#jabberwondia

[jabberwondia]

jumping

For your one-year anniversary, you get one free wish from Azul.

Azul Ashengrotto x Gender Neutral Reader NOTES: Mild Azul backstory spoilers (from vignettes and Chapters 3/4), nothing too revealing. Despite the tags, this is rated Teen and Up, I swear. Mentions of deep water, tentacles, and sinking. Nothing scary, however.

For your one-year anniversary, you had been briefed in advance about the possibility of getting one wish granted – free of charge, bounding contracts or compulsory compensations. Of course, the only condition was that it was agreed upon by both parties, and that it was made within the realm of possibilities: that meant no wishing for it to rain a million Thaumarks out of the sky – though, at this point, you weren’t quite sure of what wasn’t possible in the world of Twisted Wonderland. You had one thing in mind though, and were quick to jump at the opportunity.

When you had told Azul Ashengrotto your wish, he had immediately recognized it as doable and plausible. He –also immediately– had refused profusely, glasses fogged up in disdain, muttering something under his breath and visibly shaken. Seeing his reaction, you had desisted, but the frown on your brow just wouldn’t go away. Seeing your reaction, he had calmed himself down and dared to ask:

“Is that really something you want so badly?”

Yes – as badly as to go wasting my one free wish with Azul Ashengrotto to make it come true, you assured.

“Fine,” he had conceded, lips tightly under control and not smiling one bit. “But I shall pick the place.”

‘The place’ was a rocky, tiny, inhabited island above the Coral Sea that took a whole ordeal to get to, partly because Azul’s flying was sub-par at best – and he had to manage with you clinging for your life on proverbial ‘back seat’ of the broom. While technically an islet, it seemed more like a series of cliffs speckled with vegetation – waves bursting with high energy chipped away at the rocks, and you knew that if you happened to fall not even Azul could ever hope to retrieve you. However, a concave space between the cliffs created some sort of a bay towards the inside of the island, serving as a breakwater for the crashing waves. As you flied alongside its curve, the ocean got progressively calmer, until you both reached a crevice, an opening in the sediment walls. Within was a cave that was just barely underground enough to be shielded from the sun, but not so far away from the opening so as to be completely in the dark.

It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Like a miniature amphitheater of limestone, the carved grotto had layers of rock slowly descending into a pool of blue waters, walls lined with moss and ceiling low, allowing you to sit upright, stretch your arms and be able to touch it. Azul steadied the broom before helping you down, and as the water rolled softly and calmly on the shallow stone steps, possibly moved by the ocean forces way down below, he instructs you to take a seat, and be careful. Dark turquoise in color, beyond the rocks it was unspeakably deep, and he wouldn’t want you falling in. The stone walls naturally merged into two steps: one above the water, and the other just barely covered by it but still close to the surface; so, you sat on the first one, with your feet towards the second.

“There’s an underwater tunnel that goes into the Coral Sea,” Azul says, his voice echoing throughout. The lack of available seating space in the rock formations meant he was flush beside you – not that after a year of dating you weren’t used to his presence, but it still made you feel some kind of way. “I used to come here to think.”

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp, wincing a bit at the cold water flooded your aquatic sandals. Azul had insisted you wear those, plus a short wetsuit, knee pads and shoulder pads. You wondered if all the equipment would not make you sink faster, but safety first, your boyfriend had said.

“Hmm,” Azul hums, deep in thought, before swiftly whiplashing back to his normal self. “Well, we’re not here to do sightseeing, are we.”

His slender, pale fingers fondled with the potion vial hanging from his neck: the answer to his rhetorical question.

“I’ll have to undress,” he adds. “Turn around, please.”

“After all this time?” you laugh dryly, but the mood was not light enough to joke, so you comply.

Even covering your eyes and twisting away from the merman and towards the cave walls, you can still feel Azul’s wetsuit sliding off his shoulder, the damp rubber grazing the side of your back; the clasp of the knee and shoulder pads coming off, his eyeglasses now resting on top of his discarded swimwear, and then a jump – a muted, soft splash.

“Tell me when,” you call, your breath revealing how nervous you were, shaking with expectation and excitement. You had imagined the transformation to make some sort of noise, yet it was unbearably still inside the grotto. The muffled sounds of the crashing waves outside, plus the soft trickle of a leak falling from the ceiling were the only things you could focus on. The stillness between you was so, that if it weren’t for your trust in Azul, you would have thought he ditched you inside the cave as some elaborate mean joke. Thankfully, he was nothing like his moray eel peers – at least not in this sense.

“Done?”

“Not yet,” he replies, hurriedly. “Sorry, Y/N. Give me some time.”

You twist your body to the direction where his voice is coming from, your own hands still veiling your eyes shut.

“It’s okay. As long as you need.”

A loud sigh followed. You felt a pair of hands now grasp at the lower step, where your feet rested, splatting water droplets as they tried to achieve balance. Azul steadied himself, bringing half his body up with the strength of his human shoulders, purposefully keeping the rest beneath the surface.

“Ready. You can open your eyes, now.”

A hauntingly shimmery shade of gray, the pale skin of his face almost seemed to match the color of his eyes – of course, you’d seen his eyes without glasses before, multiple times, but something about the way they reflected the scarce light was different now. Around his neck, and all the way through his arms and torso, the texture of said skin turned distinctly non-human; spotted, gleaming like a black opal, changing colors slowly from midnight blue to mossy brown to nightfall purple, mimicking the stone steps, in a way that would make him eerily disappear into the environment if it weren’t for his familiar face, looking straight at you. Something was swirling deep within the water, and you imagined that to be his tentacles; but as expected, he would not show them – not just yet. For your wish had been to see his true form, and you hadn’t specified if all or just half of it.

“Wow.”

“That’s it?”

You gulp before trying to articulate your thoughts again. “You’re so... beautiful.”

“That seems to be your catchphrase today,” Azul snaps back. You don’t blame him for being defensive – after all, you know he feels at his weakest right now, and this is something that not many humans have ever seen before: only a handful few academic personnel in both the Coral Sea human-training boot camp and in Night Raven College, and only for medical reasons that couldn’t be avoided.

“But you are”, you insist. Every human child has at some point dreamed of meeting merfolk, heavily influenced by bedtime stories, in which even the most fearsome sirens were mystical creatures with hauntingly loving voices and glittering scales of lavender. Maybe that is clouding your judgment, or maybe your love is – for this hardworking, albeit finnicky and distrusting boy who you were lucky enough to spend your happiest times with.

“Sweet-talking won’t get you anywhere,” Azul warns, as he is an expert on the subject. “But coming from you, I’ll take the compliment.”

He is about to suggest transforming back, but you spoke before he could.

“Can I touch you?”

