#Smart/Stupid Square

[chasemarsh]

Smart/Stupid Square Arcadia Gays Edition by maribethchase

[salty-an-disco]

Here’s some doodles of me figuring out Parable Narrator (Parrator, if you will) before going to sleep

[running-in-the-dark]

it's so funny when I rewatch a show but with a new/different/additional crush. like I'm rewatching the librarians with my partner right now and it just feels soo different lol

[projectorthus]

Re-reading All New X Men. O5 my beloved.

Shoutout to the time Hank said he was gay to be petty and then doubled down for a weirdly long time for The Bit and also the time he brought the O5 back from the past and also the time he said the only thing he couldn't control was his libido and also the time he kissed a man square on the lips after bringing him flowers and also the time he learned sorcery, used it to send bad guys to literal hell, then nearly got everyone killed because he got too cozy with a hot magic lady (madalyne pryor).

Never change, Hank. He's so smart and so stupid at the same time.

[mariasont]

can you please write Spencer and shy!reader for valentine's day? 💕💝💖💖💞💝💖 I love them so much and I love you more

Lover Girl - S.R

summary: spencer has a hypothesis about love on vday & it’s not something you agree on pairing: post!prison!reid x shy!medialiaison!reader warnings: r going crazy over something spencer said hours ago (get a grip girl), r kinda goes out of character, spencer being the sassiest human alive wc: 1.9k a/n: thank u sm for requesting i love this and i love you even more ✨💖

The draft on your laptop was starting to look less like a press release and more and more like a psychological cry for help. Words sprawled like abandoned thoughts, entire sentences had been brutally sacrificed to the backspace key, and you'd rewritten the same transition phrase so many times it no longer felt like a real word. The whole thing read like the work of someone who had just sustained a minor head injury.

Objectively? It was bad.

Subjectively? It was an unmitigated disaster.

You blamed Spencer. Or maybe you blamed yourself for still thinking about it, for letting his words linger in your head like an incorrectly formatted footnote that you couldn't stop rereading.

You had never been a hopeless romantic, exactly, but you liked the idea of it, the structure of it. Believed it was more than a sum of its parts. More than just wires crossing in the brain and pattern recognition.

And yet, he had discarded the notion so easily, reducing love to a series of neurochemical reactions misinterpreted as emotional depth, something logical and completely stripped of any sort of real feeling.

He hadn't meant it cruelly, but his voice carried a kind of detachment that made you want to launch your coffee at his ridiculously well-structured face. It shouldn't bother you.

It really, genuinely, in no universe, should not bother you. It wasn't like you had a chance with him, so why did it matter what Spencer Reid, certified romance cynic, destroyer of sentimental ideals, and casual heartbreaker, thought about love?

If anything, his lack of belief should make it easier to kill this absurd crush before it spiraled into something unmanageable.

You squared your shoulders and looked back to the screen, back to the carefully worded Bureau-approved phrases meant to sound polished and agreeable.

Strengthening community trust. Bridging the gap between law enforcement and the public.

Meaningless, hollow, designed to be palatable without saying anything real. Blah. Blah.

I mean, did he really think that love was like an outdated scientific theory? It was Valentine's Day, for crying out loud — if nothing else, wasn't that proof of its existence?

You had considered the possibility that he had stopped believing because he had to. That prison had stripped the softness of him, turned love into just another abstract concept that didn't hold up under scrutiny, like time, like trust, like freedom.

Or maybe (and this was the more infuriating possibility) he had always been like this, too pragmatic to believe in something he couldn't technically hold in his hands.

You groaned under your breath, rubbing at your temple like you could physically press the words out of your skull, like they were just another headache waiting to pass. Why were you still thinking about this? It was stupid. He was stupid. You were stupid of caring.

Except he wasn't stupid. He was obnoxiously brilliant, the kind of smart that made other geniuses insecure, and that was the problem. Because if someone that intelligent didn't believe in love the way you did.... did that mean you were in the wrong? Had you been naive this whole time, blindly buying into a romanticized fantasy while Spencer had long dissected it and found it lacking?

The knock on your office doorframe startled you so badly that your entire skeletal structure attempted to evacuate your body, knee jerking up, colliding with the underside of the desk with an unforgiving whack.

You barely had time to wonder if you'd just concussed your kneecap before you looked up and — Spencer. Standing in the doorway like some cosmic punishment for thinking about him too hard.

Heat flooded your face like an admission of guilt, because why, why, did it suddenly feel like you'd been caught red-handed?

"Hey," he said, tilting his head. "You okay?"

No, you wanted to say. Not at all. Because what were you supposed to do when they very subject of your over analysis materialized in your doorway, looking at you like he could see every freaking unspoken thought folded between your ribs?

You swallowed, forced yourself to look anywhere but directly at him, because everything about this, about him, felt like some kind of cruel irony.

"Uh, yeah," you croaked, voice pitching embarrassingly high. Great. Perfect. Totally normal human behavior.

Spencer's brow furrowed, his head doing that thing he did when something wasn't quite right. But miraculously, he didn't say anything about it.

"I was just...," You gestured to your laptop.

Spencer nodded slowly, either accepting your excuse at face value or deciding it wasn't worth the effort to call you out.

"Right. I was just going to ask if you had finalized the press release for me to proof."

Your stomach lurched, a sharp drop like missing a step in the dark. Finalized. Bold of him to assume you'd done anything besides stare blankly at your screen for the past fifteen minutes.

"Oh! Yeah, of course," you said, throwing out the words with a half-hearted smile as if that would seal the lie. "Almost done. Just... you know, making sure it's perfect."

Spencer stepped inside, moving just past the threshold. His expression changed. Less neutral. More aware.

"You're acting strange."

Which was unacceptable, because if anyone in this scenario should be acting strange, it was him, standing there like a walking contradiction.

"I — what?" The laugh escaped before you could trap it behind your teeth, jagged and surely unnatural.

"You're tense. And you don't usually second-guess yourself this much. If it was almost done, you'd just say so." His eyes flicked to the laptop. "Did something happen?"

Your face went nuclear, looking away, hyper focused on the edge of the desk like it was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen. "I don't know what you mean. I'm acting normal."

Spencer made a thoughtful noise. "Denial first. Then contradiction."

"I —"

"Oh, and there's the hesitation. That usually happens when you're trying to figure out how to backpedal without making it obvious."

"Do you always do this?"

"Only when people are lying about something." He squinted at you. "And you're a very bad liar."

He tapped a finger a finger against his arm in a way that made your nerves itch, before stepping forward and sinking into the chair across from your desk.

"Huh."

You frowned. "What?"

"You're doing the same thing you did earlier," he said matter-of-factly. "Avoiding direct responses, looking everywhere but me, shifting in your seat."

His gaze lingered, and then — Gods, help you — his lips curved, just slightly.

"Almost like the conversation was bothering you then, too."

Oh. Oh, this was bad. He was trying to talk about the one topic you'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to erase from your brain.

"I just, well, it's not that I had thoughts or feelings on it or anything, I just didn't, well, I mean, I just didn't want to be in that conversation, you know? Not that it was bad. Just — not my thing."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted. "So you disagreed with me?"

"I — I did not say that."

"No, but you just said everything but that." He leaned forward. "So tell me. What was it?"

You finally look at him, actually looked at him, and immediately regretted it.

You tried to gauge if there was any chance you could turn this conversation in your favor.

Nope.

"I mean, I wouldn't say disagreed, per se, I just... thought maybe your take was a little—," you sighed, "dismissive."

"Oh? And what exactly am I dismissing?"

You hesitated. Not because you didn't have an answer, but because you had too many. Love wasn't just science, romance wasn't just a byproduct of biology, that it meant something. It's real. It matters. It's— "You're dismissing everything beyond your own reasoning."

You waited. For the rebuttal, the deconstruction, the inevitable moment Spencer laid your words bare and left you scrambling to rebuild them. But this time there was nothing. He just sat there. Looking at you. Like he was waiting for something else.

You fidgeted. Crossed your arms. Uncrossed them. "What?"

"Nothing. Just... thinking." A pause. "You clearly have an opinion on this, just trying to figure out what it is."

Your lips pressed together, your brain begging you to let it go, to shut up before you started. But the words were already forming, bubbling up too fast to stop.

"Okay, look. I get it. I get the science. I get that love can be explained in chemical terms."

Spencer nodded, like you were finally seeing his point.

"But that doesn't mean that's all it is," you said, sitting up straighter. "Love isn't just an instinct. If it was then why do people stay in love when it doesn't make sense? Why do people wait years for someone who might never come back? Why do people hold on to feelings they know won't be returned?"

You inhaled sharply, only to realize what you had said felt a little too personal. Heat flared to your toes. "I just, uh, you're looking at it like it's an equation when it's more like, like art. You can break down why a painting is visually appealing, but that doesn't explain why it moves people."

"So love is art then?" A small smirk tugged at his lips. "That would mean it's subjective. That one person's version of it isn't the same as another's."

"Well, yeah, that's my point." You nodded. "Everyone experiences it differently. That's why it can't be reduced to formulas. You can recreate the exact conditions of a moment, use the same words, set the same scene but it won't feel the same to someone else. Because love isn't about external factors, it's about who you're with, how they make you feel."

"That sounds dangerously close to saying it's entirely irrational."

You exhaled. "If it is, then I guess that means you'll never understand it."

Spencer pushed himself to his feet, adjusting his cuff like this was just another conversation and not something that had you actively fighting for oxygen.

Then, with an infuriating self-satisfied smile, he murmured, "Well, maybe I just need the right person to teach me."

You nearly choked on air.

And with one last glance, he grinned and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, lover girl."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[libraryofgage]

After checks calendar 84 years, I am once again offering Smart Steve content lmao

Listen the writer's block has been hitting recently if you couldn't tell, but I'm still happy with how this came out.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :P

----

So.

