could watch some movie to clear your head. You glanced over at a box full of books from the attic and the empty bookshelf, and do some cleaning.

Without a second thought, you slid a movie into the player and got to work. You didn’t really bother listening to the movie since you just wanted ambience. You were halfway to stocking the bookshelf when a voice made you drop a book.

“ ‘My my, what have we here?~’ ”

You spun around, squeaking “Vil?!” You were alone. But how…?

“ ‘I was sure you’re little troupe of friends wouldn’t come back. And yet, here you are~’ ”

Your attention snapped to the TV. Vil was in the movie you’d put on? Vaguely, you remembered that Vil once mentioned he’d been in a spy movie. Though you could, sadly, see that he was playing the villain. Still, you could tell that even at a young(er) age, he stood out from his protagonist costars. Vil had always had a way of commanding a room, even back then. Even if the room was a movie set, and you were viewing it through a crappy TV set.

You watched as a grainy, but recognizable, Vil moved across the screen. The cameras seemed to love doing close-ups on him, and you could see the technique he put into his acting. It wasn’t just his body movements, you realized in awe. It was his little facial movements, the way his eyes flickered in smugness. The way his mouth quirked up in that attractive smirk.

The movie protagonist shouted at Vil’s character, “How could you do this?! You’re so cruel! You’re a tyrant who doesn’t care about anyone!”

That’s not true. You snorted to yourself and picked the fallen book up. You mused to yourself as you shelved the book, Vil was strict, sure, but it wasn’t like he did things because he didn’t care. You found your eyes wandering back to the TV screen, some emotion blossoming in your chest. Rather, he did things because he cared too much.

You thought back to when you were filming with Vil a few weeks ago. Sure, you didn’t exactly like being stressed out with the production, but some part of you did miss it. You couldn’t exactly put your finger on it though. Or why it hurt when you saw Vil or Rook. You chalked it up to feeling bad about ditching him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to even talk to him, let alone apologize. You tried reading P&P to get your mind off it, but every time you sat down, you thought about Vil being Darby. And then you couldn’t focus.

As you were lost in you thoughts, the movie did a closeup on Vil. Maybe it was because you just hadn’t seen him a while, but you were mesmerized watching him in his element. Or maybe… You sat down on the couch, rubbing your arms, maybe you missed him.

When you first arrived to Night Raven College, you didn’t know anything about this world, much less its celebrities. When the VDC (SDC) rolled around and you became acquainted with Vil, you didn’t know who he was. Maybe that was why you eventually came to respect him, even if you didn’t always agree with him. You weren’t fully blinded by the stardom, but somehow you could understand why his fans liked him, without having to watch all his movies and interviews. You hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but eventually, you started to like him, definitely not in a fan way. And it freaked you out, but you tried to keep your crush-crush in check. After all, it wasn’t weird to have a celebrity crush. Even if you had a micro crush on your friend, who happened to be a celebrity.

You kept it under wraps, to the point where you didn’t really flinch when he interacted with you. So when he asked you to help with Film Club, you thought you would be just fine. Your crush had faded, and that was that. Or so you thought. And then that day happened, and you were back to being confused again.

You took a shaky breath, realization filling your core as you watched Vil move across the TV screen, laughing at the protagonist. Oh, great sevens. You still liked Vil. And you brutally told him off. You didn’t even hear him out. You bit your lip as Vil’s character was kicked down by the protagonist, a villain defeated. What have you done?

—•—💜👑💜—•—

Epel didn’t always like Vil’s lessons, but now he was sorta glad he had them.

It wasn’t always easy dealing with the endless etiquette lessons, but the physical lessons were alright. Especially when the endurance and grace lessons came in handy to sneak around. Epel may not have been Rook, but he could sneak easily around the dorm when he wanted to. Especially now.

It was starting to get late, and Epel was tiptoeing to the Pomefiore kitchens to sneak in a little snack. Vil usually went to bed earlier for “his beauty rest,” and usually Rook wouldn’t trouble him. As Epel closed the fridge door, triumphantly holding his contraband goodies (some beef jerky and a bottle of Harveston’s finest apple juice), he was startled to hear voices from the dorm laboratories.

“-so utterly ridiculous. The nerve! After I put together the whole production!”

Vil was still awake? Epel ducked behind a large plant and peeked through the foliage. Vil was in his dorm uniform (improperly dressed for lab, Epel noted), goggles on his face, dorm crown crooked, and hunched over the workbench as he mashed something angrily with a mortar and pestle looking frazzled. Rook, meanwhile, was properly dressed for lab, in his lab coat and goggles, shaking his head. “I see, Roi du Poison. Such a shame they quit, the film would have been magnifique with your combined beauties!~”

Vil huffed, tossing his bangs over his head. “The Prefect worked just as hard as I did for this film! Surely they cared about it? And after all that time working together with me, I thought- I thought they’d at least see it through!” Vil gave the pestle one last smash! and promptly dumped the contents into the bubbling caldron. Whatever was inside it hissed loudly and began spewing green fumes, and Rook took off his hat to fan it away from their faces. Vil turned back to his workbench, frowning at his potions book.