“Uh...” Azul stutters, and he might have blushed if he had been in his human form, but as a deep-dwelling merman, the pigmentation of his cheeks only served for camouflage, and nothing more; its default setting being ash grey. “I doubt it’s anything special, but sure, go ahead.”

You descend to the final step of the stone stairs, before the blue abyss that Azul is floating in, so that water comes up to your hipbones – you don’t mind, as long as you can scooch on closer to him, caressing his shoulders and feeling the slimy, slippery texture of his pores. Every inch of his skin seems to have a mind of his own, contracting and expanding ever so slightly at your touch, changing colors as if involuntarily. To the side of his arms, a few small barnacles are growing – you remember he once told you they were like warts on humans, but because they all slept in seashell beds, every merfolk was bound to have a few here and there (and barnacles were a pain to remove successfully).

Azul waits in silence, a bit self-conscious, but still fixed on your face. He cannot believe you would honestly look at a creature like him in such adoration.

“Sorry. Are you feeling alright?” you ask, realizing that your natural curiosity might be making your boyfriend uncomfortable. Well, he was prepared for this much, at least.

“Yes,” he declares. “It’s not your fault. I just – I’d rather been born human, that’s all.”

There is nothing ‘that’s all’ about that statement – it’s a very deep and heavy thing to say, making your frown burrow in worry.

“Don’t make that face. I get to be human most of the time, after all. And on a government aid, no less,” he reassures. His stories about how we underwent human training to be able to walk, run, adjust to hotter temperatures and eat warm foods had always fascinated you.

“What was the thing you looked forward to the most?” you ask. “About turning human.”

Azul gives it a good thought. He’s starting to relax bit by bit, as his hue sets on purple, not trying to melt into the foliage anymore. You’re taken aback by the cold burn of his sudden touch, as his hands lazily graze your calves beneath the water. His tentacles are still nowhere to be seen, though. His temple rests on the kneepads he had insisted you wore, and though lightly, you can feel his lips hovering just below your knees.

He finally settles on his answer. “Jumping.”

“That’s... unexpected,” you blurt out honestly, because you can’t imagine how the same Azul who very profusely hates exercise could come up with that response.

“Hmm,” he hums once more, adjusting his weight up, arms crossed on top of your legs, his breath now so close to your thighs, you can actually feel it. He could very much switch to gill breathing at this point, but he’d rather make you feel his warmth. “Maybe saying I wanted to experience ‘gravity’ is more accurate.”

“I see. Did it hurt? U-uh, walking.”

“By the Sea Witch’s benevolence, when the mermaid princess of old finally turned human,” his voice turns darker, still embellished in his notorious sticky sweetness. For an otherwise introverted type, Azul is an amazing talker, and even better storyteller. “Some accounts say that walking felt like a thousand needles piercing her feet at every step.”

“Oh no,” you exclaim.

“An exaggeration, for sure. The only pains I ever felt were – what do you call them? Growing pains? In my kneecaps and elbows. Curious thing, indeed.”

You let out all the air you’d been holding in anticipation.

“You had me scared there for a second!” you scold him, and Azul smiles and shrugs. Absent-mindedly, you squeeze at the muscles tensing in his shoulders. “Ah, then I guess that means your human form matures with your age. That’s interesting.”

“Fortunately, our lifespans are pretty much the same.”

“It must have been so weird,” you continue, as intimate talks like these were rare, what with Azul always busying himself with his various, uh... businesses. “Growing bones and stuff, right? A–are you... you don’t have any now, do you?”

“My human half does,” he says, tilting his head so his eyes meet yours. “Oh, I know that look. You want to see the rest, don’t you?”

Foolish of you, thinking you could get past his wit. “Uh...”

“Not included in the bargain this time,” Azul says. “Though I might... comply, for a small fee.”

“–oof. Knowing you, no thanks. I’ll pass.”

“You wound me, Y/N. You’re not suggesting I’d ever demand collateral from you, are you?”

“As if you haven't before!” you exclaim, not that he needed any reminder of the Mostro Lounge anemone incident.

“Ah, ha, right,” he chuckles wryly.

Azul turns pensive again. He’s got both hands on your legs now, and you wonder if there is an unconscious longing for feeling his own now that he’s in his primordial, cephalopod form. Not speaking a word, he clicks your protective kneepads to remove them, lips ghosting from your thighs to your knees, making you squeak in surprise; he then rests his head in between, and you come to the realization he’s been trying to distract you from feeling the grasp of two tentacles on your ankles.

“Ah –”

“Don’t say it. I know. It’s disgusting.”

That’s a very far cry from your choice of words. It felt novel, and it tickled a bit, feeling the tiny suction cups nibble at your skin, but it wasn’t unpleasant at all.

“I like it. I like all of you.”

A pause. Biting your lip at your embarrassing confession, the cold humidity of the cave is starting to get to you, unwillingly giving you goosebumps.

“Can you show me?”

“No.”

“Aw. Well, okay.”

“Giving up so quickly, are you?”

“Azul!” you let out an exasperated sigh. “Which is it? Do you want to show me or don’t you?”

It feels like a rite of passage at this point. If he passed this opportunity to show all of himself to his lover, no such chance would come by twice. It has been a literal odyssey just getting to the cove, and to be precise – he did want to show you. He was just afraid.

“Your legs,” he says, lips pressed to them as he speaks, further sending shivers down your spine. “What marvelous things. The veins, the moles, the stretch marks,” his hands are human, but in this form, feel scaley and rough against your supple skin; his blackened nails growing out like claws, yet, by the boy’s own gentleness and self-control, managing to not scratch you. “Compared to this, I...”

I’m a monster, he wants to cry out, but he’s no longer into self-pity. And you know that’s not his final say in the matter, so you decide to wait.

They come crawling from the sides. Aside from the two tugging at your feet, two more envelop your waist – although the thick fabric of the wetsuit refrains you from feeling the raw touch, you can still feel the pressure from the suctioning, this time amply stronger. The closer they get to his lower body, the bigger the muscle membranes get, and thus their vacuum force much fiercer. He feels heavy enough, easily able to pull you down to the depths if he wanted to – in fact, you too have a potion hanging down your neck, which Azul had made and given to you personally, A water-breathing potion, in the very odd case you needed it, if his instincts gave in and lost control, or if a tide took you and you got separated. But he loves you too much to let such things happen, so it sits there unused, dangling idlily as you take the whole situation in, feeling your chest get tighter.

Azul reinforces his tentacle grip once more. With his human arms, he cradles your knees and nuzzles his head on your lap, closing his eyes. While your left is being used to stable yourself and sit upright, your free hand now moves to the back of his head, caressing his wet and curly hair gently. As his several arms embrace you, you are lost in thought. In a good way, his scent is like the sea. Not a summery day on the beach, but more like the skies before a storm – salty air, a sharp freshness rolling with the rainclouds. His choice of setting, this dark cave that would catch the remnants of sunshine in its underground pool, a lightshow of turquoise refracting off the surface; it was far away from his usual date spots, smart and cost effective, but it was him through-and-through.