Steve Harrington is smart.

Like, smart smart.

Like, the kind of smart where he not only understands shit, he can explain complicated shit to Eddie without sending his brain into a coma.

It's been two weeks, and Eddie is still trying to come to terms with this discovery. He's four tutoring sessions in and a little spark of surprise still rocks him whenever Steve can easily explain a new topic using the stuff Eddie likes.

He explained velocity using D&D spells. He explained electrical circuits using the concept of plugging a guitar into an amp. After asking a few questions about Lord of the Rings, Steve Harrington managed to explain the in-depth concepts of magnetism using the fucking One Ring.

How the fuck is Eddie supposed to be normal about any of that? Ignoring the sheer fact that Steve is capable of it, how is Eddie supposed to feel about the...the willingness to learn what Eddie understands best and meet him on that level?

If the answer is awed and practically starstruck, he's ahead of the game.

"Hey, you doing okay? Kinda spacing out over there, man."

Eddie blinks, the textbook in front of him coming back into focus. Steve had been explaining the concept of momentum, but his words just floated in one ear and out the other because Eddie was once again consumed by the absurdity of the situation.

It's not like he can say that, though. So, instead, he settles for a grimace and pushes the textbook away. "I think I'm all fried out for physics," he says, looking up at Steve.

"Oh," Steve says, blinking a few times before nodding. "Yeah, sure, uh, sorry."

"Wait, what are you sorry about?"

Steve looks away, an awkward frown tugging at his lips. "I...probably wasn't explaining it too well, huh?"

"Woah, woah, no way," Eddie says, putting a stop to that train of thought before it can leave the station. He turns in his chair to face Steve directly, ignoring how the metal rod that attaches it to the desk digs painfully against his shin. "Listen, Stevie, I've never understood physics more than when you explain it. Like, I don't know, man, whatever you're doing works."

Steve must have been more worried than he let on, because Eddie can literally see the tension draining from his shoulders. "Great," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances away. "Seriously, that's great. I'm glad nothing's been confusing."

"Yeah, so, nothing you did," Eddie says, feeling like he needs to reiterate that point to drive it home. "Honestly, you could probably even make me understand geometry. Not like our teacher is doing shit to help."

"Do you...not understand geometry?" Steve asks, looking a little unsure like he can't tell if that's a joke or Eddie's attempt at suggesting another class he needs help in. This one is a class they share, which means Steve will have seen Eddie's floundering attempts at answering questions, and he feels a whole new burn of embarrassment course through him.

"Do you?" Eddie asks in return.

"Yeah. It's just, like, angles and shit, man."

Eddie stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowing and trying to figure out if Steve is somehow, subtly, making fun of him. But of course he isn't. If Eddie has learned nothing else, it's that Steve doesn't ever think Eddie is actually stupid or deserving of ridicule. He just thinks Eddie hasn't been taught properly, which is more on the teacher than him.

After a moment, Eddie twists around to dig in his bag. He pulls out his geometry homework, slaps it on the desk, and gestures at the triangles and squares and other shapes with unidentified angles and side lengths. "I have literally no clue what the fuck is going on here," he says.

Steve moves closer, looking over the sheet with a slight frown. Eddie knows this face by now. It's the one Steve makes when he's searching for the relevant knowledge in his own brain, pulling it to the front so he can easily identify the gaps in Eddie's understanding. "So, how would you start?" Steve finally asks, offering his pencil.

Eddie takes it, twirls it between his fingers a few times, and looks over the questions. He eventually chooses one asking him to find the length of a side. "I know this one. It's the equation with the squares and shit," he says, carefully writing it out and plugging in numbers under the triangle.

"Right. Pythagorean theorem. A squared plus B squared equals C squared."

"Yeah. That," Eddie says, working through the math on a separate sheet of paper instead of in his head. He can do easy addition and subtraction, but one of the first things Steve did was get him used to using scratch paper. His brain doesn't feel quite as crowded by numbers anymore; now it's just crowded by the endless rotation of bites of knowledge and equations that have nothing to do with the work at hand. It's like his brain can recognize that it needs to remember something, but can't identify what exactly, so it just offers up everything.

When he's done, Eddie shows Steve his work, the answer circled at the bottom of the scratch paper. "Perfect," Steve says, flashing a smile that makes Eddie's heart lurch dangerously. "Okay, so that's solid. What about this one."

He points at a right triangle with only one angle listed and the other marked as unknown. "No fucking clue," Eddie says.

"This one is asking for the unknown angle. It'll just be some subtraction."

"It's only giving me one angle, Stevie," Eddie points out, gesturing to the angle marked as 53. "What the fuck do I do with that?"

"Well, the main thing is that a triangles angles will always add to 180. Also, this is a right triangle," Steve explains, taking the pencil from Eddie to circle the L-shaped corner of the triangle. "This angle will always be 90 degrees on right triangles. Should I keep going?"

"No," Eddie says slowly, drawing the word out as he takes the pencil back. "I'm starting to get it. Lemme try."

Steve waits patiently as Eddie hesitates before adding the angles together and subtracting that from 180. When he gets to a solution of 37, he gestures for Steve to check.

"That's right," Steve says, nodding as he points to another triangle on the sheet. "For this one, I'll teach you about the SOH CAH TOA trick."

Eddie nods, paying as much attention as he can, but he can't help feeling a little distracted by Steve's happy smile and relaxed posture. He's never seen Steve like this during class, and he's struck by the sudden notion that nobody else will see Steve like this, either.

------

When Steve gets home, he drops his bag in the hallway, grabs a soda from the kitchen, and collapses onto the couch.

A few National Geographic and Scientific American magazines are still spread out across the coffee table. A brief glance reminds Steve that none of the stories were particularly interesting in these editions.

He pops the tab on his soda, takes a sip, and glances at the phone on the end table next to him.

Steve had noticed something today. Eddie's shirt. Most of the band shirts Eddie wears are popular enough that Steve sort of knows them. Metallica, KISS, and AC/DC were recognizable since he's passed their albums on display in record stores.

Today's band, though. He didn't recognize that one. What the fuck was Manowar?

After a few seconds of thought, Steve reaches out and grabs the phone. He's just doing research. Wanting to understand the music Eddie likes is reasonable. That's how Eddie learns. There's no other reason for Steve dialing the number of an old classmate.

The phone rings a few times before picking up. "Amare residence," a girl says, sounding distracted.

"Hey, Dee. It's Steve."

"Hmm, Steve. Steve. ...Steeeeve. Oh, is this Steve Harrington, deserter of friends for the woes of public education?"

Despite everything, Steve can't help an amused smile. "Yeah, that Steve," he says. He doesn't apologize, since he knows that's not what she wants. If she was actually angry, she would've hung up.

"Well, how kind of you to grace me with your voice," Dee says, sounding distant like she's set the phone down. "I suppose I can give you until I finish braiding my hair."

"Great. You know about metal, right?"

"Like iron? Duh, Steve, I'm not thirteen."

"No, like, heavy metal."

"Iron is pretty heavy."

"Music, Dee. Heavy metal music."

"Oh! Aren't you a Tears for Fears kind of boy? What are you doing asking about heavy metal?"

Steve starts to answer but stops himself. He doesn't know why. Dee tutors kids all the time. Everyone in their private school group did. That's how they made money. She'd understand that he's trying to learn more about Eddie's interests for tutoring purposes.

So why can't he just say that?

"This long pause says you're thinking about lying to me," Dee says. "Don't bother, Steve."

"Well, I do want to know for the guy I'm tutoring. But not just because I'm tutoring him."

"Awww, are you trying to make a friend?" Dee teases.

Steve grimaces, wondering why his stomach twists slightly at the question. "Yeah, kind of. I want to know more about the stuff he likes. And he likes heavy metal. So, ya know, I thought of you."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Dee says. "And I love talking music, so I guess we can keep talking even after I'm done braiding."

A relieved smile tugs at Steve's lips. "Thanks, Dee, I appreciate it. So, first question, what's Manowar?"

-------

Tag List!

@estrellami-1, @ravenfrog,

[kjhbsies]

Baked With Love

navigation | main masterlist | rules

Smallville Clark Kent x popular reader

synopsis: Y/N was the popular girl who wore her heart on her sleeve—for him. But Clark, caught between fear and pride, kept pushing her away… until her absence finally made him realize what he had lost.

wordcount: 3,505

note: 16+ angst to fluff

For most of his college life, Clark Kent had genuinely no idea why you liked him so much. It all began on a very unfortunate afternoon when Lex Luthor introduced you two. Lex had said...

"Clark, this is Y/n. She's a family friend from the city. Be nice."

You were effortlessly intimidating— born in a silverspoon, a wardrobe that looked like it walked straight out of a fashion magazine cover, and a confidence that Clark couldn't even fathom. You were loud, bold, smart-mouthed, and just happened to be jaw-droppingly pretty. Clark tried not to think about it, but he failed miserably.

Clark didn't feel uneasy with you, per se. But you weren't exactly his to pick for "people I'd like to be trapped in a room with." Not because you were mean. No, you were actually weirdly nice. You just had this energy. An unshakable presence that made Clark, the most powerful being on Earth, feel like an awkward schoolboy with sweaty palms.

One day, you popped in the barn, saying something about "needing fresh country air." Then the next week, you were lounging in his loft like you owned it, flipping through one of his books like you weren't just sitting in the sacred space of solitude he thought only he and Lana would occupy. Then there was the time you baked cookies and just showed up at the Kent kitchen, and Clark genuinely thought Martha had invited you. She didn't.

It was like you were on a personal mission to infiltrate every square inch of his life— and you were doing it so casually that no one really questioned it. Not even Clark.

