#gender neutral reader

[peaches-and-creamm]

YOUR FAVORITE PART?

ft. Megumi, Yuta, Choso, Toji, Toge, Suguru, Satoru and Yuji!

warnings(?): kinda suggestive all 'round, mention of being insecure in satoru's and u just leaving toge on seen LMAOO + not proofread or anythn as per usual

m.list♥

[bluesidez]

Hi I saw your req open and I flew here ehe-

Hear me out please 😭

Miguel is a geneticist (someone who works around denetics) and sometimes he doesn't understand the programs that he 'made' and Lyla has to help him. That makes Peter B. and the spider-teens very suspicious of him.

What's even more suspicious is that once a month he leaves the Spider HQ to who-knows-where.

After some stalking investigating, they find out that every time that he leaves; he goes to a park to meet [Reader], that is the one who helped with all the tech he has at HQ.

When he returns the next day, he is confronted about it and explains that [Reader] is an old friend and he trusts them with the Multiverse secret. However Peter B. and the others obviously saw the mutual attraction between both of them so they help out Miguel confess to [Reader].

Fluff + a little suggestive with Gn Reader please ^^

Anyway drink lots of water and keep yourself healthy!! ❤❤

[Undercover Lover]

lab tester: @hikaru-sama 🩻

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!Reader

summary: Miguel is willing to stop the world for you, you just want to be the small part of his world that makes it better.

content warning: fluff, longing from reader and Miguel, the spider-teens are all menaces (as in they all have chismosavirus), Peter is Peter, a little suggestive but nothing crazy, I also made Miguel’s relationship with the teens pretty adorable (Papa Miggy 🥺)

word count: 5.8k, halfway proofread (don't ask...)

a/n: This request is not outlandish in any way, btw. It's very cute! I hope you don’t mind that I added a little extra to the programming aspect. THANK YOU TO THE MIGGY SERVER FOR YOUR HELP AS ALWAYS! I have been wallowing in the chats for who knows how long. I thought it would be cute and funny. Also, I've been doing better with my water intake! I hope you're proud. 🥺

Miguel blew out a tired breath, eyes blurry after staring at the same set of files all day.

“Lyla, could you replay the scan from this morning?”

“I don’t know, can I?”

Miguel frowned as his eyes panned to the flickering yellow glow, “Are we doing this right now?”

“Doing what?” Lyla posed with her head tilted in her hand.

“Lyla. Replay the scan from Earth 450-”

“Here’s what I found on scams on 4chan.”

“I said scans not scams- what are you talking about? And what is 4chan?”

Lyla switched to a pose that mimicked The Thinker, her heart-shaped glasses morphing into ones made of stone.

Miguel shifted his weight to one side, hands on his hips as he watched Lyla float around his desk.

“Pull up the LYrate Lifeform Approximation code.”

Lyla snickers, glasses shifting to match the marks of a clown’s face, “You don’t know how to work that, buddy.”

“I didn’t ask you to tell me that, I asked you to-”

Lyla opens the file before he can finish his spiel.

“Now, what?” Lyla whispers with glee. “Gonna hack into the motherboard? Break down the firewall?”

Miguel ignored her and read through the constant formulas, coding that he's never even seen before becoming longer and longer.

Lyla popped up right in his peripheral view, pulling out one of the smaller codes to highlight, “What’s this one mean?”

Miguel squints at the line, “Something about how you respond to tone?”

“It’s my hair color,” Lyla’s voice is high and giggly like she was anticipating his completely wrong answers. “What about this one?”

“I, I don’t know. Your jacket?”

“Voice modulator,” the code danced around him as Lyla switched her voice to something of an old Hollywood star. “You’re not very good at this, tuts.”

Miguel felt a strange chill as Lyla walked around with a long white dress instead of a jacket and her brown hair in curls falling down her back. She laughed at him some more as she pulled her now, thick-rimmed triangle-shaped sunglasses to the top of her head.

“Lyla-”

Miguel’s watch jolted, a notification blaring at him. He answered with haste, mind frantic.

“Miguel? Is something up with Lyla, because I asked her to find this Mysterio’s dimension, and she started playing some wrestler’s theme song instead,” Jess huffed, throwing the villain's body over the back of her motorcycle. “Now, he won’t stop singing it.”

Miguel felt his head start to pound, “Something’s going on with her. She’s not functioning at her normal state.”

“You’re never functioning at a normal state,” Lyla sighed dramatically, arm over her head with wind blowing around her. “Always so tense!”

“Oh my god?” Jess’s eyes went wide as she took in the Lyla at Miguel’s side. “Why does she sound like that?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m shutting her down until I can fix it. Just send the Mysterio back here.”

“You can’t turn me off, Miggy! Don’t you want me to sing for you?”

“Yeah, hurry up and log her off. She’s freaking me out.” Jess ended the call with a disgusted face.

With her gone, the room was filled with Miguel’s thoughts and Lyla humming and brushing her hair in a vintage mirror, something she would have never cared to do on a regular day.

Looking at the lines of coding in front of him, there was no way he was going to find what was happening.

He reached across his desk to a new screen, searching for a certain folder. Miguel laughed to himself as he read the title.

Don’t open unless it’s ABSOLUTELY crucial to your health…and well-being. .3.

Miguel would consider this a crisis.

He tapped the folder, watching as a sprout of several different colors surrounded him. He shifted it through the lights, some of them being pictures of you and him, some of them being animated GIFs of cats, and others being helpful guides to small technological problems. He kept searching until he found a yellow tab that read “LYLA? LIGHTS OUT!”

With one click, Lyla went from twirling and singing in heels to being dormant, gone to the Spider Society. Letting out the breath he was holding, he shifted the files back into the folder and geared up to make the announcement.

“Attention Spiders,” Miguel held his watch up to his mouth. “Lyla will be down for maintenance for a couple of hours.”

He could hear the collective groan from the society all the way in his office.

“And I will try my best to get her up and running for future missions. Until then, please send any anomalies directly to Margo and stick to local crimes as well as protecting your respective neighborhoods.”

As soon as he ended the announcement, Margo was flooding his watch with back-to-back memes. Miguel remained confused watching a little girl in a cowboy hat complain to her grandpa while he dismissed her.

“I can send someone else down there to help you.”

“no because if anyone breaks my tech, it’s coming out of YOUR 🫵🏾 paycheck”

“Everything comes out of my paycheck.”

“whatever dad”

“?”

Perturbed, but not wanting to waste any more time, Miguel locked his office and called your number.

Two rings and you were picking up the phone.

“Hey, Spider-ider!”

“Hi,” Miguel refused to admit how the nickname sounded cute coming from you. “I need your help with something.”

“No ‘How are you?’ or ‘Sorry I haven’t checked on you in forever.’ Just straight to business, huh?”

“Sorry,” Miguel collected himself. “How are things? Did you manage to get the job with that tech company?”

“Why, thank you for asking, Miguel! I’m pretty good. Things are different! I did end up getting that job, but the manager is eerily creepy, so I’m trying my best to pile up the meanest HR case or try to wiggle my way into a new department. So far, the former is slowly but surely working, not sure if my sanity can take much more. How are you?”

Miguel's eyebrows shifted a bit, “You know you can just call for my help if anything goes wrong, right?”

“Miguel, you’re protecting so many people. More than I can even fathom, actually. I’m not going to ask you to stop to check on me.”

You should. He’d drop everything.

“It wouldn’t take much from my end, I could just-”

“Miguel.”

He bit his cheek, knowing you wanted to move the conversation along.

“How are you?” you asked again, tone back to normal.

“I’m neutral. Same thing as always. Now, it’s just that Lyla was really unbearable today.”

“Unbearable how?”

Miguel went into every detail, pulling in some last-minute reports from other Spiders that managed to use her before he shut her down.

“So you’re telling me she glitched out, wore an alligator head, and integrated ‘Flat Fuck Friday’ into every conversation?”

“Well, that was just one of the many cases. Is that, is that all you heard?”

“No, I got it,” you fixed your face to try and hold back your laugh. “It sounds like she hit her funny bone.”

Miguel looked up at the ceiling and back at you, “This is serious.”

“And I’m being as serious as I can be!”

“She’s causing all of this trouble because of a funny bone.”

You laugh at Miguel’s deadpan tone, “Ok, so technically it’s called a laughing virus. It’s been hitting a lot of major search engines for some reason, but Lyla is the closest to human-like AI there is, so it’s a funny bone!”

“As stupid as that is, I need your help to come fix it.”

“Aw, you need me to come check your work?”

Miguel avoided your gaze, “There is no work. I couldn’t tell one line from the next.”

“But Miguel, you were doing so good last time. What happened?”

“I-I don’t know, I thought I had one right but I mixed up tones with shades.”

“That’s still on the same playing field, so you got something right! That’s good progress, Miguel.”

“Mm.”

“I’ll be there soon. Don’t do anything crazy, although you’ll probably just loom over the desk dramatically.”

Miguel opened his mouth to rebuttal but you already ended the call with a laugh.

With truly nothing but his thoughts, he hurried to clean his space. There were a few loose wires and an empty box from the cafeteria scattered around.

By the time you were tapping the code into his office door, his platform was back on the ground and he’d just swept up some dust that managed to build in the corner of the room.

“Don’t clean up now just because I’m here,” you watched as his shoulders jumped a bit at your voice.

“I’m not,” Miguel huffs and sets the broom against the wall.

“Sure.”

Miguel comes closer to you with his hands on his hips.

You were probably the main reason that Lyla was the way she was, sarcastic and immature.

The only difference was Miguel could mute Lyla or switch modes for some peace. For you? It was non-stop. The only way he knew how to get you to stop was a method that’s been crowding his dreams ever since he met you.

He saw your lips moving at a mile per minute, but nothing was really reaching his ears.

They looked so soft, so perfect. He wondered if he should just let the society function on its own for just a few more hours.

“Miguel!” You waved your hands in front of him. “Lyla being down has really stressed you out, huh? You’re unfocused.”

He cleared his throat, “I still have a lot of work to do.”

“Well, let’s get to it!”

Miguel moved so you could walk to his desk, heart racing.

Whatever it was you were about to try to teach him wasn’t going to stick. He just knew it.

“Hey, Miguel! You know, I was wondering if we could implement some type of spider-baby daycare? MJ is pretty busy these days,” Peter strided into Miguel’s office with a wiggly Mayday strapped to his chest.

The platform was down, but the serious figure was nowhere to be found.

“Miguel?”

Peter tried to feel him out, but there’s no way anyone could miss Miguel in plain sight.

“Hm,” Peter put two fingers out for Mayday grab. She squealed glee, taking one finger to chew on. “If I were a Miguel, where would I be?”

He pondered through the halls, eventually finding himself at the entrance of the cafeteria. Mayday looked up almost as if she was disappointed.

“I need fuel to think!”

Peter ran down the line grabbing his usual: a 2099 burger, a large fry, and a medium cola, he’s dieting!

At the end of the line, a familiar voice called his name.

“Hey, kiddo! How’s it going?” Peter made his way to the table occupied by the younger spider crew.

Miles squinted at him, “Not a kid, but it’s going good! Have you seen Miguel? He was supposed to be training me an hour ago, but he’s not answering his watch.”

“Funny that you say that,” Peter stuffed his mouth with a handful of fries. “Went to his office and he wasn’t there.”

“What is with him and disappearing lately? It’s not like him,” Gwen mumbled. “I was supposed to report to him not too long ago and he wasn’t here.”

“Time is an enigma,” Hobie was tuning his guitar. “Glad he’s finally taking advantage of it instead of chatting about doomsday.”

“True, but he missed part of the big party we planned three months ago, too,” Pavitr supplied.

The table stopped and stared at Pav with various deadpan looks.

“What? He promised he’d try my special dish! He never breaks our promises.”

“He did pile a load of work on me when Lyla broke. Usually, he would come down and help me, but he said he was busy fixing her,” Margo turned to Peter.

The table sat and pondered for just a second then the teens started spouting out nonsense.

“He’s retiring!”

“He’s going to give HQ up.”

“He’s not going to another universe again, right?”

“He’s finally taking breaks.”

“He’s dying!”

Again, the table stopped to look at Pavitr.

“False alarm?”

“Look,” Peter held his hands up. “I don’t think it’s any of that.”

“What makes you so sure?” Gwen sounded nervous.

“Uh, he would tell me!”

Miles snickered at that which caused Mayday to fall into a fit of laughter.

“What? He’s told me things before. We’re buddies!”

“And where is your so-called buddy right now?” Margo folded her arms.

“Touche,” Peter took a giant slurp of his drink, cupping a hand under it to make sure nothing dripped on Mayday’s head. “But don’t you have a way to find him?”

“The Grumpy GPS? Yeah, but I’ve never used it because he’s always here,” Margo sighs.

“How about the next time he disappears, you let us know?” Gwen suggested.

“Love it,” Hobie fist bumps Gwen.

Miles scratched his neck, “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Says the guy that snuck into the Spider Society,” Pavitr shook his head.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Gwen raised her eyebrow. “Margo is on Miguel-duty. We’re going to get to the bottom of this, right guys?”

Everyone nodded their head in determination.

Peter smiled. He’s still got this mentor thing down!

Margo was down near the Go-Home-Machine running Style Savvy through an emulator.

“That is so ugly,” she sang as she watched another contestant’s outfit go down the runway.

Her judging was interrupted by a dancing cartoon spider with bushy eyebrows.

She paused the game and stretched her arms to the other side of the room to give everyone a call, “Mission ‘Where is the Old Man?’ is up and running. The Grumpy GPS has been added to you guys’ gizmos. I’ve got everything ready to hack.”

“It sounds like we’re doing a lot more than tracking,” Hobie mumbled.

“But what if he actually is dying?” Gwen was lacing up her ballet shoes tight. “He would tell us, right?”