“Well, what do you know,” Azul muses, and each word itches against your skin. “I’m weightless in the water, but my stomach feels like I just jumped from a trampoline and am free-falling into a bottomless pool.”

“That doesn’t sound too enjoyable.”

“No, don’t get me wrong. It is. I’m glad I got to show you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For granting my wish.”

“Aren’t I compassionate?” his modest laughter makes him softly sway in the water. While he had promised the whole ordeal to be free of charge, you were sure he’d find a way to get back at you later.

“By the way, Azul,” you call, suddenly remembering why you were there in the first place. “You still haven’t told me what your anniversary wish will be.”

“That’s strange,” the once-greedy boy says, lips still flushed against your legs, pressing one more kiss on each inner thigh. “I can’t seem to think of anything.”

"to kiss you"

A series of one-shots and drabbles featuring the Twisted Wonderland boys, kisses, and a specific body part.

Part 1: Azul Ashengrotto x Gender Neutral Reader, legs. [you're here]

Part 2: Malleus Draconia x Gender Neutral Reader, lips.

#twst imagines #azul x mc #azul x you #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #jabberwondia #jabberwondia original #azul ashengrotto x y/n #crossposted to ao3

[jabberwondia]

memento mori

Malleus had found a way to make time stop.

Malleus Draconia x Gender Neutral Reader Notes: This one is a little sad. Hurt and comfort, existential angst, fear of death, mortality. Please skip if this is not your cup of tea.

Malleus had found a way to make time stop.

Granted, it wasn’t foolproof, as it would often end up speeding time instead. And yet when it worked – oh, when it worked, it was stronger than any magic he could ever hope to master.

You, on the other hand, were always running out of time. Mostly literally – running from class to class, cramming the night before exams, chasing after Grim – life in Twisted Wonderland had been a vortex of emotions and activities that were hard to get used to. Somehow, in all that madness, you had fallen in love with Malleus, and to your surprise, he had returned the affections with every fiber of his being. But, as it turns out, falling in love with a magical entity is a problem in and of itself. Malleus was always late to your nights out together, insisted on taking you to disheveled ruins far hidden in forests, and although he meant well, a part of him was enveloped in this eternal sadness – not just by his gloomy disposition, but by his adamant apathy to all things regarding school duty, and his jaded view on human life.

“Malleus,” you call softly. “You know, you don’t have to help me study.”

Cradled in his lap, he simply watches in silence as you go through your books.

“The time that remains for us is a precious gift. I’ve come to terms that I cannot have you by my side forever, so in turn, at least allow me to be there for all your moments.”

“That’s... dark.”

Silently, you wonder if the Fae feel the same range of emotions as humans. A different lifespan comes with its own kind of existential dread, though you cannot begin to fathom what it must be like. That being said, Malleus suddenly turning the subject of every other conversation into a constant reminder of your mortality is unwelcome on this particular day, as you are feeling especially emotional.

“Well, your journey is short. Spending it all by your side it the least I can do.”

“You.”

He’s said nothing new. He’s said nothing that he hasn’t before. Listen – if you spin it the other way around, it might actually sound romantic. And yet today – for some reason, today, you’ve had enough. Does it not suffice that you are thrown into a strange world, forced to learn magic (even though you cannot invoke it), lost all notion of what your regular life used to be like – how can he possibly understand? He’s never told you, so don’t even know – what his powers are like, how many centuries he’s lived through. Everything shrouded in mystery as you need to sort all his conundrums and metaphors, deal with his taciturn demeanor; enough is enough.

“Aren’t you tired of playing-pretend as a high school student?” You hiss, holding back tears that go so deep, they feel like they’re forming in the back of your throat instead of your eyes. “What gives!? I’ll be dead in another sixty or so years anyways, eighty if I'm lucky. Please, just stop reminding me.”

At first, your choice of words clouds his eyes with anger and dejection – you can sense an electric current rising as suddenly the outside air is not so clear anymore. But quickly and surely, Malleus steadies down, and so does the weather.

“Child of Man,” he begins to say. “I apologize.”

“No. I’m sorry,” you shake your head. “I’ve been... pondering a lot lately.”

“I should not have voiced such sad thoughts out loud. It won’t happen again.”

“No, really, it’s okay. It’s just... this impossible dream.”

“What do you dream of?”

You dare not say, but you dream of becoming a fairy. I mean, if magic is possible in this crazy world, then it’s not such a farfetched fantasy, right? Not out of greed – you could not care less if it’s ten, sixty, or five hundred more years until you die. Time is not important. You just want to live in the same dimension, the same frequency as Malleus, grow gray hairs together – is that too much to ask? In the current scenario, both your existences are so foreign to each other, that if you had to put it in easier terms, you'd say it feels like being a dog –loyal, unconditional, and sure, we love dogs as much as we love our kin– but an inevitable barrier separates them to us. We might meet one, two, thirty dogs – yet to them, we are their Only Human. How is that fair?

Malleus is not good at guessing other’s thoughts. He’s told you that much before. But when he sees you start to weep quietly, he knows.

“I can stop time.”

“No weird magic, Hornton,” you warn. “And please don’t joke about this. I’m not in the mood.” In all honesty, it’s hard to tell if the Thorn Prince himself is jesting or not – hey, he's capable of the occasional wisecrack now and then, and you don’t doubt him, but then again, stopping the flow of time itself seems like an overpowered cheat skill for anyone to have.

“No,” he assures. “Not magic. Or perhaps it is. Just not the conventional kind.”

A deep sigh escapes your lungs. He is not going to let this go, so you feel obliged to comply. “Fine. I’ll humor you. Show me.”

Malleus shifts your weight on his lap easily, and when he places a hand to cup your face, it dawns on you how it’s so big and monstrous and his fingers are like claws – so much so, that the tip of his little finger extends to your neck, and the span of his hand clutches your nape and ear and cheek all at once, effortlessly. His lime green eyes shine in the rising moon of the evening, heavy lids, zooming in on you, seeing nothing else. And then his pale face inches closer, and he kisses you. It’s that simple. There are no tricks, no spells. But he does it slow and carefully. At first, a peck on the lips, which inevitably tastes of your tears; he wipes them off gently with his thumb, crisscrossing your cheeks, so gently that you can mentally trace the zigzags his fingers are making by the lingering static of his touch. Then again, but this time Malleus is a bit more forceful; not too much, he knows exactly how to handle your fragile skin. Taking turns between nibbling your upper lip, then switching to sucking on your lower lip – wet, tender, reddened; pausing to allow you to catch your breath, and also just to take the sight of you in, as you are panting, squirming on his lap. The sadness is ever present, but a bittersweet joy soon fills you instead – and Malleus kisses you over and over again, scaling in intensity, making you lose your sense of balance, being or gravity, as if you cannot smell or see or hear anything else, all that remains is your sense of touch, and all you feel is him. “See?” Malleus whispers, breaking the lock of your lips, still remaining so close that it makes you shake with the vibrating tones of his voice; like a cat’s purr. “But a fleeting moment, yet it feels like an eternity.”