Until Pete started teasing.

"Hey, look. Your girlfriend's here."

Clark would turn with a flush in his ears. "She's not my—"

But Pete was already laughing.

Even Chloe had chimed in. "You know, Y/n's got her sights on you, right? Like a missle. Might as well surrender."

Clark had no response to that. Mainly because he had just run into you in the hallway and accidentally inhaled whatever perfume you were wearing, which now lived permanently in his brain.

You'd greet him like it was the most natural thing in the world— "Hey, Clarkie." With that little smug grin like you knew you made him nervous. And maybe you did. Okay. Fine. You definitely did.

But to be honest, Clark didn't find any of it funny anymore.

Sure, despite being one of the popular girls on campus, you never acted like it. You were popular, yeah, but not in the usual sense— people gravitated towards you because you had personality. You were brilliant in class, always raising your hand with the kind of answers that made instructors nod like proud parents. You were involved in different university organizations, and somehow, you still made the President's List every semester like it was no big deal.

Basically, you were the kind of girl that many people admire. And yet, somehow, you had decided to direct that same energy to Clark. And it wasn't subtle, either.

You brought him snacks. You had saved him a seat in the library. You texted him stupid memes at night. You even helped him with his Physics project once— and looked good doing it, too, in that annoyingly cute shirt and eyeglasses.

But Clark had brushed it all off. It's not like he didn't find you attractive. He did. Painfully so.

You were a lightning in a bottle— vibrant, driven, and bold. And he was just... Clark. The farm boy with secrets a size of a planet, who spent most of his nights chasing off meteoric weirdos and hiding his abilities from half the people in this town.

You deserved someone normal. Someone who wasn't still half-tangled in the heartbreak that was Lana Lang.

You arrived at the Kent farm with a basket in hand, your smile as sweet as the scent of the freshly baked pastries you brought.

"Oh, Y/n. You always bring something so delightful." Martha beamed, ushering you in.

Clark, leaning against the barn wall, tried not to stare. You were just... too much. Too pretty, too kind, too good to be real. His mom always looked at you with sparkling eyes, and Jonathan always seemed to feel the same way.

When the two of you were finally alone, you turned to him, hopeful.

"So... you free this Saturday?" You asked casually, hopping to sit on a slab of wood. "It's my birthday. Lex is hosting something in his house. Nothing too crazy, just a small thing. A few people, food, music. Chloe and Pete are also invited. I was hoping you could come?"

Clark looked up from the hay he was pretending to be interested in. Your eyes were soft, curious, and earnest. He hated it.

"I... uh, I might be busy. Football stuff. The season's picking up, and my parents are going to be out of town this weekend. I'll probably be covering some chores."

You blinked once and then smiled faintly.

"Oh..." You said, trying to hide your disappointment. "Well, it's open if you change your mind."

You left him a cupcake on the table. Vanilla with pink frosting and sprinkles. He didn't eat it.

And Saturday came fast.

You woke up with butterflies in your stomach. Your room was filled with balloons Lex insisted having delivered, despite your protests. "It's your birthday, Y/n. Let people celebrate you for once." He argued.

You liked Clark. A lot. It wasn't some game. Not some challenge your friends had dared you to do. You weren't being ironic. Your feelings were real— surprisingly real— and Lex had raised an eyebrow once, muttering something like, "Well, that was unexpected."

But he didn't understand. Clark was real in ways no one else around you ever was. He didn't care about money or popularity or image. He was awkward and shy, yet grounded. And you loved that about him.

So you got ready. You wore your favorite dress. You styled your hair. You told yourself he'd show up. He had to.

By 8:00 PM, the living room was warm and full of laughter. Music played softly in the background. Your friends chattered around the dinner table, passing drinks and stories.

"Clark's coming?" Lex asked you as he handed you a drink.

You shrugged, smiling tightly. "I hope so."

Chloe had shown up with a gift and a knowing smile. "Clark and Pete didn't say anything to me. But maybe they're just late."

You nodded. But the hours passed.

9.00. No Clark.

10:00. Still nothing.

By 10:30, your phone screen was painfully blank, and your stomach had started twisting into knots.

By 11:00, the guests started filtering out. Some hugged you and wished "happy birthday" with laughter and light hearts. But all you could feel was this hollow building up in your chest. He wasn't coming; he never was.

"Come on," Lex said gently, wrapping a gentle arm around your shoulders. "Let's go back inside. Stop waiting for someone who won't show."

Unbeknowst to you, Clark was not at home. Wasn't working on some chores. He was at a party across the town. A big one— loud music, red solo cups, beer pongs, too many football jerseys, and girls hanging around. Pete and Clark had been invited there, and both of them reluctantly showed up.

Clark drank a lot. Way more than he should've. But not enough to get drunk (he couldn't, anyway), but just enough to blur the guilt.

The sun hadn't even reached its peak yet when you arrived at the Kent farm, your hands cradling a tray of leftover cake—chocolate hazelnut with buttercream, the one you baked yourself because it reminded you the first time Clark ever complimented something you made. You told yourself it wasn't a big deal. Just a small peace offering. Just a way to see him.

Maybe, you thought, he regretted not showing up. Maybe you could laugh it off, hand him a slice, tell him he owed you one, and pretend like the silence between you hadn't cut through your chest the night before.

But as you reached a gravel path leading to their porch, your steps faltered. An unfamiliar girl emerged from the front door. Probably your age. Wearing one of Clark's flannel shirts, barely buttoned. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick smudged, like she had just woken up.

You took a step backwards, hiding from their line of sight.

And then came Clark. Topless. Barefoot. Looking like a tragic painting of betrayal in broad daylight, sunlight washing over his body like it was trying to make him look holy. But there was nothing sacred about the red kiss marks littering his neck or the one at the corner of his mouth.

The girl turned, smiling up at him before heading to her car. And before she got in, she tiptoed and planted a soft, small kiss on his cheek.

He smiled back. Not awkwardly. Not nervously. Like it was easy.

You quickly backed away, ducking behind the side of the barn as Clark went back inside his house. The pain burned inside of you. It was sickening and humiliating.

God, you thought, I wore my favorite dress last night just for him.

Without a second thought, you immediately found the nearest trash bin and shoved the cake in with trembling fingers. You walked away without looking back.

"Why didn't you show up at Y/n's birthday party?" Chloe asked sharply, catching Clark mid-page of the local meteor-rock incident report. Pete, just beside him, visibly flinched and gave him a look.

Clark blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Chloe leaned across the table, arms crossed. "She was excited to see you, you know? Lex threw the thing in his house. It wasn't exactly as small as one would expect. So where were you?"

Pete tried to focus on his apple juice.

"I... we were busy. Football thing. Plus, I didn't think it was a big deal. I mean, she was always around, right? I figure she'd understand."

"Always around?"

Clark sighed. "She's just... always there, alright? Popping out of corners. Bringing pastries at 7 AM. Sitting in my loft like she owns it It's annoying. She's always tailing me, and I never asked her to."

Silence.

Even Pete stopped sipping on his juice.

And behind the bookshelves, hidden just out of sight, Y/n froze.

You had only come in to return Chloe's notes in your shared Philosophy class. You weren't even going to say hi. You were keeping your distance— just like you promised yourself.

"She's not so bad like you made it seem, Clark." You heard Chloe.

"I just want some peace," Clark muttered, clearly annoyed.

"You can't run away from her forever."

"I'd be glad to try."

But Clark didn't have to because that same week, you became an enigma after that. He didn't even have to dodge around the barn. Didn't have to wake up seeing your face first in the morning. You weren't popping in with muffins or sticking heart-shaped post-it notes around his loft window. You weren't waving at him in the hallways. You were just gone.

His brows furrowed every time he walked past your locker and found it unopened. He found himself always glancing at the entrance of their barn more than once, hoping you'd finally show up one morning. At the farmer's market, he wandered longer than necessary at the baking aisle booth, wondering if you'd suddenly walk by.

You didn't.

Jonathan asked him to take out the trash. And Clark, half annoyed, half distracted, grabbed the bin from the porch and stomped towards the compost. But when he opened the lid, he saw a cake box. Pink polka dots, cute bow— the one you always used.

His stomach dropped.

What's it doing in here?

Clark's grip on the edge of the box tightened. Guilt rolling in immediately.

You weren't annoying. You were just kind. Consistent. Loud in a good way. You liked him, and he treated it like a problem. And now, he realized what kind of an asshole he was.

He had to apologize. But he didn't know where to start. Finding you was not an easy task, either. He wandered through the halls, eyes scanning every classroom, but you weren't there. He went to the farmer's market three mornings in a row— hoping— praying— you'd be there. But you weren't.

He had gone two full weeks without a glimpse of you. He hated to admit how often he found himself pausing during the day, waiting. Hoping.

So when Lex rolled into their farm one day in one of his new ridiculously expensive cars, Clark barely noticed. He was too busy dragging the hay until he heard Lex's voice.

"Clark," Lex said, grinning. "Hope I'm not interrupting you."

And then Clark saw you.

You stepped out of the passenger seat, wearing jeans and a simple cropped tee, hair styled neatly. No designer boots. No bold lipstick. But Clark swore his lungs forgot to work.

You offered him a polite nod. "Hey, Clark."

And that was it.

Lex greeted the Kents, asking for a quick word inside. And then, it was just the two of you, sitting in silence, like strangers.

You took a seat on one of the old wooden benches, thumbing through your phone. Clark awkwardly stood by the wooden door for a few seconds, pretending to dust his hands, eyes flicking towards you every five seconds.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer. "Lex got a new car."

You didn't look up. "Yeah, Lamborghini. He won't stop talking about it."

Clark scratched the back of his neck. "It's... nice."

"Yeah."

Silence again.