“Oh, but when I said that, it sounded crazy,” Pavitr pulled his mask down. “The double standards are appalling.”

“He could be just avoiding us. Can’t say it hasn’t happened before,” Miles’ voice was low and testy.

“He wasn’t avoiding you, Miles, he was just…projecting,” Gwen said matter-of-factly.

“Are we back on this? Sending the entire society after me is projecting. Missing our training sessions that he set up multiple times? That’s just foul.”

Gwen and Miles went back and forth, fussing over little things.

“They’re bickering again. How cute,” Pavitr stage-whispered.

“1 mission on Miles winning?” Hobie asked.

Pavitr thought for a second, “Deal.”

“You’ll probably be the most upset if he really is sick,” Gwen comments.

“Says who? I’m not worried,” Miles zipped up his jacket halfway.

“Then why are you bouncing around like that, Miles.”

Hobie sighed while Pavitr cheered.

“If you guys are done, Miguel’s moving on foot heading down 5th. I pinned a checkpoint,” Margo sent the coordinates to their watches.

“Time to go see if big man’s a killer,” Hobie yawned. “Or not.”

Peter felt the ground shake under him, hair rising on the back of his neck. His senses were screaming at him to turn around.

The thing is, if he turned around, he'd lose track on Miguel who was currently inside of the very building he was standing on top of.

The shaking grew, pebbles and vent plates rattling around him, then everything fell back into place.

One, two, thre, four pairs of feet hit the ground.

“Where’s Margo?” Peter asked, eyes not leaving the ground under him.

“In our ears singing,” Gwen groaned. “Where’s Mayday?”

“Enjoying a lovely Mommy-Daughter date with MJ and her girlfriends. Glad to have you all join me.”

“How’d you know he was going to be here?” Hobie crossed his arms.

“Like I said, buddies!”

“You waited outside of his office, didn’t you?” Pavitr pointed his finger at Peter.

Peter turned around with an offended face, “Details-schmetails!”

“Well, do you have any idea what he’s up to now?” Gwen put a hand on her hip.

“Well, we’re on the roof of an apartment, super expensive might I add, and I’m assuming his apartment is here. So maybe he’s just getting a nap in.”

“He’s on the move,” Margo’s voice buzzed through all of the teens' ears and they ran to the edge of the building, practically pushing Peter to the side.

“He’s wearing normal clothes for once,” Gwen’s voice was shocked.

“His trousers are quite nice,” Hobie nodded as if he was looking at a magazine.

“It’s so…weird,” Miles shuddered. “I’ve never seen him in anything else but his suit.”

“He wore a nice button-down to my Zoom celebration once,” Margo hummed.

“Guys?” Pavitr’s voice went high. “Where’s Peter?”

The three of them turned around to see a missing pink-robed Spider.

“Oh, come on!” Miles jumped from the roof to the next one, following the pink fluff. Miguel was walking fast on the sidewalk and Peter was keeping his trail from up high.

“Really, Peter?” Gwen swung alongside the two with the rest right on their tails. “Some mentor you are.”

“I’m a great teacher! You’re all catching on quite well,” Peter swung lower as Miguel crossed the street.

Colors flew across the sky, contrasting with the constant grays and small specs of green of Nueva York. Scaling from building to building was a lot easier with flying cars added to the mix, but it was a little odd to see wobbling vehicles every now and then.

“I think you guys should slow it down. His pace changed,” Margo noted. “He’s stopping at…a park? Didn’t know they still had those here.”

With a sturdy pull, Miles used his web to stop Peeter from running any further and the now quintet landed on the ground a safe distance from the park.

“A little dreary for a park, innit?” One eye on Hobie’s mask went higher than the other.

From where they were hiding, steel statues stood tall, tufts of greenery growing up the structure. There was more pavement than grass and the walkways contained several dips and turns.

“I think there’s some flare to it,” Miles countered. “Could use a lot more color.”

They quieted down as they watched Miguel find an empty bench. He sat down and started to rub his hands against his pants. He sat for a minute or so before he checked his watch and his leg started to bounce.

“Is he waiting on someone?” Gwen whispered.

“Oh, I wonder who it could be?” Pav whispered back.

“Why are you guys whispering?” Margo paused her side mission of trying to find any security cameras in the area.

“Doesn’t he have super-hearing?” Miles asked.

“Over this much noise?” Hobie brought the talking level back to normal. “If he doesn’t suspect us of following him, there’s no need for him to focus on us.”

After about five minutes of watching and making a game out of how many times can Miguel check his clothes, with Peter mumbling about how the pants aren’t going to get any looser with those thighs, everyone holds their breath as they watch someone take a seat next to him.

Miguel’s entire demeanor changed.

His face lit up, his back straightened, and the tension from his body fell.

“No way,” Pavitr whispered excitedly. “Guys!”

“What’s going on? I still can’t get into the security cams,” Margo’s voice was impatient.

“Miguel…has a partner?” Gwen tilted her head watching the two react. The mystery person got up to hug Miguel as he sat on the bench. He hesitated a bit, fingers twitching awkwardly before he hugged them back. “Or not.”

“If one of you could get closer, I could pitch the sound to everyone. And, I could see!”

Everyone turned to Miles.

“Why is everybody looking at me?”

“You can turn invisible, genius,” Gwen said.

He just sighed and faded from head to toe.

“How’s it going Spidey?” you lean back from your hug to look down at him. Your hands rub his shoulders. “You look nice today.”

Miguel averted his eyes, “You’re not supposed to call me that-”

“Outside of HQ or our phone calls. I know, I know. Seriously though, why are you so dressed up today? Got a hot date waiting?”

Miguel tilted his head, “Do I really look nice?”

The shirt he was wearing was barely hiding anything, any tighter and it would have been considered a muscle tee. It was tucked into some slacks with a belt that made his tiny waist even smaller. The pants hugged his thighs just enough.

“Yeah!” More than he could imagine.

“Thanks,” he smiled a bit. “There’s no hot date. Just wearing something casual.”

Your shoulders lifted at the words.

“Cool, cool.”

“You look nice, as well.”

“Really?” you looked down at your last-minute outfit. Some gray joggers you found at a thrift store and a hoodie you’re almost certain has a random bleach stain somewhere on the back. “You’re digging the midnight chic?”

“Midnight chic?”

“Yeah, an outfit you wear when going out for a snack in the middle of the night.”

Miguel pursed his lips, “It looks soft. Comfortable.”

You involuntarily gripped your bag tighter, watching Miguel’s eyes roam you from the neck down.

Lately, he’s been saying things that make your stomach flutter, from being willing to beat up your boss to fussing at you for running errands so late to remembering small details from months ago.

Only recently has his eyes began to wander. He doesn’t catch on as fast when you explain things to him. You’ve caught him staring at you while you’re looking at other things. His smile lingered a little longer. His hands were a lot more careful. Sometimes, he’d tense up when you touched him.

It was all so confusing and the feelings you’ve pushed down for years have crawled their way back up, waiting at the back of your tongue to be announced.

Still, you were just here to help him for as long as he needed you. Nothing more, nothing less.

You cleared your throat, “Okay so, you said you needed help with…Excel?”

“Mm hm,” Miguel nodded and locked his eyes back on your face.

You pulled your laptop, turning up the brightness so that the scenery wouldn’t shoot straight through the transparent device.

“So, this program is like, extremely old.”

“I know, but it's a middle ground for all of the Spiders. Anything newer would be too much for about a fourth of them and anything older would take ages for anyone to complete.”

“Got it,” you inch close enough to Miguel for his cologne to dance around you. He leaned closer to squint at your laptop and you had to will your hands to not shake like jelly. “So, the program is actually pretty simple. You just enter formulas, charts, numbers, or information in these boxes. There’s a lot more manual work than we’re used to, but it won’t take much to get used to.”

You walked Miguel through everything you’ve taught yourself over the past few days. Having him put in formulas and waiting for the result.

“Like this?”

“Almost! You’re missing a letter here.”

“Can you go over it again?”

Miguel's hands would hover over the keyboard, eyes focused and nose scrunched. Sometimes you would fight the screaming in your head and place your hands over his, helping him punch certain numbers in.

“Miguel, I think you’re messing with me. We’ve repeated this same thing on four other sheets now. I know you’re smarter than that.”

He poked his tongue in his cheek, “I’m just quadruple checking. Gotta teach this to some older people.”

“Fine,” you snort. “One more time and then I have to get ready to go.”

“Already?” Miguel turned to you. “I thought you didn’t have to be somewhere until this evening.”

“I don’t, but I can’t go looking like this. You spent 30 minutes arguing with me about the interface. Don’t you have to go back to HQ soon?”

“No.”

There was a noise behind you. You turn around to see nothing but a curved wall embedded with vines.

You put your heart to your chest, “God, I thought that was a reporter or something. Just the wind I suppose.”

Miguel’s eyes stayed planted on the empty space, “On second thought, let me walk you there. Don’t want any surprises.”

“So you don’t need me to go over this for the fifth time?”

“Nope,” Miguel grinned down at you. “I got it the first time, actually.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh as you hit his arm. He doesn’t even flinch. “You’re such a jerk.”

He looked around and got behind you to squat down, tapping on his gizmo. You could only hide so much of him. “Would a jerk swing you to your apartment?”

You look up at him equipped with his mask.

“He probably would, actually.”

“Aw,” Miguel said, red marks for eyes holding so much sadness. “Oh well.”

You yell as he yanks you up by the waist and shoots his web up to the nearest flying car.

“Miles! You almost screwed us over!” Margo did her best to wipe their trace.

“I panicked!” Miles tried to explain himself as he ran on the windows of a skyscraper.

“For what?” Gwen flipped as she connected from one structure to the next. “It was so clear that he meant that he wanted to be with whoever that was, not because he wants to quit HQ.”

“Seeing him like that feels like we met a new man,” Hobie said. His boots were light in the air. “Don’t like it.”

“You say that like he doesn’t let you get away with everything,” Pavitr said.

“Like what?”

“Like giving away food to the street cleaners.”

“Or like pasting your band stickers everywhere.”

“Or painting an ACAB mural.”

“To be fair, Miguel aligns with every single one of those things,” Hobie shrugged.

“This is great and all, but talk about a major fail,” Peter sighed. “He clearly needs a wingman.”

“I thought he did pretty good!” Miles said.

The rest of the group made a range of judging noises.

“His game definitely needs some work and he’s already on his way back to HQ, so hurry it up, guys. We need to hustle and huddle.”

Miguel was at his dock again, preparing to go check out the anomalies of the week. 

He was back doing the thing that distracted him most: thinking about you. 

Yesterday only confirmed what he’s been thinking about ever since you opened your mouth. 

He’s absolutely infatuated with you. 

At first, he thought it was a fluke, a blip in his timeline. No matter how many times your jokes made him chuckle or your smile brought him warmth, he wasn’t going to lean into it. 

But then, you called him one night and your voice brought him back from the darkness that was consuming him. Stories of your life, an exchange of nostalgia, a whisper of hope for the future, and the confirmation that he was more than the error in time that he thought he was. 

You’re something that he more than adored. 

And yet, he still hasn’t figured out how to tell you. 

He wanted more than the monthly meetups to refresh his memory on the stupid tech that kept this building running. 

Truthfully, he could call Gabriel, or worst case scenario, Xina for help, but every time he got a chance it was your name that crossed his mind. 

Miguel sighed as he started to shut some tabs down. 

“Spiders incoming,” Lyla popped up to inform him. 

Miguel saw the gaggle of teens plus Peter walking to his office. 

“Here we go,” he grumbled. 

“Turn that frown upside-down! Company is always good,” Lyla said. 

Before Peter can open his mouth Miguel is beating him to it. 

“What do you want?”

“Ouch!” Peter laughed. “Not up for a bit of family bonding time?”

“Not with you.”

“Oh c’mon, Miguel,” Peter inches forward as Miguel’s platform comes down. “Hear us out.”

“Make it quick.”

The teens all stared at Peter who looked back and forth between them. 

“Do any of you not know what the word ‘quick’ means?” Miguel asked with irritation lining his voice. 

“Well,” Miles started. 

“You see, we were thinking that you might need some help,” Gwen finishes. 

Miguel crossed his arms, “Help with what.”

“Your sad flirting,” Hobie says. 

“What?”

“You know,” Peter puts his arm around Miguel’s shoulders. “You need a wingman!”

Miguel’s frown grew deeper, “What are you talking about? Did you guys spy on me?”

Six voices overloaded Miguel’s eardrums, all explaining their part of some convoluted scheme. 

“Alright, alight! Quiet!” Miguel holds his hands out. “Margo!”

Miguel pinned his eyes to her with his eyebrows pinched. 

She danced from foot to foot, face scrunched, “We just! We were worried about you so we followed you and saw you making googly eyes at someone!” The words spilled out of her like water. 

Everyone but Hobie looked at Margo incredulously. 

“What?” she whined. “He was giving me his disappointed look. The disappointment was torturing me!”

Miguel turned and paced, pinching his nose as he whispered to himself. 

“Miguel, they could help you!” Lyla said cheerfully. “You’ve only been crushing on them for what…multiple years?”

“Lyla!”

“Multiple years? No wonder you’re always so tense. That’s pretty sad, bro,” Pavitr hummed. 

Miguel pointed his finger, “Don’t bro me.”

“Still seeking authority in his moment of weakness. Something’s got to give,” Hobie went to lean on a wall. 

“We really thought something terrible was going on,” Miles’ shoulders drop. “You also go M.I.A. whenever you have a problem.”

“We just wanted to help,” Gwen supplied. 

“Hey man, don’t blame the kids for this one, alright?” Peter’s voice lowered so only the two of them could hear it, albeit a bit useless in a room full of power-holding teens. “Say the word and we’ll stay out of it, but the kids deserve to know why you were canceling on them at least.”

Miguel looked at Peter with an exasperated face before looking at the teens, three of which looked like they were about to cry. 

