#Fem reader

[nanamisgirly]

feed back and reblogs are always appreciated my girliees <333

part.2 part.3

virgin!nerdjo who pulled a total certified baddie in college by being…himself.

awkward, dorky, too tall for his own good, always pushing up those stupid glasses with ink-stained fingers— it was him. somehow, you wanted him. he doesn't understand how he got so lucky, but he's not about to question it. 

virgin!nerdjo got one mission : being good to you. especially in bed. because when you kissed him for the first time, straddling his lap, grinding that perfect little body against him, he nearly came in his pants. he gripped your waist a little too tight to keep you from moving too much. it's humiliating how quickly he was about to fold, how his cock throbs desperately just from the heat of you.

virgin!nerdjo isn't completely clueless—he's read about sex, heard about it, he's not that innocent. but knowing and doing are two completely different things. and he realized it the second you grinded on him. he damn near whimpered. bit down hard on his lip to swallow it back.

virgin!nerdjo needs to learn. he thinks porn might help—big mistake. it's all so…aggressive. male-centered. nothing about it feels right. he watches a few clips, cringing the entire time, then slams his laptop shut and scrubs a hand down his face. he should have listened when geto used to go on and on about his exploits. should have paid attention instead of rolling his eyes and tuning him out.

so he does what he does best. he researches. virgin!nerdjo orders a book called ‘The Art of Female Pleasure.’ and the moment it arrives, he's on it. glasses slipping down his nose, hunched over the pages, absorbing every word like it's the most important text he's ever studied. he dedicates days to this. nights. rereads passages, highlights sections. he doesn't just want to be good. he wants to be perfect. because you're a baddie—a pro— and he's so fucking lucky. what if you jump on him any time soon and he's still not ready? that idea terrifies him.

virgin!nerdjo gets so into it that he even starts to scroll through forums. he reads firsthand experiences, studying anatomy diagrams until his face is burning and his cock is achingly hard beneath the sheets. because it's not just learning, it's imagining.

virgin!nerdjo who imagines you underneath him, pretty lips parted in gasps, legs spread as he slides his fingers over you just like the book describes. he imagines how wet you'd get if he did everything right. if he took his time, kissed his way down your body, licked into you like he's read—slow, deep, deliberate. he wonders if you'd tug on his hair, if you'd cry out his name, if you'd shake when you come, thighs squeezing around his head—

fuck. horny thoughts took over him as he bucks up into nothing. he wants it. so bad. 

and the next time you're kissing, you instantly notice how his hands get bolder, slipping under your shirt, trailing fire down your spine. how he suddenly knows excatly where to touch, where to squeeze, when to roll his hips just right—letting you feel the size of him, the hard, thick heat pressing up against you. you break the kiss, breathless. “since when do you do all that?”

virgin!nerdjo swallows thickly, ears burning red. “…i've been studying.”

���꒰⸝⸝> - <⸝⸝꒱ა☆⋆。

for @miscellaneous-misty

[samisverycool]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. yandere prince adores his personal maid.

he doesn't even bother hiding his favouritism. the contrast in tone when he talks to you vs anyone else is huge.

"oh, you think that suit looks better than this suit? of course, my sweet! whatever you say ♡."

"my sweet, i'd hate to be a bother, but could you run some errands for me? i know, i'm horrible!"

he'd coo and coddle you, as if you were a favoured child. trailing his silky soft fingers across your cheeks when you pleased him, though it wasn't very hard since he is absolutely enamored with you. then, some random servant would walk in, and it was like a switch was flipped.

"can't you see i'm busy? go away!"

"you're utterly useless! you know i can have your head on a silver platter, right?"

it was slightly off-putting.. you remembered the first time you were introduced as his personal maid, his eyes having lit up like a christmas tree. you didn't really know why he liked you so much, but it's better than being threatened with death for serving his tea in the wrong cup. you do try your best to appeal to all of his 'demands' (which are just suggestions at this point), because you have to remember your place.

which is by his side. forever.

"you'd never leave me, would you, my sweet?"

"never, my prince."

"good."

[bunnis-monsters]

Traumatized Bee Hybrid Hive x Reader

Preview

Patreon/Kofi EXCLUSIVE

warning: oviposition, breeding, traumatized bee hybrids

WC: 1.2k

There’s a traumatized hive that's been without a queen for years. Their last queen nearly drove the hive to extinction, and they decided from then on that they'd operate it themselves!

The hive turns into almost a sanctuary for lost bee hybrids. Anyone is welcome to join, so it becomes a very diverse hive with many different males from other hives that have either been kicked out or ran away from a corrupt ruler.

As the hive grows, they realize that the younger hybrids crave motherly affection and a queen to take care of them, but those who have been through the evil queen's rule are scared, hesitant.

It's only when one of the baby bees goes missing that they find a new queen.

The little thing was just learning to fly and had accidentally flown out a window. It lost its way and ended up in a small human town.

You let out a soft little coo when you saw the poor thing toddling around, tears in its big eyes. You scooped it up, smoothing out its fluff before kissing its head.

"Hey, hey... you're alright, little one. You must have been scared all by yourself."

The little baby bee had never had motherly affection before, and his eyes widened while his chubby little hands reached out to hold onto your shirt.

"Mama…”

I have a discount going on, code: hunni for 20% each tier for your first month!

Want to read the rest? This fic is ONLY available on Patreon and kofi! Read this and other early and exclusive stories on patreon/kofi.

[iamthatonefangirl]

What's your take on the winter soldier and cockwarming (your word is law btw)

oh u know he’s a horny motherfucker who loves to keep his cock in you all the time.

I’m talking he’s gonna pin you to the bed with all his body weight to feed it to your greedy cunt. he’s got you on your stomach, on the bed, wearing nothing but a t-shirt, having thrown your underwear somewhere over his shoulder, lost in the darkness of the bedroom.

“takin’ it good,” he’ll grunt if he’s feeling generous. you’re pretty much completely stuck under him and you can’t help but whine, sensitive from when he fucked you hours ago.

you know better than to beg for more. he’d probably make it twenty times worse, edging you and then not letting you come so you’d never be able to sleep.

when he’s convinced you’re done squirming he’ll turn you so you’re both laying on your side and he’s no longer crushing you. he’s already pushing both hands up against your abdomen to make you feel him buried in you, manually pressing his tip up against your g-spot. “fuck,” you hiss as he teases.

he gives you a soft slap on your thigh. “take it.”

he loves how warm you feel. he does it constantly because it puts him to sleep like nothing else can. it helps that it makes it easier to fuck you awake in the mornings.

if you gave him a hard time about it the night before then he’ll probably pin your head to the pillow and hold your legs together so he can fuck your thighs from behind. and you’ll whine and cry and beg and he’ll spank you for it because you don’t make the decisions around here, he does. and then he’ll eat you out from behind and probably fingerfuck your ass for good measure.

when he’s feeling mean he’ll absolutely make you keep him warm with your mouth. he loves to watch you gag as he works open your throat. he’ll keep you on your knees for hours, holding your head down so you can’t go anywhere. you already know you’re drooling everywhere, all over his skin, it’s everywhere. in that moment he thinks he’s gonna try 69ing you sometime.