“I don’t understand.” Vil angrily stirred the cauldron, his gaze so burning it could boil the mixture. “Couldn’t the Prefect see that I only had their best intentions with this production?! And I was willing to work with them, despite them having no experience with film!”

Epel suddenly wondered if Vil was talking about the film, or himself. Rook was quiet for a moment, and quietly said, “Mon Roi, I believe you’ve pushed them too much.” Vil stopped stirring, but didn’t turn to Rook. He continued, “the Tricksteur’s beauty is not rooted in what they could be, but what they are. After all, that is what drew you to them, was it not?”

Epel’s eyes widened, and he stumbled a bit after being hunched down. The leaves on the plant rustled, but it seemed that Vil didn’t notice, lost in thought. Rook’s eyes darted in Epel’s direction, and he stiffened. Vil stammered out distractedly, “Yes, well, I- hmm…” He looked troubled at Rook’s words.

Rook took the stirring stick from Vil gingerly, “Vil, you should go to bed. You will need your beauty rest for the day ahead!” Vil sighed, shucking off his goggles and taking the dorm crown off his head, “You’re right, Rook. Thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Epel scrambled back towards the wall as Vil passed him, purple dorm sleeves brushing the plant. He heard Vil mumbling to himself, “the Prefect… maybe I should…?... No…”

Epel sighed in relief, and was about to sneak off when Rook’s shadow loomed over him. “Monsieur Pommette, how lovely to see you.”

Epel yelped, hiding his snacks behind his back even though it didn’t matter now. Rook towered over him. “I presume you overheard us, oui?” Epel scrambled up, trying to compose himself. “Y-yes, Vice Housewarden.” Epel sighed, here comes the punishment- “Then perhaps you could speak to the Prefect?” Rook asked, a hand on his hip.

Epel’s eyes widened as Rook continued, “I believe there has been some misunderstandings between our Roi du Poison and our dear Tricksteur. Perhaps you’d be willing to investigate?” Epel already was interested in this, (if only to cheer you up), but Rook sweetened the deal. “I can get you out of that etiquette dinner you’ve been so dreading?” Epel grinned and nodded, “Deal!”

Rook sighed, but looked pleased. “Ah, to choose missing a meal of beauté… but such is what we give up for friendship.”

—•—💜👑💜—•—

“Alright Prefect, see ya later,” Epel waved as you left the cafeteria early with Grim. You wanted to catch Professor Crewel before homeroom to ask him about an Alchemy assignment, and Jack and Epel were only too happy to see you off. Once Ace and Deuce headed off too, the two of them got to work debriefing (gossiping).

After a few minutes, they were done. “... so that’s what I heard from Rook,” Epel finished. Jack’s brow furrowed, “Sounds kinda like the Prefect and Vil don’t really know how to deal with each other.”

Jack leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in thought. His ears twitched, “Y’know, Vil wants my help with fixing one of the light beams on set tomorrow morning. It’ll just be me and him…” Epel’s eyes widened, and a small grin grew on his face, “an’ Prefect said they’d be waking up early anyway to finish an Alchemy assignment.”

Understanding passed between the two of them, smirking.

—•—💜👑💜—•—

Turns out, it’s actually pretty hard to get you out of Ramshackle when you’ve already locked in for Alchemy.

“Epel, I’m almost done. What could you possibly want?!” Your friend was already dragging you by the wrists out the door, spewing a few Harveston-flavored phrases you couldn’t quite make out. “Y’aint gonna stop m’fr nothin!”

“I promise, Prefect, just follow me-” Epel grabbed your wrist and began pulling you. For a small guy, he had a lot of strength. “Dude, calm down. I’m coming- wait, Epel-!”

Instead of taking you to the library, Epel dragged you to towards Main Street, where Vil had the production set up. “Epel, where are we going?! I’m not done with Alchemy!” Epel grunted, “Yer jus’ gonna have ta trust me!” Dammit Prefect, he was halfway to tossing you over his shoulder and hauling you to the set like a sack of potatoes.

You soon relented though, feeling as if Epel would tear your arm out of its socket if you struggled any more. “Fine…”

Meanwhile, Jack was running out of things to stall Vil with. Vil tapped his foot, arms crossed and frowning slightly, “Well? I believe that takes care of everything, Jack. I’d like to get back to the dorms.” Jack flinched, “Ah…”

Jack’s ears twitched as he heard you and Epel squabbling in the distance. “So Vil!” Jack moved, keeping Vil’s attention on him so Vil’s back was to the path. He rubbed the back of his neck, “You remember when you said you wanted to talk to Prefect about what happened?” Vil rose an eyebrow, immediately suspicious, “Yes…?”

“Uh- well…” Jack cleared his throat, looking over Vil’s shoulder. “Looks like you’re gonna have to face it sooner and not later.”