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and let out a deep breath, “I’m not sick.”

“But lovesick?” Margo asked. 

He gave her a tired look, “Yes.”

“Well why not say that instead of just disappearing?”

“They’re the one who helped make the tech for this society. Without them, there would be no updated gizmos, no updated Lyla, no new ideas. Every time I left it was to…get insight on something here. To fix broken tech.”

“And to stare in their face,” Pavitr snickered. 

Miguel panned his eyes to the floor, too embarrassed to admit it. 

“What’s the hold up in telling them how you feel?” Peter asked. “There’s no time like the present.”

“Don’t tell me yesterday was an example of what happens when you try to confess?” Gwen’s face twisted up, teeth clenched in second-hand embarrassment. 

Miguel’s silence was enough of an answer. 

“Tío,” Miles closed his eyes then looked back up dramatically with his hands out. “¡Vamo’! Sácale, llévale al cine.”

Lyla put a spotlight on Miles and held a microphone out to him while Miguel groaned. 

“Cómprale, un ramo de flores!”

“Ya no puédo mas,” Miguel swiped through the holographic mic. “Eso no va a funcionar.”

Miles slumped, “But how do you know? You haven’t even tried! Bañate, junto con el-”

“Don’t finish that song, Miles,” Miguel’s fingers went to his temples. 

“You should really listen to the lyrics-”

“Why don’t we help you win them over?” Margo stood in between the two, ending the squabble. “It’s clear that they seem to like you too.”

Miguel's eyes went softer staring at Margo’s pleading face, “How do you know?”

“We quite literally saw it,” Hobie spoke as if Miguel lost his mind. “No one ever talks to you that sweet.”

The teens all nodded their head in unison and Peter did a horrible job at hiding his laugh. 

Hobie wasn’t done, “Don’t let someone like that slip through your fingers.”

Miguel was at the park again, dressed up even more than last time. An open navy button-down was tucked into his pants, his slacks were dark gray, and he had on one of the more expensive pairs of dress shoes he owned. A chain he borrowed from Gabriel adorned his neck and he let his hair natural and loose for once. 

Under Miles’ advice, he did buy some flowers. Hobie told him to remain calm, Gwen told him to just talk, Pavitr gave him a bullet point list of what and what not to do, and Margo told him that he was the best no matter how the confession turned out.

Peter went on and on about the importance of love and relationships but Miguel was never inclined to listen to him. He did keep the comment about letting you know how much he means to you to heart, though.

He was so in his own thoughts when you showed up in front of him that he didn’t even notice you at first.

He jumped when you tapped his shoulder.

“Woah, it’s just me. And you’re super dressed up today. What’s the occasion? I’m not taking ‘casual’ for an answer this time.”

Miguel swallowed dryly, grip on the bouquet of cool-toned flowers almost enough to wilt the stems.

“Flowers?” your eyes went to his hand.

“Yeah, um.”

Just breathe, Miguel!

Margo’s perky reminders sounded off in Miguel’s head.

“I brought them for you,” Miguel placed them in your hands.

“Oh!” your face lit up. “These are beautiful. Thank you so much. I didn’t get you anything, though. I didn’t know we were bringing gifts today.”

“No need. I wanted to get them because,” Miguel felt his throat closing in. “I really, really like you.”

The smile on your face dropped as you stared at him.

“It’s been particularly hard over the past years to try to focus without you running through my thoughts and I don’t want the fear of myself or my circumstance to stop me from having a chance to be with you.”

Maybe his ears could pick up how fast your heart was going, too.

“So if you’re willing, will you please go out with me?”

You dropped the flowers and brought him in for a tight hug. 

“Are you kidding me? Of course, I’ll go out with you.”

Miguel was quick to wrap his arms around you today, burying his face in your neck, “No hesitation?”

“I’ve been wanting and honestly, waiting for one of us to make a move for years. You’re always so busy, so I was too nervous to even bother,” you look back at Miguel’s face, smiling from ear to ear.

“Sorry to keep you waiting then.”

You looked from his lips to his eyes, “Can we skip a few steps?”

“Such as?”

You pushed forward, melting into him as you slotted his lips against yours, head full of warmth and clouds. Miguel matched your pace, hand on your back as he pressed against you. When he opened your lips you pulled back, breath dancing against his. 

“Swing me to my apartment?”

Miguel smirked, “Always.”

As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[hanchette]

𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 ( windbreaker character )

a/n: hiiragi sends my tingling into overdrive whenever i see him

consists of : fluff, gender neutral reader, reader is called princess in endo— how the windbre boys carry you

𝐇𝐈𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀, though sharp and all tough on the outside, hiiragi will and will always be a softie inside. won't allow a single thing to harm you, his precious s/o. so hiiragi will carry you in his arms, in a princess carry, that way he can always keep you safe no matter what. his arms caging you in safely, your head nuzzling under the crook of his neck and smelling the familiar scent that keeps your heart beating in a lovely manner that it always sing when you're with your boyfriend. “y/n?” he takes note of your silence, perhaps you were feeling stomach ache? “it's nothing.” you provided, there's nothing more sweet than you being in his arms, after all.

𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐍, there's a lot of things that kaji finds troublesome—but one of you isn't amongst them, maybe sometimes, he'd proclaimed at your face which is always rewarded by an adorable look of upset that he's quick to quell. he's used to his headphones around his ears, silencing the world, but you offering him the same thing he sought for feels wrong—the silence he so despise. he shifted your position on his back, wishing to hear you ramble once again next to his ear. he has a prominent frown on his face, he doesn't like your silence. “sorry..” he whispered, fixing his hold under your knee, “won't do it again.” so please, talk his ear off like how you used to.

𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐎, “tch.” sako clicked his tongue, a blush has settled on his cheeks when you had insisted for him to carry you. as ridiculous as that sounds, even if sako looks like he wants to refuse, he is simply a soft lil blushy boy in front of you. “fine.” he's not used to this, still not, this affection that you offer to him so simply always gets his brain mushed up. shishitoren named him someone who could care less but before you is someone who cares a lot that he's willing to do any requests you want. sako scoops you in his arms, trying to sport a nonchalant look despite your thighs on either of his side and your arms looped around his neck. clinging onto him in a koala position.

𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐎, you always get into fights because of him, his reputation and attitude just sets a lot and you being his s/o makes you an easy target to many. endo never stops though, he likes to see you all riled up, that way he can scoop you up in his arms, your stomach always ending on his shoulder as you dangle and try to make him drop you back down to the ground, fists curled and hitting the low of his back. he is carrying you like nothing but a sack of potatoes. “ah ah ah, stop squirmin' if you don't wanna get hurt.” endo would chuckle, lifting a hand to spank your behind. “stay seated, princess.”

[mirrology]

hihi ! thinking about himeko and kafka being divorced parents to a teen reader that travels with himeko in the astral express!! then kafka visits the reader but himeko gets a lil overprotective of them :3

pay your child support, hsr thoughts.

You were a stellaron hunter. You were found by Kafka on a rogue planet. You played the part of a “distraction” aka leading people away from the other stellaron hunters. You had always followed Kafka around. She essentially acted like a parental figure.

Even though you were useful, Elio thought it was better if you had a normal life. You were still a teen, after all. After many days of debating, it was up to Kafka to lead you to your new home. It was easy to trick you. Your trust for Kafka was stronger than anyone's else’s.

So she dropped you off at the astral express, right in front of everyone. She even gave a little explanation, how nice!

But you felt betrayed. How could she just leave you here with people you didn't know?

You were weary of everyone, even though they looked like they had good intentions. The express was different from the stellaron hunters. They felt more lively, and they had freedom, something that you noticed that the stellaron hunters didn't.

Himeko was quick to welcome you, although a bit reluctantly, but she quickly learned that you meant no harm. She was comforting and motherly when she needed to be, especially when you got into shenanigans with March and the trailblazer (and dragging Dan Heng into it, too)

Himeko once got you to try her coffee and let's say that you couldn't taste anything for at least a week.

You were getting used to the life in the astral express, going on trailblazing expeditions to many different planets with the people you now considered friends and family.

But you did miss Kafka and the others, you wondered what they were up to. Just as you were lost in your thoughts, guess who showed up? Yup, it was Kafka.

Your eyes lit up once you spotted her and ran over to greet her. She claimed to be there because she missed you, you kind of didn't believe her but you still were glad that you got to see her again.

Himeko walked into the parlor car as she was searching for you for your nightly skincare routines. She spotted Kafka and demanded to know what she was doing in the express.

Kafka: Just visiting my favorite child, of course!

Himeko: You mean the one who you left with us?

Kafka: (in a teasing tone) Hm, it was for a good cause, Miss Himeko~

Himeko: (now frustrated) If you're still going to act like their guardian, then at least don't abandon them.

You: … (thinking) they act like a divorced couple…

The two women came to an agreement that Kafka would visit on the weekends, and Himeko would take care of you for the rest of the week.

You find it really funny that every time that the two interacted, they acted like two moms to you, which you didn't mind.

authors notes: sorry that this took so long to answer. also requests are now open as of june 10 :3

[stffed]

dog with doe-like eyes - laios touden x gn reader

warnings: spoilers for the start of delicious in dungeon, reader comforting character, implicit relationship (but there's still a kiss)

"what happened?"

laios sighed. he had shown up on your doorstep covered in cuts and bruises. falin was nowhere in sight but chilchuck and marcille trailed behind him as they walked into your home. shuro and namari weren't there either. when you noticed their absence, the pit in your stomach only deepened.

"falin..." marcille trailed off. she gripped her staff tighter, brows furrowed and lips curled downward.

you stopped treating laios' wounds. your hands folded over his, thumb rubbing caring circles. "what happened to falin, laios?"

he bit his lip. you could see the tears brimming in his eyes before they fell. laios put his hand on top of yours and squeezed it gently.

"she... she got eaten. by a red dragon." he said. the tears started to fall. "we were attacked by it on one of the dungeon's lower levels. she saved me - saved all of us by a teleportation spell. but it was too late for her."

"oh laios." you pulled him into a hug. he hid his face in your shoulder, tears staining your shirt. marcille was crying as well, her body racked with silent sobs. chilchuck just looked angry but it was different from normal. he was angry at himself.

your heart ached. the touden party had been at your house not even a week ago, talking about a mission they had taken up from the island lord. they all ate a meal you prepared for them, had a few drinks, and then retired to bed. you can still remember the way laios followed you up to your room, almost like a dog with the way he trailed after you with those doe-like eyes. to think that a week later half of them would return with such news: it broke your heart.

"we need to go back," said laios. he lifted himself off your shoulder. there were tear streaks on his face, his eyes red. "every second we're not in that dungeon means falin gets closer and closer to being digested. we need to save her."

"with what money?" asked chilchuck harshly. "all our supplies were left in the dungeon and we can't save falin if we get killed on one of the upper floors."

laios looked away like a kicked puppy. you cupped his face in your hand. the pain in his face was explicit but you could see the bags under his eyes. his stomach grumbled. and then marcille's stomach grumbled. and chilchuck's.

"you won't get anywhere in the states that you're in," you said. "i'll heal your wounds and then you'll eat something. you'll sleep here tonight and we'll leave for the dungeon at first light. does that sound okay?"

"you're coming with us?" marcille looked at you, eyes still teary. the leaf on her staff was wilted.

"of course," your thumb rubbed loving circles on laios' cheek. "you're going to need some common sense while you're down then. now come on, lets get you all healed up."

you pressed a kiss to laios' forehead before standing up. he blinked at you a few times before a small smile tugged at his lips. it was the first time he had smiled since he walked into your home. and as you motioned for them to all follow you into the kitchen, he followed after you like a dog with his doe-like eyes.

[slowd1ving]

ACT II: WITHER ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

BREACH THE IMMEASURABLE CHASM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ✧ ･ﾟ NEXT PART

Scene I: Rivalry . 　⁺

Vil’s not quite sure when his coldness towards you turns into unadulterated rivalry, but he thinks it started in the middle of the next Advanced Potions class, where Professor Crewel had asked a question and both your hands shot up immediately to answer.

“Shoenheit,” Crewel utters. You put your hand down, shrugging good-naturedly, but Vil can see past that forced body language into the annoyance of that casual gesture.

“The pH in which that particular enzyme denatures should be 2.8. Enzymes after that point should be avoided and Silvertear root is typically added in to continue as the second stage’s catalyst,” Vil’s voice is clear and articulate. Crewel nods in approval and continues the lecture, and he thinks that’s where your feelings of rivalry started blossoming.

He notices the little looks you send his way; the way your eyes are half-lidded in exasperation tell him everything he needs to know. You’ve been goaded into approaching the bait he’s left. No use in crushing you if you aren’t at your full potential, right? That’s the way it should be.

He taunts you with snide comments; you fire back almost immediately. You’re not as bashful as you initially look. This hatred is more cathartic than the deep resentment he has for Neige. It consumes him. It eats at his mind, his heart. When he shoots his movies, you’re always there at the back of his mind, taunting him into becoming impossibly beautiful. Adela’s only got praises for those emerging “fierce eyes” of his.

“What’d you get?” you peer over his papers every time he gets them back. He doesn’t know when sitting next to you becomes a second thought.

“You little fucker,” you always pout in mock-sadness when you see that red circled 100% on his written exams, before showing your 90% on the test that you had to verbally translate for Crewel to be able to mark it.

“You’re always so vulgar,” he scoffs back. He scoffs again when he sees those stupid doodles on the corner of your test paper.

Your remarks only extend to when you sit next to him in the laboratory. Otherwise, you ignore him when walking around the school, always focusing on whoever you’re talking to. It’s always those ruffians of first-years; you’re in the company of that red-haired potato and that dark-haired tuber almost daily. Regularly, you’re seen chatting with Rook. Vil watches from a distance, watching the hunter eagerly discuss the latest scientific theory with you. He watches you accept kisses on the hand from the vice Housewarden with a smile and laugh.

