Emmy x Oliver

The moon hung like a jagged cutout in the velvet sky, casting pale silver ribbons across the papercraft rooftops of the neighborhood. Scaling the brickwork with the effortless agility of a delinquent who spent far too much time skipping class, Oliver dug the sharp graphite tip of his left arm into a mortar groove. With his right hand, he hoisted himself up, tossing a small bar of lavender-scented bath soap into his mouth and biting off a chalky, fragrant corner with a satisfied crunch.

Chewing casually, he reached the upper sill. His ankle-length white ponytail dangled behind him, swaying like a heavy pendulum against the exterior siding, bound low with a battered black ribbon. Twin obsidian horns jutted from his scalp, perfectly framing the unruly, upright lock of hair that bobbed with every breath he took. A faint, red "A+" insignia peeked out from the right side of his fringe, a mocking badge of scholastic superiority that contradicted every single thing about his current trespass.

Oliver peered through the glass of the second-story bedroom window.

Inside, the room was a chaotic pastel sanctuary. Fairy lights in the shape of blooming cherry blossoms illuminated shelves packed with manga volumes, plush demonic bunnies, and glittering magical girl figurines. In the center of this hyper-aesthetic storm sat Emmy. She was tiny, barely topping five feet, perched in an oversized ergonomic gaming chair with her knees pulled up to her chest.

She wore a jet-black oversized hoodie accented with bubblegum-pink drawstrings and thick pink cuffs, paired with a pleated skirt of alternating pink and black stripes. Her knee-high socks resembled stretched-out black kittens with embroidered rosy noses, tucked neatly into matching pastel shoes. Her waist-length white hair trailed over the back of the chair, interrupted only by an obstinate, cowlick-like tuft standing straight up from her crown and a pale blue circular badge pinned near her temple bearing the number "6+". A bright pink heart-shaped clip secured her side bangs, glowing under the glare of her multi-monitor desk setup.

Currently, Emmy was completely, unequivocally lost in another dimension.

Her oversized cat-ear headphones thumped with bass, but through the glass, Oliver could see the screen. It wasn’t a standard Saturday morning cartoon. It was an intensely explicit, heavily animated romance drama—the kind of obscure, uncensored trash only the most degenerate forum-dwellers could unearth. Emmy’s cheeks burned an incandescent crimson. She was biting her lower lip so hard it looked ready to pop, clutching her hoodie drawstrings in white-knuckled grips, rocking back and forth in sheer, unadulterated secondhand fluster.

Oliver’s sharp eyes widened, and a devious grin sliced across his face.

"Oh, this is way too good," he whispered around the remnants of his soap snack.

Carefully, he wedged his pencil forearm beneath the bottom pane and pried the window upward. It slid open with only the faintest squeak, completely drowned out by the moaning symphony vibrating through Emmy’s headphones. Oliver slithered into the room like an ink stain creeping across parchment. He landed silently on the soft, lavender rug, his knee-high white socks absorbing the impact.

He didn't just rush her. That would be boring. Oliver was an artist of torment.

As he crept closer to the back of her spinning chair, he began to hum a bizarre, off-key tune, a mocking nursery rhyme that slithered beneath the muffled noise of her headset. He swayed side to side, letting his shadow stretch over her monitors. Emmy was far too entranced, squeaking in high-pitched delight at whatever ridiculous trope was playing out on the pixels before her, completely oblivious to the boy looming over her shoulder.

Oliver leaned down until his breath ruffled her rebellious cowlick.

"Boo!" he roared.

The reaction was instantaneous and catastrophic.

Emmy launched three feet into the air like an electrocuted feline. A shrill, piercing shriek tore from her throat as her arms flailed wildly, smacking directly into her mechanical keyboard. The glowing cat-ear headset ripped from her skull, clattering across the desk and knocking over an acrylic cup full of pastel gel pens. Her chair spun furiously on its casters before tipping backward, sending Emmy tumbling onto the carpet in a tangled heap of black fabric, pink stripes, and wildly spread white hair.

As she hit the deck, her flailing elbow struck the power strip, and the monitors instantly went black with a pathetic electronic whimper.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of Emmy’s heavy, frantic breathing.

Oliver doubled over, clutching his ribs with his flesh-and-bone hand while his pencil arm dragged along the floorboards, howling with laughter.

"Man, you should have seen your face!" he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "You looked like you saw a ghost having a seizure! What the hell were you even watching, you total freak?"

Emmy lay frozen on the rug for three full seconds, staring blankly at the ceiling. Then, slowly, the terror dissolved. Her chest rose and fell, her eyes widening into immense, sparkling orbs. The shock transformed into something far more volatile: theatrical enchantment.

She slapped both of her hands onto her cheeks, squishing her face until her lips puckered.

"An intruder?!" she gasped, her voice trembling with melodic ecstasy. "A mysterious, horned trespasser who breached my sanctum through the moonlit glass?! Who are you, dark shadow of destiny?!"

