Been Following You For Quite A While, And I Absolutely Love Your "How To Win A Heart Of" Series! Would

Been following you for quite a while, and I absolutely love your "How to win a heart of" series! Would you consider making for Trey as well?

No pressure though, and you can ignore if your req is not open, but I'd love to see what you come up with! Thank you for giving amazing contents

How to win a heart of Trey Clover?

a/n: Dear Anon, I hope you will like this one!

Dear Readers, for the plot enrichment, I gifted you with a (temporary) inability to bake. It might have highly affected the reader’s self-confidence, which is primarily pretty low, but grows with each sweet second when Trey is around. And then, the reader embraces the energy of positive chaos. And becomes chaotic.

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

1. Ask for help from pretty stranger from the desk next to yours.

To say that you aren’t nervous would be an utter lie.

Your knuckles already whitened from the unwitting pressure you put in tightening your fists into a nervous grip, and your shoulders felt sore, reasonably sore, after being tensed for so long. Throat goes dry again, and words die on your tongue, just like every time your eyes dart to a green-haired student.

...You really need to talk to him.

Trey Clover, the unfamous vice-dorm leader of Heartslabyul, is probably the greatest pastry chef in NRC’s history and the only person who can help you at the moment.

A baking club entry exam, that is.

...

The problem is, you suddenly forgot how to talk to people.

You could swear everything was alright just a moment ago when your friend casually complained about the lack of seasoning in the cafeteria’s food. A huff, an eye roll and a sarcastic comment were almost obligated.

Now you can’t remember how it felt to be relaxed.

Should you just say hi and casually tell him about your problem? Would almost strange classmate care? ...If he disagreed, it would be a bit embarrassing, and it’s not like you could avoid him when his desk is next to yours. Maybe you could ask any of your friends if they could introduce you... But does any of them know Trey?

You look up at Trey once again, as if it could help you find a solution, but quickly shift your gaze to your hands.

Maybe you should just read more culinary books... A theory might not be enough, but it will spare you from any embarrassment that might—and with your luck and undeniable skills: *will—*happen.

...

No. You need to be brave.

How will you go through life if you can’t talk to strangers? Trey seems like a kind person, so he might help you... or just reject your ask without putting up a show.

And all you need to do is to start talking.

All you need to do is—

“Hey, can I help you with something?” A voice, a really good sounding voice with the texture of melted chocolate startles you, and you look cautiously up. “I noticed you were watching me.”

...Of course, he did.

All courage you mustered up was now just a faint memory, untraceable and irretrievable. With sympathetic eyes in the colour of cinnamon and gold on yours, you swallow some saliva, hoping it will dissolve the stress that gripped your throat.

“I’m so... so, very sorry... I didn’t mean to stare.”

“No need to apologize,” he smiles warmly, which makes your gaze drop to the floor in silence. “You’re [Name] [Surname], right? I don’t believe we have talked before, but I heard—and saw, believe me—that you are a very lovely person.”

...

What? What?

“Thank you...?” You pull the words into your mouth because leaving the comment in silence would make you feel guilty. Also, it was a compliment! Sensing you want to ask him for something, he gives you a smile. So, before the rest of your courage has a chance to flag, you speak up. “I... Or rather if... If you have any time to spare me, could you help me- pass- my- baking- class?”

He almost grins at your question. ...Huh, was it funny?

“You are a member of a baking club, aren’t you? I’m honoured you reached out to me, haha!” He regards you with a warm look, and you feel almost happy that you’ve decided to talk. “And sure. I will help you. Just... don’t be so nervous around me? I don’t bite... but I sure can serve you something worth tasting.”

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Share your thoughts.

There is that unnamed excitement hanging in the air.

You aren’t sure if it comes from the late hour when most school halls are abandoned and left only with some candles as the source of light, or is it Trey himself, who stands behind the kitchen counter with a cookbook loosely in his hands.

“So,” he starts, and the polite smile he wears seems to brighten up the whole room, “I might not be a member of the baking club—even if it sounds really fun, and I am, in fact, a little bit envious—but I heard about the criteria of the tests. They let you create a custom recipe, which you will have to re-do in a certain amount of time, under the eye of the club president... Is that right?”

You nod.

While you could, of course, learn a recipe from the most mysterious and unknown book that has barely seen sunlight, your club’s president has his ways to check if the work was plagiarized. So, your ‘quest impossible’ is to think of a pastry no one ever thought about.

It’s hard to believe every member of the club had to do the same.

“We need to start with a goal,” Trey guides you to take a pencil and puts an empty notebook on the counter. “And we need to get a little bit creative here.”

He stands where he was standing before, but he seems a little bit closer than before. You take a little step back at the sudden realization, and Trey chuckles softly as he sends you an apologetic smile and moves a bit away.

“So, to know what we want to do...” You aren’t sure if he stands that much away because you hear his voice well. Very well, every change in his tone is neatly observed and noted in your thoughts. “Tell me, what you dream of. Even the most impossible idea.”

He smiles encouragingly. You aren’t sure if you’d like to reveal any of your secrets to a stranger, but then Trey flips a recipe book and your eyes land on several images one of of the most enticing cakes you’ve ever seen.

Trey knows he has your attention. His finger slides from a cookbook to your blank notebook, where you will have to write down some ideas. “The best way to learn is to do something you want. And to do that, I need to know your preferences a little bit better.”\

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3. Try your hand at pastries. Again.

‘00:36’

Your phone buzzes once again, and for the seventh time, you tap the screen to delay the alarm. It is a simple move, but it reminds you of hours you have spent in the kitchen.

You are tired, and at the moment, you wish nothing but to tuck yourself in the bed and be late for morning classes. It’s not really an affirmable desire, but a needed one.