He does not care.

He watches you get along with Leona, of all people. He watches the way the lion actually listens to your suggestions if you have input on Spelldrive practice. Why are you suddenly such a precious commodity? Even the notoriously standoffish Azul makes an effort to at least greet and smile at you if he sees you, even after his Overblot (which you partly caused!). If Vil happens to be walking nearby, you’re always in the company of at least one of your friends, even if it’s only that unsightly cat.

He doesn’t think he cares.

He doesn’t think you care either. If you’re standing next to him in line, or bump into him at the library, you’re always carefully civil. Your eyes slide off him as easily as oil, looking through him. Do you not treat this rivalry seriously? Whatever remark he has always catches in his throat as you act as if he’s nothing more than a goddamn wall. It only fuels his resentment - it has to go somewhere, right?

Adela’s remarked that his eyes, when modelling, have a more wistful quality - nothing like the “fierce” look his fans had come to adore. This new look also garners a lot of popularity, with throngs of fans in his comments expressing their adoration for this newfound look.

Does he not take up your thoughts at all like you take up his?

Scene II: Song . 　⁺

It starts up all over again after the winter break. The sky is grey, peppered with clouds that slowly sprinkle snow all over Night Raven College. Vil’s heard rumours from Rook of you being involved in yet another Overblot; this made four in just as many months. He feels a headache blossoming just thinking about it.

He shivers as he takes his seat in the laboratory. The rankings should be posted within the next three weeks - plenty of time to brush up on his skills for the final assignment. Plenty of time to take back that number one spot. It’s been occupied by you ever since you arrived. Your practical work with potions is always polished to absolute perfection, though your grades with written work rarely ever meet that 100. But when they do, you turn to him with that shit eating grin on your face.

Speak of the devil. The distinct rhythm of your footsteps jars him out of his thoughts. Vil busies himself by looking at himself with his cosmetic mirror. Twice he adjusts his tie, ignoring you all the while. If you want to ignore him, he’ll do the same.

He doesn’t know what he was hoping for. You simply open your notebook while propping your chin up again on your hand, doodling and rewriting your previous notes in your strange Latin alphabet. Vil takes in your tired appearance, how you look more exhausted than usual. A drop of pity splashes into his turbulent mind. Pity. That has no room in his mind, especially with the Song and Dance competition only a few weeks away.

Resentment fuels him to new heights. His dance practice runs flawlessly; spite powers him like an engine. The aches of his muscles leave his mind feeling euphoric as he stretches them out.

It’s only when he spots you and that idiot trio talking to Epel that his good mood shatters instantly. How dare you distract him from singing practice? Vil’s body reacts before he can fully think; he marches himself over to the well with a scowl on his face as he lectures all of you for disrupting such a crucial time. He does not miss the way your eyes smoulder with annoyance - his walk back to Pomefiore is one with a cheerful gait.

To his revulsion, you’re somehow roped into being the manager of the group after the SDC auditions, by Crowley of all people. Even worse, he’s forced to sleep in Ramshackle Dorm with the rest of the team to gain some camaraderie. It’s logical, he can’t help but admit it, but the thought of living in the same space as you makes him shudder. Even worse than that moth-eaten couch he’s currently perching on in the living room after the first day’s gruelling rehearsal. It’s a far cry for Pomefiore, but he’s always been a stickler for routine.

“Hey Rook-” your voice intrudes on his little bubble as you bound into the room, holding what seems to be a microscope and a bundle of mechanical junk, including electrical wiring. Vil swivels his head towards you, but you don’t even deign to look at him. Instead, you approach Kalim who sits criss cross on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

“Have you seen Rook?” you ask Kalim hurriedly. “I need that hunter for an experiment.”

“Nope! He might be in the kitchen though!” Kalim’s enthusiastic voice betrays his excitement. “What kinda experiment are you planning?”

“It’s like you’ve robbed Ignihyde,” Epel comments from behind Vil. “S’full of stuff like that.”

“Just some magic resistivity testing,” you explain, rummaging around in your stash of junk. Your eyebrows furrow and you glance around the room. “Have any of you seen my ammeter?”

As luck would have it, there’s an oddly shaped box lying half-submerged in those ugly rags you’d call cushions on the other end of the couch Vil sits on. A large triangular symbol is painted in black with a circle around it. Vil picks it up wordlessly and clears his throat. Your eyes turn to him finally - finally! - and you snatch the box up eagerly.

“Cool, thanks,” your voice is already slipping away as you turn around, a jive in your step as you seek the hunter.

“Good luck in your experiment,” Kalim calls out after you - with the way you eagerly yell something back indistinctly, Vil is sure you won’t need it.

Scene III: Interlude . 　⁺

Between the constant rehearsing and shaping those potatoes into something somewhat presentable, Vil expects the urge to compete with you to subside. It doesn’t. The fire within his blood isn’t beaten out by the long training he makes himself undertake - it doesn’t rest when he shuts his eyes either. That gnawing feeling of proving himself is fighting to be let out.

“Professor,” Vil’s voice is slightly shaky as he approaches Crewel. Normally he would’ve thought everything out before he came here, but his legs moved before his head had a chance to input anything. It’s been happening more and more lately, and he hates the feeling.

“What is this about? Aren’t you rehearsing for the showcase?” Crewel sounds slightly surprised at Vil’s appearance at his office; it’s very rare, after all, to see him when the SDC period begins.

“I want to hold the poison assessment,” Vil doesn’t need to specify to Crewel what this means. Crewel’s eyes soften with worry, but Vil doesn’t need any of that.

“There’s only one person who could have prompted this,” Crewel murmurs his sympathies to the shaking youth. His eyes flick down to his desk, searching through the schedule for the next few weeks. “It’s unorthodox for a non-Pomefiore student to- but.. if that is what you wish, pup.”

Scene IV: Resistivity . 　⁺

The date for the poison assessment is set for the week before the SDC. Vil receives the missive from Crewel; you, no doubt, have received the same one. For an assessment of this magnitude, there’s several days of waiting for the poisons to be tested and assessed by not only Crewel, but a panel of researchers. It’s a big deal.

It’s how Vil became the Housewarden.

Unorthodox. He supposes this whole ordeal is; the challenger is supposed to be the one vying for the seat of Housewarden. Instead, the Pomefiore Housewarden is challenging someone who isn’t even in Pomefiore. And for what?

It’s the ultimate challenge. The laboratory will be his stage for victory.

You shouldn’t even be allowed to undertake the assessment, but then again, you’re always the exception, aren’t you? Vil chokes back a hysterical laugh. He has to prove himself. One way or the other. He has to beat both you and Neige. Being reduced to second place isn’t an option anymore. At all.

A knock resounds on the wood of his room in Ramshackle. It must be Rook. Surely…

“Come in,” Vil feels as if he’s speaking through water. He doesn’t know why he feels so hollow.

The door creaks open. Instead of Rook, there you stand, holding that damned missive. Your brows are furrowed. You look the part of the mad scientists, with your customised lab coat and goggles still propped up on your nose. The smell of matchsmoke emanates off you in light tendrils. Vil just gazes at you. He doesn’t comprehend you.

“What’s this supposed to be? A duel? Rook just told me to go find you,” you unfurl the scroll again, squinting at the runes before you. With a start, Vil realises that one, he’s not even told you about the assessment, and two, you can’t even read the information anyway. What a fool he’s made of himself.

“Allow-” Vil clears his throat as his voice gives out. “-allow me to explain.”

“Go ahead,” you stride over to him, placing the missive in his outstretched hand. Up close, the coppery tang of wires adds itself to the kaleidoscope of scents he can feel. Underneath all the various chemical traces, clings a pure, unadulterated scent of.. the Dream Flower? Faintly, he remembers eavesdropping on your conversation - les fleurs des rêves. Somniablossoms. That’s what he smells on you, beneath all the conflicting scents.

“Right, the missive,” Vil scans over the parchment; it’s essentially the same letter he’s received, with a few inconsistencies. “It appears you have been selected as the student challenged for the poison assessment. Though you are not a Pomefiore student, your application has been approved by a figure of authority. Your assessment is to brew your most potent poison within a three-hour time limit, supervised by Professor Divus Crewel, alongside your opponent. The poisons are then sent to be assessed across a seven point criteria. May the legacy of the Fairest Queen guide you.”

There’s a long pause. Some rustling. Vil looks up from the letter to see you wiping away smudges on your goggles with the hem of your lab coat.

“Well,” you finally speak. Vil waits. “I’m assuming you’re my opponent?”

You’re taking this differently than he had expected. He thought you’d sneer down on him for this desperate challenge; that’s what he would’ve done had someone challenged him. Deep down, he isn’t surprised by your nonchalance - it’s something that’s intrinsically rooted in your being.

“Yes,” Vil begins to explain himself, but you hold up a hand to silence him. He shuts his mouth.

“Spare me the details,” you shrug it off. Like always. Vil feels a bitter laugh surge within him; it takes everything he’s got to suppress it. “I’ve got interesting news from my findings with Rook.”

The suspense builds. You take your time before your next words, folding your goggles and tucking them into your lab coat pocket.

“Come to my lab.”

Vil blinks, then follows you out the door. It’s a relief. You haven’t yelled at him, cursed him out, or anything someone else in this position would’ve done-

“Look, I really don’t like you,” you mutter, as if you’re deliberating whether you want Vil to hear you or not. “You’re an arrogant prick who picks fights for reasons that are beyond me. But I want to make something extremely clear before we start the assessment.”

You shove open a door before Vil has time to register what you’ve just said. It’s strangely gratifying to be the villain in someone else’s story for a reason other than his beauty.

A gust of warm air barrels past him as you barge into what appears to be your lab. An array of tabletops are arranged in the room, and shoved on top are all sorts of appliances he doesn’t even have names for. He can vaguely make out a fractional distiller perched precariously on the edge of a table, but the clanking and whirring machinery elsewhere throw him for a loop.

Rook stands in the corner of the lab, peering through what appears to be a microscope. He’s also decked out in what appears to be spares of your lab gear, judging by the ugly little doodles embroidered on the fabric. Not drawn on - embroidered. It’s such a waste of thread he almost laughs out loud.

“Welcome to my lab,” your greeting is completely monotone. “Where the equipment here is every scientist’s wet dream.”

Vil ignores this.

“I would know,” Rook chimes in, beckoning you over. Vil also ignores this. You make your way around a table to look at whatever’s on the slide, grabbing your class notepad and scribbling something down.

“The structure’s slightly different,” you murmur, twisting the fine adjustment knob. Vil wants to scream. You’ve invited him here and already you’re sidetracked.

“What’s going on?” Vil crosses his arms over his chest. He feels out of his league here, and as he spots you and Rook sharing a glance that feeling only seems to worsen.

“Magical resistivity,” your pencils scritches the side of your neck as you pull out a stool and sit on it. “It’s the reason why none of your potions or whatever you call it ever achieves that 100.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Vil scoffs as he stares you down. You meet his gaze.

“Yeah, because I’ve just found it,” you slide your notepad towards Vil across the table. He picks it up, noticing the two diagrams of what appear to be cells drawn on the page. One side is a typical animal cell here, whereas the other… the other appears to be missing a few organelles.

“It’s a side by side comparison of one of my skin cells and Rook’s,” your voice contains an element of barely restrained excitement. “Notice those structures in his? Those magic generator thingies?”

“Yes,” Vil’s heart is slowly starting to race.

“From examining the flora cells here, they’ve got a key difference against the ones in my world. That extra structure is what generates magic power in people here, and it extends to plants here as well,” your eyes begin to light up. “Then, I began questioning why my yield in Potions is so much better than everyone else’s. Rook’s kindly told me that 100 point potions are practically unheard of here, and it occurred more than once so it’s clearly not a coincidence right?”

“Right,” Vil’s mouth is dry.

“So, I ran some magic circuits using some equipment I borrowed, and some stuff I tinkered with, and I used both my hair and Rook’s to test for conductivity of magic. By hooking Rook’s magic pen up to the circuit, he could feed magic directly into the circuit.”

You motion for him to turn the page, where a page of incoherent scribbles meets his eyes. Vil’s eyes almost roll back into his head with exasperation.

“When my hair was hooked up, there was no magic lost - the initial magic was identical to the place where my hair was. But when Rook’s hair was hooked up… the magic output was only around 96%. And when we tested skin cells, his fell to around 94%, whereas mine remained constant.”

A pause.

“So when potions here are made, there’s always a margin of error in the precision, because of the magical resistance in your very being suppressing the natural magic yield of ingredients. Of course, this means I’m more susceptible to the spells here… so it’s not a complete win,” your ramble slowly dwindles out. Vil feels his eyes about to burst from their sockets. Of course. That consistent 100 in your potion work.

“Plus, my refinery skills are so unbelievably sexy,” you puff out your chest proudly. “It’s like those triple threats in theatres.”

So what’s the third skill? Vil almost allows the biting remark to leave his lips before he restrains himself.

“Anyways, I’m going to wear some lab-issued rubber gloves for the actual poison assessment, so that should bring that magic resistivity up, since the gloves are made here,” you stand up from your stool, walking over to Vil. Your eyes are half-lidded with a deep annoyance.

“I’m going to beat you from square one,” you promise. Vil wouldn’t want any less effort from you.

“I adore the tension here; what a truly stunning display of beauty,” Rook chimes in, and Vil can practically hear the stars in his eyes.

“How did you get Crowley to fund all this?” Vil suddenly asks, as if noticing your lab for the first time. The equipment here almost gleams with technological prowess, and he’s genuinely curious.

“He didn’t,” you shrug. “I’ve made a side hustle selling potions, and I buy old equipment from both Crewel and Ignihyde and convert them into models I’ve seen in my world.”

“Don’t you need a licence for potion selling?” Vil frowns.