“What?” Vil’s eyes widened. You struggled against Epel’s hold, his hand still tight on your wrist. You narrowed your eyes at Vil’s back. “Epel, why…?” At your voice, Vil spun around, and panic flashed on his face. There you were, the rosy dawn light washing over you, better than any stage lighting could ever hope for. “Vil,” you said, swallowing thickly.

“We oughta leave you two,” Jack said abruptly, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Epel nodded, “R-right!” Soon, it was just you and Vil.

You looked away, feeling too nervous to look at him. “Vil, I…” He quietly cut you off, tone gentle. “Prefect, would you walk with me?” You looked up at him quizzically, and nodded. He lead you out of the set, to a nearby bench outside. You gazed out at the rising sun, breathing in the chilly air. You tried again, guilt eating at you, “I’m sorry for what happened that day.” You bit your lip, looking at the ground and away from Vil, “I said a lot of hurtful things to you. I know you didn’t mean it like that but…”

“No, (Name). You were right to be upset.” Your breath hitched, and you turned to Vil. He was looking at you with a soft, almost… mournful look. “I… also said some things I shouldn’t have. And I…” he took a deep breath, “I didn’t realize at the time how overworked you were. I never meant to put that kind of stress on you, I just… I wanted to push you to be the best. But I never wanted to change you.”

Your eyes widened. You never thought you’d get a genuine apology, let alone from Vil, but you could see that he meant it. You were stunned, but Vil took your silence to mean that you were angry at him still. He rushed out, “N-not that it’s an excuse. How I behaved was…” Vil trailed off, and you could feel the tension leave you.

“And,” Vil said softly, “I suppose I wanted to play a role that wasn’t the villain. And this role… was the best way to do that.” He laughed humorlessly, “I guess, in trying to not be the villain, I became just that to you. For that, I…” Vil took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, Prefect. Truly. And I understand if you… don’t wish to see me again.”

Your eyes widened, and Vil looked away. You gently touched his hand, “Vil, at first I was kind of mad about how much work I had to do…” You saw him purse his lips, but you continued, “But I’m not mad at you, Vil. And I’d be really hurt if I didn’t see you again.”

Vil’s eyes seemed to shine at your words, “I also confess that I’ve tried to separate myself from the thought of you, but I’m afraid it’s done quite the opposite. Prefect, I truly meant everything I said that day.” His gaze was soft but nervous, “You truly have bewitched me body and soul. And I suppose I’m asking for your heart,” he said, looking away.

You breathed out a laugh, inching closer to him. You gently put your fingertips to his jaw, turning his face towards yours, “Don’t worry,” you smiled, eyes shining, “it’s already yours.” Vil’s smile mirrored yours, and slowly he closed the gap between you two, pressing his lips against yours.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and the two of you shifted around on the bench. Vil’s arm went around your waist, and his hand rested beneath your jaw holding you in place. One of your hands drifted down towards his collarbone, over Vil’s heart. After what felt like forever, you pulled away, smiling so widely it felt like you’d never stop. You and Vil locked eyes, and you both chuckled breathlessly.

Epel fist pumped quietly behind the tress, “Finally! Took ‘em long enough.” Jack beamed, tail wagging wildly. “Glad to see they’re back to normal.” Epel grinned, “maybe now, Vil’s gonna be distracted n’ I can-”

Jack suddenly straighted up, feeling a chill down his back. “Uh, Epel-”

At that moment, Rook landed from the trees behind them, clapping his hands on their shoulders. “Ah, what a miracle love is~!” Jack jumped, ears and tail standing straight up. Epel let out a small shriek, heart beating wildly. Rook smiled obliviously, “You should be proud of the part you’ve played!” He sighed happily, watching the two of you like you were a stage opera, “Truly magnifique~”

You giggled into Vil’s shoulder, “do they know that we know they’re there?” Vil hummed, nuzzling his cheek against your head, “Rook will deal with them.” You sighed blissfully, deciding not to deal with that and instead bask with Vil in the setting sunlight, your head on his shoulder. In that moment, his perfume had never smelled sweeter.

~END

*smacks fic* this oneshot can fit so much overthinking in it

But seriously, thank you all so much for your support and patience!! I’m glad people still like this series lmao. Hope you liked the fic 😄 take care shrimpies~

Taglist: @cerisescherries , @eclecticprincecollector, @ars-tral, @thehollowwriter, @twst-eeps, @casperandcats, @ttokkisbee, @mitsuriswaifu, @parad-ice-lostandfound, @sad-sie, @moyo5653

(If your user is bolded, I wasn’t able to properly tag you 😅)

Staycation (n. informal)

— a holiday spent in one’s home country rather than aboard, or one spent at home and involving day trips to local attractions.

Hi, I’m Cadence, and I’m a staycation enthusiast.

I love staying in hotels and there has not been a moment since last summer when I’m not moaning about how much I miss travelling (I miss travelling). As a result, I have fostered a newfound love for staycations where you get to stay somewhere nice and get that feeling of escaping from the burdens of everyday life even without leaving the country.