anyways thank you for the ask 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 send more i crave your thoughts.

~~~

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list:

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm @avengemepercy

[bonsubear]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │ Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#4

#1, #2, #3, #4, #?

CW: ooc, violence, mild gore

WC: 8k

You tried to use the Invincible variant that was holding you as a stepping stool to give you a jumping leap, but he quickly acted as he grabbed a hold of the heel of your foot.

You yelped in surprise, not expecting a quick reaction as you slipped and fell downwards. Not wanting you to fall, he used his free arm to wrap around your leg to catch you.

You were now dangled upside down in the air, pressed against the variant's muscular body.

You grunted, straining your neck to lift your head away from Mask’s legs so you wouldn't be smothered against them. You pressed against his knees using your hands to create more distance from the lower part of his body, extremely displeased at this bad positioning.

"Wait, wait a minute!" He stumbled; his voice was close to a begging tone as he had a firm but soft grip on you. It was evident that Mask didn't want to hurt you, though you didn't care as you thrashed wildly against his hold, wanting nothing more than to get away from the man.

Trying to loosen the grip he had was strenuous with how this positioning actively worked against you, making it hard to get out of.

It felt like you were a fish caught by a hook—no matter how much you struggled his grip didn’t let up. Hell, it felt like the more you did the more he made sure to hold you even tighter.

"Fucking shit! —Let go of me!" You yelled through gritted teeth as you tried to look up as you kicked your legs wildly, though it was difficult to do so with how close your two bodies were.

"Just listen to me, I won't hurt you—I want to help you!"

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. "I am not finding out what your sick definition of help is!" You retorted, refusing to even play with the idea of hearing what this blue and black variant had to say.

It would be a very stupid and bad decision to spend one more second with this Invincible variant, especially with how "great" the previous interactions with the others were.

It was really absurd, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely infuriated you to your core. Being caught off guard and captured, then thrown into a dingy prison basement, and then to top it all off being used as an asset against your will was already upsetting.

But it didn't just stop there—your supposed opponents that the G.D.A told you to fight were some deranged, mentally ill freaks that wanted nothing more to push their delusions onto you because they apparently had a relationship with—well, you?

When you went searching for Invincibles to kill and find the perfect murder method for your own Invincible, you were expecting a fight. A brutal, disastrous fight where you were crowned victorious in the end.

That’s how all fights go—how all fights should go. It was the basic formula known to man.

Instead, it was some big reunion where they all drooled over you like a bunch of slobbery dogs looking at their long-lost favorite toy.

You would’ve rather been beaten to death then ever go through that again!  

Each fiber of your being wanted to run away and come back with a flame thrower to kill each single one of them, exterminating their annoying asses to guarantee you’ll never see them again.

Especially that black and yellow degenerate.

"Okay, okay!" He panicked, "I can see how this looks but you have to trust me!" Mask desperately pleaded, a whine scratching at the back of his throat as you continued to fight against him. "I got you away from the others, they're way worse—"

"Oh!" You rolled your eyes, a scoff quick to escape your throat. "My hero, my hero! Thank you so much for rescuing me!"

You clasped your hands together, each word dripping in sarcasm. "Say, what do you want as your reward? Money?" You asked before pausing for dramatic effect. You let out a wild fake gasp. "Oh, of course not! Me, right?"

Mask was taken aback with that witty response, defensive words choking in his throat as his cheeks heated up underneath his black mask. "No! (Y/N)—No, I—that's not what's happening!"

You furrowed your brows, digging your fingernails in his knees. "Either way, I don't want to fucking know what is happening!" You replied, spitting out the curse word with venom.

You brought your head close to his leg, opening your jaw wide. You clamped your teeth down hard, making sure to make it hurt as much as it can. Your teeth sunk into his skin through the thin layer of spandex, the soft sensation yet sturdy muscle meeting your mouth.

The Invincible variant gasped in shock, not expecting the sharp sensation of your teeth to dig inside his leg. His grip loosened, allowing you to finally wiggle out of his grasp.

Even though his mind didn't know how to react to this, his body certainly did. His foot jerked to your face, and before you could raise your hand to block it his foot already contacted the top of your forehead.

It was immediate, and your head swung backwards from the kick.

It didn't take you long for you to hit the ground, the road splitting in half as you were smacked to the ground—rolling like an unstoppable boulder.

You crashed into a fire hydrant that stopped your momentum, but at a consequence of it busting open and water gushing out everywhere. The water sprayed on the ruined road, the cracked sidewalk, and onto you.

Your prison jumpsuit quickly became soaked with water from the broken fire hydrant, the loose fabric sticking to your skin making it hug your silhouette.

At first, Mask didn't realize what he had done—watching you crash into the fire hydrant not registering that he had been the one to be the cause. When he finally realized, he was fast to descend down.

"I'm, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to kick you like that, I don't even know why I—are you okay?!" He hurriedly rushed to your side, crouching as his eyes looked at your forehead that was forming a noticeable bump.

Water still escaped from the fire hydrant, but it turned into a light lawn spray as he looked at you.

Your eyes hazily opened, pushing yourself up using your elbows. You slapped a hand on your forehead, your brain feeling like it shifted with how hard the kick was. You winced, jumping at how there was already a bump forming.

The variant next to you was repeating apologies, reciting them like scriptures. You couldn't really pay attention, your blurry vision taking their time to adjust as your hearing made everything around you, particularly Mask's voice, sound like white noise.

"—let's get you somewhere safe," Mask hurriedly looked around before landing his eyes on you again, "someone might've heard that. We have to go." He spoke with urgency, placing a careful hand behind your back.

Your blurry vision quickly became clear, and hearing returned to your ears, your healing properties finally kicking in and fixing the damage that had been done to you. The bump that was rapidly swelling on your forehead also died down, returning to the same level as the rest of your skin.

You blinked, your eyes finally trailing to the Invincible variant.

He was too close for comfort, and you tensed as you felt the hand that was cupped on your back. Your gaze moved to his face, and his goggles were completely void of glass besides the small remnants that edged the outline.

His brown eyes were on full display, and they looked deeply into yours as if they were the only thing worth peering into. It was clear as day how much blind affection, softness, and worry filled those eyes.

It made your skin crawl to be viewed with so much tender emotions for so many reasons, one of them being that you knew it wasn't directed towards you. It was someone else who was a different version of you that got to experience another life than the one you have currently.

You felt like a second rate to some weaker version of you that died. A version of you that didn't even have powers.

Though you guess if you had to admit you were a speck jealous. Those versions of you probably had normal lives, normal hobbies, normal jobs—normal everything. Even if their life wasn’t that pretty, it probably was better than what your life was right now.

Although that small trace of jealousy disappeared as soon as you remembered they had the misfortune of dating Invincible. The Invincible variants were whack, crazy, and probably made their lives a living hell.

You grimaced and shrunk away as he reached a hand out to you, aiming to caress your forehead with his blue gloves. Your face contorted into a glare, your hand flying to secure his wrist and fling him behind you like he weighed nothing but a grain of salt.

Mask was flung inside an empty cafe, breaking through the brick wall and through the marble counter. A pot of cold coffee that was abandoned at the workstation during evacuation fell on his shoulder, pouring out and staining the side of his suit.

You pulled yourself up, the soaked clothing making you shiver uncomfortably. I need to change out of this.

You looked around to see where you were. Even though the surrounding buildings and structures were decimated and resembled more of an apocalypse than a functioning city—you thankfully were able to recognize what part of Chicago you were in.

You squinted, trying to jog your memory. You had made secret deserted spaces that people and the city itself forgot existed as hide outs, places for you to retreat and hide from whenever you were finished doing your routine destruction and "rough housing" with civilians.

That's how you were able to run and disappear so fast whenever superheroes tried to capture you during your "hobby". It was funny hearing them frustrated and angry when you slipped away, their muffled voices coming behind the entrance of one of your many hideouts whenever they walked past one.

At least, that's how it used to be. Other superheroes seemed to have moved on from you, the only super showing up to stop your reenactment of Godzilla movies on the city before being locked up behind bars was Invincible.

...

It was odd, honestly.

To totally toot your own horn, even though you were a regular menace and an everyday pain in the ass that everyone became "use" to—you were still that, a menace.

You knew that the secret organization sent any hero near your vicinity to deal with you before you could cause any more indirect casualties—but they seemed to have changed their mind one day and only sent Invincible.

Sure, he stopped you each time—but it must’ve not been efficient to send him every time with how quick you were to get to wrecking. There was no way he was the closest to you every single time with how you made sure to pick different spots to remain unpredictable.

If you didn't know any better, it felt like he called dibs on you.

You couldn’t help but think that because there were multiple times where he unknowingly stood near a concealed hideout you were in. It was easy to eavesdrop him conversing with himself, overhearing mutters and incoherent whispers.

His mutters were always along the lines of hoping you were okay, that you'd heal and recover quickly, that he hoped he made a good impression this time, and something about how he should stop running to you?

You got a slow, sinking feeling form into your stomach as you thought more about this world's Invincible.

He was always weird, treating you differently from other villains. You always chalked it up to be a potential hero complex, all superheroes having some mild form of it. That’s what you theorized, anyway.

Saving the city, saving civilians—it's inevitable that a shiny new hero thinks they can save a villain from the mess they are.

It wasn't the first time a super thought they could change you, "fix" you for the better. You always spat out a harsh refusal over and over again until they finally gave up. It was easy, just be an insensitive prick and they wished the kind words they spoke to you were punches instead.

Invincible was the longest, being stubborn about offering you redemption and friendship no matter how much you drilled it into him that you won't budge.

You literally beat it in him with each encounter, but he would show up once again with a smile whenever you were out and about.

You became used to seeing him, even with how annoyed you were each time. It became familiar to just randomly turn around and see him staring at you while you were punching holes inside a building, like a shadow waiting to be acknowledged.

However, he was still a good guy—at least, you think. Experiencing these different versions of him made your head wonder if he had more interest in you than he should have beyond just the potential hero complex and annoying moves for friendship.

It seemed like all his variants so far did, having some sort of romantic relationship with your counterparts. You didn't want to think it but—did your Invincible hold some sort of affection for you?

Of five variants of five realities, Invincible liked you in each one of them.

What's to say this reality was any different in that regard?

What's to say that he didn't view you more than a criminal?

What's to say that your Invincible wasn't like them?

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to snap out of your train of thoughts.

That just wouldn't make sense, Invincible viewing you in a romantic way. It just logically wouldn't. You treated him lower than dirt more times than you can count—he'd have to have his own form of delusion to form lovey dovey thoughts for you.

You had to hold out hope that your Invincible was a good, weird, but normal superhero. If the Invincible variants were searching for you—you needed help getting them off your back until this war blows over somehow.

"Don't fucking touch her!" You heard Mask shout, and you turned around to see what he was screaming at. As you did, you were met face to face with an Invincible variant that had sneaked up behind you. They wore a similar get up to your Invincible's suit, but they had washed out colors and bigger goggles.

Your eyes widen, looking behind the newly appeared variant to see Mask approaching fast with his arms out. You were fast to sidestep, the newly appeared variant getting pushed to the ground where you previously stood.

You heard someone land behind you, and you turned around in a defensive stance to see that another Invincible variant had shown up.

Before he could get the chance to say anything, you jumped at him—socking him in the jaw. Twisting on your heel, you used the small momentum to kick his side. The variant was kicked to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

You jumped backwards, your back hitting someone else's. You looked over your shoulder to see that it was Mask, his fists raised ready to fight the variant he had roughly pushed aside.

Shifting your head to look at the sky. There were two more variants that were preparing to throw themselves at you, both having different versions of the yellow and blue Invincible suit that strayed far from the original.

You clicked your tongue, pressing your back further into Mask's as you knew if you fought them all by yourself, you'd be in deep shit. "If you're serious about helping me—then you'll help me get out of this alive. Then you'll fuck off and leave me alone."

"I can do the first one but..." His voice was muffled behind his mask, hesitance clear in his voice. His brown eyes flickered behind him, your hair in his view and the press of your back sending shivers down his spine.

Mask breath wavered, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from you to refocus on the Invincible variant that was picking themselves up from the floor.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mark huffed, trying to fight off the exhaustion that was threatening to overtake his body. He didn't know how long he was fighting these evil versions of him, but it must've been less than an hour with how the sky didn't shift to a different hue at all.

They were doing a number on him and to each other with how they were all strained in some way. Ragged breathing, minute slower movements, and taking any opportunity to catch themselves before jumping back into the chaotic fight.

The only variants that didn't seem completely worn out were Viltrum and Sinister—but even then, the two seemed out of it like the rest of them were.

"Are you kidding me with this bullshit!" Mohawk Mark screeched, his snarky voice making every variant pause. "Why the fuck are you fighting us?" He pointed, hovering next to Omni-Mark whose red cape was half torn.

Mark jumped, not expecting everyone to collectively stop fighting to look at who Mohawk was pointing at—which was him.

They all took in Mohawk's words, being interested to know the answer to his question. Either that or they were taking advantage of the rare stillness.

"What, what do you think!" He stuttered out, his voice squeezing as his body became more agitated than it already was. Mark felt on edge, like each nerve of his body was exposed. "You all think that you can just kidnap (Y/N)! She doesn't belong to either of you!"

"She doesn't belong to you either." Omni pointed out, his eyes narrowing at Mark with haughtiness. "Please, remind me again, what relationship do you two have?" He quipped, tilting his head in amusement.

Mark felt a lump form in his throat, his whole body feeling like someone had just ripped off his skin. Being reminded that these evil versions of him had something that he didn't have was painful—like he was being punished.

To add more salt to the wound that the red and white variant had opened, Mohawk jumped at the opportunity to rub it in Mainstream Mark's face on what he didn't have and ever got to experience—you.

"She was my girlfriend—got together senior year of high school and continued dating when she went to college." He let out an airy laugh, gesturing at the lower part of his body with both hands. "Suck it."

Viltrum took the surprise pause of the fight to add in his own relationship with you, tone flat but lighthearted—an invisible smile on his lips. "She was my wife. I met her the first time I went to Earth on the rooftop of her apartment complex."

His eyes flickered to the punk-style Invincible, the mention of college making him remember something. "... It was after she dropped out."

Sinister laughed, a playful grin gracing his lips. "Pfft, those are stupid. My bunny was an inspiring journalist who wanted to bring me to 'justice'—oh, how it was practically destiny that she landed herself to be my plaything." His hands twitched, thinking back on the first time he met you.

A smug, almost shit eating grin danced on his lips. "I could tell it made her feel alive, even through her senseless wailing. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, that bitch enjoyed me as much as I enjoyed her."

Omni shook his head, waving his hand as if all the words that the others spoke were meaningless. "She was my pet, the only perfect thing that could be my wife.

His lip quirked upwards, recalling the first time he saw you. "It was a long process to domesticate her, but it was worth everything." He chuckled before his smile faltered, transitioning to a frown.

"Oh, and we had a child together." He shrugged his shoulders before continuing, speaking casually like it was nothing too extraordinary.

He seemed displeased to have remembered that fact, his expression turning sour. "Shame there wasn't much use for it. Got in my way more than being convenient."

Mark choked on nothing when he heard that, his soul feeling like it got kicked out of his body as he tried to recover from the shock.

He burned his stare in the variant that resembled the suit his father once wore like he had just grown two heads.

"Child? —Child?!" He screamed, shaking his head as his mind was swirling with all this information that hit him at once.

Viltrum huffed hearing that, avoiding looking at Omni. "(Y/N) and I would've produced a child eventually." He murmured, defending himself like it was some sort of competition to who hit more milestones with you.

"Ugh, that's pointless! Why have a child?" Sinister rolled his eyes, thinking that it was absolutely absurd that his counterparts would think of having an offspring. His posture was relaxed as he voiced his thoughts. "Her body should only be available to me, not something else."

He hummed, as if agreeing with Sinister, "It was a good enrichment for a while, then the thing got annoying." Omni explained. "Didn't want to keep it around anymore."

"Anymore? The fuck that's supposed to mean?" Mohawk questioned, both hands settled on his hips. With how he phrased it, he didn't think it was farfetched to assume that his counterpart did something horrible to the child.

