TWST Imagine With A Desi! Y/n

AGHAGHFFFJK AHHHHH OMGGGG WOWOWOWOW

sypnosis. a queen waits for the return of the man who promised he would always come back. her lover, who disappeared years ago chasing an adventure only he could see. the court demands a king, and suitors press in, but she remains unmoved, weaving a shroud of time until he returns. then, a challenge: whoever can string her betrothed’s bow and fire an arrow through twelve battle-axes will claim the throne. the suitors fail, but the beggar steps forward, rook, disguised. the bow bends, the arrow flies true, and rook stands before her, alive, and home at last.

note. i was listening to “the challenge” and thought of rook, stupidly enough cause of the bow & i immediately thought of “rook would love this” but you get it ^^’’ !!! immediate apologies if it may seem ooc, or off grammar (unfortunately, english isn’t my first language)

𝕿He. . . loom stretches before you, a seemingly endless web of threads that twine and twist in complex patterns. It feels like an impossible task, one you can never quite complete. Each morning, your fingers move with purpose, the rhythmic motion of weaving pulling you deeper into the task, a desperate distraction from the ache in your chest. Each night, when the rest of the castle has drifted into slumber, you return to the loom to unravel the threads, as if in some way, that will erase the time that’s passed — the time that you’ve been forced to endure without him. They do not know. The suitors who fill your court like hungry wolves — bright smiles and velvet robes hiding the sharp edges of ambition — believe you are near the end, that soon, you will choose a new king.

But you are still his.

He left you years ago, chasing a challenge that only he could see. The great hunter, the man who had seen beauty in every fleeting moment, had sworn to return. His final words still echo in your memory: “Mon amour,” he had whispered, breath warm against your temple, hands pressing over yours. “I leave not for adventure, but for the promise of coming home to you. What is love, if not the patience to wait?”

But patience is cruel, and faith wears thin when it is constantly tested by the long silence between you. The world does not stop spinning while you wait for a man who might never return. You have held your breath for years, hoping against hope that the promise he left you would hold true, but as the days turn into months, and the months into years, you begin to wonder if perhaps the sea has swallowed him whole.

The kingdom stirs. The whispers grow louder each day. It has been too long. He is gone. A queen cannot rule alone forever, they say. And so they press closer, thousands of men draped in velvet and gold, smiles dripping with false sweetness, eyes gleaming with greed. They speak of duty, of stability. They speak of the future.

But what of the past?

The love you held for Rook is not something fragile that can be traded away. It is not a thing to be bartered like the throne you sit upon. And yet, the court grows impatient, the vultures circling, waiting for their moment to swoop in.

“Your Majesty,” one of them says, his voice smooth as silk, his hand lingering too long on the armrest of your throne. “The throne needs a king.“

“A nation without a ruler is weak,” another murmurs, his eyes glinting with something more dangerous than mere concern. “Choose, and we will grant you peace.”

Peace? How.. humourous. As if the love you hold for Rook could ever be bought, as if it were something to be sacrificed to ease their hunger. As if you are not the woman who has held the kingdom together, the queen who ruled with strength and wisdom while he was lost to the world. But they do not understand. They never have.

Still, they will not stop.

So, you buy yourself time. But, is it for yourself?

“I will choose,” you say, your voice steady, betraying none of the chaos inside. “As soon as I finish weaving this shroud.”

They believe you. And so, the cycle continues.

Day after day, you sit at the loom, hands moving with mechanical precision, the rhythm of the work a small comfort in a world that no longer makes sense. You tell yourself that you will be free once it is finished, that once you have completed the task, you can let go. But every night, you return to unravel the work of the day, pulling the threads free, watching the promise of completion slip away like sand through your fingers.

And unexpectedly, the storm will come by.

Huh, the weather today.. seems peculiar. I wonder.

You thought, the sky today looks unlike anything you have ever seen, dark clouds gathering on the horizon, the sea thrashing wildly as though it too were in mourning. The wind howls, rattling the castle walls, and in the darkness of that night, something shifts in the air, a whisper, a possibility. Could it be—?

No.

But still, there is a flicker of something. Was it hope? Something that makes your pulse quicken, something that stirs in your chest and makes your breath catch in your throat.