Since it’s summer and it is the season for vacations, there is no better theme to have for a summer event than to take everyone on a nice little staycation getaway✨

Accepting asks from 1/6 10:00 hkt to 4/6 23:59 hkt

All posts for this event will be tagged with #secondhand hotels & resorts

Let me show you around...✨

Check-in

— send in details of your dream vacation + a colour scheme + a character and get a 9-grid mood board themed around a perfect stay at one of our hotels and resorts tailored to your tastes!

— e.g. somewhere sunny where I can lounge around the warm sand all day and relax under the sun, it would be a dream if we’re staying in a villa where no one can interrupt us and it feels like we’re in our own world + gold + Hinata

Concierge

— you came alone? That’s alright, tell me one thing you totally would have done in the past year if it wasn’t for the whole covid situation + m/f preferences and you might just meet someone lovely during your stay here;)

— aka you tell me things and I’ll match you up with someone by working the magics of being the manager of this hotel to put you two at the right spot at the right time

— e.g. I had plans to go on a road trip with my friends across cities but it didn’t happen🥲 + no specific preferences

Luggage area

— send in a description of what type of packer you are when you go on overnight trips + a character and I’ll tell you three absolutely unnecessary thing they brought with them on the staycation

— e.g. I’m moderate with my luggage. I don’t really feel the need to bring everything I use on a daily basis but I have certain things that I insist on bringing even though not carrying them with me won’t be too big of an issue either. I never bring more than one bag or suitcase with me. + Bokuto

Room service

— tell me your go-to takeout order (whether it’s your favourite food or just the thing you can’t go wrong with when you don’t know what to eat) + a character and we’ll provide you with a romantic dining experience

— aka tell me things and I’ll give you an aesthetic that has to do with food✨with descriptions and song included

— e.g. (this is something I actually order all the time btw lmao) curry rice with fried pork cutlet with a side of gyoza + Kita

Bar & lounge (nsfw)(CLOSED)

— below are a list of potential places for you to... do things people love to do😌send a number + a character to get an elaboration on what you are doing there, you know the drill

on the bed (yes you paid money for that sweet hotel bed don't you dare say it's too boring)

against the room window

against the wall

in the hot tub

on the balcony

in the elevator

on the rooftop

on a sun bed at the side of the pool

in the pool

on the beach

in the gym

in the shower

on top of the bathroom counter

against the door that connects to the room next door (is it locked? Is it not? Is there someone on the other side? Idk you tell me😌)

on the writing desk at the corner of the room

under a mirrored ceiling

(any other you could think of, I’m sure some of you are more creative than I am;))

our twisted threads of fate

Pairing: Jamil Viper x gn!reader

Synopsis: When you finally meet your soulmate in Twisted Wonderland, you realise the bond is only one sided. He's your soulmate, but to him, you're just someone from another world.

Tags: soulmate au, pining, crushes, friends to lovers, canon divergence, spoilers for Ch2 and up, reader has a soulmate mark and cooks, bot proofread

Word count: 3.3k+

Notes: Wrote this fic in one night and it's basically my love letter to Jamil's character oop. This is Day 20 of the 30-day April event held by @twistedchatterboxed. So glad to be taking part in this event <3 Make sure to check out everyone's work too!

"So? Why are you asking about my accident?"

The moment the words left his lips, you could feel a strange feeling course through your veins. A warm, tingly sensation could be felt on your collarbone, as no doubt the words written there were reacting to the presence of the man sitting before you.

It had been terribly exhausting adapting to Twisted Wonderland, given how chaotic your new friends were and how incredibly run-down Ramshackle Dorm was. Not only were you now expected, to keep up with the curriculum of NRC, but also be the headmaster's errand-runner. Which brings you back to the current conversation.

After the numerous accidents that had befallen several promising players for the upcoming Spelldrive tournament, the headmaster requested, no, ordered you to investigate the suspicious circumstances. So here you are, after having investigated several students who had gotten injured, standing in the cafeteria with your friends, asking the second-year student what exactly happened during the incident in the kitchen.

What you didn't expect, however, was to find out that Jamil Viper, the person who got injured in said incident, was your soulmate.

Another joke fate played on you, was that soulmates didn't exist in Twisted Wonderland. They were nothing more than a trope in fiction, poetic devices used to dramatise romances. But for you and your world, finding your soulmate is something so tremendously precious, it's considered the best thing that could happen to someone. Most people had "hello" or "hey" written as their mark, you were fortunate that your mark was something so identifiable.

'So? Why are you asking about my accident?'

You had always hoped to find your soulmate, the one who would be your other half, only you didn't expect the bond to be one-sided.

You took a deep breath and try to compose yourself before meeting his charcoal eyes. "We're here at the headmage's behest."

Jamil hummed, crossing his arms and contemplating. "The headmage?" he mumbled quietly. "Huh... Well okay."