“I can’t read,” you shrug again. “That law’s irrelevant.”

Before Vil can respond to whatever the hell that response was, you shoo him away.

“C’mon Rook, I’ve gotta show Crewel these findings,” Vil can faintly hear your voice as the door firmly closes in his face.

[schrodingers-romy]

Cute Aggression [Sakura Haruka x Reader]

Pairings: Sakura Haruka x GN!Reader Word Count: ~1200 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: Your boyfriend is so cute you just want to bite him (and you do).

Warnings: Biting (duh), tiniest bit of suggestiveness at the end, written with aged up to adult Sakura in mind but you go crazy go stupid ig, anime watcher safe (one mention of a manga character but no spoilers), i think that's all???

Notes: Minimally edited so forgive me pls. Born of my desire to bite sakura bc he is sooo cute. here you go wind breaker fandom <3 anyway maybe if I get inspired I'll continue this. who knows.

Dating Sakura Haruka was like a dream come true for you. Finally, you were able to lavish him with the affection you were constantly holding back before in fear of revealing your feelings (and possibly ruining your friendship with him). Every time you held his hand, or ran a hand through his hair, or pressed a quick kiss to his lips, you felt a soft warmth flush through you. And, in complete contrast to how he acted years ago when you first met him, he no longer hissed and spat like a feral cat when any sort of kindness was shown to him. Now, though he still huffed and blushed at physical contact, he also reveled in it. Haruka leaned into every single one of your affections, even if they embarrassed him; and, in private, he would return them in his own shy way.

In short, you had grown comfortable expressing your adoration for him through physical touches, which is why you felt comfortable enough to do what you were about to do without thinking anything of it.

-

Haruka, though he was a bit dense, was well aware of how much he blushed. As much as it annoyed the shit out of him, he could never control the way he quickly turned from pale to pink to red at any nicety. Even though years around Furin and the affectionate weirdos who were a part of it, he would still flush often. It became worse again once he started dating you.

He couldn’t admit it (especially to the likes of Suo and Umemiya…nosy bastards…) but he adored when you were sweet with him. Before the two of you got together, you were always nice to him, complimenting him on everything from his fighting to his eyes to his kindness. But it was like the floodgates had opened after he confessed to you; now you expressed your love through both touch and words (a dangerous combination for Haruka’s heart). He liked that you were so comfortable touching him, even when he struggled to return the same actions expect in private. He liked it when you hugged him and kissed him and treated him like something precious. He avoided dwelling on his past as much as possible, but he couldn’t help but remember how a few years ago he could not have even fathomed being loved at all, much less in the all-encompassing way you loved him.

You were absolutely perfect to him, and you had given him the gift of falling in love and having that love reciprocated. That being said, sometimes you were fucking weird.

The two of you were snuggling on the couch, and you were stroking his hair and telling him how pretty he looked when he was relaxed. Haruka was slowly turning the shade of Kiryu’s hair, even as he melted into the scratch of your fingers against his scalp.

And then you leaned forward, and his eyes fluttered shut, anticipating a kiss. Instead of the soft feeling of your lips, however, he felt something sharp clamp down on one of his pink cheeks.

-

There were plenty of times when you looked at your boyfriend and thought “wow, he’s cute enough to eat.” The urge to take a bite out of Haruka ebbed and flowed like the tide; but it had reached dangerous flood levels since you started dating. According to Tsubaki, this was because of ‘cuteness aggression’, the same feeling that made you want to squish adorable baby animals like they were stress balls.

You never thought you’d act on the desire, but you had clearly gotten too used to inflicting upon Haruka your devotion through touch; therefore, you did not think this through.

He just looked so pretty sitting there, leaning his head into your hand, so relaxed he was almost purring with contentedness. His rosy face reminded you of his namesake, and the only coherent thought you had was “his cheeks look like sakura mochi” before you were leaning in.

The gentle clamp of your teeth over his soft flesh was just as satisfying as you dreamed, although you only got to experience it for a second before you let go at the screech your boyfriend let out. It took him a second to register what you did before he leapt away from the couch like a cat.

“THE HELL WAS THAT!?” Haruka yelped, scrubbing at the faint mark on his face with his hand. “ARE YOU A CANNIBAL OR SOMETHIN’?!”

You felt a surge of embarrassment, but luckily you were much better at hiding it than he was at hiding his. “No. That was just a love bite, baby.”

“A what?”

“A love bite! Because you were so cute it made me want to bite you. Affectionately.” You let a small wince surface on your face, despite your confident tone.

He squinted at you, confused. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, as if he was trying to remember if this was normal or not. “I don’t get it,” he admitted, cautiously sitting back down next to you. You almost joked that you wouldn’t bite, as if you hadn’t proven that false just seconds before.

You moved his hand out of the way so you could rub your thumb over his abused cheek, before pressing a soft kiss to it. Haruka tensed up a little, but he let out a small sigh and collapsed when he felt your lips instead of your teeth.

You felt a little bit bad, even though you enjoyed getting your teeth on him immensely. “I shouldn’t have done it to you out of the blue like that. I’m sorry.”

“’S fine, I just don’t understand,” he said gruffly.

“It’s called cuteness aggression…you know when something is so cute you just want to squeeze it or bite it or something like that?”

Haruka still seemed confused, but he gave a slow nod.

“That’s what I feel about you sometimes. I just like you so much I want to bite you. You’re sweet enough to eat, Haruka,” you murmured, punctuating it with a small kiss to the tip of his nose.

He made a sort of unintelligible sound, flushing again. After you gave him a minute to reboot, he said, “Well…I didn’t hate it, y’know. Ya just startled me, ‘s all…” he trailed off, avoiding meeting your eyes.

You recognized this behavior, and it made your eyes light up. “Awww, did you like it?”

“Shut up!” he squawked. A pause. Then, in a quieter voice, “I dunno. It was too fast, jus’ startled me. Didn’t even really know what was happenin’.”

“Want me to bite you again?”

He turned away. “Do whatever you want.” Tellingly, however, he had twisted in a way so that his cheek and his neck were fully exposed to you.

“Okay,” you said softly. “I’m going to bite you again. Tell me if you like it or not, okay?”

This time, when you leaned in, you bit into the long, creamy stretch of his exposed neck. It felt different than his cheek did under your teeth, but it felt just as good, if not better.

Haruka stiffened for a second, like a scared prey animal in the maw of a predator, before he shuddered and went limp with a small whine.  

You released him after a few seconds, and admired the red mark left behind. You met your boyfriend’s gaze, taking in his glazed eyes and slightly open mouth.

“Yeah, I think I like it,” he whispered.

When you smiled, his eyes were drawn to your teeth.

[bitin-and-barkin]

Come Back To Me

Currently imagining Arthur Morgans reaction to seeing you again after you supposedly died.

Warnings: Angst, mentions/descriptions of blood/injuries + torture, eventual fluff, no smut (yet), Arthur Morgan x reader, gender neutral reader, religious talk, probably out of character, but he just really loves you okay, so he gets emotional

READ MORE UNDER THE CUT

-------------------------------------------------------

Let's say when Dutch was going to meet up with Colm, you offered yourself to act as backup instead, not wanting to make Arthur work any harder than he had.

Infact, seeing how exhausted your husband was, you were about to tear Dutch a new one for trying to make him work even more.

But they needed a sniper. And sure, you were tired. You had just gotten back from another solo job, where you scored a pretty penny for the gang. But you knew Arthur deserved a break. And so you said you'd help instead.

But while waiting on that mountain top for Colm to try something, you got distracted. You were tired, and you got sloppy. You weren't expecting his men to come for you. They snuck up behind you and wrangled you to the ground, with it taking four, maybe five men to keep you pinned down before they finally knocked you out.

When Dutch returned without you, Arthur knew something was wrong. Dutch claimed that you were probably out just doing another job, running off like you always did. Your horse was even gone from where you hitched it. And foolishly, Arthur believed him.

Now, it had been 5, maybe, 6 months after your disappearance. One month in Dutch stopped sending out search parties after they found your hat bloodied in an abandoned house, along with your ring finger.

They knew it was your ring finger, as it still had the wedding band Arthur bought for you on it.

Charles and Javier searched the area for any trails, but all of them were ruined past the point of tracking.

They arrived back to camp, bearing the bad news, that no trail could be found. Dutch pronounced you dead and had a honorary funeral. Swearing they would all eventually get revenge on Colm for this.

Revenge hadn't come.

It became even more of a common sight to see Arthur come back to camp covered in blood that wasn't his. He obsessively picked off O'Driscolls, killing and torturing every camp he found. Questioning every single one; Where were you? Where was Colm? What had Colm done to you? Were you even still alive?

Screaming that if he ever found Colm, he would rip him apart. Telling Dutch he should've killed him when he had the chance.

The image of your severed finger was engraved into his mind. They hadn't even sold the thing. They left it on just to rub it in his face.

He almost collapsed to the floor when he first saw it. He felt like he was dying. Who knew emotional pain could be so physical?

Even after the camp had sat him down and told him you were probably dead, and that he needed to accept that, he had never stopped searching. In fact, he punched Dutch in the face after he told him that.

He drew away from the gang, isolating himself. Dutch, Tilly, Hosea, Marybeth, Charles. Nobody could get through to him. He shut them all out, trying to act like everything was fine.

But nothing was fine. He knew that. He hated the world for moving on without you.

Every night he was drinking himself into a stupor, it was the only thing that let him sleep. He stopped talking or eating much, or he was obviously losing weight. Always working, bringing in cash but never staying for too long.

He stopped sleeping at camp. He stopped sleeping much in general. He had nightmares whenever he did.

Your tent reminded him of you. Whenever he did sleep, it was always in your tent. It made him feel less alone.

Nobody ever took it over or moved your things because they all knew Arthur would gut whoever did.

He always thought of you, and whenever he did, he couldn't help but blame himself.

Why did he let you take his place? Why hadn't he searched for you the second Dutch came home without you? He couldn't do anything right. The same thing that happened to Eliza and Issac had happened to you. And all he did was sit around like a fool and let it happen.

How many days, weeks, had they tortured you before you died? Months, even? God, did they even wait for you to die before they took your finger off? Could you still be alive? You've always been a fighter, he knows that. If anybody was to survive being at Colm's mercy, it would be you. Could you still be waiting? In some basement, some hole in the ground, some old shack for Arthur? For the gang? For anybody to come save you? He knew what type of man Colm was. He knows Colm would do worse just to spite Dutch.

Was this punishment? For everything he had done? Was this hell? He wasn't religious, but every night where he went to bed without your presence next to his, it sure felt like it.

He was losing Dutch to his insanity. He was losing his way of life to the passing time.

And now he had lost you.

You.

God,

Why did it have to be you?

Why couldn't it have been him? Why did it have to be you? Why couldn't he have at least died with you? He would spend an eternity in hell if he could spend his eternity with you.

But what could he do about it?

What was he doing about it?

Riding into Valentine to drink himself half dead. Alone. Riding into an endless nightmare alone without you.

As he was hitching his horse outside the saloon, he saw your distinct mare hitched right next to his.

For a moment he was happy. Happy for the first time in a long time. As this was proof that maybe, just maybe you were alive. And then, he realized what had actually happened.

Some bastard after killing you had taken your horse. Like some sort of trophy.

He stomped inside the saloon. He bought that horse for you. Saw it at Strawberry while going to free Micah and just knew that you had to have it after your last one died in Blackwater.

The girl was so sweet, and obedient too. He had hunted down a panther in Lemoyne and sold it to the trapper to make a saddle for you. He made sure to fill up the saddle bags with everything you'd need to care for it, along with a couple of other gifts for you sprinkled in. When he shyly brought the whole ensemble to you, you jumped into his arms like you two were young again.

And now some selfish bastard was making a mockery of it.

He walked up to the Bartender and slammed his hands on the bar, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. Demanding to know who rode in with that horse.

The bartender nervously said they had rented a room. Were still upstairs as they spoke. He walked upstairs, unholstering his knife.

He was gonna make this slow.

Treading carefully towards the bedroom, turning the handle. It was locked. He backed up and kicked the door open, pointing his gun at whoever was inside, ready to shoot them in the leg if they tried to escape. No way was he gonna give them an easy death with a headshot.

And then?

He saw you.

Standing near the bed, bruises and cuts, scars new and old littering your body. Wrapped in bandages soaked in blood. Leaning against a bedpost, barely able to stand, pointing a shaky gun at the intruder.

Time stood still as your eyes met.

He dropped his gun. You lowered yours.

He whispered your name, almost like a prayer. Praying this was real.

You said his back.

Then, he ran towards you. Wrapping you in a hug, holding onto you for dear life.

Praying that if this was a dream, he would never have to wake up.

Running his fingers through your hair, gripping onto your shirt, he felt your chest heave. Your tears falling onto his shoulder, wetting his jacket.

You were crying- no, you were apologizing.

To him.

For worrying him.

And then he started crying too.

Crying into the crook of your neck like a little boy.

Arthur never really cried. He hadn't cried in so long. After your death, he never let himself cry. He felt like he didn't deserve it.

But you?

You were alive.

Your hands wrapped around his back, the distinct pressure of your ring finger missing.

Feeling your missing ring burn a hole through his pocket. Remembering the sight of your severed finger.

And the hell you must've gone through to stay alive.

He felt sick, as he sobbed into your shoulder.

What kind of man was he? Needing you to comfort him after you were tortured?

He dropped to the floor, his knees couldn't hold him anymore. Still holding onto your body, now just your legs, for dear christ. Like you might fade away if he let go. He wouldn't let you go.

He missed you more than anything.

You slowly bent down, running your fingers through his hair.

He began wondering if you were real. Was this real?

You got down to his level, sitting on your knees. Kissing him on the forehead and putting your hand on the back of his head. Pushing him into your chest, as he only sobbed louder, blubbering and crying like a fool.