Omni-Mark stayed silent, not responding as he crossed his arms. That earned a raised brow from Mohawk, suspicion surfacing through his sharp features.

Mark finally snapped out of his shell shock, interrupting the variants' small conversation. "Fine, maybe I don't have a relationship with her like you guys had." He began reasoning, his eyes blinking fast behind his lens.

"But that doesn't mean I don't care about her, that doesn't mean I don't want her just as much as you all do—probably even more!" He gestured, shaking his head frantically as he raised the volume of his voice the more he continued his speech.

"I want to be close to her, I want her to be mine, I want her to..." His voice died down, closing his eyes before opening them again, "to feel for me like I do for her." Mark confessed in a hushed tone.

The words escaped from him faster than he could think of them. "I like her." He admitted, the complicated feelings that he had dealt with for so long surfacing brightly without being pushed down into the void of denial.

It was like a wave of clarity washed over him, crashing down on him so unexpectedly.

The first time he saw you, intense feelings bubbled up in him that he never experienced before. It only became worse the more he saw you, being consumed with the feelings that overtook his thoughts.

Mark Grayson began secretly begging the world to let him hear that you're out there so he can chase after you—the light at the end of the tunnel that only shows itself every once in a while.

Whenever he was with you, it was like his whole body was alive. He never felt like he ever truly lived before meeting you, each part of him waking up as soon as your presence basked his soul and body like sunlight.

It didn't make sense, there was no rhyme or reason why he felt this way. It was so wrong, but so endearingly right.

It felt so right just to be near you, look at you with so much affection and adoration that it was unmeasurable.

He drowned in thoughts about you that hijacked his mental space, each nook and cranny of his mind tied to you somehow. Each time he resisted and pulled away; he rushed back in with a tighter grip than before.

This pull never happened with Amber, his first girlfriend and the first person he'd ever been intimate with. As well as confess his superhero identity.

He liked her—loved her, cared for her and had feelings for her, but it wasn't the same. She just wasn't you.

Amber didn’t make him feel like his whole life purpose was fulfilled by just watching you do whatever, tracking your movements like he was writing them down in the folds of his brain. The physical contact he received from you, mostly violently, didn’t cause his body to soak up each centimeter of it like it was starved for it.

That subconsciously seeped into their relationship. He put so many things above Amber, missing so many places that she wanted him to be present because he was her boyfriend. He put their relationship on pause countless times to be a superhero, saving the world and saving lives—it was hard to drop it for her.

Though it came easy when it was for you, not for Amber.

Then there was Eve. She was a great person, helping Mark to understand what it truly was to be a superhero. She was there by his side and understood the hardships that the world relentlessly threw at him, giving him an open shoulder to talk about his problems.

It made sense their natural friendship blended into something more. She pulled him in—but not in the same way.

Eve didn't compare to you, not even close. Mark wanted her to, grounding himself and swallowing down this claim that she was the one—his girlfriend, his everything, his.

Everything else came secondary when it came to Eve. That was until he heard you were out there again instead of safely locked away, and suddenly it became easy to leave Eve behind when he was so adamant about staying with her.

He was so immersed in so many things and with Eve that when you were in that cell made by the G.D.A, his mind didn't wander to you so frequently anymore.

Mark didn't have to worry about the next time he'll see you again, always constantly on his feet ready to fly over to you.

Mark didn't have to worry about whether the last time he saw you was the final one, paranoid that you'll suddenly disappear without a trace, the chance to earn a mutual connection with you completely gone.

Mark didn't have to worry because he knew where you were and knew you were okay, safe, alive, and waiting. When things slowed down, he planned to visit you and show you that it was okay to give him a chance.

He wanted—no, he needed to earn your trust, earn your interest. That he could change your mind about rejecting him, even if it meant being a broken record that was on repeat.

Since, in truth, he wanted you to be his from the start.

It was unreasonable, illogical, but it felt more right than wrong. It was stupid, fucking pathetic even just like how Cecil said—but Mark couldn't help it. He tried to deny it for so long, but he couldn't anymore. It was impossible to.

It was love at first sight with you, and he wasn't going to let you get taken away. Mark wanted you to be his, and he'd push everything and everyone aside to get that opportunity.

He raised his voice again, stern and firm. "And I'm not going to let any of you take her just because you all failed at your chance. You don't get to have do overs with my (Y/N)."

"Aw, cute!" Mohawk mocked, lifting a hand to form a mouth puppet. "Practiced that speech of yours with good ol' buddy right hand?" He let out a forced coo, turning his mouth puppet into a circle—going up and down in a slow motion.

That earned a hearty chuckle from Sinister, but not Viltrum or Omni. It also didn't get a peep out of Mask either, not a single word coming from the masked Invincible variant.

"You almost sound as corny as—" He whipped his head around, searching for Mask who seemed to be not present. His mischievous grin dropped, and the others followed suit in looking around to spot the missing variant.

There were supposed to be five among them, yet there were only four. The yellow and black variant's relaxed posture disappeared as soon as the absence of one of them was brought to his attention, spinning around to confirm that the other's presence was truly not there.

"Jesus, where the fuck is the other one." Sinister growled, snapping his head to the direction of your body. He zoomed past, the others lagging behind to search for your unconscious body.

Mark drifted behind, his heart leaping to his throat.

The place where you were supposed to be—empty. Dried blood and the broken metal fragments of the collar were the only things there, greeting their eyes.

It didn't take a genius to piece together what happened, and it enraged Sinister how foolishly easy it was to sneak off with you.

Sinister fists clenched, screeching at the top of his lungs at a random direction. "You're dead!" His growly voice carried out, dragging his words across the distance.

Viltrum's hand grabbed a hold of the end of Omni's cape, draping it over his neck and pulling it towards him tightly. "Where did he take her." He spat out, eyes darkening as he tugged at the red cape he was using to strangle the variant.

Omni had quickly dug his fingers in between the space of the cape and neck, ensuring that he wouldn't be asphyxiated. "Your guess is as good as mine." He grunted, bringing his head forward before swinging it backwards—smacking Viltrum's face.

The white uniformed variant let go of his hold, and Omni-Mark whipped around to punch him in the chest, knocking him a few inches away.

"There goes the 'alliance!' Not that it was going to last long anyway. Ugh! He could be anywhere in this shithole." Mohawk grumbled; displeasure written on his face with how a deep frown embedded itself on his lips.

Suddenly, all the variants had something thrown at them, pushing them to the ground. A large wall from the collapsed building nearby was on top of them, the heavy weight grounding and crushing them.

Mark floated above them, having gone and grabbed a fallen chunk of a structure to pin them down. It wasn't going to delay them by much, but it gave him a running head start.

Each second counted to go searching for you and find the Invincible variant that stole you from right under his nose.

He propelled himself forward, flying in a random direction. His hair was pushed back as the wind howled against him; his forehead furrowed. Mark brought his hand to his ear, holding the earpiece that Cecil had given him.

"Donald? Donald are you there?" He asked while looking down, flying above structures. The city had been bulldozed by his evil counterparts, making it look more like a salvage yard rather than an international hub.

"-Uh, yes. I've—I've been here the entire time." Donald jumped, clearing his throat. He was surprised at being suddenly addressed, having been silent this entire time.

He had been observing safely at headquarters, watching through the screen. While the cameras themselves didn't have audio, Mark, having an earpiece, allowed him to finally listen to something.

Donald had been overhearing this entire time, and he had begun to think that the superhero had forgotten he was there. He felt out of place, and he couldn’t possibly interrupt him to remind Mark of his presence. He was saying vulnerable things that seemed rude to cutoff.

"Can you try and find (Y/N)?" Mark queried, scanning the streets below him for any sign of you.

He could care less that Donald may have overheard everything he said—it didn't matter. The time was ticking, and he was not going to leave you alone with your kidnapper nor let some other Invincible find you first.

"Mark I-" Donald shook his head, beginning to speak before being brashly interrupted.

"I don't give a shit what you have to say Donald! Just tell me if you can try and find her or not!" He snapped, his question shifting more into a demand.

Each letter of his words was as sharp as a blade, coming out of the blue which shocked the older man.

A static silence overcame the intercom, and Mark back tracked on his words. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh. "I'm—I'm sorry Donald that's not what I meant. I didn't mean to-" He sucked in an unleveled breath, "Can you try and find her? Please?"

"... Sure thing, Mark."

You hissed, pulling your hand out of the esophagus that you had forcefully slid your hand into. You ripped the tube out, throwing it aside as the Invincible variant fell on his knees—clawing at the gaping hole in his neck.

The blood gushed out like a geyser as you took a step back, your chest rising and releasing a huff.

Your hair was a mess, tangled and mangled together from fighting the Invincible variants that tried their hardest to take you down and submit to them. They were relentless, and you were grateful that Mask mitigated the fight—doing his part and killing two eviler versions of himself.

You looked over to Mask, the variant lunging a rusty metal bar that he got from a hanging sign inside the chest cavity of his opponent. It hit straight to his pumping heart, a gritted gasp escaping their throat before the light in their eyes disappeared.

Small muscle memory jerks remained, but it died down as Mask dug the metal bar harder—twisting it for good measure. He then pulled it out effortlessly, a string of thick blood and cartilage following as he threw it aside.

Comparing yourself to him, you probably looked like absolute shit. There was hardly any blood on him, the only liquid there being was the dried coffee stain and the damp areas of his suit from the fire hydrant.

You, on the other hand, were covered in sticky blood. Your neck was painted in a deep shade of red, it dripped down from your neck to the collar of your prison uniform. It looked like a badly botched tie dye job, minus the metallic smell that made your skin crawl.

The tips of your hair were dipped in the liquid of death as well, the affected hair forming clumps at the end and hardening.

You hated killing—not because of a moral compass, merely because of the smell that made your stomach feel absolutely sick. You could never avoid making a huge mess, so your face was always met with the waft of blood exposed to oxygen.

You breathed heavily as you blinked to look around. All four variants who tried to jump you and Mask were dead, the one you just killed on the ground—the blood gushing out of his throat formed a puddle.

You swallowed, putting your hands on your knees to catch a breath. The odor of blood seeped into your nostrils, and you gagged as your stomach was not taking too kindly to that smell. It felt like you were going to throw up with how it twisted and swished.

“Do you feel sick?” Mask softly asked, hopping off the variant he had just shoved a rod through their chest.

He surveyed the slaughter you both caused, mentally noting the splattered blood along the concrete. “It’s because of the blood, isn’t it?”

You gagged once again, bringing a hand to pinch the tip of your nose. “Kind of.” You replied bluntly, not elaborating more on it.

“The odor I’m guessing?” He continued, and you gave him a funny glance. Mask rushed to explain, “In my world, you also hated the smell of blood. It always made you feel nauseous—I got good at not getting too much on me because of that." He laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ding ding ding." You clapped lazily. "Never been a fan of it. It makes me want to projectile vomit everywhere."

"You did one time. It was on me though." He joked, but not really. It did actually happen when he rushed to the hospital after a fight because he promised to visit you at a specific time.

Mask had forgotten to change out of his blood-soaked suit with how panicked he was to arrive on time. The moment he appeared by your side from entering the window, the metallic smell hit your nose, and you puked all over him without sparing a second to register to face somewhere else.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mask's words echoed in your mind, and you mentally rolled your eyes at the reminder. The only reason why he wanted to stick around was because he wanted to project the variant version of you onto you—all of the variants did.

It was annoying. However, with how more docile and suppressed he was compared to the others, you had the chance to break this illusion of his. It wasn't the first time you've successfully pushed someone away.

You bit your tongue, feeling a dry laugh threatening to escape. "Guess all I did there was be sick and puke on you. Very romantic." You sarcastically responded, looking over to see how the masked variant would react to what you're going to say. "With how weak she was, she should've died sooner."

"..."

"Honestly, she managed to pull the short stick of our childhood." You bitterly mentioned, a small flashback to your childhood played in your mind. "If whatever illness I had didn't take me immediately, I would’ve just done it myself. That would've been the best option."

"..."

"Not only was she weak, but she was also stupid too apparently." You added, continuing to watch how he'd react to your words. His eyes were boring into yours, and you didn't peel away from them as you simply glared.

You were ready to dodge anything he threw at you or came at you with, expectantly waiting to move your legs to dodge an incoming fist.

A second passed, then another, then another.

“... Haha!” He suddenly burst into a small fit of giggles, raising a hand to cover his mouth. Startled, you flinched, your eyes turning wide at this unexpected reaction. You couldn’t gauge if this was some kind of ploy to catch you off guard so he can hit you by surprise, but the more he laughed the more confused you got.

“Is something wrong with you?” You asked annoyed, not understanding why he was laughing. His giggles were dying down, and he brought his hand back down to his side. “You found that funny?” He shook his head frantically, taking a few steps towards you.

“No, no. I just—even though your different from my world you’re still the same.”

You scoffed, taking his statement as a lie. “Bullshit.”

“No, you are! When we first met,” Mask took your hand, cupping it into his. You jumped, but didn’t pull away as you were curious to what he had to say. “You said something so similar about yourself. Looking back on it, you were trying to drive me away.”

He sighed, “You thought that if you pushed out all the worst traits of yourself, no one would want to stick around.” he said in a low voice, almost recalling it in a fond. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, as if trying to soothe a wild animal.

The smooth texture of his gloves sent goosebumps down your spine, causing you to tense. I’m not listening to this. You thought, but his gaze held your body firmly into place, like a nail driven in wood.

"You were wrong, though," he whispered. "It just made me stay longer."

Your breath hitched, your heart squeezing at those words.

You yanked your hand back instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs in an uneven rhythm. "Don't say shit like that," you snapped, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. "You don't know me."

“I do.”

“No, you don’t!” You screamed, shaking your head. You stepped away from him, needing the distance like air in your lungs, "I'm not the same as her, I’m different," you muttered, your voice quieter, heavier now. "I'm stronger, I’m powerful—I’m worse."

He tilted his head, the smile slipping away from his face, replaced by something that looked almost like sadness. Not that you could tell with the mask that covered it, but his eyes expressed it. "Maybe you are," he agreed after a moment. "But I’m happy to learn.”

Shut up.

“I love each part of you, even the worse ones."

You stood there frozen, caught between cursing at him and lunging at him—but you did neither. You just stared at him, words caught in your throat and your hands flexing not knowing what to do.

Finally, you turned on your heel, going to the direction of the nearest hideout you owned. “Come on, we need to go.” You called out, walking without checking to see if he was following.

“We?” He repeated, hope filled in his voice as he quickly trailed behind you. Not bringing attention to the fact you dismissed everything he had just said, not bothered by it.

“Don’t misunderstand anything! This is momentary. I’m tired, exhausted, and clearly can’t think straight with how I’m even letting you tag along!” You grumbled; eyes stuck stared ahead. “You’re protecting me from whatever lunatic of an Invincible we come across.”

“I—”

“And don’t talk.” You whipped around, causing him to halt in his steps. “It lessens the chances of you saying stupid crap,” you hissed, referencing his whole cringe speech, “oh and, ten steps back when you’re walking with me—I don’t want you humping my leg.”

“Got it!” He happily chirped, overjoyed just to see you were allowing him to be with you without telling him to fuck off.

“Ughhh, shut up!” You swiveled back around, walking in a faster pace than before. You heard him begin walking at the distance you commanded him to follow, and you dug your nails in the palm of your hand.

This was stupid—you were going back on your word about how bad it was to spend one more second with this variant, yet here you were letting him follow you to your hideout. You wanted to pull your hair out with how you should be telling him to screw himself and to get lost, but you bit your tongue as you merely continued strolling.

Even worse, your cheeks were a tad warm. You hated what he said seemed to affect you. You tried to ignore how your heart was softly rattling against your chest, taking deep inhales and exhales to calm it.

Maybe the forced proximity of being near crazy variants were beginning to rub off their lunacy onto you, making your headspace cloudy.

At least it was only down to one.

An Invincible was standing on the roof of a building, peering down the alleyway that you and Mask were walking in.

He wore an exact replica of this world’s Invincible suit; the one small difference was the fact his gloves were blue at the end of his knuckles. The male also didn’t have the mask on, blood scattered on his face and chest.

His eyes were downcast, his hand over the other, holding it as he stared at you.

It was a way to self-soothe himself, no longer having his favorite person in the whole world to hold his hand anymore. His heart ached at that, breaking more than it already was.

His eyes burned thinking back on how his partner was forever gone—he’ll never see that handsome face ever again, the witty personality, and the easygoing jokes that always made him feel better.

The Invincible would’ve started crying if he hadn’t already squeezed out each tear already. He didn’t think he’d be able to produce any more with how hollow he felt, completely dried out.