He continued recounting the events of the previous night, while Kalim interjected occasionally, eager to join the conversation. But you found yourself lost in Jamil's voice, smooth like honey, flowing with a baritone richness that sent shivers down your spine. His eyes, sharp and glinting with intensity when he was deep in thought, held your attention like a mesmerizing spell. The way his dark hair fell neatly, framing the right side of his face, added to his undeniable allure.

The thrumming sensation on your collarbone persisted, as if your soulmate mark was screaming at you to take action. And you wanted to. You wanted to tell him, tell him how much he means to you, but you knew that he wouldn't be able to understand or reciprocate.

"Because we're not talking about me here!" You're broken out of your trance as Jamil exclaimed, flustered by Kalim's words. From there, your focus is back on the new clue Jamil has given you, and with an inkling of who the culprit might be, you left the cafeteria with the group in search of a certain hyena.

Days turned into weeks as you got wrapped up in the shenanigans of one dorm after another. It was frustrating and draining, and it didn't help that you were also trying to balance everything while getting used to the strange land.

Having found yourself growing increasingly conscious of your spending habits, given Crowley’s tight budget for Ramshackle, you decided to start cooking dinner for yourself and Grim in the cafeteria kitchen. Crowley had graciously given you permission to use the school kitchen after you made very valid points about how unusable the Ramshackle kitchen was, while making you promise to keep your gremlin cat out of the kitchen for safety. And with Sam generously giving you discounts on groceries knowing your situation, you found yourself frequenting the kitchen. It was rather calming and helped you unwind after a stressful day.

It also helps that your soulmate also frequented the kitchen.

It all came as a shock when you discovered that he was personally in charge of preparing each meal for Kalim and testing for poison. It seemed so bizarre, so different from what you were used to. You had known that he was Kalim’s caretaker since they were children, but you couldn't fathom how he managed to handle everything as a student, let alone when he was younger. But like everything else in Twisted Wonderland, you learned to accept it. This wasn’t a fantasy novel where characters had tragic backstories for the sake of character development; this was their real life, and you couldn’t just impose your values on them.

Still, you can’t deny that Jamil working in the kitchen is a delightful sight. He moves with precision and grace, like it’s a dance he’s practised a thousand times before. You can see the passion in his eyes as he creates his culinary masterpieces. He takes pride in every dish he makes, and it shows in the way he carefully plates each one. You can tell that he's been doing this for a long time, and he's become quite skilled at it.

As he finishes up his dish, he offers you a taste, and it's impossible to not be impressed by the explosion of flavours in your mouth. You compliment him on his cooking skills, and he smiles, seeming genuinely pleased by your words. In return, you often let him taste your creations as well, and as you started exchanging compliments and criticisms with each other, a gentle friendship between the two of you started to form.

You’re not sure if it’s from the soulmate bond or your personal interest in him, but undeniably, you find yourself eagerly soaking up every piece of information you could find on Jamil like a parched sponge absorbing water after a long drought.

Every little bit of him makes your heart soar, like how despite his reserved demeanour, there's a quiet confidence about him that's hard to miss, how he handles unexpected situations with ease, or the glimpses of a mischievous glint in his eye when he thinks no one is looking, but you notice it easily because your attention is on him invariably. You adore how naturally he shows his care for others, including you: the tender hand he places on shelves or tables to prevent you from hitting your head when you get up, the kind cautionary warnings he gives you when you’re using a knife or cooking, his soothing touch full of patience as he takes care of your injuries when you’ve gotten too distracted by him.

Your heart yearns to see more of him, to learn every single thing about him.

You are deeply in love with him.

But the gravity of your soulmate bond wasn’t something you could tell him. You don't want to pressure him into feeling a certain way or risk changing the dynamic of your relationship, especially with his already long list of worries. So, you decide to simply keep it to yourself, content with the friendship the two of you currently have.

Jamil Viper found that fate was incredibly unfair.

Being born into a family of servitude, it was a necessary skill to be able to blend in with the crowd. While there had been many times when Jamil wished he could break free from the mould and show his true potential, it was ingrained in him to never outdo Kalim and to constantly keep his family's position in mind. He was used to living in the shadows, never drawing attention to himself.

So, when someone from another world began to show an overwhelming amount of interest in him, Jamil was taken aback.

Things started to change when he started cooking in the cafeteria kitchen with you. He had enjoyed taking his time and working without interruptions in the kitchen; it was a rare moment when he could be alone with his thoughts. And while that changed when you started showing up in the cafeteria kitchen more often, Jamil also found himself enjoying the small talk and banter that would occasionally happen between the two of you while cooking. He had been startled when you started talking to him and asking him questions about his life, but you seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him. It was a new feeling for him, and he didn't quite know how to respond.

He notices how you would watch him intently as he cooked, pleasantly surprised by your apparent admiration for his culinary skills. Your praises gave him the feeling that his efforts were truly acknowledged. He even found himself looking forward to the times when you would show up, excited to see what new recipes he could whip up with your assistance.