“Should we put it in the fridge?” You ask, looking at the fresh-made cake. It is beautifully decorated, but, to make sure the cream is right, you will have to leave it somewhere cold overnight.

“This one?” Trey corrects his glasses. “Only if you wish for some other students to steal it for their breakfast.” He smiles faintly, the lost hours of sleep getting onto him as well. “And that is another rule to learn: do not trust anyone your baking goods unless you’re prepared for the loss or you have your ways to find the culprit.”

A wry, hesitant smile stretches your lips. “...Is that from experience?”

“You would be surprised how often it happens,” he sighs and your mouth quirks up. “How trustable are your dormmates?”

“I... think I wouldn’t like to test out.”

“Okay, yes. I understand, I would probably do the same,” Trey laughs at your response. “But, well, would you trust me with this cake, please? I will bring it on a lunch break when we will try it out and think about improvement.”

“Sure...” You look at him from under your lashes and smile. “I will give you a benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you!” And another smile returned. A smile does really suit him. “I will not let you down.”

Then, he said his goodbyes and left, the only trace that he was here being the blush that slowly perfused your cheeks.

He is too kind...

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4. Beware.

There are always some eyes on you, and that’s the thing you need to remember in NRC.

And because people here are very observant, just by watching a person for a while, you can get a nice grasp of someone’s personality, judging them by their words and actions.

It also makes some students cautious—aware of being observed, they put up a show of being someone they aren’t. They can look stronger than they are, to look respectable, or feel timider, to cover the abilities they would like to save for later.

Either way, you’re a really bad liar.

Trey notes that when he notices you talking with your friends. There are no feigned emotions across your face, the tone of your voice bewrays everything you’d like to hide. Even falling quiet tells him a lot, and he has no trouble with saying if the silence is a peaceful one or a distressed one.

He doesn’t know why his gaze always searches for you in a crowd. Well, he doesn’t know why he was helping you without getting paid back. You aren’t influential in this school, but maybe, your passed test will be a bargaining chip when the time comes.

...But was that a reason?

A pondering sigh escapes his lips.

When you catch him staring, you wave at him discreetly.

He nods his head at you, in greeting, and a soft smile blooms up your face.

...

Yeah. You’re wearing heart on your sleeve, but that’s a part of your charm.

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5. Take a joke seriously.

Emptied bottles of oyster sauce lay on the table and you can’t contain the sigh when you glance at them.

You tried everything.

And it still didn’t taste good.

You don’t know how to add oyster sauce, the special ingredient Trey revealed to you in utter secret, to make... anything savour better, but you aren’t going to give up yet.

The cake gets too salty after adding it to the dough, so you figured out it would probably have to go with something either sour or refreshing. The vegetable paste would fit quite good if the dough was overbaken, but then you couldn’t really call it a cake.

Then, when you added it to the cream, the texture got soggy and tasted awful. There was nothing that you could cover a taste with.

And while you wanted to give up, it was Trey who trusted you with his baking secret! If you won’t master it, how will you ever progress?

“Oh, my...” You hear a disbelieved gasp and turn quickly to see Trey eyeing your baking experiment. Noticing the empty bottles of sauce, he immediately knows what’s going on. “[Name]! How could you take that joke?”

You blink slowly.

Oh.

...

“...Shame on me then, hah.” You shrug and smile awkwardly, but your feeling is mixed. Should you be happy that you didn’t do anything wrong, or cry, about the stress you’ve come through...?

“I am truly moved by your faith in me, even if it was misplaced this time,” Trey says and your mouth forms something between a pout and a grimace.“...But oyster sauce?”

“I know--!” You bring your hands to your face and hide from his gaze. “...It still hurts that I’ve spent so much time figuring out the ingredients! ...Now I know that I shouldn’t trust you with questionable recipes.”

You reposition some of your fingers on the face to glare at Trey.

Trey chuckles but also seems gullible.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, don’t be mad,” he reassures you, putting a hand on your shoulders. A sudden strike of electricity goes through your body, freezing you. “I need to say, that, nevertheless, it looks very appetizing.” Trey doesn’t seem to notice your tensing shoulders when he walks to the cake and digs a fork into a cake.

A pleasant crunch fills the air. “The texture is great,” he says with a smile on his face. It becomes a little bit forced when he takes it to his mouth. “But yeah, it’s still not so very edible. Your efforts, though, are paying off. If there wasn’t any oyster sauce, it would have a very rich flavour.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he confirms, and you can’t help but smile. Compliments from Trey are not uncommon but they can move your heart every time. “I will treat you with something if you help me. So, pay attention to me, alright?”

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6. Make him a gift.

You’ve passed the baking test.

It’s hard to lock your excitement within your body, but the little stars in your eyes reveal the truth.

You’ve passed the test and you know that the strawberry shortcake is the result of hours spent in the company of the greatest pastry chef of Heartslabyul, if not NRC.

But not only that. You’ve gained a real... friend. And you could say that it was the real treasure, but it would sound too cliché, and a passed test is not something you could grumble at. But yeah, now Trey was in your life and you can sincerely say, that you enjoy your time with him.

“It’s for you.”

A thin, beautifully decorated box is in your hands as you say those words. Trey grins instantly and looks at you with surprise and joy in his eyes. When he opens it, mini-cakes are revealed. Really beautiful ones—the cake seems super light (probably also vanilla flavoured, he guesses), and the cream is rich in field berry. Candied flowers shine courteously in the sunlight, and Trey can’t help but feel proud of you.

You interpret the silence in the wrong way, letting your gaze down and making a wry face. “...If you don’t want it, I will take it.”

“No!” Trey immediately protests. “You can’t take back a present, [Name].”

“Then don’t make me regret giving you anything!”

Trey laughs and takes the box from you, with the grace of a dancer rather than a chef.