He continued to watch intently, having witnessed the brutality you caused minutes prior. He didn’t mean to come across the scene, having been just wandering around aimlessly after doing the orders that Angstrom had instructed him and many others to do.

The variant had stayed silent, watching from a safe distance. He hadn’t expected to find you here, but he supposed it made sense.

The Invincible had been preoccupied thinking about his special one that his mind didn’t think to remind him about you until now.

You were special too. A good, dear friend. You were the second person to truly understand him and be by his side through everything. Accepting who he was and supporting him.

Guilt and grief swelled in his chest as he found himself hovering to you just a few feet away. You were completely unaware of the presence that was stalking you as you silently fumed at the predicament you were in.

Finding you made the emotional weariness drag him down further, like weights were placed upon his chest.

Seeing you made him think of—

“... I miss William...” He croaked out, his voice sounding like it hadn’t been used for such a long time. He whispered out the name William like it was something sacred, holding the name of his dead lover with so much tenderness.

William was his boyfriend and his first best friend, the person he cared so deeply about more than himself.

You were his second best friend, the only other person in his life that he relied on. The three of you were a great trio that protected each other, being brought together by the wonderous work of his late boyfriend.

You died while trying to protect Wiliam, Nolan determined to kill the boy Mark was in love with—saying that having a big of a distraction as William would only hinder him from doing what his life’s purpose was.

There was only so much that you can do against a viltrumite while having the capabilities of being human. You were completely butchered, the overkill that Nolan did was unfathomable. William’s death was less severe, you stood between him and the painful ending he would’ve originally received.

He lost the two most important people in his life that day, dying next to each other.

All three of you promised to be together in the future, live in the same neighborhood so that every day whenever you and William wanted, you’ll all get together and hangout. Him and William would live in a cozy house just for the two of him, and you would be the next-door neighbor with the key to let yourself in anytime.

That’s what you three had promised—before Nolan ripped and tore that promise apart like it meant nothing.

Maskless Mark eyes shifted to the variant that had his face completely covered, squinting his eyes. He was too late to protect you and William, but he wasn’t going to repeat that same mistake with this dimension’s version of you.

William would’ve wanted him to protect you too—protect you from a stranger. He could practically hear his boyfriend’s nagging voice on how he shouldn’t leave (Y/N) alone with a guy, talking about how creeps would take any opportunity to snatch you away simply because you were a beautiful girl.

He would say that you didn’t have the privilege like him and Mark did to just wander around because of the absence of a dick in your pants.

His body was suddenly energized, pacing closer behind you both above the tall buildings. For the first time since the death of you and William, he felt something other than sadness and grief. He felt happy.

It was... nice to be reunited with a friend.  

yawns me when I have to write plot progression🥱🥱

I blinked and suddenly two weeks passed 💀 I ain’t going to get into this habit trust 🤞🏽

UHH BUT BEING FR I LOST TRACK OF TIME MY BAD YALL… feel embarrassed LOL posting this with my eyes closed idc 💔

anyway we ALL CRACKING WILLIAM

Tag List for All Works: @calicocat-ina-tuxedo

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(If you would like to be removed, just tell me!💕)

[2cupids]

warnings. popular!reader, dry humping, cüm eating. mdni (17+)

read part 2 here!

grinding against nerd!choso’s bare cock as a thank you for him agreeing to write your final essay for you and finishing it.

choso still couldn’t believe this was happening to him. one of the most popular girls on campus who’s notorious for only dating the athletes was sitting on top of him.

while you, on the other hand, found it hilarious. from the moment you pushed him back onto his bed, he was already breathing hard. you watched choso’s eyes widen as you hiked your skirt up to reveal your lacy panties underneath.

‘what a loser’, you thought to yourself as you watched beads of sweat form at his hairline as you undid his pants and pulled his already hard cock out. his eyes fluttered shut and he threw his head back against his pillow as you took his length in your hand and stroked him. you’d barely done anything and he was nearly ready to bust already.

you thought he looked absolutely pathetic like this. a touch starved loser who gets a once in a lifetime chance with a girl like you and doesn’t even know how to act. it would’ve been completely out of character for you not to hurl insults and humiliating words at someone you deemed below you and choso was no different.

you expected to see tears prick the corners of his eyes or for him to protest against the mean words you said to him, telling you that you were wrong. yet it was the complete opposite. his moans grew louder and his breathing started coming in shallow. he was getting turned by your degrading words.

he bucked his hips up into yours and grabbed your plush thighs to hold onto. the feeling of your soft skin underneath his palms along with the hateful words you spit was enough to tip him over the edge. his white hot seed shot from his tip and landed on his t-shirt, with a little bit landing on his neck.

you smirked at the sight underneath you and the childish part of you couldn’t resist doing what you were about to do next. you picked up some of his cum on your finger and shoved it into his mouth, making him eat his own cum.

you chuckled, silently giving yourself a pat on the back while thinking you managed to further embarrass the man. but choso only fell in love with you more.

[swtheartz]

“ LIKE STRAWBERRIES. ” — M. Grayson

Part one Info : Suggestive content, implied spit kink, healer reader, reader is lowk oblivious, slow burn

W / C : 2k A / N : found the PERFECT strawberry divider off of pinterest from a rentry source i lit need to find it again because it’s sooo cute??? like what. anyway here’s ur guys’ treat eat up

You’ve noticed that Mark lingers.

Not even from a distance, either. No. He has to be a fucking weirdo about it. As pretty as he is, because handsome simply isn’t enough to describe him, he isn’t that bright when it comes to you. There is nothing subtle about it. Sam notices. Rex notices. And of course, Stedman notices. Everyone. Notices.

Except for Invincible himself.

And it pisses you off. Because for someone like him, he could at least be more aware outside of combat. You knew he was a dork, but not even you believed it to be this bad—it’s almost embarrassing. No, scratch that, it is embarrassing. Mostly embarrassing for you. Because Mark Grayson simply never. stops. staring.

Especially now.

“You redecorated,” Mark notes, staring at the newer posters on the wall and a new vase with honeysuckle placed inside as he sits on the usual bed you demand he sits on, waiting to be healed. “It’s nice.”

“If you don’t shut the hell up and let me work.” You groan, staring at the samples you’ve been testing. It’s something you’ve been working on for some time, a little over two months now. After accidentally crying over one of your plants, and yes it was because you’d been too busy to water it, you’d realized that it wasn’t just your hands that could heal. For now. . . You were limiting the experiments to tears.

Finding out new ways to cry was getting tiring, though. And your eyes hurt. If Stedman realized what you were working on, he’d be elated; in his own weird and subtle way. A more efficient approach to healing had been found simply because you forgot to water a plant.

To be fair, they were your prettiest African violets that you simply refused to let go of. And you could proudly say they were now thriving.

“What are you working on?” Mark questions, peeking over your shoulder as you test the percentage of how much is necessary for effective healing. You paused for a second, thinking about the fact you had a test subject right there. One that would be more than willing.

Slowly, you set down the tiny cup that had your tears mixed in with water, leaning back into our swivel chair with as calm of an expression that you could muster—before looking up at him through your lashes.

“Mark,” you hum sweetly, immediately, his eyebrows furrow. You’ve been calling him by his full name for half a year, and that was only because he begged you to stop calling him by Invincible for three weeks straight. The confusion in his face made you tilt your head, blinking innocently.

“I need you to test something for me. Nothing life threatening, unfortunately, but it is important. And I would rather be roasted on a spit than have anyone else test it.”

“. . . I feel like you’re trying to poison me.”

“If I wanted to do that,” you smile, grabbing a cup with a higher potency, “I would have done it the second time around when you ended up here. Just drink this.”

Mark takes the cup from your hand, incredulous and curious all at the same time. It’s clear that he’s going over his options here, and he’d much rather die than let someone else be your lab rat, you know that much. A sigh leaves him as he drinks it, and he blinks.

“It’s just water.” He mumbles, confused. It must be tasteless, maybe a little salty, but probably not even noticeable. At first, you think it’s a failure, before he makes a noise and that new gash on his cheek mends itself back together, the bruise on his neck from basically being choked fades away in a matter of moments. Not as quick as your usual method, but still effective and efficient.

The result is satisfying. Though, you sit in your chair and think about how you should’ve given him a lower dose just to study it for a little longer. Regardless, it’s still the effect of you, and that is more than enough in your eyes. Just. . . You didn’t want to waste time trying to make yourself cry and mixing it with water, just to heal some wounds on heroes that could surely wait it out. Heal naturally.

“What was that?” He seems almost dazed, still confused, but somewhat fascinated.

“My tears mixed with some water.”

“Wha-? Your tears? I just drank your tears?”

“I’m gonna try spit next time you come here,” you say absentmindedly, writing something down so you can store away the data for later and even more research. You believe you gave him some that had twenty five percent? Something like that. It’s a rough estimate, but a little more practice and you’ll get something more accurate. No, you don’t notice the way Mark nearly chokes on air at your blunt statement, having to stop himself from making any more noise.

He doesn’t want to ask if you’re serious or not. Knowing you, you’d just stare blankly at him and tell him to figure it out, so instead, he slowly nods and sits back down, finally letting you work in silence as he spaced out.

The next time he does end up there, you decide it’s perfect to test your newer mixture. Arguably, it’d worked pretty good on another plant that you had sacrificed, even better than it did on your beloved violets. It was nothing but a fern, but the result was amazing.

You were excited to see the results on a human. Hell, the first time you’d felt actual excitement in forever. This was, for the first time in a long time, something new. Saliva was most definitely your limit in this little experiment of yours, however, and then you’d let Stedman know of your discoveries after.

After—you have your fun with your annoying fucking lab rat.

“Are you sure this is safe? You could, you know, always heal me the usual way?”

“Mark, are you saying I have a nasty mouth?” You stare at him, holding the small plastic cup in your hand. You’d had the decency to mix it in with water, the same as you did with your tears, and figured he wouldn’t even taste it. The way he softens up as you say his name is something you can’t miss. But it is something you can ignore.

He shakes his head and sighs, but still seems reluctant.

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. If my tears worked just fine, then I’m pretty sure this will too; this is just for confirmation at best.”

Mark stares for a few moments, before he ultimately takes the cup and stares at it. Now, usually, you can read him quite easily. He’s the type to have the worst poker face known to man, and you’re not quite used to the almost contemplative look on his face. It’s quiet for a few moments, before he drinks it.

Slowly.

Your nose scrunches at that, because whether or not he realizes it, he’s drinking it at what you consider a snail’s pace for no reason. Still, you say nothing, simply crossing your arms across your chest as he finishes. As you thought, the effect is much more immediate than it was with your tears. Quicker. Comparable to when you use your hands. A good result—hell, an even better result than you expected.

He takes a second, before shrugging. “Tastes like water.”

“It’s supposed to, dipshit.”

“Strawberries.”

“Yeah.”

“You were grocery shopping,” You glance between him and the random two pound container of strawberries he’d given you, dark red and ripe. “And decided that it’d be a good idea to get your coworker. . . Strawberries.”

Mark exhales, mask and goggles still on, yet you can tell he’s pouting.

“I would prefer it if you just called us friends.”

“We’re coworkers, Markus. And even calling us that is pushing it,” You roll your eyes, opening the container and staring at one of the larger, darker strawberries that looked just perfect enough to bite into. But you had some decorum. You were gonna go home, wash these, let them soak,  and try not to eat them in one sitting. You don’t like how well Mark has started to understand what your tastes were. Especially when you had made it such a point not to tell him anything.

“Mark. Just, for the love of whatever god is out there, call me Mark.”

“I condemn you, Grayson. I curse you.” The groan that leaves him at the fact he’s seemingly downgraded from his full first name back to last name nearly makes you crack a smile, but you refrain from doing so. Letting him know that you didn’t want him to perish in the slightest would make him want to be around more, and you needed to work, and you can’t work with a 5’11” man with pure muscle constantly in your personal space.

The GDA was swamping you with more patients, more frequent incidents, and now you feel like an office worker; which, as stupid as it sounds, is what you were trying to avoid by working here. What you hoped to avoid, because you were different. You were a goddamn healer.

The two of you stare at each other—at least, you’d like to believe it’s a staring contest. You can’t tell if he’s looking or not, but he sure can tell with the way you purposely hold eye contact, not even daring to look away. Like he deserved to be scolded for thinking about you when he saw some fruit.

“Would you have, I don’t know, preferred peaches or something?” Mark’s question is genuine, and he’s the one pinching the bridge of his nose this time, like a disappointed parent. You scowl at that. Again, you plop down in your swivel chair, glaring at him as you cross your legs.

He knows the answer to that. No, you wouldn’t have preferred peaches, even though you have a tendency to inhale any fruit placed in front of you. Strawberries were, frankly, put on a pedestal by you. It undeniably showed, and you didn’t like that one bit. You didn’t like being able to read. And while it isn’t your fault that he stubbornly refused to leave your side, refuses to stop analyzing and staring at you, you’re still upset.

“I want you out. I have work.”

“You always have work!”

“Of course I always have work, do you see what my job is?! You know what, I’m gonna feed these to your little brother in front of you, and then I’m gonna withhold him from you for the rest of the week.”

“His name is Oliver, memorize names. Please, just memorize names and use them,” he pleads, pulling his goggles and mask off with an exasperated noise.

“Oh, I know everyone’s names. And their birthdays, including yours.” You state bluntly, waving your pencil at him, “I just don’t care. I want you to know how stupid your hero name is, too.”

“To hell with you.”

“I cursed you first!”

Later on, Mark watches as Oliver eats the slice of strawberry shortcake you’d given him after the incident with the Mauler twins, which you’d given him in exchange for a promise that he’d listen to his older brother. He watches as Cecil takes you purposely out of earshot, watches the two of you argue, watches Cecil end the argument on his terms and walk away while you give a resigned shake of your head.

Later on, Mark can catch the scent of strawberries coming from your ward as you work late at night, and he smiles to himself. He remembers the taste of that diluted water you’d given him, uncaring for the healing factor of it.

He was more focused on the fact that you tasted like strawberries.

TAG LIST : @lxluvsmoney @koilikesthefishy @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha @tokoyamisstuff @pookiei-bookie @treeteaofversailles

[rhyrhy]

Doing the “I’m so hungry” trend on these two

[Contains:] established relationships, Modern AU!, short.

Girlfriend! Ellie—sleepover

“Els, I’m hungry,” you whined from your spot on the bed. Soft, matching pj pants warming the sheets.

Ellie grins. “I got something you can eat,” she teases, scooting closer and wiggling her dark eyebrows. Typical Ellie fashion.

“Ellie!” you laugh, trying to keep your phone steady as she enters your space.

“No, like, I’m so hungry—” you start again, dramatic. “I could literally eat Riley Abel right now.”

Your girlfriend freezes. Her hands halt on your waist, her grin dropping like you just kicked a puppy. “How—” she croaks. Disbelief crossing her features.

You smirked when she finally found words. “Oh my fucking—stop snooping through my journals” she yells, flailing as you dodge her half-hearted swings, laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

Wife! Veteran! Abby- post gym

She steps through the door, tossing her gym bag down. “Did you eat, babe?” she calls out, wiping sweat off her forehead.

“No, not yet,” you reply, then stretch out on the couch dramatically. “I’m so hungry.”

“What do you want me to make us—” Abby starts, already moving toward the kitchen.

“Honestly? I could eat a whole Emanuel Alvarez right now,” you say, causally.

Abby whips her head around so fast, her golden hair followed.“What’d you just say?” she demands, eyes flickering with recognition.

“I said I was hungry?” you repeated , all the innocence.

Abby squints at you, towel hanging off her shoulder. “You know I was in the service with him, right?”

You burst out laughing, giggled muffled into the couch cushion as she shakes her head. “That’s not even funny. He would love that,” she mutters, throwing you a dirty side-eye before making her way to the shared kitchen.

[xjulixred45x]

That's a good question @donanimee !

When the Baby of Yuu is Born

• If we're talking about the birth itself, I think it would have happened sometime between books 6 and 7. I already mentioned that when Yuu arrived in Twisted Wonderland, she was already a month or two pregnant, so by the time those events occurred, Yuu should have been around 8 months at most. Besides, with the stress of the situation, the baby probably came out prematurely.

• Obviously, I don't think Yuu would have participated in the same way in book 6 because of the pregnancy, but let's just say that once they reached dry land, her water broke, to everyone's horror and concern.

• Riddle was the only one who more or less kept his composure and sent the others to get things for Yuu while he and Adeuce took her to Ramshakle (and Grim brought Crewel, the closest thing they had to a doctor). Ace, being Ace, had Crowley give Yuu his hand so she could squeeze it with all her might (it was cathartic and extremely necessary, thanks Ace), and the other students were calling doctors, bringing things like healing potions in case things went wrong, etc.

• It was chaos in short. The labor lasted approximately 8 hours (with luck, it could be less or MORE hours), and Yuu ends up giving birth to a beautiful baby girl.

• All the panic finally dissipates when the students hear the baby cry for the first time—a loud cry of a healthy baby :,)

• Of course, as soon as everything calms down, Crewel and Trein kick everyone out of the dorm so Yuu can have a few quality days alone with her baby (the only one who can stay is Grim).