"Look, I— I'm sorry about your birthday. Me and Pete... we couldn't come."

You finally glanced up. "It's okay; you were busy."

Clark nodded, unable to say something else, especially now that you seemed uninterested in what he was going to say.

Earlier that week, he had stormed inside the Torch like a man possessed. Chloe looked up from her computer with an annoyed glare.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" She snapped, clicking through the keyboard.

Clark ran a frustrated hand along his hair. "I need a bit of advice. About Y/n."

Chloe didn't even look up. "Wow. That only took, what, half the semester? You realize she's been MIA, right? Like, completely ghosted. And now you want to talk?"

Clark sighed. "Chloe, please."

She glanced up, her eyebrows shooting up when she heard how desperate and wrecked he was.

"She won't even look at me now. She used to be everywhere, and now it's like she never existed. And— I— I don't know."

"You miss her."

"I do," He admitted. "I didn't think I would, but I do. It's like— I keep looking for her. Like she's supposed to be there, and when she's not—God, Chloe. It was driving me nuts."

And then she'd told him to just talk to you. Simple. Direct. No weird detours.

So when Lex called about the delivery that Thursday, Clark had thought maybe this is it. Maybe this was the moment the universe was finally giving him another shot. He had practiced a dozen versions of the same line in his head.

But when you descended the stairs in that usual, effortless way, bored eyes locked into the screen of your phone, he realized immediately— something had changed.

"Lex isn't here." You said, eyes darting at the box he was carrying. "You can leave it in the kitchen."

"I know," He replied, a little breathless. "I was hoping you'd be home."

You paused. "Really?"

Clark nodded, setting down the box of fruits and vegetables. "Been doing alright?"

You shrugged. "Same old. You?"

"Maybe." He shifted nervously. "I— I'm free this Saturday. If you wanted to— I dunno, go by the lake with us. Just hanging out."

You looked at him. "You don't have to pretend, you know?"

Clark blinked. "Pretend? I— I wasn't—"

"It's fine, Clark. If you don't like me, you could just say it to my face. I'm a smart girl, Clark. I'll understand whatever reason you have."

"But I don't—" He tried to move forward, to explain, but you were already walking away from him.

Down Main Street, past the closed café and the silent bookstore, hands in his jacket pockets, brows furrowed so deeply, Clark found himself walking in the streets of Smallville. His boots scuffed against the pavement with every distracted step, and his mind was loud— too loud.

He was driving himself mad.

So when Lex pulled up next to him in his Lamborghini, rolling down the window and watching Clark with one raised brow, it was hard to look anywhere but embarrassed.

“Late night for a stroll,” Lex said casually, but his eyes were sharp. Observing. “Don’t tell me the world’s strongest farm boy is out here moping.”

Clark gave him a dry look but didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try.

Lex tilted his head. “You look like hell.”

“I feel like it,” Clark muttered.

Lex leaned his elbow on the edge of his window. “This about Y/N?”

Clark stopped walking.

Lex gave a small, knowing smile. “Figured.” There was silence for a beat, and then Lex said, almost thoughtfully, “You know… You really got the wrong idea about her.”

"Clark looked down. "Oh, yeah?"

Lex looked away briefly before adding, “Did you know that she waited by the door longer than she’d ever admit on her birthday? Kept peeking at the window, fixing her dress— her favorite one. And then, when you didn't show up, I know that broke her heart.”

Clark swallowed hard. "I..." He shook his head, trying so hard to convey coherent words but failing to do so.

“Don’t screw this up, Kent,” Lex said more gently now. “You think you’re the only one scared? That girl was brave enough to love you in front of everyone. Maybe it’s your turn.”

Clark didn’t speak. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out his truck keys, and offered them to Lex.

Lex raised a brow. “What’s this?”

“I need your car,” Clark said, almost urgently.

Lex blinked. “You’re not going to wreck it, are you?”

“No promises,” Clark replied, already moving.

Lex rolled his eyes, but tossed him the keys anyway. “She’s at my house. Kitchen. Baking. Don’t ask what time it is.”

Clark was already gone before the sentence ended, a streak of blur and hope trailing behind him.

You were baking again.

It was your comfort. Your reset button. The world could fall apart but give you flour, eggs, and your favorite playlist and you could pretend everything was fine for a few hours.

You didn’t expect to hear tires screech in Lex’s driveway. Didn’t expect heavy, rushed footsteps across the porch. Didn’t expect the door to swing open like something out of a dramatic rom-com.

Clark Kent stood there, breathless.

Hair wind-swept. Cheeks flushed. Eyes wild with emotion. He looked like he’d run across all of Smallville just to get here. He had.

“Y/N..."

You blinked at him, surprised, a spoon still in your hand. “Clark?”

“I— I need to talk to you,” he said, stepping inside before you could shut him out. “Please. Just hear me out. I won’t screw it up this time.”

“Clark, I’m kind of—busy—”

“Please.”

You froze.

“I was stupid, okay?” He said. “I was scared. You’re… everything. You’re so vibrant and loud and brilliant, and I thought I wasn’t enough for that. I thought I couldn’t keep up with someone like you. But I was wrong. You make me better.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Clark beat you to it again.

“I like you,” He breathed. “I really like you. And I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t. I don’t want to keep lying to myself that losing you is somehow better than facing how much I care.”

You stared at him, heart thudding. “Clark…”

He looked desperate. “Please say something.”

“I liked you first. But that doesn’t mean I want to be someone you settle for. I don’t want to be some spontaneous decision because you’re lonely.”

Clark shook his head, stepping closer. “You’re not. You’re not a decision. You’re the only thing I’m sure of right now.”

There was still doubt in your eyes. Still guardedness.

So Clark did the only thing he could think of to prove he meant every word.

He kissed you.

Gently at first— carefully, like you were made of glass. But then you responded, melting into it with a small sigh, hands finding his chest, and it deepened— slow and sweet and real.

When you finally pulled away, slightly breathless and a little dazed, he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You’re it for me,” He whispered. “I didn’t see it before. But I do now.”

You smiled, just a little. “You’re gonna owe me, Clarkie.”

“I’ll bake,” He offered.

You laughed. “You can’t even toast a bread.”

He grinned, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Then I’ll learn.”

©kjhbsies

[deadsetobsessions]

Fae adjacent! Danny pt. 2

Timothy Drake hadn’t figured out what Danny Fenton was. The shop keeper had been kind, something the nine year old hadn’t expected when he walked into Danny’s shop, willing to trade away his name and soul to get Jason back.

As the young man tilted his head at Jason’s grave, something distinctly inhuman crossing his face as he smelt the soil, Tim had the slightest inkling that he didn’t want to know.

Tim, despite what most people would say, had some kind of self preservation instinct. He wouldn’t have survived traipsing after vigilantes in Gotham this long if he didn’t.

He did not want to find out what kind of creature Danny Fenton could be when enraged. (Despite the fear, something in Tim trilled in Danny presence. Safety, it said. Acceptance.)

——

Danny hummed. The soil here had been disturbed. The dead had not stayed dead. Danny smirked. He knew a bit about not staying dead.

“Your Jason isn’t here, little Sparrow.”

“What?”

“See the soil?”

The little sparrow- Tim- curiously looked down. Danny was sure the kid was smart and a few seconds later, he was proven right.

“The soul’s fresh. Overturned. Someone dug him up? No. An indent. No soil on the outside of the burial, it’s not square- he dug himself up?”

Danny sent the little sparrow an approving smile. “Well, Gotham was never known for its rule abiding citizens, dead or not.”

The little sparrow sighed. “Great. He’s a zombie now?”

“Not quite. Come, we will find your brother.”

“He's, uh, not my brother.”

Danny blinked, pausing. “You would give your name for someone who isn’t family?”

Tim flushed. “He’s- he’s my hero!”

"He'd better be thankful for this, then. What a good friend you are, little sparrow."

Tim lowered his voice, "He doesn't know I exist?”

Danny stared at him and wondered if Phantom ever had anyone who would give their names for him. He also wondered if the standard for human stupidity had lowered since he woke up.

“You see how that's worse, right?"

"Can we get this done, please? Preferably before Batman comes out at night?"

"There are worse things than the Bat, but yes, we may. This way."

As Danny led the way, following the scent of a newly retethered soul and trace amounts of what this world called Lazarus Pits, he found himself wondering who taught this kid his self preservation instincts because they needed to be fired. Tim had followed him, through shady alleys and darkened roads, without a thought for his own safety.

They reached the door of what clearly was a pixie den. Before Danny entered, he turned to Tim. "You, little sparrow, would be the first to be murdered in a poorly done horror movie. Now, stay here while I get Jason."

With that said and satisfaction taken from Tim's flabbergasted and insulted face, Danny headed inside the pixie den to collect the wayward soul.

——

"It's Danny!"

"Danny!"

The pixies in the room cheered as he walked in. Their teeth were a bit too sharp, ears a little too pointed, with shirts that did not fit quite right at their backs.

"Hey, guys." Danny strode to the room, following the scent of Jason's soul. "

"Ah, interested in our fresh catch?" One of the more... prolific pixies sidled up to him. "I think we'll make good entertainment of this boy yet. Maybe even the king would like a gift. His soul's pretty strong, mind's almost dead though."

Danny turned to the pixie and smiled. "I'm coming to collect on my contract, unfortunately."

The bar fell to complete silence. The mist and haze of the bar settled and drew back from the tinge of green in Danny's eyes. Oberon might have ruled his court but Danny's court was above even his.

"Oh- I. Yes, of course, please." The pixie stepped back hastily. Danny strode the rest of the way, content in the unnatural silence of the normally chatty pixies. He picked Jason up from the seat, frowning as he caught the scent of mind numbing herbal paste in the food in front of the kid.

"The children," he uttered commandingly. "Are off limits."