Malleus had found a way to make time stop.

It wasn’t foolproof, but oh, when it worked, it was stronger than any magic he could ever hope to master. And for a brief instant, time had forgiven you both.

“to kiss you”

A series of one-shots and drabbles featuring the Twisted Wonderland boys, kisses, and a specific body part.

Part 1: Azul Ashengrotto x Gender Neutral Reader, legs.

Part 2: Malleus Draconia x Gender Neutral Reader, lips. [you’re here]

#malleus x mc #malleus angst #malleus draconia #malleus x yuu #malleus x y/n #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x mc #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #jabberwondia #jabberwondia originals #crossposted to ao3

[jabberwondia]

【the next step】 RIDDLE x READER, SLIGHTLY NSFW

"In his mind, still, he was not allowed to have pleasure – even enjoying Trey's strawberry tarts would sometimes make him feel guilty – and this, your skin, was too much."

Riddle Rosehearts x Female Reader, 18+. One-shot. Fluff, implied sexual intimacy (mostly non-explicit, but on the NSFW side to be safe), consensual.

/////////////////////////////////

“So, have you two done it already?”

Riddle Rosehearts chokes on his tea. It’s bad enough that Floyd Leech decided, fully arbitrarily, that he would join Riddle for lunch at the cafeteria, but it’s even worse that the moray eel had somehow heard the news about the headwarden’s relatively new (and first) girlfriend.

“That is uncouth, Floyd,” Riddle retorts, trying to regain his calm. This is no place to talk about such things – no, wait, it's not a topic to be talked about at all. But Floyd had just seen a sliver of weakness, a moment of panic in the rose-red tyrant’s eyes, and he was not about to let off.

“What?” he asks in his sing-song voice. “I did not specify. Is your mind in the gutter, goldfish?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Boring. I’ll take that as an answer,” the merman purred.

“No! I mean, yes but no,” every word out of Riddle’s mouth was more incriminating than the last. The truth was, no, he hadn’t done whatever it was Floyd was obviously implying, but yes, he had kissed you so that had to count for something, right? There was a siren sounding at the back of Riddle’s mind, as he was headed into uncharted territory – there was no way to circle around this question, and it had opened a Pandora’s box, in which now he saw “doing it” as the natural flow of things and the finish line that his relationship was headed for.

But he wasn’t ready.

“You should try it sometime. It’s fun squishing them until they can’t breathe,” and as Floyd was saying this, his odd-colored eyes grew dark and predatorial, and then quickly flickered back to playfulness, so no one could tell if he was actually serious or not.

“Ugh. Enough.” Riddle stood up. “I have to get back to my dorm duties. Farewell.”

Not even the loud clacking of his oxfords helped drown the sound of Floyd’s musical laugh, and now Riddle has a whole new conundrum to worry about for the whole day, until the moment he sees you.

/////////////////////////////////

When you come over for a study date later, it’s like he’s laid eyes on you for the first time, all over again. Aside from the occasional wind that would ruffle up your skirt, which might have caused him to involuntarily glance once or twice, he has never – and he means, never – stopped to look at the shape of your body, the skin bulging ever so slightly at the welt of your socks, the soft curves of your shoulders or your lower back, or the peeking collarbone when you undo your necktie and collar while complaining about the raising temperatures outside. Sure, kissing you would usually leave him feeling giddy and excited and eager, but never like this. And he hated himself for it, cursing that the thought alone would taint you and your innocence.

You paid no mind as you plopped yourself into his sofa and reached for your schoolbooks. If Riddle was staring, it meant that something was crooked somewhere – a collar, a hem, or maybe the magic pen in your shirt pocket – so you had learned to ignore it. Normally, he would point it out right away, but he was getting better at being more flexible. Or so you thought, because there’s no way you could have known he was actually staring at something else.

Riddle’s room had always been slightly dim-lit. The soft glow from the window would get engulfed by the thick, red velvet canopies gushing like waterfalls from the bedframe, so the glass chandelier would be the one working overtime to light up the ambient. In Riddle’s tea table, a fresh set of roses and lilies – he’d never admit, but he probably changed them because he knew you were coming over. And although the gold-plated table was a bit too low to read or take notes from, you had to make do as the sofa was the only place for two people to be comfortably seated. Well, unless you were thinking of studying on his bed, but that’s preposterous! And not to mention, probably breaking a few rules. Sleeping spaces should never be used as studying spaces. Now that you thought of it, the tea table is also no good for studying either – you ponder if Riddle is making an exception just for you.

You go to different schools, but as part of the same branch of magic arcana, some subjects are somewhat similar. When you do get together just before a test, each of you tends to their own notes; only seldom asking advice, guidance or questions. For the whole month you’ve been dating, these inter-dorm visits are the only chance for a gesture of affection. Sometimes, you hold hands; sometimes, there’s kisses (always two, and not one more); and very rarely, you’d put your head on his shoulder. Outside closed doors, both of you have an image to uphold as wardens, so even the slightest physical touch feels like an adventure.

Kissing is great, when and if it happens. It begins with Riddle asking for permission, and once you grant it, it’s always a peck on the lips first, then another one on the cheek. The pattern or order never changes, and honestly that is fine by you. Seemingly unbreakable rules and compulsions are a part of who your boyfriend is. Just the fact that the stiff housewarden looks so flustered after inching away from your face – his expression alone plagues your fantasies for weeks. When you cannot meet privately, you feed the romance by exchanging cellphone pictures or messages (which, whenever you mention the fact, no-one ever believes you, because it’s so hard to imagine Riddle Rosehearts himself texting everyday snippets to his girlfriend). His are typically of food (“This week’s strawberry tart”, read the last one, depicting a scrumptious-looking dessert cutely adorned with powder sugar resting on his tea table), and yours are of yourself or outfits (“New headband! What do you think?”). But even so, of course you’d miss him, so spending time like this was just bliss.

The warmth of a quiet summer night is ever-present in the room. You roll up your uniform’s sleeves to be able to have more mobility. Because of the table’s low height, you only use it to place your pencil case and stationery, while keeping the books piled open on your lap and holding your notes with one hand. Your other hand rests in the sofa. Doing this, you can feel Riddle’s weight occasionally shifting in his seat, but not quite close enough to touch him.