Oliver stopped laughing instantly. His grin soured into an expression of sheer disgust. He hated when people didn’t react properly to being bullied. Fear was fun. Crying was hilarious. Whatever this manic, sparkly nonsense was? It was deeply irritating.

"Shut your stupid mouth, you annoying runt," Oliver snapped, scowling darkly. "I’m not a 'dark shadow,' I’m the guy who’s gonna bust your face in for being a weirdo!"

Gritting his teeth, Oliver lunged forward, aiming to grab her collar and slam her back into the floorboards.

He never made contact.

Hanging snugly against the hollow of Emmy’s throat was an ornate, obsidian talisman etched with swirling crimson runes—the Akuma no Otto pendant. The moment Oliver’s hostile intent crossed an invisible threshold, the talisman flared with a blinding, violent burst of scarlet light.

A localized shockwave exploded outward.

"What the—" Oliver managed to choke out before an invisible sledgehammer struck his chest.

The kinetic blast hurled him backward through the air. He crashed violently into a towering mountain of plush toys stacked in the corner of the room, sending polyester-stuffed bears and pastel demons raining down upon his head. Oliver hit the baseboard hard, groaning as his boots tangled in a giant stuffed octopus.

"Ow! Damn it! What the hell was that?!" Oliver snarled, kicking the plushies away in a fury. He rubbed his tailbone, his ankle-length ponytail completely disheveled. "Did your stupid neck vomit a bomb at me, you little psycho?!"

Emmy, completely untouched by the blast, didn’t flinch. Instead, her eyes sparkled brighter than supernovas.

"A magical clash!" she cried out. She sprang to her feet, executing a flawless, dizzying twirl that sent her striped skirt flaring out like a blooming flower. She caught her balance, struck a dramatic, hand-on-hip pose, and pointed a manicured finger directly at him. "A destined duel between light and dark! Tell me, villain! Speak your cursed title before we cross blades once more!"

Oliver pulled himself up, glowering murderously. "My name is Oliver, you braindead idiot! And if you don't shut up, I'm going to take this pencil and shove it straight through your—"

Before he could finish his threat, Emmy gasped with theatrical agony.

"Oliver..." she breathed, as if tasting poison on her tongue.

Suddenly, she threw her hands into the air and hurled her entire body violently backward, slamming her back against the wooden doors of her closet. The hangers inside rattled loudly. She slid down the wood by inches, her eyelids fluttering as though struck by a lethal curse.

"The power... his aura alone... it burns through my soul!" she whimpered melodramatically, biting her trembling lower lip while clutching her chest. "He cast an invisible hex upon me! How cruel... how mercilessly exquisite!"

Oliver stood there, his jaw slack, his left pencil arm hanging limp at his side. He blinked once. Twice.

"Are you... are you having a medical emergency?" he asked, genuine bewilderment cutting through his rage. "I didn't even touch you, you absolute lunatic. You threw yourself into the furniture!"

Emmy ignored him completely. She slumped all the way to the floor, her white hair fanning out across the wood like spilled cream. She rested her cheek against the floorboards, looking up at him through thick, trembling eyelashes.

"If that is what you truly desire from me... master~" she purred, her voice dripping with sickly-sweet submission.

Then, without missing a single beat, she violently whipped her head around, her white cowlick snapping through the air like a whip. She cleared her throat, dropped her pitch down by four full octaves, and belted out in a ridiculously deep, rumbling baritone:

"Yes, Daddy."

Oliver took a reflexive step backward, his boots squeaking against the floor. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!"

Down on all fours, Emmy began crawling across the carpet toward him. It wasn't a normal crawl; it was a slow, agonizingly theatrical slither, her hips swaying while she dragged her pink-shod feet behind her like a dying stage actress reaching for the spotlight. She reached his knees, gazing up at him with wide, devoted eyes, her hands trembling as they hovered near his white socks.

Then, like a light switch flipping in an abandoned asylum, her face went entirely flat.

All the drama vanished from her eyes.

SMACK!

Her small, pale palm connected squarely with Oliver's right cheek with the force of a snapping twig.

Oliver’s head jerked to the side. The room went dead silent again. A bright pink handprint bloomed across his pale skin.

He slowly turned his head back, his black horns trembling with sheer, incandescent rage. "You... you little bitch! Did you just slap me?!"

"You entered a maiden's quarters without permission!" Emmy barked back, her eyebrows knitting together in an aggressive, pouty scowl. "A gentleman knocks! A rogue scales the wall! But you... you are entirely uncouth!"

Before Oliver could lung forward to strangle her with his bare hand, Emmy scrambled backward like a crab, hopped onto her feet with shocking athletic grace, and threw herself back into her gaming chair.

"Wait," she mumbled, clicking her power strip back on with her toe. "Oliver... Oliver... where have I heard that name in the sacred scrolls?!"