"But-!"

Danny clicked his tongue chidingly as he began leading the unsteady kid out the door.

"It isn't quite the days of old anymore, where people are aware of normal trickery. If an adult falls for your schemes, then that is on them. Children? No. To pick on a newly tethered soul is too far into my court for me to turn a blind eye."

"How are we supposed to do anything with the bat watching the skies?"

"Then fly below him," Danny drew his lips back, allowing Phantom to flicker onto his human face and warping it to something more inhuman. Like them.

"We understand," the bar's proprietor agreed. "Your word will be heard and heeded, king of another court."

"Much appreciated."

——

"Jason!"

"One second, little sparrow." Danny focused, drawing upon the chaotic magic that laid beneath the thrum of ectoplasm. He, oddly enough, has had enough practice returning memories to make this process as easy as a twist of his hand. Jason went limp.

"Jason!" Tim's cry had a little more panic in it.

"Worry not, he's simply sleeping. Regained memories tend to be quite taxing." He shuffled Jason a little closer to Tim. "Here you are, little sparrow. One Jason, whole and generally unharmed."

Tim glanced at Jason and then at himself. He sheepishly looked at Danny. "Would you mind helping me get him back home?"

Danny tilted his head back and laughed.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

BOY GENIUS IN LOVE

tags: nsfw, college!Ford, first relationship, fem reader, obsessive behavior, “good girl” (forgive me im weak), reader wears skirts, first time, fingering, oral sex, public sex, both u and Ford are virgins

this was a request from anon that i saved to drafts but tumblr deleted it (i’m so sorry). it was about college Ford getting addicted to you after you start dating. i hope you see this anon :(( im so sad tumblr deleted my draft + ur ask

ᯓᡣ𐭩 you met him in the back of the library, of course. because Stanford wanted silence in its purest form, though it looked like he was hiding. you were the only other person who’d choose the fifth floor annex by choice. most people thought it was dusty, haunted or simply boring. but you liked how the lamps gave off that golden-honey glow, and how the windows were always cracked open. it was pretty there.

Ford noticed you first. not that you were hard to notice. . . your soft knits and pleated skirts and glossy stockings that clung to your thighs, Ford thought you’d been dipped in onyx. always with a pen tucked behind your ear. such a smart little thing. but more than that, you read. properly. Ford watched your lips moving faintly when you hit a complicated passage, head tilted, looking like a lost kitten.

Fiddleford said he was being stupid, lurking in the same row as you day after day and never saying a word. “yer gonna pass out from sheer repression,” he said, rolling his eyes as Ford scribbled in the margins of his notebook rather than say hi. but Ford couldn’t help it. he was already enchanted. smth about the way your eyes lit up when you found the answer to your own question in the footnotes of some scientific text. how you bit your lip and tapped the page when you were trying to commit a theory to memory. adorable.

you noticed him the day he dropped his bag, books exploded across the linoleum, so you knelt down to help before he could even stammer out an apology. your hands brushed and both of you looked up at the same time. his glasses awkwardly slid down his nose. you gave him a smile. “you’re always back here, i was starting to think you were a ghost.”

Ford laughed but it came out like a cough at first because he was still so damn nervous. then he relaxed into it, eyes crinkling at the corners behind those big, sweet lenses. “you’re the ghost,” he blurted and then panicked. “i mean— not like that! i just mean, you always vanish before i can say anything. not that i’ve tried. well, i have. in my head. you know.”

“wanna study together sometime?” you asked, and to him it was the most romantic thing you could’ve possibly offered. Ford nodded so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. the next time you sat together, he brought you coffee and three backup pens. and you caught him staring at your stockings every time you crossed your legs. it was adorable.

the first time he noticed, it was unintentional. purely visual input. you were sitting across from him in the tiny study alcove you’d both claimed. he brought the books, you brought the snacks. and you leaned back to stretch so the hem of your skirt fluttered. the sunlight from the library window lit you up, letting a slow golden spill across your thighs, where your stockings ended and soft skin began. Ford saw garters. he saw lace. and immediately forgot the square root of negative one.

very weird cough escaped him as if he'd choked on the dust. get yourself together, Stanford! you didn’t seem to notice though, but it sat with him for the rest of the afternoon, searing into his hippocampus. you were wearing different stockings every day. he hadn’t imagined it. he knew he hadn’t.

and every time, he told himself: don’t look. don’t think. don’t you dare be the kind of man who makes this weird. you were his friend now. study partners, even. you brought him your class notes when he was sick, and he helped you fix your calculator when you dropped it, and sometimes you brushed lint off his sweater without even thinking about it and he had to pretend his brain wasn’t screaming inside his mind every time it happened.

and it got worse. because you liked him. you liked liked him. you smiled when he said smth about gravitational waves. you leaned in when he explained interdimensional theoreticals. you brought him muffins. you poked his shoulder when he got smth right. you played with the strap of your bag when you were nervous. and eventually, finally, you asked him if he wanted to get coffee with you, but, like, not as a study thing.

he said yes so fast he knocked over his water bottle.

Ford didn’t know how to behave around you after that. it wasn't because you were different, but because he was. Ford felt like he’d touched something radioactive as he was sweating through his t-shirt, short-circuiting when you showed up in a plaid skirt and wine-red tights. the coffee date turned into a bookstore visit. the bookstore turned into a walk. the walk turned into a shared burrito at that food truck you liked, both of you giggling and wiping salsa off each other’s mouths.

and then there was the second date. where you wore lip gloss that shimmered beautifully when you smiled, and you said, “you look cute when you fidget,” and Ford had to literally reboot his nervous system. he was so tense he dropped his fork. couldn’t stop rubbing the edge of his coat sleeve between his fingers.

your thighs are right there. you know what you're doing. you have to. right? no! no, you're just pretty. girls are pretty. you don’t have to turn into a werewolf about it, Stanford. but god, what if you'll sit on his lap. what if you'll climb into his lap and Ford would feel the fabric of your stockings against his—

stop. stop. stop. stop.

you laughed at smth he said about string theory. he was sweating because you crossed your legs. unexpectedly, you handed him a piece of your dessert and Ford stared at your lips for five seconds too long before he let you feed him.

you weren’t trying to kill him. probably. maybe. but you liked how shy he got. how he pushed his glasses up when you leaned in too close, and how he flinched every time your thigh brushed his under the table. and when you walked home together that night and your fingers barely touched, you heard him swallow so loud it made you giggle.

Stanford still thought about that first day. your lip gloss. your pretty outfits. the curve of your handwriting. but now he also thought about what it’d feel like to have you sitting in his lap during office hours, flipping through flashcards while he tried not to pass out.

and worst of all? you hadn’t even kissed him yet.

you didn’t talk about it, not really. no one ever said “we’re dating” or “you’re mine” or “i like you like that,” but it was so obvious it almost hurt. your name was always on his lips and his glasses were always smudged with your lip balm. you sat together everywhere, shared drinks, pulled each other close by the elbow, touched fingers when you passed things back and forth. and god forbid you go more than three seconds without feeling some part of each other.

and you grinded. you grinded so much. behind the library stacks. in empty classrooms. in stairwells between lectures. his coat wrapped around both of you, covering to keep it decent while your hips rocked against his, your hands in his brown hair, his handsome face flushed and dazed, breathing into your collar, afraid of making a sound.

his thighs were so solid, wrapped in those tailored wool trousers he wore all the time. cruel things, rough where they shouldn’t be, pressing into your softness, and it made the friction so good, too good, made your breath shake every time you rubbed against the hard shape of him and whispered his name.

“we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t do this here,” he always said but then why his hands stayed on your waist and his hips pressed up into yours? “someone might see,” he’d whisper against your throat, even as he kissed you under your ear, even as you rocked against him slowly, dry humping like crazy and nothing else mattered but the way you could feel him, stiff and thick through all those layers.

you’d whimper and he’d shudder. you’d breathe into each other’s mouths and whisper things like “feels so good” and “you’re so warm” and “i think i might come just like this, fuck, Ford, i’m gonna—“ and he’d hold you tighter, breathing so hard because he was going to die right there if you didn’t stop, except neither of you could stop.

and it just kept happening. the tension wound tighter and tighter. the kissing got hotter. his hand found your ass under your skirt one day and didn’t move. in respond, your fingers brushed the bulge in his pants during a movie night and you both sat frozen, breathless, two dorks in love.

you didn’t mean to give him a hand job. it just. . . happened. you were both in his dorm and he looked so flushed and desperate and pretty, you’d never seen his pupils that blown out before.

“i want,“ he said, eyes fluttering shut. “can i? i want to touch you, no. i want you to touch me.”

“yeah, okay. yeah, Ford, it’s okay.” his cock was warm, so hot through his boxers, twitching when your palm brushed over it, and you both gasped as if it was the end of the world. you watched his needy face while you touched him with slow, trembling and unsure strokes, fingers so nervous but gentle because you didn’t know exactly what you were doing but god, he whimpered and it vanished all your doubts away.