You do not sleep that night. The next morning, the court is restless, but you do not care. Another suitor has arrived. You barely glance up at first, prepared for the same hollow flattery, the same empty promises they have all offered. Another face, another man desperate for the throne. And then—

“Your Majesty.”

The voice is low, rich, unmistakably familiar.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You lift your gaze, and the breath leaves your lungs.

There, standing before you in the grand hall, disguised as nothing more than a beggar? A tattered cloak hanging from his shoulders, boots caked in dust, golden hair hidden beneath a hood, is him.

Rook.

“Mon amour,” he breathes, and it is neither a plea nor a question. It is a vow renewed, a promise fulfilled.

The court does not understand why your fingers clutch the armrests of your throne, why your breath trembles in your throat. They do not understand the weight of this moment, the storm that has raged inside you for years, breaking now into sunlight.

But they will.

“A challenge,” you announce, your voice ringing out through the hall, silencing the murmur of voices. “The one who can string my betrothed’s bow and fire an arrow through twelve battle-axes shall take the throne beside me.”

The suitors laugh. They know the stories of Rook’s war bow — the weapon only he had ever been able to wield.

The bow itself, was a testament to strength, a mark of kingship, a relic of a past only one man could claim. Crafted long before his reign, it was a thing of unyielding power, curved in a perfect arc. Only he can wield.

One by one, they step forward, pride on their faces, convinced that they, too, can master the impossible. One by one, they fail. The bow does not bend to their hands. The string does not yield. Each failure cracks their pride, their frustration mounting as they realize that they are not Rook.

And then, the beggar steps forward. The court erupts into laughter.

“Surely, Your Majesty, you do not mean to let this vagrant attempt—”

But you do not stop him. You do not move, barely even breathe as he steps forward, his hands brushing against the polished wood of the bow, a deep, knowing silence settling over the room.

With a swift movement, the bow bends. The string sings its familiar song as he draws it taut, the echo of it resonating through your very bones. You can feel the air shift, the energy in the room snapping like a taut wire.

The arrow flies.

The sound of it is pure. Sharp and true, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It whistles cleanly through each of the twelve axes, the force of it a declaration. A promise.

Silence.

And then, he lifts his head. The hood falls away.

Rook stands before you, golden-haired and smiling, as if no time at all had passed. As if he had never left.

You take a step forward, your breath catching in your throat, but you do not move too quickly, afraid that he might vanish as suddenly as he appeared.

“You’re late,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it carries through the silence like a blade.

Rook’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling with the same wild fire you remember. “Ah, mon amour,” he breathes. “But I am here.”

And then, he kneels before you.

The years between you crash down like a tidal wave, the weight of everything you’ve endured settling heavily upon your chest. You do not hesitate. You move toward him, your hands trembling as they find his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheek. He leans into your touch, eyes closing for a moment, as if memorizing the feel of you, the texture of your skin beneath his fingers.

“I should kill you for making me wait,” you whisper, your voice breaking with the ache of all that has been lost and found again.

“And yet,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your wrist, “you have never looked more beautiful than you do now, in your fury.”

You let out a breath, half a sob, half a laugh. But it is enough. It is everything. You pull him to you, your lips crashing against his, desperate and alive, the years of longing melting into this single, fleeting moment.

The court watches, but you do not care. The suitors recoil, but you do not see them. There is only Rook. his hands in your hair, his arms around you, the warmth of him solid and real after all these years. When you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours, and the world is suddenly right again.

“You came back,” you whisper, a question, a plea, a confession.

“Always,” he swears, his voice rough and raw. “I will always find my way back to you.” This time, you believe him.

That night, the castle breathes with a new kind of silence. The suitors have left, some in anger, others in shame, their ambitions shattered like glass beneath the weight of inevitability. The whispers of the court fade into the distant hum of the sea, and for the first time in years, you are alone.

But you are not lonely.

Rook stands before you in your chambers, no longer the beggar who had slipped unnoticed through the doors, but the hunter who had once stolen your heart with laughter and reckless devotion. He is older now —sharper in some places, softened in others — but when he smiles, it is the same as it ever was. Wild and knowing, like he has already mapped out every thought in your head before you can voice it.

And yet, for the first time since his return, he hesitates.

“You are staring, mon amour.” His voice is lighter now, teasing, but underneath it, there is something else. Something unspoken.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. “You disappeared for years, Rook. Forgive me if I wish to confirm that you are not merely a ghost come to haunt me.”