But what surprises him the most was that your attention is always on him. Even when other people are around, you seem to be looking at him, and it makes him feel seen in a way he never had before. He doesn't know why you were so interested in him, why you seem to support him no matter what, there to offer a kind word or a helping hand reassuringly. Without a doubt, he is grateful for your presence, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to your kindness than met the eye.

You are different from anyone else he has ever met. Coming from a different world, you don't care about his family's position or his connection to the Asim heir. You see him for who he is, and that makes him feel seen and appreciated.

Your attention had made him uncomfortable in the beginning, but now he can't deny that he likes it. He likes being noticed by you, being acknowledged, and appreciated for who he is.

It's not until one day that the truth hits him like a basketball to the face.

He's in love with you.

He yearns to spend the rest of his days making you happy, to create a future with you that was filled with love and warmth. He envisions days spent cooking together, the aroma of spices and flavours melding in the air as you laugh and savour each other's company. He finds himself craving your presence like a parched wanderer in a desert that craves water. He wants to hold your hand, to wrap his arms around you, to claim you as his own in a way that was both tender and possessive. His love for you has bloomed into a magnificent wildflower, bursting with vibrant colours and life, but also carrying a touch of greed. Like a protective vine, he curls around you, unwilling to let anyone come too close, fearing you'd wither in their presence.

He wants you to be his, desperately so.

But as much as he wants to express his feelings, he knew that it wasn’t the right time. The friendship that had blossomed between you two was something too precious; he didn't dare jeopardise his bond with the one person who made him feel like he mattered.

And so he keeps his feelings to himself and continued to come to the kitchen every day, cooking and chatting with you, content to just be near you, helping and caring for you in whatever way he could. Helping you wash the dishes, learning your favourite foods so he could make them for you, getting extra ingredients for you, he puts his mindfulness to full use when it comes to you. He cherishes the precious and fleeting moments you spend together, fearing the day you leave and go back to your original world.

One night, you walked into the kitchen looking troubled and lost in thought. Jamil couldn't help but notice something was amiss. You didn't even acknowledge his presence as you went straight to the fridge to grab some ingredients for cooking. Concerned, he speaks up. "Is everything okay?" he asks, "You look a bit troubled, is something bothering you today?"

You let out a heavy sigh and turned to face him. "Not really. I just couldn't fall asleep last night, so I'm a bit sleep deprived," you replied.

Jamil nodded in understanding. "I see. Hmm… I can brew tea that can help improve sleep quality. Would you like to try some?" he offered.

"Are you sure? I know you're very busy," you said, not wanting to be another burden on him.

A wry smile appeared on his face as he walked closer to you. "You're too considerate," he said as he playfully poked your forehead. "I have plenty of time to brew tea, so don't worry about it." He smiled as he started boiling water. "By the way, if you don't mind me asking, what’s on your mind? It’s unlike you to lose sleep unless something's bothering you."

You hesitated, knowing full well that he was what had kept you awake last night. While you wanted to be content with your current friendship, you suppose it was in your nature, given the soulmate bond, to be incredibly greedy. It was selfish of you to hope, but you yearned to be bonded to him like lovers were. "Well, it's a long story," you eventually answered.

"I don't mind listening. You can tell the story while I'm making the tea," he replied nonchalantly. "Just tell me whatever you’re comfortable with sharing."

Well, here goes nothing.

"Uhm... To start, have you ever heard of soulmates?"

Jamil thought for a bit before nodding. "I've heard of them, yes," he answered as he poured hot water into a teapot. "It's where two people are 'destined to be with' each other, right? I've heard of them before. Why do you ask?" he turned to face you with a curious expression.

You fidgeted with your hands, unsure of how to approach the subject. "It's just, in my world, they’re a very real thing." You took a deep breath and began to explain to Jamil about soulmates in your world—how it's believed that every person has a special bond with someone else, their soulmate, and that when they meet, they just know that they were meant to be together.

Jamil listened intently as you spoke, noticing the wistful look in your eyes as you talk about soulmates.

"At first, I wasn't sure about it either," you admitted. "But then... I met him."

Jamil's expression changed, a bitter wave crashing over him as he realized that you've found someone who had captured your heart. He had been content with being just friends, never daring to hope for more, but now it seemed that you had found someone else who made your heart sing.

"I see," he said, his movements a bit stiff as he poured hot water over the tea leaves. "It sounds like a beautiful thing, to be so connected to someone else," he commented, albeit a bit stiffly.

This stiffness goes unnoticed by you though, as you nodded, feeling a little embarrassed for bringing the conversation up. "Well, the thing is, I had hoped to find my soulmate. And... to have found him here in Twisted Wonderland, yet my connection to him is one-sided... I'm sorry; I know it sounds silly... It's just been on my mind a lot lately," you admitted.