“oh my god,” Ford putted his hand over his mouth, trying to keep it all in. “feels so good, please, don’t stop, that’s s-so—“

he came in your hand. messily and helplessly. with his red face buried in your shoulder as he gasped and gasped and said your name and begged, thrusting into your hand. by the end of it it all was so sticky. heaven on earth. both of you giggling and out of breath and kind of in shock about the whole thing.

and then he wanted to try. his hand went under your clothes, had been aching to go there for weeks. six fingers trembling as he pushed your panties aside and touched your folds, your clit, your soaked softness. “you’re, you’re wet, you’re already so wet,” Stanford kissed you while he fingered you, moaned right into your mouth. and his fingers were so fucking clumsy, but you guided him with gasps and whines and little “right there, baby, like that, oh—fuck, yes—“ and your smart boy just listened, eager and panting, his whole arm flexing as he tried to give you what you needed.

when you came on his fingers it was with your forehead pressed to his, your skirt all rumpled and his name falling from your lips in hoarse sounds. Ford smiled, kissing your cheeks, your nose, your fingers. you both laughed again.

it happens on a tuesday. not a particularly romantic one, not a holiday or a celebration or an anniversary (though you both will end up counting it like one, later). you’d both been studying again, him pacing while he monologued about theories, you curled up on his bed taking notes, your thighs bare and crossed under you. he couldn’t stop staring.

you looked up, caught him. and blushed, chewing your pen cap. “what?” you asked innocently. and Ford just blinked at you, waking from a trance, and answered, softly. “i really want to make love to you.”

and that was it. just two awkward nerds with their hands shaking as they slowly stripped each other down to skin.

the first time he slid inside you, shaky, too slow, panting softly into the crook of your neck, you both cried out at once. “oh my god,” you whimpered, fingernails pressing into his back leaving red marks. “Ford, Ford, it’s so big, it’s so—“ he gasped, body trembling. “youre so tight, darling, didn’t know it would feel like this. . .”

you clung to each other, rocking messy, with no rhythm at all, your shaking legs wrapped around his waist, moaning so loud because neither of you had any idea how to handle it. and when you came with stars behind your eyes, it was so intense you sobbed into his chest. he followed only some minutes after, gasping your name like a man drowning.

that should’ve been the end. but he kept going.

you didn’t mean to fuck again that night, and definitely not twice more the next morning, but Stanford couldn’t help himself. because he’d discovered oxygen and now couldn’t survive without the feel of you around him.

it didn’t take long before Ford’s libido eclipsed all else. poor genius, he’d always been obsessive. hyperfocused, easily fixated, nerd who could talk for hours about things like rifts in spacetime or secrets of the universe without even stopping to breathe. you should’ve known that once he got a taste of you, once he got to feel your thighs clench around him and your cunt flutter so tightly when he moaned your name, he’d treat you like one of his beloved discoveries.

but no one warns you about what happens when a man so smart gets addicted to your pussy.

wednesday is lab day so you lean over the table too much and fiddle with your pencil between your pretty lips. Ford sits across from you hard as a rock, biting his tongue while he tries to listen to Fiddleford talk about transistor configurations. but it’s hopeless. he keeps slipping off to the bathroom just to stroke himself thinking of you, spilling into his palm with a bitten-back moan, forehead pressed to the stall door. he doesn’t even make it back in time for the quiz.

but it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

it’s been two whole days since you last stayed the night in his dorm. two agonizing days of him jerking off under flickering dorm showers, biting his lip to keep quiet while the water beat down on his flushed skin. mondays make him unbearable. he won’t even look at you in class because he knows, if he does, he’ll spend the whole hour with his cock stiff under the desk at the sight of your lipgloss or the shape of your thighs under that skirt.

by 4pm he’s dragging you into the back of the library, shoving you up against the wall between reference books you’re never gonna read, panting against your cheek. “i missed you,” as his fingers fumble to shove your underwear aside. “i need it. i can’t concentrate.” your panties down to your thighs, his cock already pressed between your folds before you can catch your breath. your arms loop tight around his neck, mouthing soft kisses against his jaw as he slides inside.

you started carrying spare panties in your bag. stopped wearing bras under your blouses because he couldn’t keep his hands off you anyway. he’d bend you over his desk, shove a hand over your mouth, fuck you until you were blinking up at him all dazed and dripping. once he even took you right by the astronomy hall, gripping your hips while he fucked you so hard his glasses fogged up.

“you feel too good,” he’d whisper in between thrusts. “i swear, didn’t know it could feel like this—“

and the worst (best) part? he was good at it now. so good. all those fumbling, clumsy first thrusts turned into something downright ravenous.

Ford learned fast, like he always did. one time you were trying to study, nose deep in a textbook, sprawled on your tummy with your feet kicked up behind you, wearing a little sweater and nothing underneath but knee-high socks and. . . that was a mistake.

“Ford, baby, i have to finish this chapter, we got exam tomorrow“ but he was laying kisses on the backs of your thighs, pushing your panties aside and groaning when he saw the shine of you already waiting for him. “don’t worry,” he murmured, pulling his cock free. “i’ll help you concentrate.”

you tried. really tried to keep reading. you bit your lip and gripped the pages. but then he pushed inside and suddenly it was so hot for no reason in the middle of November. your eyes widened, hips tilted up of their own accord, and you whimpered over your textbook while his cock thrusted into your softest parts.

“just read,” Ford whispered, mouth against your ear, one hand pressing on your lower back to keep you tilted up. “be a good girl and study while i fill you up.”

you came like that, making such a mess on his cock, face in your book, ruined your exam notes. and he didn’t stop even after, just rutted slower, deeper, staying inside because “you’re so warm, so perfect, i wanna live here.”

and he meant it. because now, he fucked you every day. sometimes more than once. until your legs shook and your panties were just too damp to wear. while you studied, while he explained theories into your mouth.

you study in his dorm but Ford's too distracted by the way you sit with your legs open so. . . best solution is him fingering you under the table while you review notes, moaning under his breath every time your cunt clenches around his fingers. “this isn’t studying,” you try to protest, biting back a moan. “yes it is,” Ford replies, kissing the shell of your ear. “studying your anatomy, sweetheart. i think i deserve an A.” he makes you finish twice before you even look at the next chapter.

but no, calling it just fucking would be wrong. it was always tender, sensual even. messy hair, flushed cheeks, his voice breathless, telling you how beautiful you were as he pushed inside.

Stanford Filbrick Pines, the boy genius, gets so addicted. he goes from “i’m not sure i’m doing this right” to “i don’t think i can go twenty-four hours without being inside you.”

and it’s every day, every goddamn day. multiple times, if he can swing it. he wakes you up with soft little kisses, a gentle hand already palming at your chest under the blankets, and by the time your eyes flutter open he’s rutting against your hip like a dog in heat.

but thursdays. . . you don’t know what it is about thursday. the schedule? the way he only has one lecture in the morning? whatever it is, it makes him feral. yeah, thursdays are the worst for you, because that’s when he gets bold. when he puts you in his desk chair, throws your leg over the armrest, and kneels in front of you between essays, unbuttoning your blouse. “you’ve been working so hard, love, you deserve this. let me take care of you. please.” he groans, burying his face in your pussy, making you sob and shake and come again and again while your notes flew off the desk and your fingers knotted in his soft brown curls.

and that wasn’t even the beginning. thursdays meant getting bent over the counter before breakfast, groped in the hallway, shoved against the peeling wallpaper and kissed so hard your knees buckled.

by week seven, it’s a game of where. it doesn’t matter when anymore, because any time is fair game. he’s fucked you in the dorm stairwell, in the math department’s basement closet, in the cramped little photo booth at the student union during your lunch break, one leg on the little bench while he thrusted into you.

once, Ford got so riled up mid-lecture he leaned over and whispered, “your skirt’s too short. you’re not wearing anything under that, are you?” and when you didn’t answer fast enough, he stood up, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into the hallway like a man possessed.

he bent you over a bench by the lockers and fucked you so fast and rough your vision went white at the edges. then he went right back to class with sweat at his temples and still aced the damn presentation. unbelievable

you learned not to wear skirts if you actually wanted to make it through the day without being groped. you learned to bring water and snacks because he’d fuck you until you were lightheaded.

by finals week, he was sliding your underwear off under the table in the library, whispering, “just sit on my lap, please, baby, i’ll be quiet, i swear. i just need to feel you around me.”

there’s no break and no off switch. not that you were complaining, but weekends were dangerous. he makes love to you for hours on sunday mornings, long, slow, thick strokes that have you drooling into the pillows, whispering praises into your mouth while he fucks you so gently it makes you cry from how soft it is. saturday afternoons he’d go down on you until your thighs shook, then hump against you like a boy losing his mind over his first crush.

Ford’s kisses made you weak. no, everything about him made you weak. his hands, his mouth, his voice when he whined in your ear that he couldn’t think straight without your cunt around him.

but every thursday, he shows up behind you, hard already, “you busy? no? good. because i need to be inside you. right now. or i’ll lose my mind.” now, every day's a new excuse to be inside you <𝟑

[oneoftheextras]

lockjaw | j.t two

masterlist | help me fun my top-surgery?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

request: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight a/b/o traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference

words: 3.8k

chapter warnings: predator/prey vibes, the slow burn begins, mentions of a bad relationship

chapter notes: chess descriptions but easy to follow, salo is reader's ex

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven |

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

The game started quickly, although you hadn’t played chess in years so you weren’t putting much thought into your moves.

The fabric bottom of the metal pawn made a satisfying but muted click as you put it down on the metal square.

Jayce cocked his head to the side by no more than an inch, staring at the pawn with furrowed eyebrows. After a few seconds, his eyes moved to you.

Even though he didn’t say anything, his facial expression spoke for him. ‘That was a stupid move’.

He continued his eye contact with you as he picked up his bishop and slid it diagonally across the board until it collided with your pawn with a melodic ‘tink’ sound.

As he lifted up your pawn and put it on his side of the table you realised just how smart he was, and that you’d clearly insulted him.

For a second you felt ashamed of the assumption you’d made. For thinking this would be an easy win.

“Okay, Jayce. Game on,” you said quietly to him and readjusted yourself in the chair; your voice carried a playful and challenging tone which made his ears twitch.

He liked how you sounded when you were having fun and not overthinking your words.

He looked up at you through the strands of hair that fell in front of his face, the side of his mouth curled every so slightly upwards into a cocky smirk.

It was so subtle that you almost missed it, but it was as if to say ‘Challenge accepted’.