His lips twitch. “And if I were?”

“Then I would curse you for eternity,” you say, stepping closer, until only a breath separates you. “And still, I would not let you leave.”

The teasing falters in his expression, giving way to something raw, something that makes your pulse thunder in your ears. His hands, calloused and sure, come up to cradle your face, his thumb ghosting over the curve of your cheek. “I was gone too long,” he admits, a confession, a wound.

“Yes.”

“I have no excuse.”

“No.”

His fingers tighten, the breath in his chest shuddering. “And yet—” He swallows, eyes burning gold in the candlelight. “Would you still have me, knowing that I am a man who loses himself in the hunt?”

Your breath catches. Not because you do not know the answer, but because he would even dare to ask.

You take his hand, pressing his palm flat against your chest, where your heart beats strong and steady. “You left,” you say. “And I waited. And I cursed you. And I wept for you. And still—” You inhale, exhale, let the weight of the years settle between you before crushing them beneath your next words. “Still, my heart knows only your name.”

Rook lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, but it is too broken, too relieved to be anything but the unraveling of something long-held. “Then it seems,” he murmurs, leaning in, his forehead pressing against yours, “I have found my way home after all.”

He kisses you, it is not with the desperation of before. It is steady, certain. It is the promise he made you all those years ago, at last fulfilled.

© 2025 padf-0-ot . i only post in this app ^ᴗ^

AMAZING DRAWING AND CONTENT AS USUAL

Lil doodle of Artyom I drew in class (wanted to draw Nikita but I was too lazy)

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can you do malleus x y/n?

Do you?

Malleus Draconia x GN!Reader

TW: None, just fluff!

Malleus Draconia, the stoic Fae prince, and future ruler of the Briar Valley had always been a figure of intimidation. Since he was born, no one had ever dared to go against the prince. It was surely wonderful to be respected as such, even feared.

Yet, he couldn't help but feel so dreadfully lonely.

Everyone saw him as a prince, a man who would one day rule over all faeries, a man who who could kill in just a snap of his fingers.

A boy who was never invited to events, a boy who was feared so much that he never lived like a child. A boy who's name could cause thousands, if not millions, to cower.

Then why were you not scared?

Why was it that whenever you saw him, you smiled? Why was he always greeted as an individual, a friend, whenever he met up with you? Why did you trust him so easily?

Were you foolish or naive? He did not know, but what he did know was that you were endearing, a sort of light amidst his black and white world.

You had opened his eyes to what friendship was, what it was like to be cared for unconditionally.

Yet he was greedy. It was in his nature, after all, he was a dragon. He was a dragon who wanted to hoard this newfound treasure.

That treasure was you.

You weren't like his retainers, you never served under him. Nor were you like his followers, you never worshipped him. Then what were you?

The simple idea of someone so peculiar messed with his brain. He wasn't sure what category you were part of. You started off as "just a human" a very peculiar one, but still a mere human.

"Tsunotarou!" You'd say with that same goofy smile plastered on your face. Did you really not know what he was capable of, or were you just that brave?

Yet, whenever you said that name, reaching your arms out to engulf him in your embrace, he couldn't help but smile. The corners of his lips tugged to a grin, showcasing his sharper teeth as he returned the gesture.

He didn't know when nor did he know how it happened, but soon enough, you weren't just a human anymore.

You were his human, his peculiar human that he wanted more than just a friend.

He wanted to be more than "Tsunotarou".

His greed longed for your love, his greed longed for your touch, his greed longed for you.

"Child of man, what do you see me as..?" He asked, his voice deep as usual, his left hand cupping your face. He leaned down to your height, his lips awfully close to your neck.

"What am I to you?" He asked, his voice a whisper. The room seemed to go silent as you stood there, his free hand snaking around your waist.

What started of as a normal walk in the woods, turned into something more serious, much more intimate. The way his right hand snaked around your waist as the other one cupped your face, it was all so confusing, yet so fitting.

Fireflies seemed to dance around you, illuminating the dark night. The wind made the trees dance, the moon seeming a bit too dreamy than usual, as it made a pond nearby glow. The scene was right out of a fairytale, and it seemed as if he were a prince and you were his fated lover.