“Thank you for the cake. I will treasure it by eating when the time is right,” and he looks at you, weighing his words. He smiles mischievously. “But... Are you sure there isn’t any oyster sauce in there?”

“Trey!” You punch him lightly in the arm. And then you stop and take a box from him. “You know what, give me a bottle of that. There is never too late to add special ingredients, and now I want to poison you.”

“[Name], no-”

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7. Endure teasings. (Warning: They come from every side)

Ace Trappola is a tease of a man, whose eyes could never miss the chance to make a comment that will either make the room laugh, sigh or smile hesitantly.

So when he sees you, you can’t expect that you will escape with an unscratched mood.

“Oh, you are the student who keeps our vice dorm leader away from us, huh!” Ace greets you with cheerfulness, and for a second you aren’t sure if he’s talking to you. When he confirms with a nod of his head, that he actually is, you look shocked. He has no qualms to stop teasing you when his voice rises again. “He is so often outside that the whole dorm started to miss him!”

“...Sorry?” You smile awkwardly, not sure how to respond.

“No, no, don’t be sorry, we have so many more treats every day,” Ace waves your words off, but winks at you. “...Unless you did something to be sorry for?”

“Of course not,” by the time he grins widely, you regain some of your lost calmness. “You know, most people would probably be happy when the person who checks if you follow the rules is out.”

“You picked the wrong person then, duh!” He sounds and looks pouty as he throws his half-complaint at you. “Riddle is in charge of everything... He probably has a sweet side, but I can’t really see him dating anyone.”

“Well... Trey and I aren’t dating.”

Ace sounds surprised. “You are not?”

Another voice sounds surprised. “We are not?”

“No!” You turn instantly to Trey, who smiles unapologetically at you. “Trey, you aren’t helping my case.”

He chuckles. Ace shoots you an unimpressed look as if your protest was a lie. You bite back a sigh.

“Sorry!” Trey says. “I couldn’t help but join this very interesting conversation.”

He looks at Ace and smiles slightly.

“But, yes, we aren’t dating,” and there comes the wink and a silent word, “yet.”

He hopes.

He hopes?

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8. Laugh for him.

Laugh is made of sincerest smiles, and a smile is said to be a half of a kiss.

Your chuckle is surely enough to give him a heart attack.

And maybe because he craves it so much, he's a bit envious of the student you’re talking with...

He isn’t sure how he remained to hold up his composure. Maybe only Cater noticed that something was wrong—other students picked up on the questionable crush only because of the amount of time Trey spent in your presence—but Trey concluded his reactions were a little... delayed.

And thank goodness for that.

The solemn facade is still up when he walks to you and the boy you’re talking with, wide grins on your faces as you share some inside joke. A—nameless, for Trey—boy whispers something enthusiastically, and you burst out laughing.

You’re happy. Trey should be happy. But it’s hard not to feel a weight on his chest as he walks to your table. And he doesn’t want to say that he’s jealous, seeing you laugh your heart out with another dorm student, but... Well, something twists in him.

“Oh, hello Trey!” You notice him when he’s not so far away from you. The other boy just nods in greeting but looks a little bit distracted. “Would you believe that now people are asking me for baking tips?”

“Congratulations. It’s huge progress... especially after adding oyster sauce to the dough,” Trey teases, sitting next to you. Very, very close to you, but you’re too fed up with his comment to notice his proximity.

The boy that was sitting on your other side, somehow, takes this moment as an opportunity to leave.

Somehow, a delight floods Trey’s body.

“Don’t bring it up in every talk about my progress!” You cross your arms and your lips form a thin line. “It was your fault too, you know.”

“...Anyway, did you know that mayonnaise can make a cake moist and fluffy?”

You look at him cautiously. He grins, politely.

“...I will research it,” slowly, warily, you answer. “You see, what you’ve done to me? I have now trust issues!”

Trey chuckles. “Too bad then. I have so much more things to share with you.”

You laugh charmingly.

And his heart skips a beat.

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9. Get invited to the Unbirthday Party.

“Is that an invitation?”

“Mhm.”

A beautiful letter is packed into a chequered pattern of paper that, by its function, resembled an envelope. It’s sealed with magic and wax, and as you break the stamp, the black and white squares shift from their places, to reveal handwritten words of invitation.

You read the whole thing twice, holding the letter lightly, too afraid to tear down the paper. Trey waits for your response, occupying his hands with a leaf that had fallen on the bench you were sitting on.

Finally, you take a breath and turn to Trey.

“Should I... bring anything?” You ask anxiously. A Heartslabyul party! Were you really invited to the famous event at your school? At the one of the grandest of the Unbirthday party, since the day of invitation was told to be a date of least people having a birthday? “Is there a dress code? Or, can I help you with preparing food?”

“No. You’re my guest and you need to take it easy,” Trey laughs your offer off. He shows you his appreciation with a light touch on your hand, but you do your best to not be distracted by that small (but purposeful, oh so very purposeful) gesture.

“But then you’re the one who bakes everything!” You protest. “Won’t you be tired after doing all desserts alone for such a grand event?”

“It’s all good. I need to keep my thoughts from something, so it’s a great thing to be occupied.”

When he looks at you, guilt twists your expression. You look at Trey sadly, but before you speak up, he doesn’t know what words caused you to have so heartbreaking emotion take over your appearance.

“’Thoughts from something’?” In a whisper, you repeat those words carefully. “Oh... Trey, do you have a problem? Can I be a help to you? I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

“...Soon,” he licks his lips in a nervous gesture. Were they always this dry? His touch on your hand tightens, and soon he seems to be reassuring you more than you reassured him. Though, no, your appearance was always nothing short of comfort to him. “Soon, you will hopefully end my... problem.”

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10. Recieve chocolates with love filling.

“Are you waiting for certain someone~?”

