LOVE LOVE LOVEEEEEEEE

Maybe

Rook Hunt x Fem! Reader

TW: Implied sexual themes, implied gore, blood, injuries, stalker-ish behavior from Rook Hunt, obsessive themes, worshipping of reader. Reader is implied to be gender neutral but some parts refer to them in a more "feminine" manner.

Synopsis: Rook was not a sadist, but his actions said otherwise. Was he really to blame when your fear-stricken face was just so endearing? No, Rook was not- he could not be a sadist. At least that's what he told himself. But, was he really so horrible or was there something more to it?

Note: Read at your own risk

Rook was a lot of things but he was not a sadist, he never found pleasure in another's pain- he was not so cruel. Bullshit. Because when it came to you, even the most ghastly wound became a fine piece of art. When you came into the question, Rook took being a hunter quite seriously. After all, would he really be one, if he didn't somewhat enjoy how you writhed in pain?

It was wrong. Rook knew it was wrong yet the pleasure he felt seeing your poor, frail form, all dependent on him- it was enough for him to forget all his morals.

Maybe it was that look of despair in your eyes, or it might have been how you desperately clutched onto his shirt. The way your eyes were wet with tears, heavy breaths leaving your lips as you felt the rip in your flesh.

How could he deny helping this broken beauty? After all, Rook Hunt would never deny a damsel in distress of her knight in shining armor.

The way protests left your mind, how your arms clutched around his neck as he picked you up. He saw it all.

It was beautiful- the lack of defiance, the docility, the obedience. The usual you would make a snarky comment, tell him to "fuck off", and of course he loved that version of you too. Yet, this frail, broken you was so deliciously compliant that he couldn't help but relish in it.

Don't get it wrong, it wasn't exactly your pain that he loved- but your dependence on him. The way you had no choice but to give up and let him take care of you. Wasn't it perfect? He got to care for you and you didn't even have to worry your pretty little head. You could be at peace while he guarded your precious body, so reminiscent of a temple.

It was his dream to serve you, to take care of you, to be in your presence without the mask you put up for others. It was his dream to see the real you, and right now, he got the chance to see a glimpse of it. He had the opportunity to see how you handled pain. Upon witnessing it, he couldn't deny that he wanted to see more.

He was sickening.

The way he had access to your room, the way you trusted him in this moment- it sent the blood rushing to his face.

It felt so right to carry you, to hold you, to embrace you- so endearing you were as you wet his shirt with your warm tears.

You said nothing, only weeped. You were scared, so frightened of the monster in front of you. Yet, you had no choice but to let him in, after all, your injuries were severe and he said he knew how to treat them. And he did treat them, letting his hands wander alongside.

His eyes were locked with the purple of your bruises, so reminiscent of fresh violets. How your crimson blood stained his clothes, the scent of iron engulfing him in a frenzy.

He loved it.

It wasn't as though he was only enjoying the view, no, he would never be so cruel. Still, he relished in the sight for as long as he could before wrapping your wounds in bandages. The feeling of being able to patch you up, bring you back to shape- as one would to a marionette- made him feel as though he was your god. It was this exact devotion he craved, though it may have been a trick his mind played on him for the looks you sent him were everything but welcoming.

He observed you, how you reacted to the burn of medicine seeping into your skin, the way you winced as he caressed your bruises. It brought such a perverse smile on his flushed face.

He was addicted to it.

No, Rook wasn't a sadist but at times the hunter within him just couldn't help but relish in the sickening sight of his beloved fawn. You were beautiful in all forms, yet one of his favorites was when you left yourself in his care, so dependent on him.

He loved you no matter how broken you could be.

He knew he was disgusting, revolting even but the way you called out his name, gruelling in pain was enough to feed his delusions that you didn't mind. How he wished he had snapped a couple photos of you, or maybe even drawn portrait as you lay in bed, so meekly.

He was twisted.