• The first few days of motherhood are quite pleasant, fortunately. The baby is healthy and strong, she doesn't wake up much at night, and when she does, the ghosts try to entertain her so Yuu can sleep (unless she has to be fed).

• Yuu also doesn't have to worry about bringing food; several students leave things at Ramshakle's door so as not to bother her with visitors (food, blankets, clothes, etc.).

• Grim is definitely quieter than usual when the baby is born. He's partly afraid that Yuu won't love him anymore or considers him dangerous to have around the baby. But when she offers to say hello and introduces him as a BIG BROTHER... yeah, you can bet Grim cried in Yuu's arms and the baby for a looooong time.

• Riddle is one of the first allowed to visit, and he brings a ton of gifts from the Heartslabyul students (Cater, Trey, and Adeuce). He's the most tense when it comes to interacting with the baby at first. Even though he's taken all the necessary sanitary measures, he's so afraid of doing something wrong. But when Yuu helps him carry her properly and the baby sits comfortably in his arms, he melts.

• He invites Yuu over for tea more often (either to catch up on studies or because he sees that Yuu is really stressed), with the baby, of course! The students in the dorm are happy to take turns watching her so Yuu can have some quiet time. I'd say Riddle still sees Yuu as a sort of maternal/older sister figure, only now his protective instincts also extend to the baby.

• Leona is probably the last one to realistically meet the baby. He doesn't have a good relationship with the children (he can barely stand Cheka), and even if he doesn't say it out loud, he doesn't want to feel left out now that the baby is finally born (mainly because he knows it's a shitty feeling for a shitty reason). Leona only gets to meet Yuu's baby when he stumbles upon her by chance at the botanical garden (not because Yuu was looking for him and Ruggie ratted him out, not at all).

• Leona isn't very patient, but he definitely makes sure the baby is in good hands if Yuu can't watch her for a couple of hours (probably making Ruggie do all the work), preventing the baby from doing stupid things once she starts crawling and putting things in her mouth (no herbivore, don't eat dirt—or toys! You almost look like Ruggie). he acts like he doesn't care, but he'll jump out of his seat if he sees the baby with something in her mouth that shouldn't be there.

• Azul, along with the twins, have probably never seen a human baby up close—they're so small! Floyd is probably one of the first people to visit Yuu and her baby—even Jade mentions it to him when they go to Monster Lounge—and they’re surprisingly careful with the baby, especially Azul, who holds her like she’s made of glass.

• I imagine that when the baby starts walking, Yuu gets so stressed out from taking care of her AND being Crowley’s errand girl that she forgets to eat. To solve this, Azul implements something new at Monster Lounge: a baby menu! The catch is that Yuu also has to order something to eat FOR HERSELF ;) no shrimp will go hungry in their watch.

• KALIM ABSOLUTELY LOVES THE BABY! Although sadly, he couldn't take her to Scarabia because she cried so loudly during the festivities. Kalim is an EXPERT at putting babies to sleep (again, this guy has 30 younger siblings) and can play with her for HOURS. Meanwhile, Yuu and Jamil get a much-needed break from their two hyperactive children.

• I'll just say that Yuu will be lucky if her baby doesn't have a whole festival dedicated to her birthday thanks to Kalim. That, and now her food stash is stocked to the brim thanks to Jamil and Kalim (and probably some money, but shhhhh). Kalim just wants to help in any way he can.

• I like the headcanon that Vil is good with kids; by extension, I think he finds Yuu's baby absolutely adorable. Sure, he keeps a certain distance from the baby and himself because of her clothes (and also because he doesn't know what effects makeup could have on such a young baby), but he's definitely not above bringing a few things for Yuu and the baby with Rook and Epel.

• Another great one is providing a space for Yuu to care for him, especially when the baby is already a few months old or if Yuu is dealing with any consequences of childbirth. I honestly don't think Vil brings up the topic of losing baby weight right away because I think it's common sense that it's a pretty sensitive topic for women; instead, he focuses on Yuu feeling good about herself.

• Ortho was probably one of the few students allowed to come to Ramshakle every day to check on the baby's health with his scanners. Thanks to that, Idia is probably the one who is most attentive to the health of both the baby and Yuu. She almost seems like a mother hen. Is Yuu eating things with iron? Is it beneficial for pregnant women? Or maybe she should send him food with vitamin D? Is he being too creepy by monitoring this kind of things?

• Idia definitely freezes every time the baby climbs on him, just accepting his fate of being this creature's new favorite fluorescent toy (Ortho has videos of this that he shows the first years).

• Malleus, OH MY GOD, MALLEUS, remember how I told you the baby was born shortly before his Overblot? You can bet everyone was super tense with him around Yuu and the baby after that, almost like a Protection Squad.

• Then again, Malleus had no idea how human birth worked, so he definitely got really distressed when he heard Ramshakle's screams of pain, or when they told him that if they didn't act quickly either Yuu or the baby could DIE. It was like a reminder that, even giving birth to another human being, they are very fragile. Malleus was so relieved when he learned that Yuu and her daughter were okay, but the scare never fade.

• He definitely acts like some kind of weird uncle. He even talks to the baby as if she were an adult, and they have full conversations. The baby just babbles or says random words, and Malleus nods as if he understands and makes up a conversation, much to Yuu's amusement and everyone's confusion. At least Malleus can still have his nightly chats with Yuu, given how little sleep babies get.

• Ace and Deuce try to be as careful as possible with the baby, almost seeming like other people due to the kindness they show the baby in contrast to their normal selves. Although of course, they still have their tricks. Ace especially wants to teach the baby how to say his name, and when that doesn't work, he makes her learn funny nicknames for the others (like calling Riddle "red dwarf," knowing he'd never get mad at the baby).

• Deuce tries to prevent this, but it's in vain. When Yuu and they go out on campus, the baby is usually carried on one of their shoulders (they constantly fight over who is the "favorite uncle," unaware that that position already belongs to Grim).

• BONUS: THE STAFF

• Crowley definitely gives Yuu more work now because she's "no longer incapacitated," but he doesn't give her maternity leave. That is, until a mob of angry teenagers comes to his office to complain about his lack of basic human decency, and he decides to give him a month off. Every time Crowley is near the baby, she cries, but not a normal cry, no, a HYSTERICAL cry. Yuu thinks the problem might be the mask, but you can see how the baby makes faces at Crowley's voice.

• Sam always has things in stock that the baby might like, things like toys, bibs, clothes, etc. While Yuu is shopping, the baby likes to play with Sam's shadow. He thinks it's very interesting that the baby isn't afraid of them and tells Yuu that his baby has a very unique personality.

• Vargas remains essentially the same, a stereotypical gentleman who makes his students also be proper gentlemen to the ladies. If Yuu wants to join the class but has to bring the baby with her, Vargas will happily carry her while yelling at the students to move, occasionally tickling the baby, or passing her some candy.

• Trein is the ultimate babysitter. Not only does he have the experience, but the baby automatically trusts him without hesitation; he's the opposite of Crowley. Trein and Yuu remain close friends (I'd say Trein sees a lot of his daughters in Yuu), and he's willing to lend a hand if she has trouble with the baby. He's also the best source of baby-related advice at the school.

• Crewel's first reaction when the baby was able to leave school was to go shopping for clothes with Yuu, mostly matching clothes—he thinks they're the cutest thing ever! He's definitely bought her Dalmatian onesies. He definitely takes every opportunity he gets when he visits Yuu for tea to see the baby (it's like that "move bitch" meme).

• Overall, a big, dysfunctional, happy family was formed.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Prison Warden

After getting thrown into jail for a crime you refuse to talk about, one of the wardens takes a keen interest in your past. Tags: Male Yandere x Fem Reader, blood, violence, mentions of child abuse, lowkey kind of sweet, 10k words

Being in jail is no fun. Being in a maximum security prison after being found guilty of homicide? Somehow even less fun.

You've tried to make the best of it. Got some posters to put up in your cell, started a book club, took up macramé. But you can't really paint a veneer of normalcy over incarceration.

It's violent, it's dirty, and most inmates tend to avoid you. And the thought of at least thirty more years of the same routine, day in and day out? Well, that's plain depressing.

Still, some days are worse than others. Today seemed like it was going to be a good day. The cafeteria food was actually hot, an acquaintance shared some gum with you, you managed to get a new book from the library. Things were, if not great, at least bearable.

Until the tour.

The wardens - also called Corrections Officers, COs, screws, or rotten, motherless bastards - were almost always training new recruits. The prison system had an unsurprisingly high turnover, which meant an almost constant stream of new faces. With time, you'd learnt to ignore the tours and walk-throughs. With one exception.

Slammer.

He was a senior CO who seemed to almost always turn your cell into the final stop on his grand introductory tour of the glorious prison system. Maybe you were just nice to look at or maybe he had a chip on his shoulder. Either way, things almost always ended with you being gawked at.

Like right now.

The 'tour group' was clustered outside your cell. Slammer was in the lead, his baton out and his little piggy eyes gleaming.

The trainees were in their new minted uniforms. Most of them uncomfortable and tugging at the scratchy, starched collars. You could have told them not to bother. That it was better for them to at least pretend they were comfortable. COs weren't your friends - every single prisoner in here would see that lack of confidence, that slight sense of unease. And they would pounce on it the first chance they got.

You hated being looked at like a zoo animal. And you especially hated the way Slammer showed you off to them like you some prize piece in his menagerie. Fellonus Homicidus perhaps.

You hated feeling their eyes on you. But you weren't going to make the mistake of showing them that. The less the COs knew about you, the better. It was like rule number three of incarceration. (Rule one being ‘never trust a warden’ and rule two being ‘don't fight the jacked inmate with prison tattoos.' Obviously).

You didn't bother to get up from your bunk to greet them. You stayed just as you had all afternoon - one arm behind your head and one leg hanging off the bed.

You pretended to keep reading your beat up paperback.

"This one is especially dangerous. Stabbed her neighbour forty eight times before the cops could get her off," Slammer told them.

"Forty six," you corrected without looking away from your book. "Coroner said it was forty six. Allegedly."

You could feel their eyes on you again.

"Right," Slammer drawled, "Because those last two stabs made all the difference."

You didn't bother to answer him.

"She really did that?" One of the trainees, a lanky guy with too large ears, asked. "She looks harmless."

You were almost offended at that. You flicked your eyes over them. They were mostly men, and most of them were looking at you in that hungry, contemplative way you knew so well. Wondering how much they could get away with once they were full fledged COs.

It should have bothered you. It didn't. Horny COs were just a part and parcel of life here. If you were smart, you could wring all sorts of goodies out of them before their supervisors caught on.

"Listen to me son. Every single prisoner in here is dangerous. They wouldn't be locked up if they were like you and me. They don’t feel guilt, not even when they steal from their poor old momma."

"You wound me, Slammer." You turned the page with a flick of your thumb. "I loved my mama. Only stole from her once or twice."

You didn't have much hope of them noticing your sarcasm. COs weren't the brightest bunch.

Slammer ignored you. "Don't ever say they're harmless. They sure as hell ain't. Two weeks here and you'll know exactly what I mean."

You could tell they didn't believe him. In the popular imagination, a women's prison was nothing like the men's. Women weren't dangerous. The trainees probably assumed you spent all day knitting scarves and talking about the lovely husband and kids you were oh so keen to get back to.

They would lose that notion pretty damn fast.

"Are you supposed to tell us the prisoners' charges?" A man's voice, neutral and respectful, but you thought you could hear a hint of reproach in his tone.

You looked back at the group and you were amazed that you didn't notice him earlier. He stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back like he was at parade rest. Unlike the others, he had the quiet confidence of someone who knew their job and knew it well.

His blond hair was slicked back and his uniform sat on him in a way that was a lot more natural than any of the others trainees. Ex-military or police, if you had to guess. Not that unusual. Corrections wasn't such a huge leap from those fields.

You sat up and answered him before Slammer could get a chance.

"He's not. Inmate information is confidential. But Slammer here doesn't always listen to the rules."

You shot the head CO a condescending smile. "He's a reaaal rebel."

Slammer scoffed. "The new officers have a right to know exactly how dangerous you are."

You put a hand to your chest, all faux innocence. "Little old me? Slammer, I'm a saint! A nun! I've been to chapel three times this week."

"Yeah. To sell cigarettes and buy booze."

"Just as the good Lord intended."

Slammer didn't find you funny. You could tell from the fact that a) he wasn't laughing and b) he was grinding his teeth like he was a beaver about to dig into a particularly scrumptious tree.

"Fact is, prisoners like her are the worst of the bunch. You think they're harmless, but the second you turn your back, they'll shiv you and run off with your tazer."

You grinned at the trainees as winningly as you could.

"Only did that once by the way. And the guy had it coming, swear on my mama."

Most of them were shifting around uncomfortably. Hearing Slammer keep banging on about your crimes was finally enough to get it through to them. The prisoners are not nice.

You'd assume that was obvious, but incarceration taught you that however slow you thought the wardens were, they could always get dumber.

The only one who didn't seem bothered was the blonde. He was looking at you like you were nothing more or less than a piece of furniture. You got the sense that he was analysing you, looking past your fake smile and even faker bravado.

You also got the feeling that he wasn't impressed with what he saw.

You flopped back down on your bunk and tried not to let it bother you. One more person thinking you were a delinquent. What difference did it make?

He was the last to leave. His eyes did one final scan of your cell before they landed on your paperback. He raised a brow.

"The Green Mile? Isn't that a bit depressing?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable but not entirely sure why.

"I like to think of it as aspirational."

"And why's that?"

"The wardens aren't all assholes."

That earned you a flicker of a smile before he turned on his heel and disappeared.

You forgot all about him after a week. To be fair, there were other things to occupy you. A fist fight on D Block that you somehow got dragged into. Drama in the book club. A warden getting caught with his pants down. Standard prison fare.

It was a Tuesday when you saw him again, in the middle of the cafeteria. You only had a split second to recognise him before he was dousing you in pepper spray and sweeping your legs out from under you.

That was misleading maybe. He wasn't totally unjustified in greeting you like that. You were technically in the middle of beating a CO with a lunch tray.

(He deserved it, but that's not exactly a good excuse when his nose is gushing blood all over the table).

You were still coughing on pepper spray when he hauled you to solitary, your eyes and throat burning.

"Glad...to see you got...the job Blondie," you managed to wheeze.

He sent you stumbling into the cell with a practiced push.

"Yep," he said simply, "They hired me on the spot."

Your shoulder was still a painful mess when he slammed and locked the door, leaving you in the half dark to wash the stinging out of your eyes.

You rubbed at your aching joints. "I can see why."

Pepper spray was considered the least lethal way to subdue a prisoner. Easier than a taser, less brutal than the baton. But despite its shining reputation, it was your least favourite tool in a CO’s belt. A taser was at least quick. The baton left a bruise but the pain didn't linger.

Pepper spray on the other hand? It left your eyes and throat and nose irritated for days.

You were still trying to rinse it out of your mouth when he returned, boots heavy on the linoleum and his keys rattling.

You turned to him with your white prison issued tank practically soaked. To most other guards, that would be an invitation to gawk. Not him though. His eyes never dipped below your chin.

"Sit down. I've got some cold cloths for the swelling."

You sat, more confused than anything else.

"That's not standard regulation Blondie. Usually, they just let us suffer through it."

He tossed you the cloths, still icy from a quick minute in the freezer. You pressed them to your face gratefully.

"It is standard regulation. Treating pepper spray once the prisoner is subdued."

You scoffed. "Why am I not surprised that no one ever told us that?"

He stayed quiet and you peaked at him over the edge of the fabric. He was a lot leaner than you realised, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his forearms toned with muscle.

And covered in tattoos. Damn, he had some sick tats.

You cleared your throat, not exactly sure why he bothered to do this for you.

"Thank you. It sucks to deal with. Makes everything taste awful. For days."

He raised a brow.

"I just dragged you to solitary and your main worry is that the food won't taste good?"

"The food never tastes good. This is more so a matter of bloody awful becoming hellish awful."

"It can't be that bad."

"Get back to me after you've spent five years chomping down on lukewarm hash browns and soggy peas."

"You've been in here five years already?"

You sighed, pressed the cloth against your brows so you didn't have to look at him.

"Yep. And I've still got another thirty to go."

"Why?"

That got an unexpected laugh from you.

"Didn't you hear Slammer? Homicide. Found guilty on all charges."

"Did you do it?"

"Allegedly."

What was his angle? Was this some new, interactive approach to corrections? Getting friendly with the inmates so they were less likely to riot?

"Didn't they teach you not to ask those sorts of questions?" you asked. "Not really something people in here like to talk about."

You saw that little flicker of a smile again.

"They did. But I get the feeling you don't mind it as much."

He was right. You didn't mind. At least, not with him. He had a kind of quiet confidence that, surprisingly, made you feel comfortable.

"Why did you want to work in a prison? Or more accurately, what the hell went wrong that you ended up here?"

"You think it's such a bad job?"

"I'd never do it and I live here."

He leaned against the cell wall, hands on his belt. There it was again. A veteran's stance, weapons in easy reach in case you tried something.

"It's a boring story."

"I've got nothing but time."

That earned you another raised brow.

"As we've established."

What's this? A CO actually cracking a joke? You never thought you'd see the day.

"And anyway, we're not here to talk about me. I'm here to find out why you attacked my fellow officer."

Ah, so that was why he was playing nice.

"I didn't like his face."