Trey rolls his eyes, but his heartbeat still drowns out more of Ace’s upcoming teasings. It gives him an answer he could hardly admit to himself.

He really was nervous.

“No...” He says, but, on second thought, he moulds his response again. “...Actually, yes. Have you seen [Name]?”

“Ha! I knew it!” Ace grins, his teasing eyes having Trey duck his head slightly. “But no, I don’t believe anyone had a chance to see [Name] before you knew.”

“It’s not as if—,” Trey’s breath suddenly frozen; no words could be spoken.

Because you entered.

Your outfit, you think, could be a little overdressed, but it was a grand event, and Hearslabyl dorm was very content with weird clothing, as long as they fit within the rules. A red fabric covers your body with elegance, and roses dipped in gold are neatly attached to your hair and belt.

There is only quiet rustling when your elegant shoes move through the grass.

“...Hello, [Name],” he greets you with a smile that blooms wider every step you’re closer to him. You grin in response. Before Ace can even greet you properly, Trey grabs your hand gently and guides you toward the gardens. “Let’s go. No need to bear with anyone.”

“Hey!” Ace’s way to greet you is blocked by Trey’s arm. “Trey, that’s called possessiveness, duh!”

But you two already walked away.

...

The talk you have is about everything and nothing. The party, though you escaped only after being there for two minutes, was the easiest topic to talk about, as the happy voices from afar reminded both of you of the event.

“The cakes at the party look marvellous,” you say, ready to get the recipe out of him. He smiles, but it’s not the teasing grin that you get from your words. He’s just happy you’re here with him. “Though, that’s expected from you... You know, it’s so random but, whoever will you be with in the future will be a very lucky person! Anyone can just look at-”

“...Would you like to be the one?”

“-you and tell that... you...”

...

What?

He just confessed.

Now you notice that there is a box of chocolates in his hand, decorated with some paper origami in the shape of little roses. Somehow, you can’t tear your gaze away from it.

He prepared to confess.

“I like you,” Trey breaks the silence. For the first time, you see him so clearly unsettled. “I like you a lot, [Name], but if you-”

“No, wait-” You stutter out a protest. The situation of what just happened got to your body and allowed you to take a proper breath. Checks heated up, and tears “I- Trey, I do like- I lov-”

“...Wait,” he stops you gently, and the surprise and confusion paint your face. He smiles, and the stress that was just overtaking his body feels to dissolve. “At first, let me court-... Seduce you properly.”

...

That charming bastard.

He knows your answer and now, secure from immediate rejection, decides to tease you.

You believe it’s to reduce your tension, but you don’t believe whatever he’s about to do, will take off the crimson blush from your cheeks.

Before you can say another word, his fingers are already intertwined with yours, firmly, confidently, so convincingly. He brings your hands to his face and lays several kisses in gentleman’s mannerism on your fingernails and though each feels very attentive, his golden eyes are focused solely on you.

Your heart beats loudly in a rhythmic begging that you’re sure Trey hears.

Only then, does he brings up a heart-shaped box of homemade chocolates; the love is written on the box, on his lips and eyes.

“[Name]...” He says with a low voice, as joy grips your throat and heart. “Will you accept these?”

Unique Kisses: Honest Fellow

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

a/n: fluff, implied female reader (”princess” pet name). I have no idea how to deal with the brainriot that came with the appearance of this shady man, like what.

Honest Fellow (teasing kisses)

“My little star,” Fellow’s lips trail your knuckles, and you can feel a smile against your skin as he senses your pulse quicken. He has the audacity to look so gentlemanly, oh so very blithely, as if this idea has just struck his head under this evening’s romantic atmosphere. “May I have this kiss?”

You’d like to reply, really, but in the next second there are lips on your jawline and a glowed hand that raises your chin; the words you had on your tongue die as you gasp slightly, your eyes fluttering open by the sudden sensation.

Well, you’re charmed. Infatuated with love or ensorceled by a thick layer of Fellow’s unique magic, you don’t reject those dramatic touches, scenic enough to feel like being pulled into a play where a gentlemanly prince kisses a princess.

And while Fellow might have the reputation of being a gentleman, he’s too impish, too rouge to be one. He can only play the role, the facade might even drop, but dumb princesses—you dare to compare yourself to one as Fellow uses that pet name, among countless others—are known for falling even for twisted men.

“Why so quiet?” He asks, and you quiver with frustration, as he seals your lips again. That damn bastard; he thinks the navy suit he wears makes him look sleek and the way he tucks his holey gloves off is luscious enough to make your cheeks blush. He isn’t that wrong, yet…

…It is infuriating to dance to Fellow’s tune in a choreography he is a lead to. Even if you love him.

“Stop… teasing me like this,” you manage to lift your head enough so that you break the kiss. Fellow snorts at your poor attempt to catch a breath and at the weak try to keep him at your elbow’s distance, as he holds you close to his chest. The sweet scent of the cologne he wears makes you even more dizzy.

He moves his hands to your hair and tucks the stray locks behind your ear. If he could grab the camera, he would capture the adorable expression you wear—but he doesn’t want to waste his time searching for that fickle thing, no, no. He isn’t able to concentrate on anything else, and he needs to satisfy the whim of alluring you (once again) before he’ll be physically able to move away.

“My, you don’t sound very convincing,” he smiles and strokes your cheek so gently. “But I will believe you. Loveliest, just say a word, and I’ll just kiss you goodnight for the last time.”

Like you could’ve expected, you aren’t granted a chance to say anything else. He kisses you more and more, and at this point, the most fastidious princess would be already satisfied.

…Fellow might be scared. He might not want to hear your answer, even if the look in your eyes and the way your heart beats should be enough to suffice any of his questions.

If you could utter a word, you would confess your love once for the thousandth time.