About how he thought he lost you. How the whole gang thought you had died. How he never stopped looking for you. How he thought he was dying after you didn't show up back home. How he never stopped wearing his wedding ring. How he always kept yours in his pocket. How he cradled a photo of you the first time he slept after you died.

How he wanted to bleed the world for killing you.

How he wanted to shoot everything to ashes.

How he missed you every waking moment.

How he dreamed of you every night.

How he would've given anything just to hold you one more time.

Crying into your arms,

Begging you not to leave him.

You rubbed circles onto the back is his head as you comforted him. Whispering that they only tortured you, that you eventually managed to get out, that you were fine. That you're alive. That you're here with him. That you're here for him. That you weren't going anywhere.

The months that he thought you were dead melted away as he felt your fingers run through his hair,

As you promised you weren't leaving him.

You're alive.

You're with him.

You're here.

And he swore to fucking God,

He was never letting you go again.

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Okay, so should I do a smutty pt2 where he REALLY shows you how much he missed you, or should I do one who he goes fucking yandere esque from the prospect of almost losing you?? Or should I do both??

[lawva-girl]

Jealousy

Law x fat!reader

reader is gender nuetral. :))))

WC: 1365

shout out to @sukunas-play-thing for the idea!!!! I hope you like this with my whole heart!!!!

I just know in my soul Law would go so incredibly well with a plussized person!!!!!!!

Boa Hancock. The most beautiful woman in the world. Looking at her made you feel like there wasn’t even a comparison between the two of you, she was so pretty. You were… average? It was hard to tell. 

You, along with the Heart pirates, were all staring at her in amazement. You heard the voice of her sister, warning all the men of what could happen if their sister got upset. Saying something about how she isn’t afraid to turn allies either. 

It didn’t matter, they all still looked. You wondered if it worked on women too, since Ikkaku was also staring with heart eyes. After a quick glance around, you found that Law was nowhere to be seen. 

Suddenly you were storming into his room, desperate to find him. You knew it wasn’t entirely plausible but what if he had gone off and turned to stone? You had to find him, you could probably convince Hancock to turn him back… 

You turned the corner to leave his room, when a voice scared the fuck out of you.

“What are you doing here y/n-ya?” 

Freezing in place, part of you was incredibly grateful he didn’t turn to stone, another part of you was freaking out that your beloved Law had caught you in his room. 

“Oh Law… uhm the crew was staring at Hancock again… I came to get you.” You barely got the sentence out, since you were trying to make up a reason as to why you were here that wasn’t pathetic.

“Thank you for getting me, I’ll head out there now.” 

Suddenly there was panic in your gut again, but he was already on the move to you, where the door was.   

“Law, you shouldn’t go out there! You might see her!” You turned fully towards him and decided that you would refuse to let him pass. 

“Why would that matter?” He didn’t even slow down, just opened a room and ‘shambles’ his way past you. 

You turned as quickly as you could to look at him but his hat was the only thing you saw. He was gone.

You stood for only a second before beginning to chase after him. 

Once outside, there was a peculiar scene.

The heart pirates were all sitting on their knees, head hung low. They were sitting in front of Hancock and Law, who were lecturing the group together.

Upon seeing you on the deck of the polar tang Law nodded, then went back to yelling. You stood there confused, clearly something had happened, but you felt like an outsider. 

Not a clue as to what was happening. 

Thankfully, Law decided to clue you in on what occurred later.

The two of you were sitting in the medical bay, where he was patching up a gash in your leg. It had been an eventful day to say the least. The bay itself was quiet and calm though, not showing any signs of what had occurred that day. With the exception of you and your leg of course. 

“You can’t just run around however you want y/n-ya.” Law didn’t even look up at you as he spoke, instead focusing on the stitches he was putting in your leg.

“It’s not like I wanted to fall off the Tang… my depth perception was just a bit off. Plus I would’ve been fine if the repairs Shachi was working on were finished.” You closed your eyes when you felt the pinching pain Law was administering.  

“I’ve had to yell at too many people today, can’t any of you behave?” He grumbled, making it obvious for you that he was upset. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I promise I won’t fall again. It’s not like anyone would be able to fish me out if I did.” 

“What?” 

“What?” 

Law stared at you now, you assumed he looked up in shock at one point or another. 

“What did you have to yell at the others for?” You asked him, not giving him the chance to say anything. 

Law took a deep breath, “they almost got turned to stone, Hancock caught them all staring. Thankfully she wasn’t upset, since we had helped Luffy.” 

“Oh that’s good…” you laid back fully, closing your eyes. You had always worked as a somewhat friend to Law, hearing him rant and complain. It made you happy to have a use. It made you especially happy to have Law need you, despite knowing that you didn’t have a chance with him.

Law didn’t speak much in general, so if you wanted to know you kinda had to pry. You wanted to know so badly how he ended up lecturing beside Hancock, but you also did not want to know at all. 

“So.. you weren’t staring with them?” You felt your heart quicken, but you didn’t say anything to take it back. 

Law coughed a bit, then explained, “No. she’s pretty but I’m not… attracted to her.” 

“Why not? She’s beautiful and she has the perfect body! Plus her hair is perfect and she’s so skinny, anyone could fish her out of water.” You spoke the words before you even realized it, feeling the consequences seconds later when Law hesitated to respond.

“I don’t like…” he paused and smiled into an evil smirk, like it was second nature, “I prefer women who have something I can hold onto.” 

You sat up with eyes wide in shock, and mouth agape. “But…” 

“What? I’m not allowed?” Law looked at you now, and you could swear there was something in his eyes. Something that you could get extremely familiar with. 

While you remained there speechless, Law finished on your leg. As he smoothed the bandages over the slice, you stared at his hands. 

“I’m done. Just make sure you take it easy for 3 days, unless you want it to reopen.” Law stood, turning swiftly and started to clean his tools and pack his equipment. 

“You don’t like Hancock at all?” You called out from the hospital bed.

“No. I like people with something to hold onto. Like you.” Law turned slightly, you could just barely see his face enough to tell he was being serious.

“Oh! Uhm!”

“I like people who have soft thighs I can use as pillows, people who have a belly for me to grab while spooning, people that have a butt and love handles. I like to grab them and watch…” 

Your eyes were wide, unsure of why he was telling you this and why he wouldn’t stop. 

“I like people who have meat on their bones. Plus when a person like that is drowning, only a real man can save them. I can lift you, and I can lift you when you're soaked too.” 

“Law I.. why are you,” you couldn’t think of the words you wanted to use, until Law interrupted.

“Why would I tell you?” You nodded fervently, “I’m telling you because I hope you’ll do something about it.” 

You stared at him, he seemed so far from you. He wasn’t at all but you felt weird trying to stand on your leg that was freshly patched. So you motioned for him to come over to you with your hand. 

“Why?” He was walking over as he spoke. 

“I have to tell you something..” you motioned for him to come closer, so he did. 

You again motioned for him to come closer, and he rolled his eyes but did again.

You leaned forward and closed the gap between you two, whispering to him “my type in men.. its men who are named Law.” 

He turned his head towards yours in shock, and you chuckled. He took the opportunity of the proximity and pressed his lips to yours. Your chuckle died in your throat, as you pressed back into him. 

It felt like magic. His lips were soft, and soo warm. You were convinced such a cold steely man would have a matching body. 

Then you realized, all this time. Law wasn’t cold, he was just caring in a different way. He had answered every question you had. He never put you down, and he seemed to like you the way you are. 

[qipoth]

SAGAU - SAHSRAU IDEA

𒂭۪۪۪۪᳝۟ ━╋ ♪ •̩̩͙*˚ ❀

Yeah but this is a idea that is rotting my brain all over the week-

IMAGINE that you have an OC (almost self insert) for the game that you have been playing recently...And somehow, The voicelines are acting strange... Mentioning some unknown character (It names casually after your Oc) that has no been appeared....

Is just a coincidence...

You think that all of this is just a new character that is just gonna come the next version because is all that hoyoverse always do when a character is gonna come out. But the next version hits and is no character with the qualities that has been mentioned in.... And the signs is just getting more and more evident!!!!

And when you are exploring you see a new room for the faction that you always wanted to be part of it

And when you enter the room is the perfect room you ever imagined from you Your OC!!!

All of this is just strange... What is Hoyoverse cooking this time?? You think.....

But meanwhile in the universe, everything is in chaos, because the gaze of their almighty creator has been disappeared everyone is in panic

D-did they did something wrong?!?!

A-a-are you mad at them!?!?!?

DO YOU GET BORED OF THEM!?!!

But then, in this chaos it appears a new character!!! Everyone is stunned, because you. They hold the oh so divine essence of his creator!! Not even the Mc has that!! And the gaze returns even more warm, loving and gentle, like it is telling them that you bring them one part of you to them!!!!

You love them so much, right?

And the character asks to join to the traveler & paimon/Astral Express!! They are sooo lucky! So you get to travel with them

Don't pay attention to the obsessive eyes and glares that everyone has to you, the cligniness and the jealous glares that they trown to each other<3333

After all, you don't have to be worried to get hurt, they will protect you, At. every. cost.

Howdie!!!!<3

I'm not new in the community of Self-Aware, but I am new at all of this of the brainrot and fanfics!

I will be posting some ideas that I have or fanfics that it might be for there, also, you can use the ideas for the fanfics!! Just pls give credit...

So, I hope that my fanfics & ideas will be good for you!!!

Also I finally gain courage to write my own self aware blog pls be good

[worriedvision]

They ask for your friends number- Aventurine, Boothill, Wriothesley

Gender neutral reader, angst once again you know this blog. Basically, you're into the guy and you think he likes you back, only to realise he was more interested in your friend.

---

Aventurine:

"So, how much for a number?" Aventurine asks, looking over at your friend but asking you.

"Well, since you asked, my number-" you begin, flirting with him as you begin to speak only to stop when he puts a finger up to silence you.

"Oh, no no no! Your friend over there, they're a true gem!" He chuckles, not sensing your shift in mood.

You can't help but feel embarrassed, thinking back and realising he probably didn't even speak to you in the first place out of interest but more to get closer to your friend. Your friend was close to you, like you were to them, and Aventurine immediately knew that he had to be in your good books for a chance. As much as you hated to admit it to yourself, your friend was the one that looked better for Aventurine.

"...Well, why don't you go over and ask yourself?" You laugh off, Aventurine is clearly nervous. "Oh come on, surely you know you need to make some moves yourself."

Aventurine nods, thanking you for your wisdom and complimenting your friend for having you as a friend before beginning to walk over.

Not wanting to see the inevitable happen of your friend finally getting a good partner - solely because you had a crush on the man in question - you opt to go home early. You'll tell your friend you had a sore head, or something equally as understandable for dismissing.

--

Boothill:

"Hoo boy! That one over there sure is a sight for sore eyes." Boothill whistles, your friend indulging in a conversation with the bartender. "What kinda stuff are they into? You know them well, right squirt?"

You didn't expect it to hurt that much. You knew you didn't have much of a chance of a working relationship with him, but it still hurt.

"Well, you're a gentleman. Why don't you go over and start a conversation?" You smile, hoping Boothill doesn't notice the wobble in your voice.

"But you know me, I'm... I'm cool and reserved!" Boothill objects, you raising a brow at his words. "Okay, fine, I get it. Gotta have the guts to get this forking stuff started."

Boothill struts over, loudly enough that anyone could hear, and you watch on as Boothill inevitably stumbles the moment your friend looks over. Thankfully, your friend giggles, and Boothill gets the courage to speak.

Going to your contacts, you text Boothill your friends number in case he forgets to ask before promptly blocking him.

--

Wriothesley:

Working under Wriothesley turned out to be a real treat. He respected you, made sure people weren't giving you flack, and he always took the time to talk to you casually.

You really were silly for thinking he thought of you differently from the average prisoner. When your friend was visiting their father in prison, Wriothesley quickly took an interest. The moment they were away, Wriothesley asked you for their contact.

You couldn't help but choke on your tea when hearing that, not expecting him to want their details so quickly. Perhaps he just wanted to check they weren't trying to get their dad out of jail.

"It's rare that someone catches my eye like that. My standards are usually so high and yet, they seem to effortlessly meet them." Wriothesley chuckles, you're not drinking anymore tea.

It was a shock to you, but you knew he deserved someone that would treat him well. Your friend knows of your feelings for Wriothesley through your gushing, so they know he's a good guy.

Pushing over a note with your friends address, telling him not to use it with malicious intent, he thanks you as he writes it down.

[aftermidnightspecial]

Please write more vampire stuff!

For sure. Here's a snippet just for you! ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

Your vampire readily kissed the thumb that you tenderly brushed over their bottom lip. Closing their eyes, they lean in, peppering kisses to the palm of your hand. Their urge to feed was a swelling ache within them. You wondered how long it would take till they couldn't hold back.

Pausing a moment, you admired them, "You really are so gorgeous." You murmur before pulling them up towards your face, your mouth on theirs.

Strong hands grabbed your shoulders sliding down to peel your shirt off of you. They shudder as your back muscles strain under your shirt as you haul them up and pin them beneath you. Their finger traces along your collarbone and down the line of your sternum, their eyes growing darker by the second.

You are panting, not from exhaustion but from wanting.

Your vampires reaches up and gently tilts your chin aside, leaning in and kissing along your throat to the nape of their neck. Their plush lips cool on your pulse as they lingered. They lick a small circle around where they are planning to bite you, coaxing the neediest whine from you. You were pressing against them now, both of your bodies, rigid with desire. Their fangs pressed deeply into you, blood welling on your skin as they held you tight.

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ more original fiction here

[cremedensada]

something in my drafts that i actually got the energy and motivation to finish. it's not really my best work but i *did* try so!! also 600+ of yall?? (⁠(⁠(⁠;⁠ꏿ⁠_⁠ꏿ⁠;⁠)⁠)⁠)

Yandere Ocean Spirit who the local sailors and fishermen tell tales of. Some say he takes the form of a charming young man talking with the grandmothers, letting himself be entertained by their tales of when they were younger.