This was the first time he'd been so outright blunt with you, and so awfully close. Yet, it felt nice, the way his hands fit against you, the way his breath felt on you neck, and the way the blood rushed to your cheeks.

As he moved away from you neck, you looked up at him, your neck craning a bit. His emerald eyes looked into yours with something you couldn't explain, they were seeking an answer, they were longing for you.

"You're Tsunotarou, my friend..." You replied, your mind running a bit too fast for your liking as your heart skipped a beat. What was happening to you? You weren't sure what he was hinting at, what exactly was he asking, so you stated the obvious.

He wasn't stupid, he already knew this. He wanted to know more, what exactly he meant to you, what the possibilities were.

He pulled you closer, your face buried in his chest as he leaned down a bit so you could hear his words as clearly as possible.

"What if I want to be more than friends?" He asked, as the arm gripped around your waist tightened.

"You've given me the chance to experience friendship, something I am deeply grateful for. Yet, friendship doesn't soothe the longing in my heart." His words were careful, slowly reaching the goal he was aiming for.

"I want to be yours."

He let go of you slightly, allowing his eyes to look into yours. His grip loosened a bit as he waited for you to run off, for he may have made you uncomfortable. Yet you didn't, you simply stood there in his loosened embrace.

Your face was flushed, the usual childlike smile nowhere to be found. Instead, your face was red, an expression he'd never attained from you, an expression that he wished to see more of.

The fireflies still danced in the night, the moon glowing brightly, the trees swayed with delight, as you two stood there, relishing in the serenity.

"Do you long for me as much as I long for you?"

Note: Sorry for leaving at kind of a cliffhanger but I wasn't sure how far I was supposed to go and whether it was supposed to be wholesome or more heated. Please do give me more premises and ideas to write about, it would be greatly appreciated.

If you enjoyed it please interact with this post and.or follow me to support! If you wish to request something please read the pinned post first! Thank you!

WOWWWWWWWWWW

赤面寮長ズ

TWST Rambles #1

Random thought but like why does Leona and Malleus' rivarly/whatever the word is for this- remind me of draco malfoy and harry potter. Like idk much abt harry potter but why does Leona remind me of draco and Malleus of harry (kinda).

"Draco: POTTER"

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Leona: LIZARD LOOK I'M BETTER AT POTIONS THAN YOU HAH

Malleus: Son of a beast- It's not a competition (It is)

ORRRRRRR

Leona: LIZARD LOOK AT HOW REFINED I AM UNLIKE YOU I DON'T HAVE HORNS

Malleus: My horns are far more refined than your ghastly ears, thank you very much

ORRRRRRRRR

Leona: LIZARD I'LL BE WINNING THE SPELLDRIVE TOURNAMENT THIS TIME ROUND

Malleus: *Does that hot smirk thing* Oh yeah? We shall see about that.

*After the competition (malleus won)*

Malleus: It's true, you're just all bark no bite

Leona: ......

Leona: fuck u IM GONNA GO NAP

LIKEEEEE SOMETHING???? ANY CORRELATION OR IS IT JUST ME???

why do i feel like leona just wants to be frnds with malleus but is bitching and moaning abt it cuz he like got rejected/malleus didn't get the memo cuz leona also never straight up told him. (They're both too arrogant sometimes which is a given cuz they're so high in status)

but just my opinon

TWST Rambles #2

7 reasons why me and you need Rook Hunt in our lives (someone get me this man rn)

Bro compliments the living macarons outta you. Not only will you know his compliment's aren't half assed, because of how elaborate they are, but he's also gonna compliment ur insecurities to the point where ur not insecure anymore.

Bro literally knows you inside and out (Let me be delulu and phrase "he is a stalker" in a pretty manner). You're craving your favorite food? He gotchu, he already bought it and cooked it. You're looking for a missing hairbrush? Don't worry, he just took it for a second to collect your hair, you can have it back now. Oh you're feeling down? He knows exactly what'll cheer you up a shirtless him poems and songs about how much he admires you in french.

He can be your bodyguard: Bro's a literal hunter so he's got a great physique and great aim, meaning, if someone's bothers you they prolly won't have a head by the end of the day. Not to mention how people won't bother you just by knowing Rook knows and adores you.