“That’s right. The silence says it all,” he whispers as his thumb traces your lips. “You are so gorgeous, and you are mine.”

Like a doll. But you’re no doll, you’re more beautiful than any masterpiece magic could ever create. You’re free, and you choose to stay with him. There are no strings attached to your hands that keep him at his side. There is just one, tightly knotted on your heart and it’s a cherished bond you put on yourself.

He doesn’t have a puppet in you. He has a lover who will shower him with selfless love, yet he still can’t believe anyone would have given it to him for free.

So, he must’ve stolen it.

He smiles. “By obligation of being a thief, I will steal your heart all over again, and keep it safe with me.” I love you. "That’s the duty I owe to myself as you are my treasure.”

I just want to share a very wholesome moment that just happened to me.

First of all, I didn't get Idia's Broomquet Birthday card. I don't think I will get it this year as I can't even buy any gems: Google Play blocks me from purchasing it in my country and I've been too lazy to check weekly tasks before the announcement of Glorious Masquerade.

My 10-year-old sister was with me when I was pulling for Idia. When she saw he didn't return, she made a cute sticker of him for me (created with baking paper and tape).

...I can't stop smiling. Now, I have it attached with a little piece of tape on a wall bordering my desk. 💙 20.12.2022 update: I GOT HIM!! 😭💕💕

Unique Kisses: Rollo, Che'nya, Neige

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

Rollo F. (no kisses)

“May I have a kiss, please? A kind word? Any form of attention?”

“Rather not.” 

Rollo does not lift his gaze from his book. He sits too far away for you to read the title — you're separated by the whole length of the coffee table on which the service with the steaming tea stands — but you wouldn't be surprised if he was reading something religious.

You have no desire to return to the Victorian romance, a heavy volume that spreads across your lap. Yet, there are twenty-five minutes left until the end of your reading hour, a meeting you arrange every day because books are cool. You feel like you will die of boredom in three.

Maybe not from boredom, but because of something that makes you unable to focus on the present moment. You feel bad about tearing your lover away from his reading, but finally, with a heavy heart, you get up, walk around the table and sit next to him.

Your thighs touch and you let your head fall against Rollo's warm shoulder.

Immediately, you feel a little better.

“What are you doing?” Rollo doesn't seem to share your enthusiasm. He tilts his head so he can measure you with his eyes. If you looked at him even briefly, you would notice that his eyebrows have dropped slightly in an expression of concern, and his gaze has become investigative, piercing.

You sigh slightly in response, too listless to lift your eyelids, and unwittingly play with the soft tassels of his outfit.

“Please, let's do something else. The weather is so nice today...!” Your plea resembles the lament of a preschooler, especially when you bury your face in his shoulder. By that, some tension from Rollo escapes. He takes his eyes off you.

“I'd rather finish the book.”

“Then at least let me stay here, by your side. I feel extremely lonely today.”

You squeeze even more into his shoulder, warming yourself a little. His rochet-styled uniform wears the distinctive scent of incense, honey and disappointment, a perfume that is even more charming in a room that smells of tea and books. You let yourself inhale it until Rollo puts his hand on your head.

And now, you are distracted.

“Did something happen today?” He asks in a quiet, noticeably caring voice. You often hear a similar tone at night when you two return from evening prayer — whether you go there for God or for him — and Rollo is more inclined to care about everyone. Now all his attention is on you. You are a tad too intimidated and tired to respond. You only shake your head. “Well. Then let's go for a walk.”

That instantly enlivens you.

“Re... Really? You're not joking?!” You need confirmation because Rollo Flamm seldom changes his plans. You've already spent so much time with him that you can't imagine him missing a lesson for no more important reason than a bad morning attitude. And you considered yourself to be a rather imaginative person.

“You should already be aware of my lack of humour.”

You are. The little threads of romance in his body must have awakened, and you feel almost guilty for labelling him as the stiffest student in NBC. And since Rollo is being so gracious today...

“Then, can we hold hands?”

Your question throws him off balance, and you are ready to call off your request when he suddenly starts correcting the folds of his outfit to distract you and focus on staying carefree.

“...I apologize, but I might need some more time. I need to get accustomed to all that… romantic...” He starts, but then you grab his hand. The words of protest die on his tongue. He swallows the remnants of them as he grunts. “Alright. At least you won't get lost.”

(...No kissing before the wedding, though). /hj

Che'nya (insufficient kisses)

“Strawberry.”

“No.”

“Raspberry then.”

“Also no. But you're almost there.”

Che'nya presses his lips to yours for the eighth time, and you cover the label of the drink you're holding in your hands even more tightly.

Your boyfriend has decided he can guess the taste of the orangeade you're drinking. You think he knew exactly what you were drinking from the third kiss: you shared a favourite range of fizzy drinks, and there was never any indication that you intended to change it. Che'nya would have forced you to convert back if such a thing ever happened.

“Hm~” Your boyfriend hums under his breath as he moves away from your face. When you look at him unmoved, he smiles broadly. “Cher- Chestnut”.

“Duh, you already know the answer.”

“So it's a Cherchestnut?”

You sigh, and Che'nya’s smile spreads even further across his face. His white teeth flash softly as if he hasn't eaten the entire basket of cakes you baked for him and his friends' first thing in the morning.

“Now you're just being mean,” you cross your arms to have Che'nya feel accused. He leans back in his seat, and his smile does not disappear from his face.

“Am I?”

“Aren't you?”

“If I were so sweetened by your presence that my senses were going mad, would my mistakes be ‘mean’ too?” When he says this, he sits up straight and leans beside you. He takes two steps onto the bench and sinks down into your lap, facing up — and by that — facing you.

He reaches out to touch the locks of your hair falling towards him.

“Are you a madman yet?” You ask, leaning towards him with your lips pressed together in a line.