Some say she takes the form of a beautiful young lady walking down the shore as the sun sets down the horizon, colorful gold and orange painting the sky with awe - a vision of beauty and elegance.

Some say they take the form of an individual whose beauty goes beyond genders and labels, taking a dip in the ocean - glowing moonlight behind them. Locals who saw a glimpse of them would often murmur about their long cascading hair as dark as the ocean's waves in midnight; no one truly knows where the tips of their hair ends and the ocean begins.

Yandere Ocean Spirit who, despite his contentment with life at the seaside, finds himself curious with you - a new face, a visitor, in his home.

You were staying at the seaside for the summer, spending time with your relatives per your parents' decisions. You're not all too happy with being plucked out of your comfort zone, but you suppose you might as well make it work - a chance to destress before you'll have to come back and face the reality of life's hustle and bustle, like the unforgiving ocean waves crashing against the shore, hah.

The ocean waves are inviting today - not too huge and overwhelming, but neither too placid and calm. You spend a huge chunk of your afternoon watching the waves - something so routinely was so pleasing to you.

The beautiful stranger approaches you in one of your ocean-watching ventures, a sweet smile adorning her beautiful face - asking permission to accompany you. And who are you to deny her? Not when she looks at you looking like the most breathtaking woman you've ever met in your life and you are just a human being with a huge appreciation for beauty.

"I like the ocean," she says, after a moment of silence, eyes trained on the waves, "everything in life can change - things come and go, but you can always count the ocean to be there."

You chuckle. "Even the ocean can be unforgiving, you know. Especially during storms."

"Ah," she laughs, "that, I'll have to agree... we're all victims to the whims of the weather."

You smile in agreement, and the silence that follows is pleasant and welcome - like the ocean breeze gently blowing against your skin.

The next few days you busy yourself with familiarizing around town. While running an errand for your aunt, you come across a huddle of fishermen - gazes grim.

"Looks like it's about to rain," one of them says, "can't go fishing at this weather."

You hear another fisherman let out a grunt, just as you near their huddle.

"We can't always hope for a fair weather all the time. The ocean spirit can only do so much for us common folk."

An ocean spirit? You halt in your steps unconsciously, curiosity urging you to listen more. One of the men seems to notice, and lets out a hearty laugh.

You feel yourself flush in embarrassment at being caught listening.

"Curious, eh?" he says as the others turn to you as well, wearing matching amused smiles - at the very least, they didn't look like they were mocking you. "Never heard of an ocean spirit before?"

"Spirits aren't... exactly common in the city," you find yourself responding.

They nod in understanding. "Too urbanized," one of them says - a man sporting a huge scar underneath his left cheek, "they're more powerful and stronger when they're in their natural habitats."

It's your first time hearing of the existence of such spirits. "What does the spirit look like?"

They share amused glances, like you've just asked them of an inside joke you didn't know they had. "Well it depends on how the spirit wants to look like. But you've already met her, if that's what you're asking."

Their words echo in your mind until the next day as you watch the waves once more. It crashes against the sand and washes towards your feet - you watch it retreat.

A smell of the ocean breeze creeps up on you, and you feel a presence beside you.

"Mind if I join?"

His voice is deeper this time, different from her softer lilt - the one that reminds of you of early morning rays, the calm rippling of the ocean accompanied by the glittering sunlight. His voice feels like the warm ocean water soaking you to your thighs, gently swayed by the waves moving to and fro.

You turn to meet his gaze.

"You never told me you were an ocean spirit."

Unfazed, he smiles. "You never asked... plus, I didn't intend to hide it in the first place."

You entertain him with your company - his eyes gazing at you with keen interest as you share about your life in the city.

"—and what brings you to this peaceful little town?"

"Just... vacation," you shrugged, "I'm heading back to the city after a few weeks."

He frowns, but quickly covers it up with a serene smile. "That's a shame. Can't you stay a little bit longer?"

"I'm not meant for the seaside life," you respond; and it's true. You were not born with the ocean breeze to greet you in the morning, and the sound of birds singing the days away, nor the sound of waves lapping against the shore. You were born with the hustle and bustle, the sound of heavy traffic and hurrying men and women getting to one designation to another, and the smell of smoke permeating in the air.

It can be said, yes, that you can get used to a simplistic life at the beach but could you really? Not when your subconscious mind tells you that there's more to do at home, things to finish, projects to oversee, friends to keep up with, a life that you cannot afford to upend because your comfort has already rooted in the city, and it would be foolish to uproot it in an environment that it has to get used to after it has already matured.

"Oh."

He quietens after that. The waves are audibly more harsher as they crash against the shore, thrashing and lashing even beneath clear blue skies. The ocean spirit is not mad, but it rolls off of him in the waves.

And days turn to weeks — the waves only get harsher. Fishermen stand by the shore, scowling and frowning as the rough waters force them not to travel the nasty waves. What good is their livelihood if they do not live to return anyway?

The ocean spirit is nowhere to be seen, and there's no way to bargain or to ask what's wrong — like he has just disappeared down the depths.

The day of your departure comes, bags packed and a sense of anticipation to be back home thrums in your veins. As the car rumbles to life, thunder crackles in the air and lightning strikes — a flash flood comes surging towards the shore.

Cries of surprise and fear erupted from the villagers as the waves slammed against them, like claws tightening their hold on their prey. Was this the work of their ocean spirit? The gentle soul who would listen to the grandmothers' tales of their young love and misadventures like a child listen's to a fisherman's tale of braving the storms.

Or was the ocean spirit holding themselves back all along, now only deciding to let go of their restraints and let the humans feel the full blow of the ocean without their careful watch. Humans, who have since been uses to their less than concerning storms, unfit to respond to such a devastating occurrence — too panicked and fearful to flee away to higher ground.

You watch as the waves continue to drown more and more people, and a lone figure standing on an elevated rock formation. Has it been there all along?

Your feet moved before your mind can catch up to it, wading through the waters to reach the figure. They notice your presence and, serenely, smiles at you.

"Hello," they greet, like the storm all over them is not happening at all, "wanna watch the ocean with me?"

"You need to stop," you insist instead, ignoring their invitation. "The villagers are drowning."

They merely watch, and hum. "That's a shame, isn't it?" they murmur. How can they be so cruel? No — have they been this heartless all along? What of the person who the people sing praises of? "Perhaps they should start to learn to get used to it."

You hear the wail of a mother. You can only imagine what made her cry with such devastation.

"After you've given them protection?"

"Aren't we all victims to the whims of the weather?" They hum, "then perhaps, we're all also just victims to the whims of the ocean."

"And what would change the ocean's whim right now?"

As though waiting for that inevitable question to be asked, they smiled. "For you to stay."

Another harsh wave ravages the village, and they smiles at you with a calm smile — calm as the waves of the ocean should be — as more cries and sobs, pleas for help fills your ears.

"Well? Will you stay, or will you let everyone drown?"

[yourdearestaliengerbil]

Places in the Human World That I Feel Like They Would Love

Fandom: Obey me! Shall We Date TW: None Relationships: Satan x GN!Reader, Mammon x GN!Reader, Lucifer x GN!Reader

-Lucifer

Thrift stores

This may seem strange since he seems to prefer more “classy” places but 

It's so vintage and old, that he feels like a kid in a candy store 

He tries to hide his excitement but you can see it in his eyes

He loves these places, he’s almost like an old man and it is so endearing 

You definitely have to look through every single record with him and he’ll always buy a few

Maybe even inviting you to listen to them with him at home

Sometimes you find really weird or funny ones that you like to put on whenever he is stressed to put him in a silly mood (not that he gets in those, or so he claims)

Sometimes the two of you get matching suits from the store

And he pretends to hate it so so much

It's just weird to him, to be wearing a stranger's clothing

But you like it and he likes you

-Mammon

Gas stations

They probably have them in the devildom too but something about those fluorescent lights and bright signs at night in the human world hits differently

The two of you will stop at one of these during a midnight drive to take a slushie break

You'd get your favorite flavor

And he'd want every flavor

And then you'll end up saving yours and drinking most of his after paying

It just tastes better because it's his

And he really doesn't mind sharing his slushy with you, as long as he can have yours in return

By the time the two of you reach the car, you're both left in giddy excitement

And it’s late but you guys dont care, you just sit by the gas pump

You'll laugh and talk and giggle about everything

You two always seem to be in that "honeymoon" stage

And

It’s everything all in one moment

Just the two of you enjoying this moment together, not thinking of anything but how much you love one another

Then when you start driving again, the two of you are screaming your favorite songs to one another, while getting over a brain freeze

-Satan

This one is kind of a given

A Barnes & Noble

Or a 2nd-N-Charles

He loves spending hours with you walking around the store and just 

Reading everything he can get his hands onto 

The amount of books he buys at each visit could definitely fund the store alone for a good few months 

Oh and you know that as soon as the two of you get home he'll want to have a day with you all to himself where you both read aloud to one another

You would stay up for hours on end that night, just trying to get a book read

I like to think that he'd start with the biggest one just so that he has to hear your voice for hours as you sit in-between his lap reading

And when it gets too late and you fall asleep, he'll close the book and tuck you in

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Gin Akutagawa (self-aware)

Self-Aware! Gin Akutagawa x GN! Reader

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Yandere. Mentions of (accidental) stalking.

______

Becoming self-aware

_______

🔪 With self-awareness came sorrow and anger. Gin's life was a lie. Ryunosuke's life was a lie. Their world was a lie. A reflection of reality. A fantasy, that was shared with thousands of other people.

🔪 With self-awareness came new routine.

🔪First, Gin got a diary. And each page contain similar text. One page each day. Same sentences, that she wrote first thing in the morning.

"My name is Gin Akutagawa. I have an older brother, Akutagawa Ryunosuke. I am from Port Mafia. I am Battalion Leader of "Black Lizard". I was Paul Verlaine's student. I am a girl. My brother and I lived on the streets, before joining Port Mafia."

Day after day. Page after page. Same forty-four words on every page.

Gin wished, that there were more. But she can't remember anything else about her.

🔪 Days were spent patrolling. Trying to find answers, hope, a way out and other people. Tachihara was her partner during the search. And Gin could see, that normally cocky Tachihara looked lost and desperate.

🔪And, when during one of the patrols, Gin and Tachihara found out, that some people from the Government and Hunting Dogs were also self-aware, Gin saw relief in Tachihara's gaze.

🔪 Gin could ask Tachihara about his strange reaction. But choose not to. All of them were stressed out. Her brother became more ruthless. All of them worked hard. Despite everything, they can't find a way out.

🔪 And Gin tried to stay collected. Emotions won't solve anything. Dreams won't solve anything. Gin was glad, that she stopped dreaming at night.

🔪 And then, one day, Gin felt an entity's gaze on her.

____________

The first "hours" under entity's gaze felt like torture. She wanted to scream, to run, to get her hands on someone, who were watching them.

Someone, who saw their past, emotions, thoughts.

But then "night" came.

And with night came dreams.

Gin saw a person.

A normal person doing normal things. Gin could see herself doing the same things, when she was off-duty.

She saw Real World. She saw Entity.

Gin... didn't want to call them Entity anymore.

At the "morning", instead of her normal text, Gin wrote about, what she has learned during her dream.

She wanted to see one more similar dream.

Dreams came every night.

Gin learned more about real world. About Internet, news, culture, people.

Most importantly, she learned more about Their Reader. About them being happy, when they saw Gin and others. About them liking Gin and others. Everyone of them.

No hate. No sick entertainment.

Just curiosity and happiness.

Gin couldn't hate Their Reader anymore. It would be wrong.

She tried to carefully reassure others about you. She didn't want them to hurt you.

And then, time resets.

And Gin once again were getting ready to ambush ADA office.

__________

When they start feeling your presence

_________

🔪 Gin could tell, that she wasn't the only one, who had a change of heart. Something in ADA's detectives' eyes showed her, that they also came to like Their Reader.

🔪 Especially after Boss announced, that they will join forces with ADA to get to the Real World. To get to someone.

🔪 Ryunosuke also seems calmer. Gin could see, that, for some reason, he was trying to listen to something Or hear something? Someone?

🔪 Gin quickly learned, what Ryunosuke tried to do. Sometimes, Gin could hear mumbling. She couldn't make out the words, but the tone was familiar.

[//////////] familiar happiness

[//////////] familiar cheering

[//////////] familiar sadness

And one day, Gin heard them clear.

In previous timeline, her brother supposed to be kidnapped. He was fine in this timeline.

In previous timeline she was supposed to sneak on Higuchi.

In this timeline she decided not to do it.

But she heard the voice. Apparently, her actions didn't change, what Reader saw.

"Gin, you are a force to be reconned with. You are so cool. Wish I can be like you."

And something soft touched her cheek.

Gin felt warm and secure.

[In reality, you pet manga page with Gin on it]

__________

🔪 After that, Gin finally could see Little Light. Floating blob of light. Your emotions. In Gin's eyes, the most perfect and treasured thing in entire Real World.

🔪 Gin started training even harder. Ryunosuke and Atsushi weren't enough to protect you. She will step up as your protector.

🔪 Time passed, more people joined their union.

But then, one day, the purple moon shined above Yokohama.

________

When you installed BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

_______

🔪 Gin didn't wait, before her SSR Cards became available during Limited Scout. She gifted you her cards herself.

"Okay, Gin, let's try to clean all orbs."

"Whoa! We finally finished this floor. All thanks for Gin's attack."

"I wonder if there will be a special image card for you, Gin."

🔪 Gin can't wait to get to the Real World. To know you better, to protect you, to saw everything, Real World can offer.

🔪 And she will never forget her dreams. About real world. About Reader. About their Guiding Light.