So, when he grabs your free wrist, of all things, your heart skips a beat. It’s something that has never happened before, something new; and you know how avert he is to new experiences. Almost slamming your notes on the table, your head turns to see him, thinking maybe, just maybe, you had a stain somewhere. But to your surprise, he pauses and adjusts his grip, and does not seem irritated at an ink stain; rather, his face is flushed in embarrassment.

“May I?”, he says in a whisper. That, usually, is the kissing cue. You’re not entirely sure how it works while grabbing your wrist, but you nod your head ‘yes’.

Riddle’s thoughts are racing laps around his head. The exposed skin of your forearm is supple to the touch, and your mouth is gaping at him in bewilderment, and his grip is tight, and this is all that slippery eel’s fault. If that wretched merman would never have asked, Riddle would not be battling with the urge to undress you right now. In his mind, still, he was not allowed to have pleasure – even enjoying Trey's strawberry tarts would sometimes make him feel guilty – and this, your skin, was too much. But it’s not like he hasn’t kissed you before, so what gives? Why is it any different now? And yet, the sting of feeling like you’re doing something forbidden, alongside the adrenaline rush that comes with it, was all that filled his chest.

He presses his lips, forming a kiss on your inner wrist. The skin is vulnerable and paper-thin in that area – it’s like you can almost feel the warmth of his shaky breath going through you, through your veins, through your bones. And when you expect him to stop, he doesn’t, and kisses the same spot again – this time it’s longer, breathier, and a little wet.

“Uh...” you stammer, and he snaps out of the trance. He lets you go, shifting back into the safe side of the sofa, and is redder than the raspberry tea he had poured for you earlier.

“S-sorry,” he mutters, not yet regaining full composition. He coughs, and then tries to speak again. “My apologies. That was uncalled for.”

But you’re just a normal girl. Sure, it’s never happened before, but it has crossed your mind – that someday, somehow, you might do it, and it would make sense for that first partner to be your boyfriend. He would always be in your fantasies, but you could never admit it. ‘We have to take it slow’, is what you would always tell yourself, but your wrist was still moist from the kiss, and it dawned on you that you two are alone in a room, and the bed is right there. Then again, why did a kiss fire you up so much? Maybe it wasn’t just the unusual placement, but also the timing and the intention. The second kiss had been hungry, and urgent, and you had never seen him like that before.

“Don’t apologize. I enjoyed it,” you blurt out. The ever-present frown on his forehead relaxes a little, but not enough. Deep down inside, he doesn’t want this to be an insolated incident. He wants to trail kisses all the way up your elbow, and then bite your neck and collarbone. He wants to, but he shouldn’t. He can’t. Unable to move, he feels as though his whole body is heavier, about to explode with emotion; and he hates outbursts, no matter how frequently he might be prone to anger – that’s a different thing.

You’re not satisfied yet, either. But you are unsure. You didn’t even bring matching underwear and your hair is a bit messy and sweating from the outside humidity. And, like, once it begins, if you do start it, then there’s no stopping until we consummate it, right? You have no honest idea how it works, but it always seems that way in the movies, in which one passionate kiss is enough to unchain a series of inevitable events. And Riddle? His heart-shaped face and boyish jawline, the stiffness in his neck and shoulders from standing up straight all the time, his whole aura made you feel horrible from even daring to fantasize about him in a remotely lewd way. Like yourself, he is a human, he has needs, perhaps even has hidden desires of his own? You shake your head at the sheer thought, but then –

“Should I...” he says, ignoring every sign of his own body trying to run away. He quickly corrects his sentence, mid-speech. “Do you want me to continue?”

“Yes.”

It rolls off your tongue before you can even realize what you’re suggesting.

Riddle feels ecstatic and scared, all at once. By the time he finally realizes his girlfriend is looking his way, expectantly, a few seconds have passed.

“Quit staring,” he demands, a slight annoyance in his voice. “It’s embarrassing.”

You stifle a laugh and shut your eyes. But now that you are blindly tilting your head up in anticipation, waiting for him to shuffle closer, it feels more real than ever. And Riddle can’t believe he is doing this, as he has never been able to give a third kiss on a study session before, yet there he is, cusping the shape of your waist with both hands. His grip is strong, perhaps a side-effect from the nerves, and he can feel the loud, rhythmic expansion and contraction of your ribcage as your heartbeat paces faster. He steers clear from placing his hands too high or too low, but his sight accidentally follows the curves under your breasts, and his imagination runs wild, musing on how it must feel to touch your chest. He cannot afford that delusion for too long, though, as your eyes snap wide open, instinctively placing your hands on his shoulders and now your knees are touching.

An awkward silence. His steel blue gaze wanders back and forth from your eyelashes to your lips. Unable to keep it in any longer, for the first time, you kiss him. And both your eyelids close and your noses clash as you sigh, whimper into his mouth. It’s over before you know it, and he pulls away from your lips, but doesn’t let go of your waist. He tugs at it, but not to bring you in for one more kiss, just to feel you closer. And your knees are in the way, so for some unexplainable reason, as if guided by an external force, you climb onto his lap. By the time you snap out of the heat of the moment, it’s too late.

“Y/N!” he exclaims, redder than ever. You wonder if you went too far.

“Sorry. Sorry!” you yelp, your flushed cheeks matching his. As much as you try to jerk back, he won’t let go.

“N-no. It’s fine,” he states. In this position, you tower over him – if he were to lean forward, his head would fit right between your breasts. Carefully sprawled on top of his thighs (and trying to distance yourself from his crotch to the best of your ability), it occurs to you how your legs are spread and you’re sitting on your heels, how awfully suggestive it looks, and how you’re downright embarrassed. His facial expression, aside from the obvious self-consciousness tinting his cheeks, is somewhere between a pout and a frown.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads.

Riddle, as affection-deprived he had been in his childhood, has a battle going on inside himself. For the most part, he’s supposed to be proper, controlled and strict. He’s been taught discipline and to never complain. A part of that is always present in his compulsions, and that is why it's always two kisses and never three. Following the rules feels safe, familiar, tried and true – and besides, he did not want to taint you, unaware that all this time you had been feeling the exact same way. But a small, revolutionary minority inside the factions of his heart just wants to nuzzle his face on your chest, cry, and fall asleep, in no particular order, all at once.