He's the master of making you feel loved and gorgeous. He's in pomefiore- he knows what's gonna help with self esteem, looks, and whatnot. Plus, you need a back-rub? He gotchu cause he prolly got trained for it. You want a spa-day? He's already in your room with all the supplies needed and a relaxing bath drawn for you to wind down in. Ignore the fact that he's gonna watch you bathe

Il parle français. Just that. Like why wouldn't you want a french speaking cutie-patootie stalker that adores everything you do? He is the dream prince charming but just a lil more quirky. He's just built different.

He's absolutely gorgeous. You need eye-candy? He is said eye-candy. Ignore the bob-cut, he just liked dora a bit too much

He's Rook Hunt. Period.

idek if this is accurate but in my mind that's the first thing that popped up

It's Only You

Sebek Zigvolt x GN!Reader

Synopsis: You'd never thought how difficult it could be to love someone without receiving affection back. The daunting realization of your unrequited love led you to leaving him. You never meant much anyways- you were always just there and he was sure you'd return. Time flew by as he waited for your return.

TW: Angst, mentions of death, depression, mentions of unhealthy relationships.

The pitter and patter of rain filled the silence enveloping the room. It was unusual for Sebek to be so silent for he was usually so boisterous, if not impulsive. Whether he was enraged, content, or glum, he was always loud- reckless. It was odd- this thick, suffocating silence that pierced through your skin. A shiver traveled down your spine, your lips forming a thin, straight line.

"Sebek, I said something."

You spoke up, as if offended by his lack of reaction. Never once was he so apathetic. You expected more, much more by an individual who was usually so reckless, so volatile. If not verbally than through expressions, you wanted a reaction- it was a given, you confusion, considering this side was something you'd never seen, no one had ever seen. Yet, there was no response merely a wide-eyed gaze he sent your way.

"If you won't respond then I guess the feeling's mutual."

You spoke up once more, irritation present in your words. A sigh left your lips, his olive gaze still fixed on you. It wasn't as if he didn't speak to spite you- no, it was quite the opposite. He was speechless. Everything was fine, nothing was out of place- both of you were alright, perfectly content together. Then why had you just said you wanted to end it? Was your relationship that meaningless? Did he mean nothing? Was your bond that fickle?

The rain continued to pour down as you packed, taking your things one by one. You presence vanished little by little leaving him alone- in solitude. He stood in the same spot as you removed yourself from his life- his home. His eyes were glassy, not that you noticed.

"Goodbye Sebek."

That was the last thing you said before leaving, suitcase in hand.

He came back to his senses, his voice returning to him as the door shut with a loud 'thud'. He called out your name several times, shouting at the top of his lungs. As if to mock him, the rain pattered against the windows even harder, silencing him. Without a thought he ran outside, his usually neat hair now wet and tousled. His eyes searched for you, his heart drumming inside his chest- his throat was raw from screaming, his vision blurry. His body was soaked, his tears camouflaging- becoming one with the drops of rain. His body shook, a shiver running down his back; it was now he realized that you had left. It wasn't a nightmare, nor a delusion, and it definitely wasn't a joke. This was reality.

Even if he found you, begged you to stay- your answer would remain the same. You were tired. You were sick of being a second option- no, a last resort. Someone or something always came before you. Whether it was his loyalty for Malleus or his affection for knighthood. You were never number one. Frankly, you had been alright with that, knowing your relationship with Sebek was fairly one-sided; you'd begged for his love, had you not? In his eyes you had. Not that he didn't care at all, but just not to the level you did. You were useful to him, always there when he needed you to be. Never once did you think of your own needs- neither did he. That was until you did. There was only so much you could ignore before you felt lonely- alone.

No matter how selfish it sounded, you wanted to bask in his affection. He was your spouse, wasn't he? He made vows to you, didn't he? He was your soulmate, was he not?

Then why were you ditched for his loyalty to Malleus? Then why had he made it clear that you could be replaced, Malleus couldn't? Then why were you never never first- not once?

Why didn't you mean anything to him, who meant everything to you?

Your love was unrequited, to an extent at least. You knew you had agreed to something of this sort upon falling for him- yet this daunting realization hurt more than you wanted it to. You wished for everything to go back to how it was- you wanted to be blind once more. You wanted to unsee this new vision, to go back to your old perception of reality.

You wanted to mend this broken relationship. As if you were a child who had just noticed that life was not, in fact, perfect you tried convincing yourself that it was. You were better off believing in the false perfection of the world- of your relationship. You didn't want to believe that he didn't care. You were not being neglected. You couldn't be.