___________

You just get your daily rewards, when you got another note. Another Gin SSR card was attached to it.

"[Y/N]. Hope you are doing well. I have been thinking about having a movie night with Ryunosuke. Want to join us? I will choose movie, Ryunosuke will bring snacks. If you want to join, can you, please, bring blankets? We will wait. Gin Akutagawa."

You smiled and opened Character menu, selecting Gin's card. You pet chibi Gin.

"Great idea, Gin. Thank you for the invitation. I would love to join you and Ryunosuke."

You didn't notice, that Gin removed her mask and smiled.

[slowd1ving]

ACT I: FLOURISH ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

anyways this fic is one of my personal favourites that I've written so please enjoy <3

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

BREACH THE IMMEASURABLE CHASM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

NEXT PART

Scene I: Overture . 　⁺

It starts on a particularly dull morning. Grey clouds adorn the grey skies; they are utterly devoid of joy and beauty. Rook would see beauty in this lifeless day, but Rook is not there to see it. Vil is. Standing here, in the dull hallway outside the Potionology classroom, is a perfectly miserable way to start off the school day.

Three heartbeats pass before Vil composes himself enough to straighten his posture. Three long heartbeats. Between each thump, he has to remind himself that he’s still the best in the Advanced Potions course. Of course he is. So what is this foreboding that’s chilling him to his very bones? He fights the urge to adjust his tie as he anxiously waits for the rankings of the top students to emerge onto the noticeboard facing him. It’s approximately two minutes before Crewel typically posts the monthly rankings, and ten minutes before he has to face the music by entering the classroom for said course. He’s still got time before hoards of clamorous students charge through the hallways.

One minute. He’s always been on top of this leaderboard, even after being transferred to the course as a freshmen where all his peers were at least a year older. His potions are always textbook perfection. Always. Something’s been weighing on his mind, though. Ever since last week’s assignment to brew a sleeping potion using only five ingredients, he’s had a very uncomfortable feeling that Professor Crewel’s ranking is leaning towards someone else. Even though Vil’s recipe contained some of the most potent ingredients, even though he delivered perfection and potency wrapped in a wax-sealed bottle; it may not have been the star of the show.

A parchment scroll slowly materialises into view behind the thick glass. Vil waits with bated breath; it’s been years since he’s last felt tremors like these. The gnawing feeling in his gut feels horribly similar to the first time he experienced stage fright. It’s unfurling. Whoever made this unveiling spell needed to be fired immediately; the bottom rankings were being revealed first. Vil sighs in relief as he sees his name emblazoned on top in a deep red alongside his markings.

Hold on.

Someone else’s name is slowly scrawling itself onto the parchment. Who the hell- an annoying ringing permeates his ears as he feels his heart miss a beat. He doesn’t know that name, but as his eyes swivel to the house logo proudly emblazoned beside it, he can clearly see the Ramshackle logo. The Prefect? The magicless human? The orientation disruptor? The beast-tamer? That person?

It’s been precisely two months since you arrived, and somehow managed to worm your way into Advanced Potions class, despite not possessing any sort of understanding of magic or potions. That should have been a sign in itself, but Vil dismissed it as nothing more than a fluke. Foolish. You’ve kept your head down, preferring to sit in the back of the lab as Crewel lectured the students, while Vil’s consistently kept to the middle rows. Of course he hasn’t noticed you.

Still, it must be a fluke. It has to be. How could you, someone who’s decidedly without any magic at all, become the proverbial spanner in the works? Distantly, he feels his hands clench into tight fists as he scans the row of marks next to your name. You’ve been consistently scoring just a couple of points below him, although the marks for the first class are subpar, of course. Still, he cannot fathom how you’ve managed to beat his average of 96.

That’s until the final row of marks - for this week’s assignment - slowly unveil themselves. Your score of 100 sits proudly above his meagre 87. Vil feels a vein protrude on his forehead. That’s impossible! It’s unheard of for a student to achieve 100 marks in Crewel’s classes, especially for an exam assignment, and especially in the Advanced Potions course! There’s no way, absolutely no way you of all people managed that! The next person below Vil only managed to scrape a 50, for Sevens’ sake!

Vil feels his breathing become uneven. He can’t even imagine how you could’ve cheated - those assigned flasks were enchanted with every sort of spell imaginable preventing cheating, and each potion had to be brewed somewhere on school grounds, under teacher supervision, within an hour.

The clatter of students is beginning to approach. Breathing heavily, he shoulders the door open, devoid of his usual lustrous grace. He avoids his usual row, choosing to sit on the far back corner of the lab - your row. Surely, there must be some indicator as to how you achieved a perfect result, some lapse in composure that would betray what must doubtlessly be foul play.

There’s only one seat between Vil and your chair. He can feel the lack of distance sharply. The lab isn’t particularly big; it’s never bothered him apart from now. Feverishly, he stares down the door, watching the slow trickle of students enter to distract that gnawing feeling. From the corner, he can see the hallway, as well as whoever chooses to look at the noticeboard. It’s agonising, waiting for you to walk in so he can observe you.

When you finally decide to show up, you’re in class around a minute later than Crewel and the previous student. Vil can tell by the direction of your body and feet that you haven’t yet seen the rankings. He’s not sure you know they even exist. He can feel his blood starting to boil slowly, which is only heightened when Crewel points his riding crop at you. Your surprise is apparent by the way your feet stutter to a sharp halt.

“Listen up, whelps!” his voice resounds throughout the lab. “I’m sure most of you have seen the rankings for this month that were posted this morning! As usual, most of your scores were abysmal for the final assignment, though this promising pup managed to get full marks-” here he gestures to you with approval. Vil doesn’t miss the way your brows furrow, then a small smile blooms on your face as you look down at your shoes. “-on an assignment that would likely even trouble my fourth years. Next week, we will go over why your attempts were so laughably mediocre, and I will personally make sure that lesson is drilled into each and every one of you pups.”

Crewel’s piercing glare marches itself around the room. Vil can see your shoulders slump in relief as Crewel strides behind his desk and you are free to make your way to the back. Your gaze is trained straight on your seat. Vil leans on his forearms to observe the other students; a few look back at you with congratulatory smiles, which you return. You don’t seem to have noticed your new neighbour. He feels his eye almost twitch. How dare you? You don’t even realise the full gravitas of this situation! Not only did you dismiss the noticeboard, you don’t even seem to be affected by the knowledge that you got full marks! Not to mention you haven’t even looked at him once! Is it ignorance, or a blatant smugness? Vil almost begins chewing his pen in anger before stopping himself.

The rest of the lecture goes by agonisingly slowly. Today isn’t a lab practical day, so Vil hasn’t got a chance to observe just how you’ve managed to secure that top rank. Instead, he alternates between taking notes and watching you watching Crewel and taking your own notes, which seem to be interspersed with pointless little doodles in the margins of your notepad. It’s infuriating.

He’s worked hard; he’s worked himself to the very bone to be the Fairest One. Yet that title was snatched away by some wimp resting on his laurels and looks to snag the roles that Vil yearned for. Now it’s happening all over again. Something within him is twisting, churning, grating his insides and self-control into a bloody pulp. The title of number one in the Potionology department is something he could finally call his own. Something that couldn’t be snatched away by someone’s looks or charm or mere luck. It was a way to prove himself to his dorm. It was a way to finally be held above all others for something you could very well work hard for. It proved his diligence.

So why? Why was this newly sprouted tuber next to him number one? Why the hell weren’t you taking any of this seriously? He seethes. It’s unbelievable. When he surreptitiously glances at your notes, they’re written in a language that he can’t even make sense of. They’re a far cry from the runes of Twisted Wonderland, and even with his studies on linguistics he can’t figure the twisted squiggles out.

“It’s the Latin alphabet,” your voice is suddenly in his ear, and he wishes for nothing more than to explode on the spot. His eyes flicker between your notepad and your face, which sports a tired smile. You’ve clearly misinterpreted the furrow of his brows as a question, because you continue.

“I can barely make sense of the runes here,” you twirl your pen between your fingers. Your other hand props up your chin as you tilt your face towards Crewel’s general direction, but your eyes linger on his. “So I use the language from my world.”

“I see,” Vil’s curt response doesn’t even make you bat an eye; instead, you turn to face Crewel again as if you had never spoken in the first place. This revelation from you is useless information to him, but if he continues talking to you he may be able to glean more information about your supposed genius.

Towards the end of the lecture, you pause in packing up and swivel towards Vil. He masks his startled expression within a millisecond, luckily.

“I never got round to asking your name,” you smiled sheepishly, scratching your neck with the back of your pen. “I think I saw you at orientation?”

That’s it. Vil feels his self-control splinter.

“Vil Schoenheit,” he says coldly. “You would do well to remember it, tuber potato.”

Your expression is nothing short of bewilderment as you toss your pen in your bag, but ultimately you don’t say anything after you nod. Vil feels a swell of the same ugly, twisted emotion that rears its head at the mention of Neige LeBlanche.

As you leave the room, Vil is left watching your back as the bell rings.

Scene II: Interlude . 　⁺

“Bonjour, Roi des Poisons,” Rook’s sharp gaze misses nothing as Vil feels those eyes observing his countenance. Vil elects to be silent, sipping on the fragrant lavender tea. The Pomefiore lounge never fails to ease his mind with its deep blue tones, fit for the Fairest Queen herself, but it cannot help his turbulent thoughts.

“Who is the lucky one who has cracked that beautiful mask of yours?” Rook’s voice is beginning to sound rather jarring after today’s fiasco earlier.

“I can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” Vil’s stiff words are forcibly turned casual as they leave his mouth.

“Tu me mens,” Rook drapes himself over the armchair Vil sits in, taking off his hat in a sweeping motion. “It breaks my heart, hearing sadness in that beautiful voice of yours. Tell me, who is the cause of this pain?”

“Rook,” Vil turns to him contemplatively, observing how Rook’s present grin is all teeth and sharp edges. “The Prefect of Ramshackle has piqued my interest.”

He didn’t mean to admit it, but the truth escaped his lips before he had a chance to think it through. Vil sighs, shutting his eyes and placing his teacup back into its saucer. It’s been a stressful day, one that can’t be amended with just a simple cup of tea.

“How very beautiful,” Rook comments, rising from his draped position. “I will take my leave, mon Roi.”

Vil has no doubt that Rook’s interest will also be spiked by you. He just hopes he gets some worthwhile intel about you in the process.

Scene III: The Hunter . 　⁺

“Félicitations,” a very familiar voice cuts through the tranquillity of the Botanical Gardens. Vil tenses up from where he was crouched harvesting the flowers of a particularly potent species typically used in aromatherapy. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop on Rook, but as fate would have it, your voice responds to the hunter.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” your tone is quizzical; by the rustling, Vil gathers that you’re likely here for the bounty of flora available in the Garden. Judging by the volume, you and Rook are probably three or four metres around the bush he’s facing.

“Of course, pardon my impertinence. Je suis Rook Hunt. I was simply admiring your beauty, when I realised you’re the one I’ve heard so much about,” Rook’s voice is sincere in his flattery, but Vil almost screams at his forwardness.

“What’s been said about me?” a shift is heard in cloth. No doubt you’re rocking on your feet, either in curiosity or nervousness, Vil can’t tell.

“Your scientific prowess has been held in very high esteem amongst my peers,” Rook murmurs; Vil can imagine those green eyes staring into yours at that moment and fights the urge to shudder at his audacious nature. Seems like Rook’s already cut straight to the heart of things. “I cannot help but be curious about what you plan to do with those sprigs of Somniablossoms, les fleurs des rêves.”

“Just some analysis,” your tone turned to that of academic fervour, one that resonated with Vil. “I’ve noticed that a lot of the elements present in this world match the properties of the ones back in mine - meaning that this place is likely in a shared universe. I’m trying to examine some of the flora here to see if the subcellular structures of plants here differ in any way from the ones back home. Then I’ll extract and purify the oil from these sprigs for further use, and use the flowers to see if they’d work as indicators.”

Your rambling catches Vil off-guard. He hadn’t expected you to be passionate about science outside the classroom; he judged by your attitude in Crewel’s classroom that it was more of a one and done occurrence of genius.

“Incroyable. Your mind captivates me. It seems we share the same love of science,” Rook’s own scientific fervour is clearly audible in his voice. Vil feels sickened by this sudden closeness between the two of you. He can’t turn away from the conversation, listening while he holds his breath.

“Yeah,” your tone is once again sheepish, drawing the ‘e’ vowel out ever so slightly. “I can’t read the runes here all that fluently, so it’s up to me to conduct my own research instead of relying too much on textbooks.”

“What tenacity! I would love to see your workspace someday,” Rook praises. It’s too much for Vil; he can’t listen any more without feeling that ugly monster within rear its head. “I’m sure it’s as captivating as that wonderful brain.”

Rook’s sweet talk fades out as Vil quietly slips away. He’s got no doubt that Rook sniffed his presence out; he only hopes you were too preoccupied by the vice Housewarden to notice him as well.

He massages his temples as he walks into the secluded corner of the Pomefiore lounge, seeking out his favourite armchair. It’s thankfully empty, as he’s one of the only ones with a free period at this time. Now he’s got time to think. All these negative feelings were going to damage his health, and he couldn’t afford to lose sleep over this. Not with the SDC a mere three months away.

No, he should treat this as a challenge. You proved yourself to be a worthy opponent with clear wit, something you had clearly worked for. To win against you… to win against you would be a more worthwhile endeavour than winning against that bumbling Neige. You would not take his title away from him. At long last, here was something that he could work hard for instead of it being taken away by something out of his control.

Was that what this was about? Control? After being overlooked for everything, left to play the villain, surely he could achieve this, at least?

“Roi des Poisons, I hope you were adequately amused,” Rook’s sudden appearance almost started Vil from his musings. Almost.

“Quite,” Vil responded, staring out of the window at the blue sky and beyond.