After a mere eight minutes you knew you’d lost the game.

All you had left was your king, a castle and a handful of pawns, whilst Jayce’s side of the board was heavily populated.

Staring at the pieces wasn’t going to win you the game, no matter how hard you studied them. A hundred different moves had gone through your thoughts but not one of them would help.

Jayce exhaled through his nose and leaned backwards in his chair to watch you, he was letting you take your time but he was also very aware of your impending loss.

You glanced up at him with a somewhat pleading look, silently asking him to show you mercy and not rub it in too much.

If he was thinking of finishing this quickly then his face showed no signs of it.

When you eventually made your move he sat forward, his forearms leaning on his thighs to interlock his fingers together in thought.

Even you knew he didn’t need to think about it for as long as he was, any move would mean you were one step closer to defeat.

There was a clear space for him to seize your castle and leave you with only two pawns to protect your king, but he didn’t take it.

Instead, he moved his own pawn forward. A seemingly useless move that achieved nothing, but the small smile on his lips indicated he was up to something.

Quirking your head to the side to ogled his piece with confusion, you tried to understand why he'd make such a move.

His eyes gave nothing away. He simply leaned back in his chair again and rested his mouth against his knuckles as he watched your reaction.

You moved your castle into a more offensive position, trying to create a protective wall around your other pieces, but Jayce moved his pawn closer.

His queen was still in play, as well as other more threatening pieces, so you were perplexed as to why he was only moving his pawn. It was only when he slid it one space forward so it was diagonally next to your castle, that it clicked.

The pawn was in position to take your castle, but your castle couldn't attack the pawn - it's only option was to retreat.

You glanced up at him from the chess board and he did the same, your eyes meeting for a second before you relented and moved your castle horizontally a few spaces to save it the embarrassment of being taken by a pawn.

A low chuckle came from Jayce's throat; it took you back for a second - you were pretty sure that was the first noise you'd heard him make.

He reached over the board and moved his bishop into position to block your two pawns and your king into the corner.

With a loud sigh, you moved your pawn back a space to buy you some time to think of what to do, but he immediately moved the bishop closer.

One diagonal square at a time he enclosed your pieces into the corner. He could've done it all in one move or even ended the game several moves ago, but he wasn't.

"I surrender," you threw your hands up in defeat, but when you saw the determination mixed with something similar to playfulness in his golden irises, you started to understand why he was drawing this out.

He smiled for a moment and you spotted his sharp canines peeking out from under his scarred lip; the sound of your forfeit was pleasant to his ears, evident from the bristled fur around the base - but he wasn't interested.

He wanted to corner you. Trap you with nowhere to go. Then he would take his win.

Eventually, he took your castle and one of your pawns, leaving you with nothing but a singular pawn to defend yourself.

There was nothing you could do but back yourself into the corner until there were no more spaces left.

The glint in his eye only shone brighter once you moved for the last time, his pieces surrounding yours; that's when you finally understood fully.

He'd played with you, hunted the pieces down until all that was left was him to take them - it was like a bright neon sign had switched itself on in your brain to give you a deadly reminder:

'Unfortunately, some of his feral habits returned but he mostly keeps to himself now'

The vet's voice reverberated in the back of your mind as you pushed your last pawn forward and into the firing line of his, your heartbeat quickened as if it was yourself stepping into the jaws of the starving beast.

Jayce's tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he collided his bishop into your pawn, he picked up your piece and placed it with the others he'd captured.

He gazed up at you with triumph, his pupils slightly enlarged compared to before, but apart from the small signs you'd picked up on he seemed completely calm.

"You won," you said slightly-breathlessly, and he held your gaze.

For a moment, you were unsure if he was done with you. His stare was intense and hungry. He no longer looked like a chocolate Labrador, moreso a wild wolf.

Then he broke the eye contact and started to reset the board.

You felt like your breath had been returned to you, as if he'd released you from whatever cage he'd put you in.

Maybe it was just you being too cautious, and you'd misread him. Maybe you were unfairly making assumptions based on what you knew about his past.

"Some tea before you go?" the man from before was stood next to your table, holding a tray with two cups and a teapot on it.

"Before I go?" you queried and glanced towards the clock on the wall - you only had around 17 minutes left of your visit. Somehow the conclusion of that game took nearly 30 minutes.

The man slid the tray onto the table next to the chess board and Jayce side-eyed him as he leaned down but continued to reset the board.

"Pick whichever flavour you like," he gestured to the small box with multiple different colours of teabag packets, and took hold of the teapot and poured hot water into the cup he'd put in front of Jayce.

As he went to pour the water into your cup too, Jayce tapped his hand firmly and grabbed hold of the handle, forcing the vet to let go and give it to him.

He then slowly and gently poured the water into your cup for you before placing the pot softly back down on the tray. His actions and demeanour were a stark contrast to how he was a few moments ago.

"Oh, I don't think you'll have time for another game, sorry buddy!" the vet cooed at him as he returned to putting the chess pieces back into place.

Jayce gave him a scolding glance, but ignored what he was saying. If you were being honest, you didn't like the tone he was using with him. It was similar to baby-voice with an infant; it was condescending.

"Thank you," you smiled at the vet as an indication that he could leave as you picked your tea flavour and submerged the bag in the hot water.

When he eventually left there was silence around you and Jayce again, and you wondered if he would talk - or if he even could.

You'd heard him laugh earlier so you knew he had human vocal chords, maybe? You'd have to research it when you got home.

When he was done resetting the chess board, he picked his own tea flavour and put it into his own cup, repeatedly dunking it with his teaspoon.

"So..." you awkwardly attempted to start the conversation, and his eyes darted up to yours at the sound of your voice.

"Do you like it here?" was the first question you could think to ask, but his quirked eyebrow and facial expression was all the answer you needed.

Of course he didn't. It was the equivalent of the pound, or an orphanage, just fancier and cleaner.

"Sorry," you rubbed the bridge of your nose with the hand that wasn't holding the teacup, "I've never been very good at small talk," you laughed nervously.

He observed you as you sipped your drink, he noted how delicately you blew on the hot liquid so you wouldn't burn yourself, and how you struggled to keep eye contact with him.

You were certainly different to the other people who walked through that door, especially the people who worked here.

"I don't really know what to ask you, I'm not usually the one who carries a conversation," you confessed as you put your teacup back down on the tray and glanced around the room.

The other hybrids were out as well, but other than a few curious peeks in your direction, they'd stayed away.

It wasn't surprising that they kept their distance. From the brief moment that you'd stood opposite him, you got a gage for how big he was.

Not just tall, but muscular as well - if you were a hybrid you'd probably keep out of arms length as well.

"Why do you stay here?" you asked suddenly and before thinking. He stared at you with no indication of a response like earlier. "I mean-" you tried to reword your question, "-I guess you don't really have a choice-", his eye flitted to the ground for a millisecond then back up to you, confirming your words were true.

"-But you can clearly look after yourself fine, and physically you wouldn't have a problem fighting anyone off if you needed to," you gestured to his bicep and his attention went down to his own arm.

The shirt he was wearing was very flattering for his physique, but you hadn't meant to point it out so blatantly.

"What I'm trying to say is, if you wanted to leave you probably could, so why do you stay?" you concluded, unsure if anything you just said made sense.

He didn't move for a moment and you were afraid that you'd insulted him, but then he suddenly pushed himself up and startled you in the process.

He walked over to one of the cabinets on the other side of the room and you watched how confident his strides were, his fluffy brown tail swishing behind him with every step. Other eyes were on him too, clearly it wasn't often he moved.

He reached up to one of the high shelves and picked something up, cradling it in his hands until he could hand it to you.

You took it as gently as you could, it was a small metal boat - despite it's size it was very detailed.

There was a tiny crank on the side, which he reached down and delicately started to wind it up, which made the circular engine move; you were sure if you put this into water it would be a functioning machine.

He took it from your hands to turn it over for you. That's when you saw the engraving on the side, 'V & J'.

"You made this?" you grinned with surprise and looked up at him. You hadn't realised, but he had put one hand on the back of your chair and was leaning over you.

He bent down, even closer than he was before and tapped the 'V' on the boat specifically, then it clicked what he was trying to say.

"Viktor?" you whispered. His expression softened and he nodded, "He was your friend wasn't he?" you asked and he smiled sadly - he clearly missed him.

Then it all made sense. Why he was showing you this, after your specific line of questioning.

Never before had you looked at someone and so clearly seen yourself staring back. "You don't want to be alone," you said aloud, and this time you were unsure who you were saying it to; yourself or him.

He picked the boat up gently and let it sit in the palm of his hand to observe it again. He started poking and prodding different parts and you could almost mentally hear him criticising his own work.

"I get it, in my own way," you reassured him, and a part of you wanted to take his hand - enclose as much of him in your grasp as you could, to let him know that it was okay to feel what he was feeling - but neither of you were ready for that.

He glanced from the boat to how you were admiring his work and it made his chest warm up. The way you took in every detail and really appreciated it was something he hadn't felt in a long time.

"The whole reason I'm here-", "Okay guys, that's one hour!" the vet clapped his hands from his seat across the room, and Jayce's ears flattened at the loud sound, causing the confession to die on your tongue before it could begin.

The bubble of comfort around the two of you had been abruptly popped before it had even finished forming.

You stood slowly, glancing between Jayce - who was staring daggers - and the vet.

"Right, yeah," you acknowledged his announcement and stood from your chair, "It was nice to meet you properly, Jayce," you said softly as you stepped away from him reluctantly.

He smiled for a second before his expression returned to the neutral scowl he had when you first saw him, and he sat back down in his chair as if you'd never arrived.

There was a pang in your chest when you looked over your shoulder one last time as the sanctuary doors swung shut, blocking your view of him.