“Am I? Or am I not? Who are we all anyway?”

“I know you're an annoying boyfriend. I don't like you from now on. Oh from now on, I don't like you,” you snap your fingers, and Che'nya smiles broadly. You try to push him off your lap, but he gracefully turns before you manage to do so and then wraps his arms tightly around you.

“My love will cover the two of us,” here he places his hands on both your cheeks and kisses the corner of your mouth. You try to swat him, but then he starts to disappear. His lips and words remain last with you. “But now it is time to withdraw. I feel a strong antagonism towards me here, and I shall take my leave.”

Neige L. (the most common in a world of uncommon kisses)

Neige loves kisses.

For this reason, you find it hard to believe that he can't write a few sentences about them on his Magicam. You don't know how to prove it, though, because Neige has photos — beautiful footage from a recent photo shoot revolving around the theme of picnic and spring — that he needed to publish soon. They were now lingering in his gallery on his phone, waiting for Neige’s inspiration to strike.

“If I wasn't here, would you also have such a problem with a short description?” Your question sounded like an insincere accusation, to which Neige replied with a smile.

He had long since put his phone away in his bag. He always put it away when he wanted to give you one hundred per cent of his attention, but the subject of the photo kept hovering over the two of you because your boyfriend said he needed inspiration.

Every inspiration follows experience.

You're ready to help him any time, but not joshing with him first.

“I wouldn't write about them then. I would come up with something about spring or beauty...” He says, peering out of the wide window of his room. The view is lovely, full of greenery. Spring is coming. “But now that I have you, I can write about something as beautiful as love.”

“...Poser.”

Although that's the title you hail him with, Neige no longer responds. He cannot divide his attention, and what occupies him now is you, your face, your beautiful sparkling eyes, the shape of your ears, the lobes of which he runs his fingers over until they reach your jawline. There they stop as his attention shifts again: to your lips, the soft, smooth lips that he loves to kiss so much. And he kisses them, and everything around him loses meaning.

...

“How did it feel?” He asks, pulling you back onto the sofa. You sigh lightly.

“Is that survey to create an ideal description for the photo?”

“That's for me too. For contemplation.”

Neige looks at you with anticipation. When he sees that you need to think, he takes his eyes off you and pours fruit tea into the two cups in front of you, on the coffee table bordering a sofa.

“I don't know how to describe them. Either way, it's your job to think of something, so don't dump it on me,” you finally state, picking up the cup you've been given. You take a sip and decide to deflect the question. “And how do you feel, Neige?”

“Indescribably,” he says as he can't describe it either. Neige puts his hand over his heart and when he looks you straight in the eye, you are perfectly able to pinpoint why his fans love him so much - he looks princely. Neige sighs quietly. “I think I'm going to have to go with this spring because I don't know how to describe all the things that are bubbling up in my chest. I'll have to think about it longer.”

You pat him on the shoulder.

“Good luck with that. If you don't come up with any ideas, I can link you some fanfictions with nice descriptions.”

“Thank you, they will come in handy.”

“...They can be works with you, right?”

“...Ah.”

Malleus drabble, because the idea has been haunting my head. Chapter 7 part 3 spoilers!! Please don't look if you hadn't read the latest update yet, you will spoil your fun :(

Malleus Draconia would like to say that everyone is equal in his eyes, the eyes of a king akin to a god if you consider the amount of magic power he could drain from his surroundings with a mere flick of his hand.

They are not, and Malleus has no lying talent to convince himself otherwise.

A good ruler watches over everyone, but as his lover, you are granted more attention and, by that, a better-tailored dream. He knows you well and knows what will keep you on the dreamers' side, not even bothering to think that your life is going too well. No one is very concerned when lady luck finally blesses your life, right?

He starts by making the moment you fell asleep blur. You don’t remember when you went to sleep, but when you “wake up” in your dream, Malleus is here to reassure you that you were tired “yesterday” and have gone to sleep sooner. If you will mention a “dream” of Malleus going overblot, he might discuss it with it but won’t own up to any of his actions.

Malleus is fond of your dream. As your lover, he can spend any amount of time with you, and you are still seeking him. In your dreams, time isn’t bounded by the clocks. After “a year” Malleus returns to Valley of Thorns, and “three years later” you are living there too. After “two more” you get engaged.

Your dream will be unbothered. Malleus will have it in utter control.

When he sees your sleeping features in dormant reality, how calm you look, he knows you will be heartbroken when you wake up from that dream. 

He glides his finger over your skin with a reassuring smile, which he also has on his face in your dream. 

"Don't worry," he says to your sleeping form, planting a kiss on your forehead. "I won't have you waking up anytime soon."

Unique Kisses: Heartslabyul!

Hearslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

Riddle R. (strawberry kisses)

If it wasn’t for this situation, Riddle would consider removing strawberries from a cake a blasphemy.

Fortunately for you, and also his joy, which he could not admit to if it wasn’t the last resort, Riddle isn't sure if his judgement would be a fair one. He is drunk on the taste of strawberries and fluffy cream, but also your fragrance, which has been his favourite aroma even before he thought he would dare to confess his feelings to you.

Riddle knows he doesn’t think soberly, but also believes that Trey didn’t change a recipe for his favourite dessert.

So, it is your fault.

“You should have taken yourself a piece of cake if you crave strawberries so much,” he says, regarding how you stab a little strawberry from his tart on a silver fork. It shimmers softly with honey or frosting or whatever Trey had added. Right now, Riddle can’t remember what his favourite dessert tastes like, and it was your fault as well.

“Kitchen is too far away,” you almost sigh, but don’t do that because it’s not a reason to be disappointed. “And, by the way, you are the one eating your tart. The greater part is still yours.”