Jamil shook his head. "Don't apologise. I'm glad you told me, it must be really important to you." He said, distracting himself by pouring the tea into a mug. "Here you go," he said, handing it to you. "It’s chamomile tea. I hope it helps you sleep better tonight."

"Thank you," you replied, taking a sip of the warm liquid. It's fragrant and soothing, and you felt a sense of calm wash over you.

Despite the sharp pang in Jamil's chest as he came to terms with the fact that you belonged to someone else, he couldn't help but be captivated by the image you paint of your soulmate. His heart clenched with bittersweet emotions as he pushed aside his own longing, resigned to the reality of unrequited feelings, as he had always done. He looked at you and asked, "So, what is your soulmate like?" His voice trembled slightly, betraying the turmoil of emotions within him.

You hesitated, torn between revealing the truth and keeping your feelings hidden. But as you met his intense gaze, you felt a surge of courage well up within you. Taking a deep breath, you described the person who holds the other half of your soul.

"He's incredibly responsible and resourceful," you said, your words tinged with a shy vulnerability. "He's always looking out for others, taking great care of the people around him. He's thoughtful, kind, and selfless."

As you spoke, Jamil's mind raced with a mix of emotions. He couldn't help but see himself reflected in the description you gave, recognizing the qualities that you admired in your soulmate. Could it be possible that you're describing him? His heart pounded loudly in his chest as he tried to keep his excitement in check. He cleared his throat and asked, "And... what about their hobbies?"

Okay, this is it. "He enjoys basketball and dancing quite a lot."

You watched as the gears turned in his head, his eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat as he realised what you had said. "Me?" he asked, his voice barely audible as a flush settled across his face, his emotions swirling like a tempest within him.

You nodded shyly, confirming his suspicions. Jamil's heart skips a beat, and he could hardly believe his luck. "I... I'm your soulmate...?" he stammered, his voice barely audible, but the joy in his eyes was unmistakable.

You nodded again, hesitating for a moment before speaking, "I... I’ll show you," you said as you start to unbutton the top buttons of your uniform. He raised his eyebrows in alarm, his gaze flitting between your face and the wall, seemingly flustered by your words. You could barely hold back a laugh at his adorable reaction, but you composed yourself and pulled down the collar of your shirt, revealing the words written neatly on your collarbone in a familiar handwriting—his handwriting.

Jamil stared at the mark, his expression unreadable. The words written there are in his own handwriting, unmistakably so. He reaches out tentatively, his fingertips grazing the letters as if trying to confirm that what he's seeing is real. He feels as your body thrums at his touch, and a wave of possessiveness washes over him, seeing his mark on you as if you belonged to him. For the first time in his life, something, no, someone, finally belonged to him completely.

"This is what I meant," you said quietly. "It's my soulmate mark. The first words you ever said to me."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and tenderness. "I... I can't believe it," he stammered, his voice thick with emotion. "This is... this is incredible."

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth spread through your chest. "It's real, Jamil," you murmur, cupping his hand on your collarbone. "We're soulmates."

He nodded slowly, still unable to take his eyes off the mark on your skin. "I never imagined... I never thought it would be like this." He looked at you with a newfound sense of possessiveness, as if he was realizing for the first time that you were truly meant for each other. "You're mine," he said in a low, husky voice. "My soulmate."

Your breath hitched at his words, and a shiver ran down your spine. You could feel the depth of his emotions, the intensity of his love, and it left you feeling weightless. "Yes, Jamil," you said airily. "I'm yours, and... you're mine."

He smiled tenderly before leaning in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, yet possessive, kiss. It feels like fireworks going off in your head as you realise that the bond you had been searching for your whole life has finally solidified. You deepen the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pull him closer, lost in the moment of pure connection. When you finally pull away, both of you are left breathless, smiling widely at each other.

Jamil had always thought fate had pulled a cruel joke on him. But if fate had brought him a soulmate from another world, maybe it wasn’t such a bad joke after all.

In the moonlight

summary; you give akaashi the courage he needs

♡ pairing; a.keiji x gn!reader

♡ genre; angst, fluff, friends to lovers

♡ w.c; 856

♡ warnings; cursing, drinking

a/n; this made me so soft </3 find me a man like akaashi pls

*this fic is a part of my ‘five ways to say i love you’ mini-series. check out the other stories here!

“They don’t like me.”

He says it so assuredly that you almost believe him. But it’s Akaashi Keiji you’re talking to, so you know it’s a big fat lie. He reconsiders his words then shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. They like me but they don’t like me the way I want them to.”

You nod and take a large gulp of your gin and tonic. “How are you so sure?”

He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, cheeks so pink you wonder if they’re hot to the touch. You really want to find out. “I just do,” he sighs, head lolling forward. “Or maybe they’re just as stupid as they say they are.” Again, you bob your head and drink.

“Hey, maybe. I know I can be.”

Akaashi gives you a wry smile. “Yeah, you really can.”