Her monitors flared back to life. Emmy didn’t even bother closing the scandalous anime window that minimized into the corner; instead, she opened a browser and began hammering away at her mechanical keyboard with blinding speed. The clatter of plastic keys sounded like a machine gun barrage.

"Paper School archives... Paper School forums... delinquent registry... section B... tag: Horns... tag: Pencil arm..." she muttered, her words tumbling out in a manic, unbroken stream. "Known associates: Zip... Edward... behavioral infractions: three hundred and twelve... diet: soap?!"

She slammed the enter key. A thread with Oliver's student profile popped up, complete with a candid photo of him gleefully shoving a frog into someone's locker.

Emmy leaned closer to the monitor. Her pupils suddenly dilated, morphing into literal, cartoonish pink hearts that pulsed against her sclera. Her jaw dropped into a wide, shocked, ecstatic "O."

"It's him," she whispered in holy reverence. "The ultimate bad boy. The apex degenerate."

She kicked off her desk, sending the chair spinning wildly across the room. Emmy leapt out mid-spin and threw herself flat onto the floor right in front of Oliver's boots, sliding several inches across the rug until her chin rested on his toes.

"I confess!" she wailed to the ceiling, clutching her hands in prayer against her chest. "Take me, Oliver! I am yours! My heart, my soul, my limited-edition magical girl figurines—they all belong to you! You have conquered my fortress!"

Oliver looked down at the tiny, screaming otaku hugging his boots. His eye twitched violently. A sneer of absolute disgust and condescension curled onto his lips.

"You are the most pathetic, brain-rotted creature I have ever had the misfortune of meeting," Oliver drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. He raised his left arm, the freshly sharpened graphite pencil gleaming menacingly under the room's fairy lights. "I don't want your ugly figurines, weirdo. I'm going to literally kill you. I'm going to carve you into paper shreds and feed you to Edward's contraptions."

Emmy’s eyes went wide. She gasped sharply, her hands flying to her mouth.

"You want to... do me?!" she shrieked in scandalized ecstasy.

Then, tilting her head at an impossible angle, she fluttered her eyelashes and switched to a soft, breathy, sickeningly cute coo:

"Or do you just want to kill me~?"

Oliver groaned loudly, clutching his temples. "Kill! I said kill! Murder! Violence! Are your ears stuffed with cotton?!"

"Ah, the tragic climax!" Emmy squealed, entirely deaf to his frustration. She scrambled to her knees, her dramatic flair reaching critical mass. "A forbidden romance sealed in crimson! A lover's betrayal! If our love cannot bloom in this world, then let us fall together into the abyss!"

Reaching swiftly beneath the knee-hole of her desk, Emmy fished out an ornate, absurdly pointy fantasy dagger. The blade was polished silver with a spiral grip and a pommel shaped like a roaring dragon.

She held the weapon high above her head with both hands, throwing her head back as she began to sing a high-pitched, wildly dramatic aria that sounded like an anime opening performed by a screeching parakeet.

"To the heavens I cry! For the dark prince has arrived!" she trilled operatically.

With a flourish that was roughly ninety percent theatrical flailing and ten percent sheer blind luck, Emmy swung the dagger downward in an exaggerated sweeping arc. The hooked crossguard of the blade caught the braided silver cord of the Akuma no Otto necklace resting against her chest.

Snap!

The cord severed instantly. The heavy, rune-carved obsidian pendant slipped free, tumbling through the air before hitting the hard oak floorboards just beyond the rug.

CRACK.

The talisman shattered into a dozen inert, lifeless black fragments, its scarlet magic fizzling out in a pathetic puff of gray smoke. The ward was gone. The supernatural barrier that had blasted Oliver across the room was completely, irrevocably broken.

Emmy tossed the dagger into the air, caught it clumsily by the handle, and held it out toward Oliver, hilt-first, offering it to him like a sacred relic. Her eyes shone with tears of pure, unadulterated melodrama, her lower lip trembling with rehearsed passion.

"The seal is broken!" she announced, her voice dropping into a solemn, tragic whisper. "My defenses are no more, my dark lord! The curse is lifted, and my mortal shell is bare before you! Do it! Strike! Fulfill our dark and twisted destiny!"

Oliver stared at the dagger. Then he stared at the shattered pieces of the magical ward on the floor. Then he looked at Emmy, who was practically vibrating on her knees, waiting for a dramatic execution scene straight out of an obscure visual novel.

Oliver let out a long, slow, exhausted sigh.

He didn't take the dagger. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out another, slightly crushed bar of hotel soap, peeled the paper wrapper off with his teeth, and took an aggressive, crunchy bite out of the corner.

"You know what?" Oliver mumbled around a mouth full of soapy lather, turning around and walking toward the open window. "Zip and Edward would never believe this shit anyway. I'm going home."