Actually, wait. He could. All he has to do is pull you closer. It’s not too much to ask for, is it? It feels like all the cakes he always wanted but his mother never let him have. The bakery displays, flashing with colors, and whiffs of sugar, berries and cinnamon filling the air, as he was forced to look past, fantasizing what they must taste like, all the road to his private lessons. Y/N was right there, and for once, she was real and welcoming and not a product of his imagination; an indulgence he had permission to touch. Yet, to the little boy who was always bound by restraint, taking that step, closing that gap, was a herculean task. He cursed the merman again, thinking how great it would be to be animalistic and primeval and raw, moved by an instinct that was beyond human, exercising promiscuity without consequence.

Seeing the pensive look on your boyfriend’s face, you immediately understood. There is something he wants to ask, yet couldn’t muster up the courage to do so.

“Riddle,” you call, and his eyes jolt up to meet yours. “It’s okay.”

'Hold me', is what you wanted to convey, but some things are better left unsaid.

The second he has your permission, he finally brings you in, arms embracing your waist, his head buried in the middle of your chest, the curve of your lower abdomen touching his, and his whole world melts. Aroused as he is, and although he has no doubt that you can tell, he cannot bring himself to do anything else but just be there, no thoughts, head blank, simply sighing into the fabric of your white shirt.

Hot and cold, running chills rush through your body. You can feel how hard he is against you, and his boney fingers burying into your back. Not to mention, the warmth of his breath against your chest. It drives you crazy, and as you cup the nape of his hair with your hands, you feel your legs starting to buzz with numbness, and your hips buck forward a little – a reflex, or an instinct, or both. You enjoy the silence together for what seems like an eternity that only lasted two or three minutes.

“Y/N,” distancing himself only to look up at you, Riddle speaks in a weak voice, uncharacteristic of him. At his most vulnerable, you are the only person to ever see him in this state. “I... I don’t know what to say. I forget myself.”

“Are you uncomfortable?” you ask.

“No.” he admits. “Are you?” – and judging from his worried expression, he is afraid of the answer.

“Not at all!” you smile, and then laugh sheepishly. “But I think my legs fell asleep.”

“Right,” Riddle agrees and helps prop you up. Unfortunately, the moment is over and you’re sitting beside him again, though slightly closer than before. He dusts off his trousers, self-conscious. “This has not been a very productive study session.”

Trying as he might to change the mood, you’re both still flushed and breathing hard. Every place your hands have touched in the other person’s body is burning, and not from the heat remnant of the summer evening. However, you decide you will humor him – Riddle was a proudful person, and the sudden lapse in confidence and explosion of vulnerability had shaken him to his core.

“Haha, well, not 'productive' in the traditional sense,” you ponder. But you did learn a lot about him, so there’s that. “Shall we go on?”

Panic flashes on his face, and you realize what he thinks you meant.

“No, no! Go on with our revision for the exam,” quickly correcting yourself, you can see your boyfriend breathe a sigh of relief.

“Yes, I believe that would be for the best.”

...is what he says, but deep inside, his heart tugs the other way, and so does yours.

When the books have been closed and the ‘see you later’s have been said, when you cross the Looking-Glass and you are almost at your school (Riddle is a gentleman, so he always sees you off to the gate), and finally, when he is out of view, your legs give out and you wobble, falling to the floor. Heartbeat so loud, the night has fallen on campus – the only other sound you hear are the moths congregating in the street lanterns.

‘Maybe next time’, you think.

“Maybe next time,” is what Riddle tells Floyd when he teases him again.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #riddle x y/n #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle x mc #disney twst #riddle fluff #jabberwondia original #twst imagines #twst riddle #twst oneshot #jabberwondia #riddle #twst

[jabberwondia]

you are mine, and i am yours

Kalim Al-Asim x GN Reader. One-shot, fluffy and heartwarming. More than friends, not yet lovers setting. Minor mention of events during chapter 4 (no big spoilers). Use of Japanese words (only "senpai") because I am a huge weeaboo who loves the language, so please ignore if that's not your cup of tea. Otherwise, enjoy!

Water.

The thought jolts you awake. The embrace of the weaving wind, sweeping in from the balcony, feels cool against your skin – a stark contrast with the rising morning sun. You glide through the cotton sheets, kicking the crimson silk quilt aside, to find one single glass on top of the bedside table. It’s been deliberately placed there for your convenience, and as you chug the lukewarm liquid, you realize you’re not exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Unlike your mossy, creaking, humid Ramshackle Dorm, the room that expands before your eyes is dry, vast, and bright as the dawn itself. There are no windows, only pillars that lead to a lower terrace; and in the distance, you can hear the fluttering of birds and the gushing of the Scarabia fountain.

...no, that’s not all your ears pick up. To the side, on a sofa, a quiet, sigh-like breathing. Tangled into himself, limbs all sprawled out, beneath velour sheets and a lightweight turban, is Kalim Al-Asim.

Wait, what!?

If the first wake-up call had been your desperate thirst for water, the second was the now blazing feeling building up in your chest, alongside a thousand questions. How did this happen? Did we...? No, no way, right? He’d never...!

Your zonked out brain tries to recall last night, but all you can remember is the dancing, the laughing, the singing, the baklava, and then the falling asleep in the common room – and yes, you are sure of it, because you certainly had sunk into the lounge carpet, succumbing to exhaustion after a delightful Scarabian soiree. Kalim had plopped down close by, if memory served you right – he’d been doting on you (and by extension Grim) all night long, in a way that made it hard to distinguish if his intentions were platonic; teaching you how to shimmy your shoulders for a traditional Scalding Sands dance, bringing the best and sweetest parts of their dessert buffet to the both of you, and just in general keeping you company. But as extroverted and unwittingly flirtatious the boy could get, he’d only go as far as a polite arm across your shoulders, and mostly in the context of dancing, so you never minded.

Yet there you were in Kalim’s room. Sleepwalking? Not that you were aware of, so something or someone must have taken you there. Grim is nowhere to be seen, and you start to get impatient and fearful. Suddenly, the doors smack wide open, and your heart does a summersault.

“You’re awake, I see,” Jamil announces flatly, with his notorious nonchalance. “Come. Breakfast is served.”

It seems the panic and confusion are seeping out of your face, through your eyes, unable to control your own facial expressions – because Jamil takes one look at you and chuckles ever so lightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain over food. Let’s go,” he insists.

Not like you have any other choice, so you follow. Kalim, however, mumbles unintelligibly in his sleep, switches sides and continues his uninterrupted slumber. His retainer is less than amused; and breathes out an exasperated groan while muttering something that sounds like “Let him be.”

Through the Scarabia hallways, students are starting to come to their senses; perhaps, woken up by the delicious smell of fresh herbs and piping-hot tea. The lounge is as if no-one had partied in it exactly the night before – you wonder if this is also product of Jamil waking up early to make preparations. Does he even sleep? He seems as sharp as ever, not a hint of tiredness in his dark, taciturn eyes. Unlike Kalim, Jamil takes no pleasure or joy in serving you food; but as it is his duty, he does pour you tea and set up a few plates close to you, just to watch you eat and drink in silence, eyebrows slightly upturned.