The party seems so far away even though it’s going on right behind you. The sliding glass door does well to block out most of the noise, though you can vaguely hear that one song that’s been stuck in your mind and the excited shouts of Bokuto and Konoha. You lean over the porch railing, your red solo cup dangling between your unsteady fingers.

“Keiji—” his hand twitches— “you deserve so much,” you sigh. “More than you think you do.”

“What makes you think I don’t know what I deserve?”

He chuckles at the sharp look you give him. ”Okay, okay. Point taken.”

“You deserve the world.” The gin doesn’t burn the same way the words do. “And if they can’t see how amazing you are, then fuck them.”

He’s silent as you drain the last of your drink and you blink furiously at the moon. “Tell me more.” His voice is soft yet you shiver at the quiet command. You can’t look at him as you continue.

“You’re brilliant, so bright like the moon,” you say, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. “You’re attentive. You make sure Bokuto always has a snack before practice—“

“Because he won’t stop whining about how hungry he is when it’s over—“

“You’re compassionate. You’re willing to help Kuroo when he needs tutoring…”

“He needs all the help he can get honestly—“

Akaashi’s eyes widen as you press a digit to his lips, a smile plays on yours.

“You’re humble,” you whisper. “Kind, patient, honest to a fault—“ He laughs at that one, grabbing your hand to remove it from his mouth and holds it against his chest. “You’re reliable. You give so much of yourself away and never ask for anything in return, even though Bo and I have told you time and time again that it’s okay to need someone, to let someone in—“

“You’re going on a tangent, love.” His touch is searing when he rearranges his hold on your wrist to intertwining your fingers. You stare at your interlocked hands and exhale. “And if they can’t see all these great qualities about you then they don’t deserve you.”

The upward curl of Akaashi’s plump lips is beautiful, painfully so. Under the silver light of the full moon, you can’t help but wonder how one can be this ethereal. Tendrils of inky black hair curl around his smooth skin, brushing along the thick fringe of lashes surrounding his cerulean eyes. The thin slope of his nose, the prominent shape of his cupid’s bow… Aphrodite would curse him out of pure jealousy, Selene would stop her chariot if only to marvel at his perfection. His crush, whoever they may be, would be an absolute fool to not want the man in front of you, the man who glimmers like stardust in the moonlight.

You blame your alcohol-addled brain for this one. “Y’know,” you wave your empty cup around, the last remnants of gin flying about. “You should, you should just kiss them! Grab their stupid face and plant a big wet one on them! Because if they’ve been this blind all this time, maybe they just need something more ‘in their face,’ y’know?”

It’s quiet, save for the music thumping behind you, as he contemplates your suggestion. Akaashi’s grip tightens when he leans a little closer to you. “That’s one way to go about it,” he muses while he drums his fingers along your skin. “It’s someone you know,” he says cautiously and your stomach dips. “Intimately. Would you still recommend I just go up and kiss them?”

You are a fool, an enormous idiot who is helplessly in love with stardust. “Why not? Life’s too short not to take risks.” You hope he doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks, the way your plastic cup crinkles under your shaky hold.

Akaashi hums. He lets go of your hand and you protest when he takes your cup. “Hey,” you say with a pout. “I was gonna get some more.” His lips quirk up on one side as he carefully balances the two cups on the railing.

“I’m just taking your advice.”

With one hand on your hip, and the other cupping the back of your neck, the man who glimmers like stardust kisses you.

Hi there! I absolutely adored my mashup last time, so can I ask for lamplight please?

I would like to live in a lovely little minka house that’s seems cut off from the rest of the world, but is close to a bustling little city where I can watch people go by and live there lives. I would like to travel back to my freshman year of high school and tell myself to get out of a friendship before it gets any worse.

Thank you! You’re amazing and deserve this milestone!!

ahh hello hello sad-sie! you’re back! thank you sm and i’m glad you enjoyed the last one🥰🥰

˚｡⋆.lamplight: for sad-sie

14.7k. college!au. canon compliant. fluff. hurt/comfort. idiot(s) in love.

the last person you would expect to comfort you about your break up with your asshole of an ex is his roommate. 

so when iwaizumi hajime waves to you outside of your class, large box in hand, two days after you dumped his roommate into the metaphorical waters of pacific ocean, you can hear the cicadas chirping even in the middle of nowhere irvine, california. 

“this is everything you left at the apartment.” he holds out the box with an angry, pensive frown. “that shithead was thinking of throwing them out.”

"oh, uh.” you’re not too sure how to reply in the myriad of anger and embarrassment and a little heartfelt gratitude for iwaizumi’s considerateness. “thank you, hajime.”

and it seems like he isn’t quite sure how to deal with this entire situation that he started, so with a small nod and a gruff “yeah, no worries,” he turns around to leave.

you can only blink, a box of wretched memories in your hands as you watch him head into the quad.

and then he stops, fists balled into strength, and brown eyes shining with liquid courage. 

and iwaizumi hajime, roommate of your ex, asks you, “do you like cicadas?”

wait out the rain with me🌨