No, Rook was not a sadist, he did not enjoy another's pain but if that pain belonged to you, then even even something so vile could be beautiful. That pain, suffering- it belonged to you so of course he loved it so. It might have been perverse of him, vile, or even cruel but no matter what it was, once it belonged to you it would be the most beautiful of all.

How could he not find it beautiful?

Your body was coiled up, whimpering in such a delightful manner. Your eyes were half-lidded as you wept and your crimson blood seeped through the pristine bandages he'd covered you in. No matter how he perceived you, in that moment, your pain was the most heavenly vision of all.

Nevertheless, it did torment him to see you all bruised and broken- that was why he whispered sweet nothings in your ears, words that were incoherent in the moment. That was why he cradled you in his arms as you struggled to leave- he chose to ignore that. That was why he treated you as one would a lover, his hands crossing boundaries as you fainted.

How sinful you must have felt.

No, Rook was not a sadist- but upon witnessing your agony, he felt nothing but pure bliss. No, Rook did not love this version you because of the pain you felt- he loved it because of how dependent you were on him. No, Rook wasn't cruel, he wasn't twisted either- you were just too heavenly.

Maybe Rook was a sadist.

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

Note 2: I love how Rook's character is a great source for dark material yet he can also be written in a more sweet manner. (I love this man with all my heart)

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!

why has this got me kicking my feet? Excuse me? Floyd what you doin to me!??? AHHHHHHHHHHH

STOP I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THISSSSS

WOWWWWWWWWWW

赤面寮長ズ

That new skeleton guy's making me feel a lil something something

Like why's his smile so freaky

I feel violated by his stare but at the same time....continue

Respectfully you may continue with your freaky stare (I might be the real freak guys)

KALIM MY BABY

🎪🎉

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^

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVEEEEEEEE

Don't separate Ace from Deuce and Yuu/Grim, he don't take it well

I LOVE THIS IDEA SO SO MUCH!!!! BAHAHAHAH

Love is a Waste of Time

Kalim Al-Asim x GN!Reader

Happy Birthday to my love, Kalim! Hopefully it's enjoyable!

Synopsis: Kalim's strange new habits confuse him. Why is he so inclined on everything that is you? Is he sick!? Or maybe it's a curse? After a night of crestfallen sobbing, Jamil finds poor Kalim in such a state- in need of guidance. After said guidance, Kalim know's what he suffers from is not a disease but love- love for you. How will Kalim confess- will you even accept? After all, "love is a waste of time."

TW: None, just fluff! + bonding with Jamil (!?)

Crimson eyes bore at you once more, hoping you don't catch the culprit as he peers at what you're doing. He doesn't understand why he's so inclined on looking at you- simply staring. Useless, that's what it is. He's not getting any work done nor is he even speaking to you. What's the point? He doesn't know, yet, he still gapes at you. He doesn't know why he's content with just looking at you.

When he finally gets the chance to speak to you, he simply listens. Eyes wide at what you're saying- such interest in whatever dumb topic you've brought up. You're sure no one else would so vividly attentive to what you have to say- endearing, that's what he is.

He ignores his work to listen in to your conversations- who are you talking to and what you like talking about. His attention constantly wavers when you're there; he can't help it. He doesn't understand why. He follows you around, clumsy steps after yours. He hopes you'll allow him to tag along, he means no harm. He doesn't even know why he's so inclined on following you.

A soft blush coats his face- frustration. What's happening to to him? Is he sick? Did he catch the flu? Does he have a disease?

The disease he suffers from, has your name.

Soft tears pool in his eyes- what if he's been cursed? He looks around his room, silken sheets draped across him as he sobs in silence. It's something so stupid too; how is he supposed to ask doctors to cure him when he's so shy to speak up? He doesn't know why he's shy, his milky hair tousled as his hands rake through it in confusion.

A knock on his door wakes him up from his pondering thoughts. Jamil opens the door carrying a glass of water, the same observant look in his eyes. Kalim quickly wipes his eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

"Jamil, it's you.." He says a sigh of relief following after his words. He thanks Jamil for the water as he urges him to take a seat right next to him.