“Jamil-senpai. Please, say something,” you beckon.

“Hah. Sorry,” he smirks, hand hiding his mouth. The upperclassman had this habit, you noticed, of obscuring his face, whether it’d be with cloaks or his slender fingers, especially when he had unsaid thoughts. “Your dismay is all too entertaining.”

“Not to me!” you counter.

“Well, I’d love to give you peace of mind,” he continues. “But truth is, only you two know what happened behind closed doors.”

“Hey, no more teasing! You said you’d explain over food!”

“Ah, right. I did say that, didn’t I.” Jamil purses his lips while filling his own tea – the only empty cup remaining at the table. He always left himself for last. “He brought you up to his room when you were already asleep. Said something about the lounge being unsafe.”

“... that is even more confusing. I don’t get it.”

“Is my answer not to your liking? You should ask the guy himself, then.”

Kalim’s sleeping face flashes through your mind. His heavy eyelids, glistering skin – not a hint of self-awareness, completely defenseless. You’d heard that he’d been the victim of kidnappings and murder attempts in the past, and yet his slumber was like that of a child, never alert, always welcoming. It must be his trust in Jamil and his dorm students, which remained unwavering even after the incident last winter. His exuberant confidence and blind faith are the things you liked most about him, as his smile had the power to disarm even the highest walls. But then, what had he meant about the lounge being unsafe?

You must have gotten lost in your thoughts for way too long, as Jamil stifles a laugh again.

“Uh... I...” You struggle to form even the easiest sentence, your mind still lost betwixt sleep and the red-eyed boy.

“Relax. It’ll all work out,” Jamil insists, and you can’t help but wince at how empty and unconvincing those comfort words sound. “I don’t suppose you’re worried, but if anything, Kalim is not the type.”

“—the type to what?” You feel yourself blushing all over, cursing your cheeks for being too obvious.

“Hmm,” the second-year purrs, lowering his voice as he stands up. “I’ll leave you to think about that for yourself, Prefect.”

/////////////////////////////////

Just before the clock strikes eleven AM, there is a small commotion within the Scarabian dorm students, as they stop their brunch feasting to stand up in turn and call, “Good morning!”. You quickly understand this announces the arrival —or rather, the awakening of the Housewarden, who is smiling while returning the greetings, turban undone, and cheeks still marked red by the stitches of the sofa cushions.

“Y/N! Sleep well?”

“Kalim-senpai!” your body jolts straight upward at the sound of his voice calling you. “I... yes.”

The boy, however, seems completely unaware of your change in attitude. “Good to hear! Hey, lemme know whenever you need a ride back to Ramshackle, okay? Carpet and I will give you a lift.”

Is he feigning obliviousness? Does he not know? Yet someone had placed that glass of water there for you. Unless it had always been Kalim’s originally – then — had you two indirectly kissed!?

Taking a deep breath, you try to still your thoughts. “Thank you,” you say, while neatly collecting and piling up the plates you just ate in, almost as if preparing to leave. “I’d like to stay, but... Grim might be worried...” You trail off as soon as you see the evident disappointment in the young Housewarden’s face. It’s no wonder Jamil always struggles with him – the transparency in his every expression made it very hard to deny Kalim of anything. “Ah, I mean, I can still –”

“–Prefect! It’s okay,” the boy smiles. “Don’t want to keep Grim waiting, right? Come with me then!”

Kalim picks up a tea to go (much to Jamil’s dismay, “Don’t you go spilling that!”), and firmly grabs your hand. You really wish he wouldn’t, as the onlooking crowd of dorm students is now smirking and whispering amongst themselves – but there is no reasoning with the Asim heir once he’s made up his mind, and he proceeds to drag you back into the treasure room, where Magic Carpet awaits.

/////////////////////////////////

One kick and you are airborne. It’s hard to get used to the feeling – sure, flying brooms were a part of your everyday life now, but carpets were kind of pushing the envelope. And still, as unbelievable as it sounded, there you were, soaring through the sky into the late morning sun, and Kalim’s bared arms are getting goosebumps as they feel the nip of the frigid air that comes with the height.

For a while, you are both quiet, and painstakingly so. It’s rare for the Scalding Sands native to be anything but talkative and cheerful, but then again, it’s still been less than an hour since he woke up and he might be somnolent still.

“Senpai,” you call. “I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Kalim can’t fully turn around, as he’s focused on navigating the Carpet, but he does glance over his shoulder expectantly. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I-I don’t know how to say this, but,” you gulp. “Did I sleepwalk to your bed?”

“Oh. Oh!” In what may or may not be an act – you’re not sure, but Kalim does honestly seem like he now remembered. “Sorry, sorry!” he grins. “Gave you quite a scare, didn’t I? Suppose anyone would be confused. Just thought you’d be comfier in my room.”

Kalim pauses for a second, eyes fixed on the horizon. You wonder if he is adjusting the course for your dorm, or perhaps looking for the right words to say. His fingers glide through the fabric, lightly tugging at the Magic Carpet’s tufts. While it sits two comfortably, you can’t help but notice the closeness of your bodies – the only source of heat in the otherwise chilly and cloudy skyscape; and how you’re instinctively pulling at the dangling end of his crimson turban, the golden coins attached to it chiming softly in the wind, as if you’d be able to hang on to it if you ever lost your balance. The sole intrusive and horrible thought of losing your grip and falling activates your wincing reflex, and makes you scooch over closer to the piloting Housewarden.

“After the party, after we all fell asleep in the lounge,” he goes on. “I woke up in the middle of the night for some water.”

Water. That seemed to be the connecting thread through both of your stories.

“And, uh...” the boy smiles softly, a little embarrassed at the memory. His hand shifts, now caressing the white hairs at his nape, almost absent-mindedly. “There was this guy who had fallen asleep on your legs.”

“On my legs,” you repeat like a confounded parrot who had been force-fed one too many salt crackers. “W-what do you mean?”

“I dunno. I think he fell over, or maybe he turned in his sleep. Maybe?”

“O-oh.” You are slowly trying to paint the mental picture. “You mean, like, hugging my legs?”

Kalim shrugs. The details to him were never important. “Maybe it was more with his head on your thighs. It was dark, so I couldn’t see well.”

He again looks at you, as much as his body can turn. The garnet shades in his eyes sparkle in the midday sun, so brightly you can almost see your reflection. Is he blushing, or is it the crisp air that blows at the high altitude you’re in, that erodes the skin on his cheeks ever so slightly?

“It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever felt jealous. Ahaha!” his laugh echoes clearly through the sky. “Sorry, Prefect. It’s not a lie that I thought you’d be more comfortable in my bed, but the truth is, I just didn’t want to share you.”