You just had to communicate, that would fix everything.

You spoke up, he didn't listen. You spoke up once more, he had better things to do. You spoke up again and as expected, he couldn't care less.

It poured down as you spoke up for the last time, this time adding that you were simply leaving. His opinion didn't matter anymore- too many chances had been missed. You weren't a doormat, not any more.

You waited far too long for someone who wouldn't come around. That realization daunted upon him- he was guilty of a crime he wished he hadn't committed.

His body coiled up, quivering as his garments clung to his skin. He sat on the wet road, the sky darkening as the rain roared down. His eyes were fixed on the ground, shameless tears trickling down his face. If Malleus saw him like this- no, if anyone saw him in such a state, he wouldn't mind. He was confused to have such thoughts- he should mind, should he not? You were gone. It shouldn't affect him so much, not at all. What were you? A spouse, but only in name. Then why did his heart pang so loudly? Why was your sweet voice playing in his mind? Why was it now that he saw your pain? Why now, when it was far too late?

His life was different from there on. You had an affect on his life and took on such an important role, yet never realized - if you had, maybe you wouldn't have left. He wished both of you had remained blind, playing house forever- no matter how suffocating it got. Maybe then he wouldn't be so melancholic.

Days passed by.

His halls were empty, signifying his solitude. The little knick knacks you used to keep were gone, those stupid little hand-drawn doodles he used to find on random pieces of paper were all in the past. The times you cooked for him, no matter whether he he liked it or not- he missed it. The scent of your shampoo never lingered around the house anymore, neither did the sound of your sweet voice.

He would stand at the door everyday yet no one came to greet him once he returned home, neither did he have anyone to greet. No one played music that hurt his ears anymore- he never thought he'd miss that. He still made portions for two everyday, leave it on a plate only for the food to go stale. He still clung onto the last bit of hope that you would return- that he wouldn't have to be alone. Yet, everyday you proved him wrong.

Weeks passed by.

Was this how you felt? Was this how your heart ached? He wished he had listened to your rambles, that he'd paid attention to whatever stupid show you used to watch. Maybe if he had then he could watch those shows to remind himself of you- yet he didn't remember. He never thought he could cry so freely, never once had he been someone so sensitive. What else could he even do? There was no one to scold, to scorn at to scream at- he was rendered silent within these walls, isolation along with silence were his only resorts. He had lost his old self, grief took over his previously exuberant self. "He deserved it", he thought.

Your separation from him was his separation from himself. His memory of your was the only thing keeping him going. Every little thing you used to do reminding him of his mistakes, of what could have been. He'd underestimated your worth- he'd underestimated how irreplaceable you were.

Months passed by.

His previous priorities became second while you became number one. The only difference was that you weren't there to witness that. Wherever you were, away from him- you were happier. At least he hoped you were. His door was always open for you though, his heart too. Maybe if he'd cherished you, he wouldn't have lost you.

Despite all his lingering thoughts, he'd realized it was just "if's" now. There was no mending what he'd broken and there was no apologizing for what he did, not when you had clearly severed ties with him.

Was it illicit to hope you'd crawl back to him? That you'd beg him to take you back? It was wrong and he knew it but he couldn't help but delude in such thoughts despite knowing the only one who who'd beg for the other would be him, as of now. Though, he didn't mind begging if it meant you'd return. He knew he was being delusional- you'd never return. He knew that was the best for you, for if you did return- he wouldn't be able to let go no matter how difficult it got for you. He might've gone mad.

A decade passed by.

Years later he saw you, clinging onto another man as you pranced around at a store- one you used to speak of quite often as if urging him to take you. He never did.

As you and the unknown man walked inside the store he couldn't help but follow, silent as ever as he simply observed. He broke the moment he saw you picking a suit for the man beside you. You weren't his and maybe you never were.

He walked out of the store, his eyes stinging as he returned home. You weren't there waiting for him and no one ever would- he wouldn't replace you, not that he could. That would be another insult to your name.

He stood near the same window, on the exact spot where he watched you leave. Just like that day, it was pouring and the room was silent. He called out your name a few times, hoping you'd appear. Was he mad? Surely. Maybe he should drink again- doing so could help him hallucinate of you and if not, at least it would numb the pain.