“I have an irresistible impression that my serving disappears too fast.”

“You’re such a gourmet then. You will have to take bigger pieces next time.”

You chuckle at his stern facade, face fully covered with blushes, not matching the crossed arms that were probably meant to give his figure a more serious tone.

The strawberry on the fork you put against his lips, and he - used to this, after your multiple pleas - swallows his dignity and bites the fruit enough, not to cut it in half. He blinks a little faster, a little more nervous, and can’t bear to hold your stare when you smile and put the fork aside.

And then, you bite a strawberry held by his lips. A soft crunch attends the moment where your lips brush against each other. You feel how a sweet juice fills your lips and you have to move away to not let it drain over a corner of your mouth.

Satisfied, now less frustrated with your idea, you lick your wet, slightly sticky lips.

You glance at Riddle.

It… was a surprise that he went with your idea. It was a plan to soften him up a bit and have another reason to laugh when he would scold you again for your “preposterous suggestions”.

Surely not for you to stand in bewilderment and quick-paced heartbeat when Riddle pulls out a strawberry on a fork towards you. And as his face is red, crimson almost, his gaze is tainted with warm grey.

“Now it’s your turn.”

And that was an order.

Trey C. (hand kisses)

Trey Clover is a gentleman.

He opens the door whenever you go with him. Helps to carry supplies to the alchemy room at the far end of the school. Forbids you to prepare snacks for yourself, just to serve you beautiful little tarts during a break, that can be eaten in one bite.

His love is elegant and attentive. He likes to hold you in his arms while reading books. By highlighting the most important things in notes he helps you prepare for exams. He doesn’t even complain when you rob his wardrobe and usurp his clothes. He collects - by following all the Queen's rules or while avoiding Riddle's eyesight -- and offers you roses for every greater or lesser success.

A dreamy gentleman.

The only thing that mystifies you every time, is his touch.

You always quiver slightly as he takes your hand in his and entwines your fingers. He turns it over and brings it to his mouth, kissing the back of your hand. You don't know what is more delicate: the way his fingers slide over yours, or your heart, which will probably quickly tear apart itself, not able to bear the darting beat.

It would definitely be a nice death, but more than choosing that, you'd still rather live through this moment.

Trey's lips brush against your skin and move towards your fingers. There, he places another kiss and when he finally releases your hand, he still holds you. A grip slightly tightens when you look at him bashfully.

It was a gentleman's kiss.

Or maybe not gentleman’s, but from a man who pretends. You are not sure if a gentleman would do something like that to his lady: watch her lose her mind with each kiss as she becomes more and more addicted to her gentleman who smiles with a subtle but private smile.

Even as he pulls away, you feel that the spot on your skin where he kissed you tickles you lightly.

"Good morning to you, too, I should say”, you exclaim with a big smile. But you already like that greeting very much, and you're sure Trey knows it as well, as he repeats the gesture every day.

"Ah, and that's not the reaction I was expecting," he snorted as you rolled your eyes. “You got used to this trick already. Should I stop or…” now he smiles, mischievously. Certainly not like a gentleman. “...change the offensive?”

Cater D. (kisses on the eyes)

“Smile!” and snap! With a soft sound, another photo saves itself on Cater’s phone. He immediately enlarges it with his fingers, brings the image closer to your faces and clicks his tongue with dissatisfaction, but doesn’t remove the photo. “No, that’s not it. We look lovely, but- Sweetie, come closer!”

“Yes, yes.”

You take another step towards Cater. He instantly places his arm over yours, drawing you a little closer, as he holds the phone in the other hand. He observes the preview of the photo. And then, he directs you to turn a little to the west, so the sun would colour your faces even more.

An artistic wind begins to blow and ruffles the leaves of the trees behind your back. They form your main background, which Cater wanted to expose as they were famous for their multicoloured flowers. It was the main reason to choose this park as the next place for your date. The strands of your hair began to wave, and you gently brushed a few away from your eyes.

But before Cater can snap that hundredth picture, you lower your head and put hand to your face.

“Ah, I think something is in my eye,” you murmur, with all your will trying not to rub your eyes. “Probably sand, ewh.”

“Oh, oh, wait, wait, wait,” Cater quickly tucks the phone into the pocket of his jacket and with one movement unbuckles his backpack. He pulls out a bottle of water -which he immediately hands to you - and then finds a package of tissues. “Here. Try to wash it out. And blink. You're supposed to blink a lot at times like this, right?” … Luckily for you, you don’t have to vex with it for long, because after a short while you manage to get the sand out of your eye. Cater’s phone is used as a mirror, and he checked himself if there might be any irritation visible in your eye.

You crumple a wet tissue and throw it in the trash can near your bench.

“It’s all right now, I think.”

Cater puts his stuff in his bag and gets up. With a short wave, he says that he wants you to stay where you are.

"I will cast a healing spell on your eyes," he announces and crouches in front of you. He smiles. “Metaphorical one. Please don't trust me when it comes to healing magic.”

And then he moves closer to you, and his hands are on your cheeks. They hold you in place as he gets closer and closer until he completely fills your view and asks you to close your eyes. You don’t have to look at him to know his gaze is trailing your face. And when he stops, it’s because he wanted to turn your attention to the touch as he places warm kisses on your eyelids.

These are some of the softer kisses Cater gave you. They are almost imperceptible and uncharacteristic of him, but you can feel the care in each one... and have a scent of his cologne – jasmine scent, slightly spicy in smell - that he put on himself surround you.

He steps back only when each eye receives at least three kisses.

“I think I feel better now...” You say with a smile which he reciprocates. He pulls out his phone, once again, and points its lens at you. He hums with pleasure, as he finds the perfect angle.

“So~? Will you smile for me once more?”

You can’t say no after such a satisfying spell.