He averts his gaze, suddenly realizing that his statement meant Kalim considered you his in the first place. That was a lot to take in. Your gut clenches, and not because of the Carpet’s sudden descent.

“—oh, but!” he gushes, back to his usual cheerfulness. “I don’t think that student did it on purpose! Must have been an accident. Y’know, people move in their sleep,” his expression changed again, now brows frowned with worry, and you smiled a bit at the upperclassman’s ability to show six different emotions in the same breath, “Please do come to the next party! It wouldn’t be as fun without you.”

In the distance, the Ramshackle Dorm is now visible. It’s incredible how fast time would fly – pun intended – whenever he would drop you off after a soiree. Truth be told, these sorts of happenings were becoming commonplace lately.

“Prefect?” Kalim calls again, concerned at your silence. “You’re not gonna say you hate Scarabia now — are you? —wait, do you?”

“Of course not!” You assure him. “I had lots of fun. Please, invite me again.”

“That’s a relief! I’m so glad!” he says. “Oh hey, how about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is maybe a little too soon, senpai.”

“Ah, haha! I thought so! No shame in trying though.”

Magic Carpet softly wobbles, now floating leisurely through the air currents for the last couple minutes of the trip. It stops just before the Ramshackle Dorm’s creaky wooden doors, barely a few feet above the ground, and Kalim jumps off before you.

“Here, let me help you down.”

His warm hands gently support your weight by your elbows as you slide off – it seems most of the callouses and scratches on his fingers are fairly new, as he had never been allowed to wield knives or experiment with alchemy or play rough until he was finally granted to be able to go to school – normal school, and not one of those tutors that resided in the Asim palace. Here was an heir who had everything, yet he had only started living two years prior. And in all the weirdness of your travels in Wonderland, and the improbability of you falling through the mirror into this magical world, Kalim’s kindliness had saved you more than once. But smitten as you might be, even his hands reminded you that you were from two worlds apart, in more ways than one.

“Thank you, Carpet,” you turn around to say, which makes the enchanted tapestry twirl around in what looks like a reverential bow.

“Hey, that’s really cool of you. A lot of people treat Carpet like an object,” Kalim muses out loud, “But they have feelings, too. I consider them my prized friend.”

You still fondly remember the first flight, that winter you spent trapped in Scarabia. The boy with wide eyes and a wider smile, dazzling in the night sky. The same one who is now in front of you, still a bit self-conscious about his words earlier – you being his, and all that. If only a simple unmagical human like yourself could believe themselves worthy of a cheerful, honest, open-hearted, and to top it all off, magic-wielder like Kalim...

“Sorry – about the ‘not sharing’ non-sense earlier. You’re not an object, either,” he babbles on, his eyebrows now sulking. “I mean, obviously. Obviously, you’re not. Great going there, me...”

“If that means that I am also your prized friend,” you reply, “then I’m content.”

“Prefect! That goes without saying.” Kalim is beaming, smile too bright. “Anything you need – I’ll be there for you!”

“I know.”

You force a grin, but it’s bittersweet. To think you’d be carried in your sleep, tucked into a silk quilt, prepared a bedside glass of water by the very same heir who has servants at his every whim. The more you thought about it, the further out of reach he appeared, and the stronger your chest quivered.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” Kalim now has his hands cupping your cheeks, pulling your chin up, forcing to look at him. “I know that face! That is not a very happy face.”

“Shenpai,” you grumble through, unable to speak properly as the boy won’t let you go. “Shtop—”

“—not until you smile,” he pouts, so you oblige. His hands trail down to your shoulders, and while a part of you wants to head through the door into the dorm, running away from the butterflies in your stomach, the other half of you wants time to stop so you can etch this image into your mind: the sight of Kalim, head slightly tilted towards you, ruby eyes with heavy lids, staring at yours in adoration while he unknowingly tightens his grip and pulls you closer.

“See? Better.”

His lips press a kiss on your forehead, and you can feel a warm sigh escape them; the soft skin of his exposed neck; and his distinct scent, woody oriental perfume mixed with the cardamom tea he had earlier; skin that was always rubicund with warmth, no matter the outside temperature. The gesture says more than words ever could – you are mine, and I am yours; even though it might take you both a bit more time to be able to express it out loud. He stays there for a moment, mouth perfectly still but still flushed against you, just under the edge of your headline; now his fingers obliviously play with your hair, tucking it behind your reddened ears, tugging a bit at the lobes, just eager to caress you as much as he is allowed to. Inside Kalim's mind, he would like to confess here and now, perhaps; but he feels love declarations are to be made with parades and at least 75 golden camels and 60 elephants, so anything less would not suffice. For now, he is satisfied to simply have you there, melting into his collarbone and not shying away — for now, that is enough.

“Rest up today, alright?” Kalim takes a step back, and for a second you’re worried he might act as if nothing had happened, but you’re surprised to find he’s blushing just as much as you are. “And say hi to Grim for me.”

“I will,” you assure him. The Magic Carpet slides in behind him, and naturally, like Kalim’s got eyes on the back of his head and knows exactly where to land, he sits on the floating wonder, but his gaze doesn’t leave you.

“I’ll see you to the door.”

“Senpai. We’re already at the door.”

“Yeah — no, I know. I want to make sure you get in safe. That’s kind of silly, isn’t it? Heh,” he chuckles sheepishly, in a way that’s a bit uncharacteristic of him.

“You say that like it’s the middle of the night! It’s noon!”

“Aw, c’mon! Humor your upperclassman, just this once.”

Sighing and chuckling at the same time, you reach for the handle, and the wood-framed entrance groans open. Your knees feel weak, and your chest feels light all of a sudden – struggling still to process what had happened, but grinning from ear to ear.

“Take care, senpai.”

“See you later, my love.”

You realize shortly thereafter, as the heavy doors close behind you, that this is the second time Kalim has called you his – though it surely won’t be the last.

#twst imagines #kalim x you #twisted wonderland kalim #kalim x mc #twst wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #disney twisted wonderland #kalim al asim #jabberwondia original #jabberwondia #crossposted to ao3

[jabberwondia]

(jabberwondia) masterlist

Hi, I'm Vee (she/her) and I sometimes go in a trance and write reader inserts.

Not much to see here YET, but one day...! *evil laughter*

Feel more than welcome to make drabble and headcanon requests!

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

(one-shot) the next step

KALIM AL-ASIM

(imagines) singing "A Whole New World" together in the Pop Music Club

(one-shot) you are mine, and i am yours

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

(one-shot) jumping

MALLEUS DRACONIA

(one-shot) memento mori

#masterlist #masterpost #jabberwondia #twisted wonderland #twst imagines