He narrowed his eyes and pushed himself off the wall. "Disappointing. I thought you'd have a better reason than that."

You didn't like his tone, or the way it made you feel. Ashamed. Like you'd failed his test, even though you didn't know you were supposed to be studying.

He paused at the door, like something occurred to him.

"What's her name? The girl he was picking on?”

You raised you head. "What?"

"The guard you attacked. He was causing trouble, wasn't he?"

How did he know? Did he see it? Oh God, was Ruby going to get into shit because of you?

"Listen, she had nothing to do with it. She had no idea what I was going to do. It was all me."

He shrugged. "How am I supposed to believe that's true if I don't know the full story?"

You bit your lip. You didn't like saying too much to the COs. And your instinct was telling you this one would be able to read a lot deeper than the rest.

"Guess I'll just have to ask her then."

"No!" You dug your hands into your sheets to stop yourself from bolting to your feet.

"No, Ruby has nothing to do with it I swear. She’s almost sixty. She gets enough shit as it is. Just leave her alone."

You swallowed. "Please."

He was looking at you again, much sharper this time.

"Explain."

Your grip on the sheets tightened until your knuckles were pale. Did you really have to talk about this shit out loud?

"Ruby is..." you started. "She's different. Older than most of us, keeps to herself. She's not...all there, if you know what I mean."

He turned to face you and settled back against the wall. "Go on."

"Most of the inmates don't bother her. Why would we? She's just a little old lady. Not harmless, no ones really harmless, but about as close to it as you can get. But some of the COs..."

His lips thinned. "They have a nasty streak."

"You can call it that. Usually it's just calling her names. But sometimes some of them get it into their heads that what she really needs is a hard knock. Rattle those screws around enough and maybe they'll fall back into place."

"Is that what happened today?"

You sighed, looked down at your hands and the blood dried in the crevices of your nails.

"Yep. CO was all in her face, being nasty. Grabbing her wrist. Taunting her. And she... she just stood there and took it. Old enough to be the his grandmother and he didn't care."

You closed your eyes.

 What else were you supposed to do?

He'd been at it for five minutes when you stood up with your lunch tray. By then you'd had enough. No one else was going to do anything, so it was going to be you.

The lunch trays were a hard plastic, meant to keep from breaking on impact. You'd left your half eaten bowl of chow on the table and walked up behind him, your heart beating steady and calm. Some part of you had already decided the consequences were worth it.

Some of the inmates were looking at you and every single one of them knew exactly what you intended. But none of 'em said a word.

You could still feel the smack of your tray against his head. The way he stumbled forward with the momentum.

You'd caught him by surprise and you weren't going to let him get over it. You swung the tray at his face, as hard as you could. You could feel his nose breaking. He was on his knees by then. And maybe you'd have let him up, might have ended things there.

But then you saw Ruby's wrist. A frail thing, with the warden's finger marks standing out a livid red.

"I see."

You opened your eyes. He was still watching you, his face unreadable.

You shrugged and tried to smile.

"Today was practically hum drum by our normal standards."

"How exciting," he deadpanned.

"Just wait 'til Christmas time. It gets positively festive."

He snorted and started for the door again.

"You're aren't such a hard ass after all, are you? Saving little old ladies in your spare time," he said.

"Just think how safe senior citizens will be when they let me back out."

It was only for a few seconds, but you liked it when he smiled. It softened that tough guy demeanour just enough to make you wonder about the man underneath.

When he was gone, you laid down with the cloth still pressed against your cheek. Who'd have thought it. A CO who you didn't want to punch in the teeth.

The CO you beat didn't come back to work for two weeks, and when he did, you heard that he asked for a transfer to a different block.

Ruby made you a macaroni necklace and said something about alien warships picking you out of everyone else. You figured that was her way of saying thank you.  

And maybe the most notable thing of all: Blondie was assigned to your cell block. Surprising. Yours wasn't the worst part of the prison, but you weren't a bunch of saints either. Rookies wouldn't even be considered until they'd had at least a year's experience.

It was yet another thing pointing to his past. Something, somewhere, had given him enough experience to slip ahead on the promotion queue.

You didn't much mind it. Hell, you'd almost say it was enjoyable. He wasn't rude, he didn't pick favourites and he was keen eyed enough to catch a lot of the under table business that inmates engaged in.

You didn't go out of your way to talk to him - getting too cosy with a CO wasn't a good look - but you made it a point to greet him whenever you could.

Well, you called it greeting. Most other folk saw it as a smirk and a sing song "Hey there Blondie!"

He must have had some sort of interest in you too. You'd look up from your lunch and see him watching you, head tilted just a little. Like he was trying to puzzle you out. You took to winking at him whenever you caught him.

It would usually be enough to make him look away, but never for long. His eyes would always find you again.

You should have been annoyed at it, or unnerved. But honestly, the way he looked at you was borderline sweet compared to the other COs. You'd occasionally catch some of them watching you too. Usually with their hands on their belts.

There wasn't much to do in prison besides read, sleep and exercise. But around the third week after his arrival, you started getting letters.

Not totally uncommon. Plenty of folk wrote to prisoners. But to you? That was a different story. You put the letters you received into two categories: perverts and the pervertedly curious.

The perverts were exactly what you'd expect. People who thought your mugshot was the hottest thing since Megan Fox taking a swim. Their letters were particularly uncomfortable to read. And often sticky. You never wrote back.

The pervertedly curious were a whole ‘nother class. They probably ran across your case on a true crime podcast or on a documentary. And their first thought at hearing the story was to wonder exactly what it felt like. They'd write and ask you what was going through your mind. What did the knife feel like sinking into his flesh? What did the blood smell like?

A fun bunch of freaks. You'd write back sometimes, more for your own amusement than anything else. Your answers were never even remotely true. I was mostly thinking about how late my taxes were and what a bastard it would be clean up. Stabbing him felt like cutting a steak except more scream-y. The blood smelt like a stack of pennies on a warm summer day, but mostly it just smelt like blood.

You'd always end your sentences with your trademark allegedly.

These new letters were nothing like those at all. The paper was crisp and clean and most importantly, not sticky. The folded lines were sharp, like the writer pressed them down with their thumb nail.

The writer didn't ask about the murder. They didn't ask about your bra size. They were almost...sweet.

You must be lonely in prison. You must get bored. I hope you're safe.

You read it again and again before you wrote a reply. Silly really. They seemed much too nice to be writing to someone like you. Maybe someone trying to do a good deed.

You should scare them off. Writing to a prisoner is sweet and all, but most folk in here would use it as just another way to wring someone dry. You were no different. Your anonymous pen pal would be better off working at the animal shelter if they wanted to help a stray.

I've got a whole host of buddies. We discuss the best ways to get blood out of our socks and pillow cases. I'm not bored at all. We've got a badminton league. Obviously the best way to spend federal cash. I'm as safe as a lamb in the hay. Only got stabbed twice last week.

There. That would get rid of them.

You mailed it out on cheap exam pad paper with a stamp you lifted off your neighbour. You didn't expect a reply.

When the mail got delivered the next week, you were more than a little surprised to find a new letter waiting for you.

The same crisp paper, the same neat, slanting hand.

You can't scare me off. I know you're only prickly and sarcastic because deep down you're scared. Scared a lot. Scared all the time.

I looked you up. You were barely out of high-school when it happened. Well behaved, normal family, no record of misdemeanours. Prison must have been an awful adjustment.

You had to put the letter down and take a deep breath. The kid clocked you. Less than two letters in and they'd read you better than anyone had in years. Better than anyone ever had maybe.

What were those first few years like, I wonder. How did you survive? Please write me back. I like checking in on you.

You considered not replying. What were they hoping to achieve, getting all familiar with a killer?

The letter sat on your shelf for half a week before you gave in and wrote a reply.

I survived by being mean and cruel and evil. Stop writing me kid. I'll bite your head off and drink your blood.

The next letter came almost instantly. If anything, the writer seemed amused more than anything else.

Scary. Did they put you in for homicide or suspected vampirism? You want to get rid of me, but I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to reply, but I know you must need a friend. They aren't easy to come by behind bars. Any alliances you form will always have the expectation of reciprocation. It must be exhausting.

Did I tell you I bought a new car last week? A Camaro. I know. How stereotypical of a Marine to buy a car like that, right? But it's gorgeous. I'd like to take you for a drive someday. Nothing but the open road. I think you'll like that.

You didn't even wait a full day before you wrote back. Because they were right. You really did need a friend. Someone to just shoot the breeze with, without any subtext of a favour being repaid later on.

You didn't know anything about your mysterious pen pal. Not their age or their gender or even the colour of their eyes. They signed all their letters with a simple from B.

They mostly asked you questions. Not obtrusive or gross ones either. They wanted to know which foods you missed the most, which tv series and movies you wanted to catch up on, which actors you thought were getting Grammys this year.

When Grammy and Oscar season rolled around, you choked out a fellow inmate to get the TV remote. You left them sitting up on the couch, passed out and looking like they were just asleep. Blondie almost caught you. He walked past the door and paused to stare at your victim.

You gave him your most charming grin.

"She said the opening ceremony was too long and to wake her up when the red carpet is over," you explained.

He scoffed and moved on.

When you wrote your next letter, you packed it full of award show details.

B wrote to you for the better part of a year. But you only learnt a handful of things about them. They were in the Marines, they now worked some kind of federal job, they had tattoos, they liked Nicole Richie, and they hated fried chicken. Like really hated it. With a passion.

I promise to never cook you fried chicken, you wrote, only fried calamari, fried onion rings, fried mushrooms, fried liver, fried green beans, fried -

Can you even cook? they wrote back. Or are you just running your mouth?

For a while, you were happy. They'd occasionally send you new books in the mail, burnt CDs to listen to on your busted radio, packets of sweets.

Prison was hell, but it was a structured, expected sort of hell. You could deal with it.

But then she arrived.

You didn't bother to learn her name. She was tall and lean, green eyes like pond scum, and teeth chipped from fighting. You didn't like her from the first, but you had no reason to quarrel and so avoided her as much as you could.

Blondie didn't like her much either, and that's where the trouble started.

She'd deliberately bump into Blondie whenever she could. Hard enough that you could almost feel the impact.

"Oops... Didn't see you there."

If it was anyone else, they'd probably get thrown in solitary. But Blondie was a stickler for the rules. He'd brush his uniform off like just touching an inmate was enough to cause a plague. And then he'd settle his blue eyes on her, cool and detached.

"Watch where you're going next time."

That was how it went on. Weeks of passive aggression, slowly getting more and more physical.

You didn't want to intervene. Blondie could protect himself. Still, you kept your eye on him as much as you could.

There was another thing about the new girl you didn't like.

She had a way with people.

Could convince even the most stubborn inmate to do something, even if it was against their own best interest.

She got an inmate who was almost out on probation to attack and almost blind a CO. She got innocent old Ruby to start selling cigarettes. She almost got you to pick a fight with someone for damn near no reason at all.

She was dangerous, in a way no one before her had been. You could feel it in the harsh whispers after lights out. Got to make those dirty screws pay. Fucking COs have had it too good for too long. Who the fuck do they think they are anyway?

A riot was brewing. You started staying in your cell a lot more. Managed to pull some metal out of your mattress and spent every night sharpening it to a point.

Some of the COs were smart enough to notice the tension and your outside time got shortened to half an hour, lunch got pulled back to fifteen minutes. Their solution was to keep you locked in your cells for as much of the day as possible.

Not a good move.

Prisoners with no distractions tend to amuse themselves by planning all sorts of nasty things. How to grab a CO from behind and get their keys before anyone noticed. How to choke out the one bastard who kept throwing them in solitary. How to pay back all those times a CO groped them in the middle of a search.

You could feel it heightening to a point. Could feel it in the dirty, oily stickiness of the air.

When Blondie came past on patrol, you stopped him. You'd been hoping to catch him for a few days and you weren't going to miss your chance.

"Yes?"

Those blue eyes were staring straight through you, cool as a winter without a radiator.

You remembered the pepper spray, the cool cloth pressed against your burning skin.

"Listen, I think you should call in sick for the next week."

Oh no, it came out sounding like a threat.

You cleared your throat, tried to smile.

"I owe you one, okay? So just trust me on this and don't show up for a while."

He narrowed his eyes.

"There's going to be a riot,” he said.

"Seems like it."

"When?"

"I don't know. It's not exactly a scheduled thing. But it's going to be bad."

He looked away from you, scanning the long row of cells across from you. You could hear the ambient shuffling and coughing and laughing of a hundred people living together.

"Can it be stopped?"

You sighed. You'd seen it play out a few times already. Wardens had all sorts of ways to handle riots, but once the fever was brewing, it was near impossible to break. It was in the atmosphere, in the tense glances between prisoners. It was bigger than all of you.

He must have seen the answer in your face.

He shook his head, stubborn to the last.

"I've got a job to do. If I got scared every time the prisoners got rowdy I'd be out of work real quick."

You sighed and pulled away from the bars.

"Your funeral Blondie."

You really hoped it wouldn't be.

The thing that started the riot was so small that on a normal day you'd call it borderline routine.

A CO was watching the cafeteria line, hustling people along when they paused longer than he liked. When he came to one of the girls a few spots ahead of you, he got impatient and shoved her forward. Not hard. Barely enough to make her stumble.

You cringed. For a second or two, you imagined you could feel it on your skin. A static crackling like lightning about to strike.

She punched the CO in the throat.

He stumbled backwards, holding his neck and gasping.

Other prisoners  were already moving forward. Three of them grabbed his arms and bunch of the others ripped off his gear. Taser and baton and pepper spray now in the hands of a pissed and petty prison populace.

The other officers were already coming forward, batons out. Usually that would be enough to break things up, but they had just about everyone against them. Numbers always won.

 The veneer cracked and the riot finally started. It took less than a minute.

The yelling was enough to make your head throb. Bouncing off the cafeteria walls and ringing ringing ringing in your ears.

You ducked out of the way as much as possible, always on your guard. Riots weren't just dangerous for the wardens. Inmates saw them as a way to settle old scores without ending up in solitary or back in court. And lord knew,  you'd accumulated a hell of a lot of grudges over the years.

A prisoner rushed you. She was clutching a shiv made out of a ballpoint pen and a piece of wire coat hanger.

You dodged, sticking your foot between her legs and making her stumble. Your adrenaline was pumping, your vision dark at the corners.

You grabbed her hair before she could recover, and slammed her head against the edge of a metal cafeteria table.

She dropped like a rock.

You stepped away before any of her friends noticed you, your heart so far up your throat you could almost taste it.

That's when you saw her. That green eyed bitch, slipping out a side door with two of her cronies behind her.

You could feel your neck prickling.

There was only one score she had to settle and you knew exactly who it was aimed at.

You followed as quickly as you could. The backup had arrived and two tear gas canisters were belching thick white smoke into the room.

Despite your best efforts, by the time you made it out your eyes were stinging and she was long gone.

You swore and sprinted down the corridor, thinking fast.

If she managed to corner Blondie, she’d want to take her time with him. That's how scores were settled when you had a mean streak. Slow. Painful.

That meant she’d want privacy. Somewhere the riot officers wouldn't immediately find her when things calmed down.

You grabbed the corner of a wall and used it to shoot down the main hall, prison issued sneakers pounding the linoleum.

The showers. That's exactly where you'd go if you were her.

She didn't have time to block the doors. You banged through them shoulder first, the same way a cop would. The room was still thick with steam from earlier and Blondie's blood was running in thin streams toward the drain.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" she barked.

Green eyes, the one who instigated this whole mess.

She was standing with her sleeves rolled up and a razor blade between her fingers. The small, rectangular kind that goes in a straight razor.

Her two cronies were holding Blondie by the arms, stretching him out like he was on a cross.

Blondie clearly hadn't made it easy for them. Green eyes had a nasty bruise blooming on her cheek and both her cronies were sporting ugly nose bleeds. His baton was laying abandoned on the shower floor, rolled up against a bench.

Even a man as strong and well trained as he was couldn't go up against three armed felons and win.

You must have been just in time. The worst they'd done to him was cut his cheek, all the way from his temple to the bridge of his nose. It was bleeding bad, but didn't look too deep.

You straightened up and smiled at them, big and broad like you'd never had a better reunion.

"Having some fun without inviting me?"

Green eyes scoffed. "Why do you care? This shit is personal. Find something else to do."

You tilted your head, still smiling.

"You're right. It is personal. As in I owe Blondie over there a personal favour. As in I don't want you fucking with what's mine."

Blondie was watching you with those sharp eyes. If he took issue with being called yours, he didn't show it.

"Let him go." You didn't scream. You didn't demand. You simply said it. That's what made them nervous.

"Listen bitch - I don't care that everyone is scared of you. What you did on the outside doesn't matter one fucking bit."

You kept smiling, but your fingers were buzzing. The same why they had the night you stabbed a man forty six times.

You flicked your wrist and the shiv fell into your palm.

It was as long as your hand and sharpened into a wickedly pointed tip. It could slide between someone's ribs and kill them in less than five heart beats.