He sighed as he sat down.

You were incomplete when with him while he was incomplete when without. You meant more than he had previously thought, so much so that it was only you he wanted to live for and with. If that was impossible, why live at all?

Note: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Note 2: I hope Sebek wasn't too fanon/off, I just really wanted to explore a different side.

Note 3: Any unhealthy behavior depicted in this fic is not condoned nor encouraged by me. If you are facing any mental/physical abuse, please seek help immediately!

My first fic on my new (other) blog !!!

So excited for this one (totaly healing my inner child) !!!

Be Careful Not to Mess With the Balance of Things"

Introductory post !!!

Max Russo x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1 (more coming soon...)

Synopsis:

When the usual becomes unusual all because of one girl…

Professor Crumbs never dropped by for casual visits. His sudden arrival carried grave news: A soul transfer by a nymph to a mortal girl, giving the mortal magical abilities. The girl, unaware of her new powers could fall victim to death or insanity if her powers were left untrained or weren't fully removed.

The Russo's weren't sure how exactly they played into this but once told that the only clue on finding this girl was her recent move to New York, alongside her family- things made more sense.

"So you want us to kidnap her?"

Naturally, none of the Russo's expected to actually bump into this girl, especially not Max. But upon bumping into the new girl at school, things took a sharp turn.

That girl was you.

Caught in a whirlwind of cheesy romance, clichéd tropes, and something as unreal as magic was you, painfully aware of how ridiculous everything seemed to be.

"Why does it feel like we're in a sitcom?"

But this wasn't a sitcom. Behind the sandwiches and spells was an ugly truth.

"You might die. Emphasis on the 'might'."

The 'might' didn't make it feel any better when everyone was so serious.

___ * ___

Y/N L/N

"What in the bippity boppity boo is this..?"

"So you kidnapped me?"

"Oh no. I have magical powers. What a catastrophe."

"Why does it feel like we're in a sit-com?

Max Russo

"So yeah, we need to not not kidnap you. So I think that means we need to kidnap you."

"You like sandwiches too?"

"I can't believe you guys thought I wouldn't do something so stupid."

"You have beautiful eyes...like olives. I think I'm hungry."

Justin Russo

"Does it not get through your thick skull? You have magic powers and need our help to help you control them. Thus, you should totally follow us into this cramped corridor. So what if we're strangers?"

"You might die. Emphasis on the 'might'."

"Since I'm the student body president, your actions affect my reputation. SO STOP THIS. Thank you"

Alex Russo

"When did the music get so romantic and WHY IS MAX HOLDING A BOUQUET?"

"Isn't it fun? You have magical powers, so what if you might explode. Yeah no, that sounded better in my head."

"Relax, without stupid people we wouldn't have anyone to laugh at, right Max?"

"Try this spell, it might work. I found it in this book- "Definitely Not Curses". See, they aren't curses."

Harper Finkle

"Like my new outfit?  Only made of bubblewrap and cardboard."

"I don't think anyone needed to see that.."

"Why does she get magic powers and I don't? Oh, she might die? Nevermind."

Jerry & Theresa Russo

"They'd make a cute couple, right Jerry?" "Agreed"

"That's it Jerry. I need an explanation, now." "Argh..! Max, word your sentences better..!"

"That girl could die." "I know."

Professor Crumbs

"No Justin, I am not taking you on an escapade."

"Oh, I didn't expect them to actually find you."

"This is quite an interesting case, truly. I just don't understand why the Nymph chose you."

"Anyone for some tea?"

__ * __

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character's from Wizard's Of Waverly Place, all credits go to Disney for the character's used from their franchise. The only characters I claim ownership of are one's I invented myself. 

Author's Note: Hello guys, I'm Brownie and this is my first story on this fandom (or anything Disney really). This is supposed to be a crack-fic but it still has a plot and is still taken seriously by me. When I say 'crack', I mean that the MC (you) is VERY self-aware- and obviously Y/N isn't Candace but that's the kind of vibe I'm going for. I'm talking about the "this is the eleventh time we've bumped into each other today" OR "Why does it feel like we're in a rom-com movie" kind of humor. BUT because I'm recently in LOVE with Max Russo, the character, I JUST HAD to start writing this. Not to mention, there's a lack of fics on this fandom and him specifically (I'm on a mission to change that)

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