twisted wonderland one-shots (requests CLOSED! for now)

jealous!jamil x gn!reader

Jamil's eye twitches. "For the last time, no. I'm not doing anything unless I'm certain that I won't fuck it all up."

You and Jamil had grown closer over the year to the point where you'd begun to hang out without Kalim, who had been the one to introduce the two of you. Jamil had been apprehensive at first, because Kalim's friends usually meant trouble, but you were a lot more composed than he'd expected you to be. Truthfully, he'd let his eyes wander over you when he thought you weren't looking, just because he liked to watch the way you move.

You were strong and elegant, which were two things that made him very wary because 1. it meant that you believed yourself to be in charge and weren't afraid to show it, and 2. you were clearly used to maneuvering your way around conversations to keep your secrets hidden and expose others at the same time.

He was just overthinking, though. You were just confident with yourself, which he completely overlooked because of his background with protecting Kalim.

The first he'd warmed up to you was purely incidental.

He'd been preparing Kalim a ridiculously large meal, as per usual, when you'd waltzed into the kitchen and leaned on a countertop with your arms crossed, giving Jamil a nod.

"What's up?"

"Hello, prefect," he says, trying not to distract himself with your presence. He tried to tune you out, and for the most part it worked—until you started talking.

"I think we've got a dish similar to that one where I'm from," you start, moving to stand next to Jamil as you watch him cook. You gestured to the mass of dough in the bowl he was mixing—well, it was supposed  to be dough, but it still had the consistency of thick soup and was quickly getting itself on Jamil's nerves.

He must've missed something. He was so distracted by blocking you out that he'd fucked up the recipe and now he was gonna have to redo the whole thing, which would take more time, which would mean spending more time with you—

Jamil hasn't even noticed how hard he's mixing the batter until it's splashing over the edges, getting on his hands and clothes and onto the clean countertop.

"Hey, mixing it faster isn't gonna make it stick," you say nonchalantly, pulling a bag of flour over and pulling out the cup inside of it, nudging Jamil's hand with your own. "May I?"

He nearly jumps at the contact. It was sudden and lasted for a split second, but he can't help but stare at you with wide eyes. "Um, yeah, sure," he says, feeling his mouth go dry as you take the whisk away from him.

He's still staring as you start slowly adding in the flour. He's never really gotten the chance to look at you—really  look at you—but now that he is, he can feel his cheeks turn pink because you're attractive.

A second later, the embarrassment of his mistake catches up to him. He slaps a hand over his face with a groan, mentally yelling at himself for making such an amateur slip-up.