"They aren't scared of me because of what I did outside."

The two cronies were looking at each all worried-like. You vaguely recognised them, but it was clear that they recognised you no problem.

The boss turned to face you fully, light and easy on her toes like a boxer.

"You really gonna make a big deal over a fucking screw? A CO?"

"Since he's the only CO I've met who isn't a total piece of shit, I've got a vested interest in keeping him around."

She rolled his shoulders like a fighter would. You bit back a sigh. This was going to really hurt.

She didn't come at you right away. She ran her eyes over your body - your posture, your build, everything that might give you an advantage.

Then she charged.

Fast, even on the still slippery tiles. There wasn't enough time to duck or dodge.

You blocked her first punch with your arms, her fist smacking against your skin and spiking a sharp pain all the way down to your bones.

You stepped backward and kicked at her knee, but she saw it coming and turned her leg at the last second, took it on her thigh instead.

She’d dropped the razor blade - without a handle it was just as dangerous to her as it was to you - which meant she had full use of her fists.

She kept pummelling at you, catching you on the ribs and then on the sternum. You slammed back against the lockers, winded.

She pushed her advantage, going straight for your throat. You dropped down at the last second and her fist slammed full force into the metal.

She screamed and then screamed again as you slammed your shiv into her thigh.

You grabbed her throat and shoved her away from you, breathing hard.

She was clutching her thigh with one hand, blood welling up between her fingers. Dark red, but not enough to be fatal. You hadn't hit any arteries.

You slammed the heel of your hand into her nose, aiming upwards. You felt cartridge crunching.

She screamed again and scrambled away as quickly as she could with her injured leg.

Blood was running into her mouth, and when she snarled at you, her teeth were red.

You smiled again, as cheerful as a choir girl.

"Had enough?"

She spat blood at your feet.

You waited, half your attention on the other two. They hadn't yet moved to help her. You weren't sure if it was out of fear of letting Blondie go, or just a strong self preservation instinct.

Green eyes finally gave in. Or more accurately, her leg did. She buckled and fell, knees smacking hard on the tile. You winced.

She looked pale, in the about to pass out sort of way.

You sighed and jerked your head at her.

"Get her to the second floor nurses office. Wrap something around her leg. Tight. She’ll live but it's going to hurt a whole lot more if you aren't quick about it."

The other two were looking between you and her, eyes wide.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, still holding the bloody shiv.

That seemed to decide them. They let go of Blondie all at once and grabbed their boss under the arms. Between the two of them, they were able to drag her out.

She left a trail of bright red behind.

When they were gone, you sat on the closest bench, holding your ribs. Hopefully they weren’t cracked - it hurt to breathe. You'd have to visit the infirmary as soon as things died down.

"She’s going to get even with you," Blondie said.

He was watching you. He hadn't moved. Blood was still running in thin streams down his cheek, like he was crying red.

"Yep. She's got a lot of friends too. It's not going to be fun."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Act so light hearted about everything. I can see your hands shaking."

You balled them into fists and avoided looking at him. The silence stretched.

Finally, "Why did you really kill your neighbour?"

"I didn't like his face."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want. The court already made up its mind."

He finally moved. Picked up his baton and slipped it into his belt. Grabbed a towel and balled it up, then pressed it against his face. The white started spotting red almost immediately. You watched him from the corner of your eye.

"Give me the knife."

"It's called a shiv. You should know that."

You rubbed the handle against your pants, getting rid of any fingerprints. Redundant, given there were three witnesses who saw you stab another inmate. Old habits don't really die, you supposed.

You handed it to him without looking at his face.

He wrapped it in a smaller towel and stuck it in his belt.

You could hear faint sirens from beyond the door, and his radio was crackling with orders. The wardens seemed to be getting things under control.

"I'm throwing you in solitary. And then I'm requesting a transfer to another block."

"Aww shucks, I'll really miss you Blondie."

"Not a transfer for me, you idiot. A transfer for you. It won't stop her entirely. There's always a little bit of communication between the blocks, no matter how hard we try and prevent it. But it should give you some time to make friends of your own."

"I've never been very good at that."

"Maybe try being less sarcastic."

He grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. His grip was light, a formality more than anything.

"Why did you really save me?"

You couldn't look at him. You shrugged.

"It's like I said. You're the least terrible warden in here. Not a very high bar to be fair, but still."

He started towards the door and you followed.

There were officers coming down the corridor in full riot gear. He waved them down and thrust you towards one.

"Solitary. Protective custody."

"Why?"

Blondie didn't even hesitate. "Because she saved my life."

Solitary wasn't so bad when the other option was tossing and turning on your bunk, just waiting for a knife to your ribs.

You'd almost call it relaxing. Your ribs were bandaged tight and the painkiller the doc gave you left you floating on a cloud of dope.

When you heard the footsteps pause outside your door, you didn't bother to get up.

Blondie didn't say anything for a long while. When he finally spoke, it was so soft that you had to strain to hear it.

"I still don't believe you. I don't think you're a cold blooded killer. I think that whatever happened between you and that man wasn't really brought before the court."

You sighed.

"Drop it Blondie."

"No."

Maybe it was the medicine or maybe it was the confession booth feeling of the half dark. Either way, you ended up giving away more than you intended.

"It doesn't matter. If the whole thing was public, it would only hurt people who've already been through enough."

"You had a reason for killing him."

"Yes."

"What?"

"I won't tell you. Won't tell anyone, ever. It's not my story to tell”

 “You're in jail because of it. Who else could possibly have more to lose?"

"You'd be surprised."

It was his turn to sigh.

"I'm going to find out eventually, y'know."

"Have fun with that. Don't give yourself a headache."

He sighed and walked away.

You didn't see him again for half a year.

They kept you in solitary a whole week. Long enough for your ribs to stop hurting and for the bruises to lighten. Long enough for green eyes to be processed and transferred further up-state. That was unusual, even if she was the one who instigated the riot. You had a feeling someone pulled some strings behind the scenes. And you had an even stronger feeling about who it must have been.

When you were finally out, you were assigned to a new block. Your stuff was already waiting for you in your new cell, your books and CDs and a new letter from B.

Won't be able to write for a while. I've got something important to work on. Hopefully I'll be back soon.

You couldn't ignore the way that stung. Without meaning to, you'd come to rely on their letters. A little reprieve from the life you were stuck with.

The new block wasn't too bad. You took Blondie's advice and made some friends. Tried to avoid fights as much as possible. If green eyes ever managed to convince someone to get even for her, they didn't go through with it.

Life was, if not good, then at least bearable. You tried ignoring the little nagging part of you that constantly wondered about both Blondie and B. Without either of them, you felt...emptier somehow. Lonely.

When a warden came to tell you that you had a visitor, your heart lurched. Your family didn't visit you much anymore. And you cut off your friends the day you got convicted - no need to draw them into your mess. Secretly, you hoped it was B. You had no clue what they looked like, but after six months without hearing from them, you were almost desperate.

You smoothed down your uniform before you stepped into the visitors' centre, your eyes sweeping the room for familiar faces.

You noticed him almost immediately. Blondie, his hair shaggy when it wasn’t gelled back and his usual uniform replaced by a flannel shirt and jeans. A man was sitting next to him, his pinstripe suit still neat and pressed despite it being late afternoon.

He didn't even give you time to say hello.

"This is Mark Lawrence. Your lawyer."

You squinted at the man, confused. He was clearly a cut or two above the overworked district attorney who'd handled your case.

"No he isn't. I haven't seen him before in my life."

He sighed, irritated. "Mark is the lawyer I hired to represent you when we go to court next month."

"...Why am I going to court next month?"

"To challenge the original ruling."

"Okay. Why?"

"Because I've found another witness to your case, one that didn't testify last time."

You felt like were slammed face first into a bucket of icy water. With rusted nails in it.

"Who?"

"The victim's daughter."

"No."

"Yes."

Your handcuffs rattled as your balled your hands into fists.

"She's just a kid. What she needs is to put the past behind her, not re-live every minute of it up on the witness stand. No. We're not doing this."

You glared at him and he met you straight on. The tension cracked.

The lawyer finally interjected.

"Knowing the full details of the case changes things dramatically. Your charge goes from first degree murder to manslaughter. We might be able to cut your sentence down to fifteen years or less, with time served contributing."

"No. I'm not putting that little girl up on the stand."

Blondie practically snarled. "Yes. You. Are."

"No. I'm. Not."

"She's so much older now! Practically a teenager. She can handle it. And besides, she said she's happy to do it."

"You spoke to her?!"

Could this day get any worse? Why the hell did he have to go and drag up old memories? It must have been just as unpleasant for the kid as it was for you.

"Yes. Myself and the original detective both."

"Why? Is this what you've been doing the past six months? Trying to overturn my sentence?"

He looked away from you for the first time, his ears turning red.

"Yes."

You leaned back in your chair, conflicted and confused more than anything else. You hated to admit it, but a part of really wanted this. Even if the chance was slim, even if it meant another round of dockets and cross questioning. You were tired of prison. You wanted your life back.

You watched the late afternoon sun reflecting off the ceiling.

"I want to talk to her first. And then...maybe."

"Deal." Blondie sounded immensely satisfied.

You kept watching the sun and half listening to the conversations around you.

"Why are you doing this for me Blondie?"

Your voice was awfully soft.

"I'm returning a favour."

Your eyes slid to the lawyer.

"Pretty damn expensive way to do it."

He smirked. "I prefer my method to yours. Requires a whole lot less stabbing."

The kid came to visit you the next day. Blondie was right. She was almost a teenager. Did time really go by so fast?

You grinned at her.

"Hey kid. Sorry to drag you out to this place, but they don't let me out much."

"I bet."

She’d lost a lot of the baby fat from her cheeks and her dark eyes didn't have the haunted look you remembered so well.

"How's life with your aunt?"

"Great actually. The school is nice and we've got this Great Dane. And she isn't like... well, she isn't like my dad."

That made you happy. The kid deserved something good after everything she’d been through.

She broke in before you could keep asking questions.

"I want to do it. I want to testify against my father."

You paused, your smile fading. You could still hear her voice from that night, high and tinny and begging her dad to stop.

He hadn't stopped. He hadn't stopped beating his little girl until the moment you sunk a knife into his chest.

You swallowed, your mouth tasting like metal.

"Are you sure? It's not going to be easy."

She met your eyes. "I don't care. You saved me. I'm not going to let you rot in a place like this."

When she left, you couldn't help thinking about her eyes. The last time you saw her, she wouldn't even look at your face. Wouldn't say more than three words at a time.

The kid might never outrun her past, but she’d done a damn good job so far.

You tried not to be too hopeful. Homicide was almost impossible to overturn.

You tried not to be too hopeful, but the lawyer Blondie hired clearly knew his stuff. He laid it all out in front the judge.

How you used to babysit the kid when her dad wasn't around. How the man used to get violent when he was drunk, but never hit the kid until that night.

How you heard the screaming and banged at his door for fifteen minutes.  How you broke in through a back window when it wouldn't stop.

How you found the girl half dead with her father standing over her. Still going at it.

How you grabbed a knife, just to try and threaten him, maybe bring him back to his senses.

How he attacked you. How you stabbed him and then kept stabbing him until he stopped moving. 

How you bundled the kid off to her aunt and then called the cops on yourself.

The whole story this time. No pleading guilty and then sitting back down without another word. No half hearted defence by a state lawyer already over worked and underpaid. No half truths.

It took three weeks of court dates to get through the whole story, with witnesses and cross examination. By the time it was done, you wanted to wash your hands of the whole mess. Innocent or guilty, you just wanted to stop reliving that night.

The judge was a hard faced man who'd seen a thousand criminals come and go. You didn't have much hope for yourself when the bailiff told you to rise for the verdict.

"In the case of the state versus the accused, in regards to the appeal and additional information provided to the court, the court hereby considers this appeal to be..."

You felt your heart stutter. The last time you were in court listening to a verdict the outcome was a forgone conclusion.

"Granted."

You almost sat back down, your knees weak. There's no way. After all this time, were you really about to have your freedom back?

The judge continued, "The accused's sentence has been adjusted to account for time served. The original sentence of life imprisonment with the chance of parole after thirty years has been changed to immediate parole on strict assessment."

The judge looked at you, eyes maybe a little softer than they were before.

"This court will never condone murder, not even in defence of a child. But I think it's clear, young lady, that you've spent more than enough time behind bars."

Your lips felt numb. Your whole future changed in one sentence. In one afternoon. It was staggering.

"Thank you, your honour."

The bailiff read out a list of regulations to follow. Weekly check ins with both a parole officer and a state psychiatrist. No furthers run ins with the law, not even misdemeanours. If even one person close to you felt you were a threat, they could report it to the police and have you sent back to jail almost immediately. You were on house arrest until further notice. It was one of the strictest parole agreements you'd ever heard.

You didn't care if they told you to do a hundred push ups morning and evening. You were free again. You were going to behave like a damn saint for the rest of your days.

The only hiccup was when he mentioned the address that you were registered to stay at. You raised a brow at your lawyer but he avoided your eyes.

When court was finally dismissed, the first thing you did as a free woman was give Blondie a hug.

He was much taller than you, though you'd never realised it before.

"How much do I owe you? When I get a job, we can work out some kind repayment plan."

He waved you away and lead you from the courthouse. You tried to ask your lawyer about the house arrest, but he managed to slip away before you could.

His car was waiting for you. A new Camaro barely a year months old.

You let out a low whistle.

"She’s a beauty."

When you climbed into the passenger seat, you were sure to buckle your seat belt. No tickets for you, not ever.

The car started up with a thrumming purr.

It ate away at the road, even in the dense city centre. It wasn't long before you were almost at the city limits and cruising.

"By the way, do you know where I'll be staying? I didn't recognise the address."

You couldn't be sure, but it seemed like his hands tightened on the steering wheel just a tad.

"Mm-hmm. You're staying with me."

What? You couldn't possibly do that to him.

"Thank you. But don't you feel a little awkward having a felon in your home? I've still got my savings from before. I can rent my own place for a little."

"You're staying with me. Do you know how hard it is to get a good apartment with a criminal record?"

"I guessed as much. But Blondie, I already owe you. I can't possibly intrude on your life. Maybe you think you still owe me from that day. You don't. We're square."

He was quiet for a bit, but finally managed to force a smile into his voice.

"No. I'm not doing this because I feel indebted to you."

He kept his eyes on the road, his hand loose and confident on the wheel. His sleeves were rolled up again and you got your first good look at his tattoos. They were a collection of really well done pieces, each small tattoo blending with the others. Mostly fine line work, simple and clean.

"Why are you doing it then?"

He didn't answer.

When you arrived, his house was ranch style three bedroom with a huge, rolling yard and a neat wraparound porch.

You let out another low whistle.

"How do you afford this on a correction officer's salary?"

"I don't. It's paid off already. I was in the USMC for a long time. The money was good."

"I knew you weren't a normal civvie."

He grinned. "What gave it away?"

"The muscles."

He laughed and pulled your duffel bag from the trunk.

You'd told your parents to donate all your clothes when you were first sentenced. You didn't think you'd ever be free again so why hoard? Someone out there was probably making good use of your Doc Martens and distressed denim. Whatever normal clothes you currently had were what you were locked up with. The outfit on your back and little else.

The suitcase was instead filled with your meagre prison possessions, the stuff you didn't want to leave behind. Your collection of books. Some postcards. The CDs that B sent you.

Blondie carried it across the lawn like it weighed nothing at all.

Stepping into his house was a surreal experience. You hadn't been inside someone else's home since the night of your crime. Your last few years were exclusive to the grimy and outdated rooms of state buildings.

It was like stepping back in time. Or more accurately, like stepping into a future you thought was lost to you.

Clean, without the tang of cheap, industrial grade bleach. The walls painted and wallpapered instead of just whitewashed. The feeling of finally being somewhere you could relax. Not an in-between place.

Home.

He showed you to your room, a neat guest bedroom across from his, with a double bed and wide windows.

You didn't sit down on the bed or on the neat desk chair. You didn't feel clean enough. You still felt the stink and grime of prison clinging to you.

He raised a brow but showed you where the bathroom was.

It was another taste of freedom. Showers in prison were monitored and timed affairs. No standing under the water and just enjoying the heat, no taking the time to scrub and exfoliate. In and out and done as quick as possible.

You stood under the hot water for a long time, your face wet not just from the spray.

When you finally climbed out, you felt clean for the first time in years.

Blondie was gone when you got downstairs, a hasty note scrawled on the fridge about grabbing you some new clothes. You tilted your head at the handwriting. You could swear it looked so familiar... But no, it couldn't be. That was ridiculous.

You brewed yourself a hot drink, fully intending to sit on the porch and enjoy it. Like a little old woman.

The backdoor was locked.

You frowned. Okay, not that uncommon. Folk kept their doors locked all the time. He probably intended you to use the front door instead.

But that one was locked too.