"Kalim, something's up- don't try to lie." Jamil says as he takes a seat on the edge of Kalim's bed. It was unusual seeing the sunshine boy be so glum. As much as Jamil liked the idea of Kalim toning himself down, he didn't find the current Kalim appeasing.

"Jamil, I have request- if you don't mind." Kalim says, ruby eyes peering up at Jamil with a helpless gleam.

"Go on Kalim- if it's about ordering elephants for next week's party then it's a "no". We can't order those elephant's again, they caused quite a ruckus last-"

Jamil was cut off by a panicked Kalim. "No, no! Don't worry it's not that.." Kalim said, a certain innocence in his voice. Jamil was confused by his current demure disposition.

"I- it's about someone. You know the prefect, right?" He asked, a bashful expression coating his face. Jamil simply nodded, a hand running through his braided hair.

"I think i have a disease or a curse related to them. They're in my head, constantly. When I sleep, they're in my dreams and when I wake up they are the first thing I see. I want to speak to them but for some reason the words don't come out of my mouth- it frustrates me. My face feels warm when they're near me and my stomach- my stomach seems to have monkeys dancing in them! Have I been cursed!? Or have they been cursed? Can we save them?" He blurted out, his thoughts escalating to various heights. Truly an overthinker.

Jamil sighed after Kalim's monologue- this was bound to happen one day but Jamil never expected Kalim's love to be reminiscent of a puppy's.

"Kalim, before you say it- no, you nor the prefect will die. You haven't been cursed either and neither have they." Jamil sighed after speaking, his hands traveling to caress his forehead.

"Then!? What else could it be?" Kalim asked, concern and confusion etched on his face. "No, don't say it- it's a disease, isn't it?" Kalim spoke up in panic, his hands covering his ears to block out what Jamil had to say.

"Kalim you're in love." Jamil said, an air of blasé surrounding him as he removed Kalim's hands from his ears. Kalim was wide-eyed at Jamil's answer, a dumbfounded expression plastered on his face as if he was still comprehending what he had been told.

"Kalim, did you hear me? You're in love." Restated Jamil while looking at him Kalim with certainty.

"I'm in love...?" He asked himself before pausing- his movement reduced to zero. He blinked a few time before a large Cheshire grin plastered across his face.

"Ha! Why didn't I think of that? It was so simple- I'm in love!" He exclaimed, a hum of content following suit. Kalim clung onto Jamil in delight desperately thanking Jamil for his words of wisdom. Jamil simply pat Kalim's back before leaving the boy to his thoughts.

That night Kalim was content- truly, he was lucky to love someone like you. It was an honor.

Then, he begun the same routine once more- to peer at you as sneakily possible, to listen to you ramble on and on as he took notes of your likes, and to follow where you went in hopes of having your attention solely on him. Such a tiring routine.

Sometimes he wondered how you felt- was it truly okay for him to follow you around? He hoped he wasn't being clingy- a nuisance.

It was strange for you to have him follow you- you didn't mind. The little gifts he'd send were over-the-top but they made you smile, although you returned most of them due to how pricey they were. The way he'd listen so wholeheartedly to whatever you had to say- it made your heart thump a little faster. Oh, and how he always had or made time for you; it made you feel privileged

Little by little a strange set of nerves took over your heart- what was this feeling? You sat there smiling for no reason- your thoughts filled with but Kalim. A bizarre flood of fuzzy nothings filled your mind- your heart sprinting away in fluster at the mere thought of him. A blush crept up your face whenever he was around- why were you so nervous?

You felt like flying yet also falling; the need to scream as loud as you could by merely spotting him was truly a bother. You'd surely gone mad.

A rush of emotions crept up your spine when he was around, running away the only answer. Your eyes could never meet his gaze; he only wondered what he'd done wrong. Nights were spent hugging your pillow in frustration as you bit your nails pondering over how to avoid him and talk to him at the same time. Your unusual behavior meant no harm, you were simply a bit crazy in-love yet also too flustered to act upon it. You weren't ready to face your feelings.