Ace T. (feigned kisses)

“Hey, hey, come here, I want to tell you something...”

You tear your gaze away from your notebook, where the next line of your essay on the history of magic is now cut halfway. Ace's whisper snapped you out of the monologue you've arranged in your head, and you know you won’t recollect it soon. Not even a passive focus spell applied to the library could help, as Ace acted as a truly sterling distraction.

“Come here yourself.”

“It's important”

It’s probably not.

You sigh and shake your head. Ace does the same, but rises from his untouched textbooks. "I lack the motivation to study today," he tells you every time you drag him along to prepare for your next exam together.

He stops in front of you and turns your chair around so that you can directly face him. He smiles mischievously. Almost malevolently, but warm enough.

He places his hands on both sides of your chair and—oh, since when is he so close to you?

It's not that Ace isn’t in the habit of kissing you—he likes it as much as you do, although he never fails to roll his eyes when you ask for a kiss, or tease you ("ah, so you need more of my attention, hm? Heh~") before pressing his lips to yours.

And you are expecting the latter option until Ace stops inches from your face and snarls.

“Heh. You wish”.

He tries to whisper something more, but you don’t give him an opportunity to do so, as you throw your head back. And then he greets you with a look, you could describe as mean.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, genuinely disappointed. You turn your chair around and quickly tuck your books into your bag. Maybe you'll find Riddle or someone who can chase Ace away a bit with their presence, so you will have some peace. “But I'm feeling less and less sorry that it didn't happen. See you later, I'm off to class…”

...

Huh.

He didn’t expect that. Did you have a bad day today? Did he do something wrong or- Did you really care about getting a good grade on that essay? He couldn't guess, but he knew that if he doesn’t make a move now, you will try getting back at him.

“Hey—!” He wheezes, grabbing your hand. “You can't give up so easily. Fight for what you want!”

“Too much work.”

Ace sighs and tilts his head. He pulls you towards him by the strap of the bag you carry, almost knocking you off balance. And then, he presses your lips to his—they are unexpectedly soft and you start to wonder if it was because of the honey he added to his tea at almost every unbirthday party (to break another rule of his dorm)—and then... And then you both lost the air in your lungs that you hadn't managed to take in before kissing.

You look at him from under your lashes as you take a deep breath. “To quote, "Ah, so you need more of my attention?””

“Ughh,” Ace breathes out, and you feel that quiet sigh on the skin of your neck. He is still incredibly close, but for that moment you can’t bring yourself to push him away. “You're lucky I like you. …And, by the way, you choose very wise man’s quotes.”

Deuce S. (forehead kisses)

“…”

“...”

“...Are you asleep?”

“...No. Not yet.”

The quilt rustles quietly as you sat up on the bed. You feel tired, your head aches, and your eyes seem too heavy. You are sure you've already yawned about five times since you said “goodnight”, but even after forty—you counted each one with agony—minutes of lying down, sleep wasn't taking you away.

Neither did Deuce, and that was your current greatest comfort.

“I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight,” you whisper, trying to make out his features in the darkness that merge into a dark room. But you are sure that that darker patch of shadow—Deuce—is looking at you as intently as you are looking at it. “Not after the movie that Ace picked out.”

Deuce slowly gets up and you can finally tell where his face is.

“He picked the wrong title,” Deuce agrees, sighing heavily. “I don't know if I can-... Erm, I mean, I'm not a fan of horror movies, but it's not that, that, I-.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” you interrupt him gently and squeeze the duvet lightly in your fingers. You turn your gaze to a window where a hint of light shines through the gaps between the curtains. The moon must be very visible tonight. “I didn't like that film. You know what, Deuce? We can't let Ace choose movies ever again.”

“Right,” he put his hands through the strands of his hair. And then laughs at the memory he proceeds to describe you. “...When I was younger, my mother would often kiss me on the forehead whenever I felt I was too upset to sleep. I often tried to watch horror movies on my own so I could talk about them later at school, but... Haha. Anyway, somehow it always worked because I would go back to bed later and then—I think—I would fall asleep…”

“...Do you want to kiss me goodnight?”

“Ah-! N-no! That's not what I meant!” he protests. And then tries to look at you but finds it impossible. “Ah... Was that a request or a question?”

“An offer of a lifetime.”

Deuce remains in his bed for a few more moments but finally gets up. He pushes the curtains a little more and the room becomes much brighter. You could now see the games scattered on the floor that you had vowed to clean up in the morning, the outline of your beds and finally, and most importantly, yourselves.

He approaches you, quietly and carefully. You wait with a smile that you try to hide. You straighten up, put your feet on the floor, but still sit on the bed as Deuce brings his fingers to your face, and touches it with care as if you were a porcelain doll. Or a dream and Deuce was willing to believe in both cases.

He brushes your hair from your forehead and holds loose strands with one hand; the other is placed on the back of your head. He leans in. You hear him hold his breath and feel warmer as he presses his lips to the top of your head. You are sure he must have sensed the scent of his shampoo (you had a good reason for that: you had forgotten to take your own with you) because he quivers subtly as he inhales the smell bashfully.

And he must also be glad that it was still dark in here because, when you raise your gaze, his head is titled, as he often does when conscious of his blushes.

“…Are you calmer?” He whispers the question.

You nod slowly. Deuce carefully, almost reluctantly, steps away from you and sits down on his bed. Although he is no longer beside you, you can still feel the memory of how warm his skin and lips were. You gently touch the spot on your head where he had placed his kiss.

“If we don't fall asleep in the next half hour, we're going to go get some late-night snacks,” you decide, as you lay down, and you even notice Deuce smiling.

“Okay,” he chuckles. “And we can watch a better movie. But now try to fall asleep.”

“If I fall asleep now, I'll regret it.”

“You will say something else in the morning, tired.”