So were all the downstairs windows. Closed shut with little hatches you hadn't noticed earlier.

You tried not to panic. He was probably just looking out for you. Being careful. You were still a felon. How did he know you weren't going to make a break for it the second you could, his tv and laptop in tow?

It was fine. You were fine. You could just drink at the table and wait for him to get home. You kept telling yourself that, even as you searched through the kitchen drawers for a spare key.

Nothing.

You didn't want to panic. You'd spent years locked away. Wasn't this much nicer than a cell?

No. Because at least in a cell you had no illusions about your freedom.

You ended up in his bedroom without knowing when you'd gotten there. You didn't dig through his drawers. He'd know instantly. But you did open them all, one by one, as if you'd find the key right on top of his neatly folded shirts.

You found the letters in the last drawer. The one right next to his bed, like he read them every night.

It took you a while to recognise them, even though you were looking at your own handwriting.

Your letters to B. Every single one of them. The envelopes neatly cut open and the letters themselves stacked in chronological order. The most recent one was at the very top and you picked it up with numb hands.

Hey B! Guess who's going back to court. Guess they missed seeing me strutting down the aisle.

Don't worry. I haven't down anything bad (at least not this time). Someone who thinks they owe me a favour has gotten it into their head that the best way to repay me is to get me out of jail.

The legal way, that is. No midnight tunnels or disguises. (Boo. How boring. What happened to romance?)

I don't have much hope, but at least it means a break in the monotony. And nicer chow.

You'd better write me soon. Can't believe I'm admitting this out loud, but I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart whenever I get a new letter from you. I think it must be acid reflux.

-your favourite felon.

B did, in fact, write back quickly. For the last time - no return address on the letter. In that, and in so many other ways, it was clear it was the final letter you were getting.

You're the most complicated person I've ever met. Caring and kind but somehow wrapped up in the most sarcastic personality. I've fallen in love with you. Stupid. Incredibly stupid. But it's true.

I love you.

-B

You'd sat in your cell with your eyes almost bugging out of your skull. Wondering what B did to have the misfortune of falling for a girl like you. Wondering if you could have loved them back, if given the chance. Wondering who they really were.

Well, here was your answer. B, the person who wrote you sarcastic poetry and hunted down your favourite books, was Blondie, the warden who owed you his life.

And he was in love with you.

You sat down, knees replaced by lunch time jelly cups.

No wonder he did what he did. No wonder he paid for an attorney and got your house arrest registered at his house. No wonder he kept the doors and windows locked.

There was a light step behind you and you flew to your feet, the letter still clutched in your fist.

He was standing in the doorway, watching you with cool blue eyes.

"So. You found them."

You couldn't answer.

He stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving yours. He'd taken off his shirt and stood in only his tank top and jeans, his arms lean with muscle. You'd spent years fighting and you knew in one glance that you could never take him. He was stronger. Had years of Marine and police training. It had taken three prisoners and a razor blade to finally hold him. What chance did you have?

"The world isn't built for prisoners. Rehabilitation is hard. What were the stats again? Eight out of every ten end up back in jail before ten years is up?"

He continued towards you, as calm as ever.

"You're safer here. With me. You said you'd be a great housewife remember?"

"I was joking," you managed. "Just kidding around."

He reached you and gently took the letter from your unresisting fingers.

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to. But you're not leaving me. You're not leaving this house."

"Why?"

He smiled, that half smile that gave you a glimpse past his tough guy shell. This time, you didn't like what you saw.

"You know why."

"I'm a terrible person to love. I'm prickly and sarcastic and I suck at doing the dishes."

"I've got a dishwasher."

"All I know how to cook is fried chicken."

He wrinkled his nose. "We'll work on it."

"I snore all night."

"You don't. I've watched you sleep."

"Really?"

"Really. I'd stop outside your cell and just watch you sometimes. I couldn't help it. You're so much calmer when you sleep. It's like seeing another version of you."

He tilted his head and closed the last bit of distance between you, until you could smell his cologne and see the flecks of green in his eyes. You'd never noticed them before.

"There are worse cells than this, aren't there? All you have to do is stay with me. Be happy. Let me love you."

"Do I have a choice?"

He smiled that secret smile again.

"Nope. It's either me or straight back to prison."

It was true. He was a model citizen – a veteran with a clean record as a corrections officer. Even if you did talk to your mandated psychologist or parole officer, they wouldn’t believe you. You’d be the ungrateful prisoner trying to manipulate her way out of house arrest.

You knew it from the start. Rule one - never trust a warden. They never have your best interests at heart. All they want is to cover their own skin and get theirs.

But, you never were very good at following the rules, were you?

[ashlovesfood]

Clark Kent! who can’t get enough of your tight ass in that pencil skirt. Hell watch your every single move as you bend over in-front of him while making dinner, back turned to his as you rummage through the cabinets, not knowing he has an instant boner. Bruce will purposely leave and go to his cave, watching as Clark takes you on the couch. Clark’s fingers rub you so damn good, you don’t even notice the cameras that Bruce has access to as he fucks his fist. Pose

Clark Kent! knows you’re Bruce’s wife but just couldn’t get enough of your boobs, the pretty sight of your blouse dipping just low enough for a view. Your cleavage makes him run a whole train of dirty thoughts, soon as he gets home he’ll fuck a pocket pussy while moaning your name. Position

Clark Kent! shares you with Bruce at the same time, deliciously taking your tight little hole while he pounds into you. They’ll both cum inside you, breeding your cunt as your womb fills with warm seed. Be lucky if there’s no marks or soreness from the duo, they’re not gentle at all. Link

[bunnis-monsters]

Different monsters reactions to your period

warning: lots of period sex, pussy eating, and blood. You have been warned!

A/N: I’m on my period and wanted to write something horny and comforting…

Werecreatures/hybrids are already going insane when you ovulate, but once you start bleeding they can’t resist properly mounting and mating you. You’re their sweet mate, and they both want to breed you and help with the pain by fucking you and eating you out until you’re too tired to think.

Vampires of course are immediately drawn to your pussy, the smell of your blood making them drool. Some are pushing your panties to the side the second you start your period, knowing before you do. They become attached to your pussy, and possibly save some of your blood for later once they’ve had their fill. They especially love to save your cum that’s mixed with period blood, finding the taste exquisite.

Mermen get extremely protective during this time, afraid you’ll attract some underwater predator that thinks you’re easy prey becuase you’re bleeding. They’ll get horny, but are more focused on protecting than procreating. They will slip into you and sing to you as they fill you will cum, though!

Androids are immediately worried, fussing over you as they scan your body to check your health status. They give you medicine, keep you in bed, and fuck their fingers into you to help soothe your bloody cunt. They sink their synthetic cock into you, claiming it’s to help with your pain, but really they just want to fuck that pretty pussy of yours and hear you mewl like never before.

Nagas stay coiled around you, struggling to understand your strange body and why they feel so horny and protective over you during this time. It makes them anxious, and they’re extra clingy as you keep their cock warm. They’re strangely fascinated by the way blood oozes from your pussy while they bounce you lightly, and definitely end up tasting it. They get addicted to it, now you have a needy, pussy drunk naga on your hands. At least it makes you feel better to cum while you’re cramping…

Incubi/demons of course become sex crazed, and you don’t get much rest while they’re keeping you pinned down. Your pussy is always puffy and abused during this time, and they lick up every last drop of your blood, seeing it as a sign that you’re healthy and ready to make love and produce offspring. After your period they become the clingiest, most doting partners ever and feel kind of bad that they went insane while you were menstruating.

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Bruce: what do you want to be when you grow up?

Girlscout reader without missing a beat: A doctor!

*The rest of the batfam smiling*

Tim: oh, so you got it all planned out huh?

Jason: And how much are you gonna make?

Girlscout reader with the cutest smile: Im....I'm gonna make people feel better......

[merelylillies]

˚｡ﾟ• ━━━━━━━┈꒰ა໒꒱┈━━━━━━━ • ˚｡ﾟ

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

Note: ‘‘Hey so I’m obsessed with Caleb like SOMEONE has to stop me. Despite the header he is NOT an angel. Also I need more Yandere x Yandere content. In general.,,

・・・・・​​⟢

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Pairing: (Fem.)Reader x Caleb

Content Warnings: Suggestive, Teasing, Flirting, (!) Mentions of Stalking, Yandere x Yandere Concept

✦・・・・・​​・・・・・​​・・・・・​​・・・・・​​✦

Caleb had always been like this since you were children. The question is: whether or not you noticed back then. You did, but he assumed otherwise.

He’d grown up quickly and taken the role of your “big brother”, guiding you with a warm smile and soft words. He thought you’d get whiplash at his sudden shift in behavior when you reunited; so color him more than surprised when you just blinked at his words.

“You don’t need me? Is that what you think?” He asks with an intense look in his eyes. Really, you hadn’t even said anything, he just assumed your stare back at him was rejection. His grip on your arm tightened as he looked down at you, eyes narrowing onto yours.

“I never said that.” You hold his stare. He pauses, gaze sharpening.

“You’re thinking it.”, He takes a step forward, “I know you pipsqueak.” He emphasizes, continuing to walk you backwards.

You let yourself take steps back, your amusement growing as your back approached the wall. Trying to reel in your smugness, you cut him off before he can speak again.

“You know me?”.

You could almost hear a pin drop. Caleb glares back at you almost offended.

“Are you seriously-”

“You are clearly missing something.” You can’t contain your grin.

“What are you saying?” He hisses out. You can hear the hand he propped up against the wall you’re leaning on slowly ball into a fist.

“You’re so convinced that I’m feeling a way I’m not.” You say with amusement barely controlled.

“What you fail to understand is I’ve always been this way pipsqueak.”

“See?” You grin, “This is exactly what I mean.”

You take a step forward, your chest pressed up against his. The action throwing him off guard at the sudden boldness and he straightens up from where he was looming over you.

“You think you’re scaring me, you think I’m terrified, mortified at how you’re acting.”. Your smile only widens when you see the confusion mix in with his firm expression.

“But really, I always knew you were this way.”

You bring a hand to his dress-shirt’s collar, gripping it tight before yanking him down closer to your height, the accessories on the colonel uniform shifting with quiet tinkles. His eyes widen, mouth slightly open as if to say something but nothing comes out. Your free hand goes to cup his face, your thumb running over his cheek gently, while your tone holds back on zero mockery.

“You, on the other hand, despite all your obsession, have failed to grasp that I’m just as bad as you.” You smile, watching his eyes catch that same glimpse they always did when you said something that scratched his possessiveness.

“You don’t mean that.” He states, swallowing harshly, “You have no idea-” he seems almost repentant, but you know better.

“No I do.”

“Pipsqueak, you’re out of your depth,” a chuckle escapes him, his eyes lowering amused, “-you think just because you’re attached to me that you can even understand a fraction of my love for you.”

“Yeah?” You smile back at him, your hand tilting his face up for him to look at you again, maintaining eye contact, “you think so?”

He huffs out a small laugh again.

“I track your necklace Caleb.”

He pauses, his eyes visibly shifting in their stare back at you before he smiles, deceivingly soft again.

“You’re so silly Pips-”

“I’m not fucking kidding.” You laugh back at him, the hand on his collar shifting down to the dog tag necklace you had given him so long ago, slightly pulling on it.

“I wanted to know where you were. In case you ever lied to me about your schedule or the risk of your work.”

“That so?”

“What?” Your finger twirls loops around the necklace chain, the charms jingling, “Does that scare you?”

“If you know me so well Pips, you know I’ve done much worse.”

“And I’ve never stopped you.”

Caleb looks down at your hand playing with the necklace before he meets your eyes again, the look in his half lidded pupils turning a deeper purple; that same shade you loved to drag out of him. He brings a hand to his face, the back of his palm hiding an obsessive, love-sick smile, the one he usually suppressed until he thought you weren’t looking, or when he believed you to be asleep during your sleep-overs.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath.

“Gods, you really are far gone huh?” You tease, your own expression far from innocent in the way you match his almost deranged adoration.

“You don’t get to give me any lessons Pipsqueak, now that all your behaviors suddenly seem more tactful than coincidental.”

Suddenly despite all your confidence in your equally matched energy, you feel your nervousness rise up again; your stomach knotting and the back of your spine burning hot.

He lowers himself down to your level even more, until your lips are at the same height, his forehead an inch away from touching yours, as he now wears your smug expression.

“All those times..sitting in my lap, constantly calling for me in conversations, taking any chance at touching me..” His smirk only widens, “Kissing me for “practice” as you called it..” his breath ghosts over your lips.

“Nothing more than desperation after all huh?”

You immediately feel the need to defend yourself at his words. “You cannot be talking.”

“Why not? I’m not afraid to admit I yearn for you.” He drawls on as words get caught in your throat.

“Especially, now that I know,” he muses, “that this little lady right in front of me, is into this obsessive side of mine hm?”

“Almost like it..fuels something in her…Gets her going does it?”

You feel your cheeks start to flush at his bluntness, off-put by his calling out.

“You’d preach being the same as me yeah? But based on your reaction, I’d still think you’re out of your league Pipsqueak..”

An uneven breath escapes you and his eyes crinkle at that.

“Would you look at that?” His smirk aggravatingly turning more sharp.

“Pipsqueak isn’t able to respond, looks like she really is obsessed with me.”

That damn smirk.

[xjulixred45x]

NRC Staff with Pregnant Yuu!

Suggestion from @donanimee

Okay, first things first, the odd man out we all hate: CROWLEY.

Now, to be fair, I don't think Crowley would be as bad to a clearly pregnant Yuu as he would to a normal student. Sure, he's still extremely negligent and utterly unaccountable, but he wouldn't give Yuu the same responsibilities (just to maintain the appearance of "someone kind helping a poor woman in a vulnerable moment").

Their interactions remain the same, though Crowley strikes me as the kind of person who treats pregnant women like big babies or as if they're dangerous due to hormones (and yes, he'll use the hormones excuse constantly), especially when Yuu gets mad at him and tries to demand answers. His response? Talking to her like she's a baby in the most frustrating way possible.

If Yuu is especially emotional (again, pregnancy hormones are no joke), Crowley will awkwardly try to comfort her, but he doesn't do much else to support her. Things like doctors, appointments, or clothes will have to be handled by Yuu. 2/10, don't ask for his help, it's the same as nothing.

Sam, on the other hand, is someone Yuu interacts with most often, whether it's for grocery shopping or just when she needs something from her shop. If Yuu goes to Sam's shop alone, he usually accompanies her to Ramshakle and helps her with her shopping (with the help of the shadows, of course). After all, he can't let one of his favorite customers hurt her back.

Sam also tends to "conveniently" have things on sale when Yuu comes shopping, things that make her life easier, ESPECIALLY if Yuu is short on money. Sam is more empathetic towards a pregnant Yuu, and therefore she has better opportunities to negotiate better prices with Sam.

If Yuu needs help with anything, she can ask Sam for help. With ANYTHING, she can ask for things like baby supplies, maternity clothes, etc. Think of it as an investment, free of charge. 8/10, recommended, but he's not available all the time.

VARGAS OH MY GOD. He does a complete 180-degree turn in his attitude toward Yuu compared to how he treats the other students. While the first-years have to do exercises worthy of Spartan warriors, Yuu does basic gymnastics. Yuu even ends up learning several Lamaze exercises thanks to Vargas! It's almost envious that Yuu can skip the hellish exercises, but Vargas doesn't seem to mind.

Even if Vargas isn't the smartest, he's someone who believes men should help women, especially pregnant ones! So he acts like a stereotypical gentleman with Yuu, opening doors, carrying heavy things, etc. And he urges the other students to do the same (if anyone causes Yuu any trouble, that means more hellish exercises).

Definitely helpful and very motivating, 10/10.

Trein is the one who most reproaches Crowley for his neglect of Yuu when he finds out about her pregnancy. His paternal instincts kick in, and he becomes Yuu's main emotional support. Trein can't imagine what it must be like to have a baby far from home, in an unfamiliar place, without your family to help you—it's almost a nightmare. And he won't let Yuu fall into despair.

Trein often comes to Ramshakle to check on Yuu, sometimes bringing food, sometimes even repairing some things in the dorm. If Yuu is in college or some higher education, Trein can give her some private lessons, and generally be there for Yuu when things get... dark. Yuu can afford to be more honest with Trein; he understands her fears and frustrations better than anyone, and he can reassure her that her emotions are valid and that everything will be okay.

Trein can lend her various things for the baby! he still keeps several things from when his daughters were little girls/babies; he could even give her a crib. Yuu could trust him with her baby any day. 10/10, highly recommended, just two parents who understand each other.

Last but not least: Crewel. He's much less demanding with Yuu, even turning a blind eye if he sees her struggling with the subject. Considering that Crewel's class is prone to...accidents, it's likely that even Divus implements some extra safety measures, especially as Yuu's pregnancy progresses. At some point, he even gives her a free pass to skip class and send him her homework from home, it's not worth the risk of Yuu and the baby getting hurt during class.

Did you see how he calls all the students Pup or Puppy? Well, he likes to call Yuu Top Dog! (This applies to all Yuu!Parents), he definitely thinks her diligence and motherly attitude toward the students is adorable, so he tends to go easy on her. Along with Vil, he's one of the ones who takes Yuu shopping for things like pretty maternity dresses (or comfortable shoes).

Yuu is one of the few students who has access to the potions cabinet in case she feels particularly ill due to pregnancy hormones (backache, headaches, vomiting, stomach aches, etc.). 10/10.

Conclusion: Ask any adult in this school for help, as long as it's not Crowley.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!