Nevertheless, Kalim took it wrongly, his carmine eyes dimming down in sorrow. Tears pooled in his eyes as he held a rose you didn't accept. A smile soon inched onto his face- fake.

"I'm sorry prefect- sorry for bothering you." He said, hiding the rose behind his back as he prepared to walk off. His eyes refused to make contact with yours while his heart hammered in his chest- he was a fool.

"Wait!" You said, a desperate wail as you rushed over to catch his sleeve. You were flustered, confused too. You didn't reject him- no, the words just couldn't come out of your throat.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't silent because I didn't accept- I just couldn't believe this was happening." You confessed, your hand holding his sleeve in place- you couldn't let go.

"I don't know what you've done. I can't get you out of my head but I don't hate it. When you're around me I can't speak- I want to, but the words don't come out. It's as if my heart's being restrained and my head is filled with nothing- my mind goes blank. I wanna look at you and I want to hold you. I know this is all really stupid coming from me but I don't know what to do. I wasn't trying to reject you- no, not at all. I thought I was daydreaming. Kalim, I don't know what you've done to me." You gushed, a shaky breath following suit.

Your eyes couldn't meet his and your mind was in a frenzy. Your body felt as if it was on fire and you felt so embarrassed- you still didn't know what he did to you. Though, you had a hunch.

A smile graced Kalim's lips- such a pretty smile it was. He patted your back, making you look up at him.

"It's love." He simply said.

"What?" You were not expecting such a bold or to-the-point answer. You blinked a few times, a smile creeping up your lips- it was such a "Kalim" answer. Truly, he was precious.

"Jamil told me- I thought it was a disease or a curse; but no, it's love. I also had the same, erm, symptoms?" He said with a grin, confusion etching his features when he tried explaining what you were going through.

"Love, really?" You said- a rhetorical question. A hum of delight left your lips as you took in a serene breath.

"Well, love is a waste of time." You stated, earning a hurt expression from Kalim. A panicked set of hands clung onto you, bringing you back from your serene state.

"No, it's not a waste of time." He said, his brows furrowing as if he was offended. "It may feel like it's useless to love because you're stuck doing absolutely nothing. But, isn't there a beauty in that? Isn't it so lovely to be so enamored that you're stunned every time you lay your eyes on a person. Isn't that something worthy to spend your time on?" He asked, teary-eyed. His hands clutched your arms desperately as a quivering sigh escaped his lips. He wanted to show you that loving someone was worth-it, it wasn't as trifling as you thought it was. His description, although not very convincing, was able to convince you.

A small giggle escaped your lips before it turned into a full-on laugh. Kalim looked confused- why were you laughing? What was so funny? Did you think he was joking? If so, he really wasn't- loving you, it made him happy, elated even.

"Kalim, I said love was a waste of time but I never said that I wouldn't waste my time on love." You spoke gently drawing a grin from Kalim. Your eyes studied him, a warm feeling nestling in your heart. Just looking at him soothed your heart.

"I think, at least once in my life, I'd like to waste my time." You spoke, the sun peeking in from the window as if to embrace you both.

He looked at you, frenzied- he hoped you were referring to him.

"Who else is better to waste my time with than with you?" You cooed, a soft whisper tickling his ear. It was as if you were letting him onto a secret, his eyes lighting up in delight. He peered at you sheepishly, a bumbling smile on his lips.

Truly, love was a waste of time- here you both were, wasting your time in each other's presence. Still, it was a good waste of time.

A waste of time that was worth wasting your time for.

"Love is a waste of time, but I love this waste of time."

Note: Inspo from the song "Love is a Waste of Time" from the movie PK.

Note 2: I hope I was able to show Jamil and Kalim's "bonding". I firmly believe that there are and have been moments in which Jamil has cared for Kalim wholeheartedly, albeit the fact that he can be very "detached" or cold (I'm so bad at explaining this-).

Note 3: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!