An arbitrary afternoon of work bled into an evening of solitude. You sat on your couch and mindlessly flicked through TV channels, finding nothing of worth for you to watch.

It was hard to not think about him, especially when you were alone. What was he doing right now? What were they allowed to do in the evenings?

It was so blatantly obvious to you that you weren't ready for this type of commitment yet; you had no idea how to take care of a hybrid let alone one like Jayce.

Jayce.

His face flashed in your mind. His sad golden irises, his momentary smiles, and the gentle way he handled something so dear to him.

That pain in your chest hit you again, "You deserve someone better," you muttered to yourself and picked up your laptop.

The email to the vet was written within the hour; a simple explanation that, whilst Jayce was lovely and he hadn't done anything wrong, you felt you weren't the right fit for him.

But pressing send was proving impossible.

The tip of your finger had been against the mousepad for longer than it had taken for you to write the email; reading and re-reading your own email back to yourself over and over again.

Would they show him it? Would they let him know that you wouldn't be seeing him again? Or would he eventually realise you weren't coming back?

A singular tear that you didn't know was forming dropped from your waterline and hit the back of your hand; at the same moment your phone rang.

It was your friend, the one who had originally recommended you get a pet. The one that started all this.

"Hey?" you answered the phone with a shaky voice and a sniffle, "Hey, what's up?" your friend's voice travelled through the speaker but you could tell she'd picked up on the fact you were crying.

"Not a lot, you?" your answer was a cookie cutter response and she knew it, "What's wrong?" she ignored your question and instead asked her own.

A puff of air, which you think was supposed to be a laugh, came out of you, "Nothing, I'm fine!" you protested, but the silence on the other end was evidence enough that she didn't believe you.

"Tell me," she eventually said, and you caved.

"You know how you suggested I get a companion after Sal-", "We don't say his name in this household," she interrupted you, "But yes, I do, continue,".

A sad sigh left your lips, "Well, I think I found one, but he's-" she injected again, "Oooh! Tell me everything! Cat or a dog? I'm going to guess a little kitty," she was more excited than you were originally.

It sat with you for a moment; you wanted to tell her everything but the subject of hybrids had never come up before with her and you weren't exactly sure if it would go down well.

"He's a dog," you scrunched your face up at your own words, you hated referring to him in such a basic way.

A surprised sound came from your phone, "A small one though, right? Like a dachshund or something?", this time you were the one that was silent.

"A Labrador," you muttered, "Quite a big one too," you clarified.

She said your name in a scolding manner, "Do you have enough space? Do you know how much energy they have? It'll wreck your apartment!".

"He's actually very calm and polite," your words came out more defensive than you meant them to, "Polite?" she laughed at your choice of words.

"I'm more worried about if I can take care of him properly," you admitted, "Dog's are easy; walk them once a day, feed them and let them out when they need to shit!" by the tone of her voice, she was finding this all very amusing.

You opened your mouth to explain how different your situation was, but the sentence died in your throat, knowing it would cause more questions than you'd be able to answer.

"He's a rescue though, that's what I'm worried about," you thought hard about your wording, "He was abandoned really young so he's lived his whole life fending for himself until recently,".

"How recently?" she asked her voice becoming more serious. "I think they said 3 months- but he's adjusted really well!" you started to counter any arguments she was thinking of putting forward.

You retold the story of how he'd befriended a feline and it had grounded him, obviously rewording some parts.

"That's a good sign that he was chill with a cat, not a lot of dogs are like that," she paused for breath, "What's his name?" she asked.

Your heart skipped a beat and you smiled to yourself, "Jayce," you said with a giddiness you didn't know you had.

"Is he cute?" her second question came, and immediately your brain filled with images of him.

His strong jaw, his prominent cheekbones, his muscular frame, and his ears that looked so soft to touch.

"Y-Yeah, he is," your smile widened, "Then what is it that you're actually worried about? 'Cause you seem to like him a lot," she cut straight to the point.

Your grin started to fall, "I guess-" you started, inhaling deeply to prepare yourself for what you were going to say, "I guess I think he's better with someone else, who's adopted a rescue before, and emotionally together,".

This was something you'd only thought about, but for the first time you were speaking it aloud, "After Sa-" you started, but stopped yourself, remembering her rule about his name, "-After everything with him, I haven't been my best self, you know?" you vented.

She hummed as a sign that she was listening to you. "He needs someone who will take care of him properly, not make him worse," you concluded, slightly breathless from the confession.

"My mom adopted a rescue a few years back," she started what seemed like a tangent, but you let her continue, "My dad was so against the idea, but once my mom had met her there was no changing her mind, they'd bonded almost instantly."

You knew the dog she was talking about, you'd met her once and you'd had no idea she was a rescue until now.

"The little shit spent months warming up to her, but you could see it in her big soppy eyes that she adored my mom, but was scared to trust again," as she spoke, sad golden eyes flashed in your mind.

There was a short pause as you heard your friend sipping whatever drink she had before she continued

"What I'm saying is; yeah, rescues are hard work, but once you earn their trust, there is nothing stronger," she sounded uncharacteristically philosophical.

You nodded even though she couldn't see you. "I get what you're saying," you verbally confirmed so she knew you were still listening.

"Anyway, you might find that he brightens your miserable-ass up and makes you fun again," she insulted you but you knew it was meant with love and she was only semi-serious.

"Yeah, you're right," you said absent-mindedly. She quickly changed the subject and started to talk about how her day had been and how her girlfriend's birthday was coming up soon and she didn't know what to get her.

As she spoke, you listened but dragged your cursor over to the 'Delete' button of your email and confidently clicked your mousepad without a second thought. Your moment of doubt, and email, gone.

taglists:

all:

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lockjaw:

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[thanosscross]

hiii :)) i’ve been thinking abt this for a long time… okay, so, imagine thanos and reader know eachother before the games, like, they’re exes in squid game, and so, he flirts and all, protects her and she always is in his team because he wants so.. he swears reader is like a harmless bunny in all of this game. so.. they get back together, in mingle, when she sees thanos kicking out a guy from their team and betraying se-mi, she gets scared that thanos may kick her out or betray her, when they say two, she is pretty much expecting thanos to send her to find another person, but he does not, he runs with her.. but now a player pushes reader and like because they were almost at a door thanos did not have time to react and boom. the door closes and he is not with reader. he may be high, but, when he realizes, the effects wear out because oh boy he was screaming at trying to open the door while watching reader in that weird square in the door.. and when the timer reaches to zero… boom, you dont have to specify that she dies and can just end the fic when the door closes!! 🩷🩷 thanks for even reading this lame request lol

Harmless- Choi Su-Bong/ Thanos x reader

Summary: After a rough breakup you were forced to be on Thanos's team, only to be forced right back off during Mingle.

warnings: Your usual squid game gore

You and Su-bong were close, you always had been even in high school, it was the typical bad boy smart girl relationship for you, He was constantly getting into fights and trouble, doing drugs and running around doing underground rap battles. You were quite the opposite, just trying to keep your head down, finish school, and get away from everything your sorry hometown had to offer, until Su-bong changed everything for you.

Standing in your shared apartment you raised your eyebrows "You want me to what?.." You asked in shock "Come on! I got everything we need!" He groaned throwing his head back "Listen, you know you want to help me, beauty flower" Su-bong smirked placing his hands on your sides "Please?"

That's how you ended up dying his hair and giving him a neck tattoo in just twenty four hours. He laid face down on your shared dining room table (Him claiming it'd be easier for you) as you held the tattoo gun nervously "A-Are you sure, Su-bong?..What if I like..ruin your body?" You asked, you were both too high for this, and you could tell by the way the tattoo gun felt like nothing in your hand even though it was weighing it down. "Just do it, baby" He smirked "It's just some lines, you've done more than just two" He teased, you glared smacking his back "Shut up!" You scoffed before shaking your head starting to push the needles into his skin, squealing as he winced gripping your thigh "Did I hurt you?!" You gasped leaning closer to examine the small black line at the base of his hairline. "No! no, just keep goin" He grunted, you continued for what seemed like a couple hours, until you realized the sun was up and you had spent all night and half the morning finishing his tattoo.

Whenever you finished you watched him stand proudly "Hell yea, how's it look baby?" He asked trying to see his back in the mirror, failing miserably "Looks amazing" You smiled, giggling as he spun you around planting a sloppy kiss onto your lips.

That would be the last time you saw Su-bong and had any pleasant feelings towards him, after that, he changed, always screaming about debt and how he was going to kill some guy from youtube, you brushed everything off until you caught him at a club with another bitch sitting practically on his lap, he didn't even deny it either, just saying in his stupid voice 'nobody can tie down the greatness of thanos' You left him almost immediately after that situation, choosing to move on from that phase of your life, learning rather quickly, his debt wasn't just his, it was yours aswell.

Four months. Four months of thinking you were free of that asshole, until you heard a familiar voice complaining about limited edition shoes, you immediately darted in the other direction, successful in avoiding your asshole of an ex, until the first game. "Senoritaa..." You heard his sing song voice behind you while you were stood frozen, trying not to focus on the dead body laying right next to you a few feet to the right. "Where have you been!? I've been looking everywhere!" He cried out, the creepy doll head turning to face the tree again, sending you in a soft sprint forward "Beauty flower!" He shouted out again, you tried your best to ignore him, almost getting away until you passed the finish line and his hand grabbed your wrist tightly.

As you turned to face to him, you could see he was clearly high "I don't want anything to do with you, Su-bong" You snapped, he just pouted "Beauty flower please!" He cried out, you just clenched your fists, trying your best to keep yourself from losing your cool in front of you. He stayed on you for the rest of the night, even sending another player to speak with you about him. The next game, he didn't really give you a choice, quickly snatching you away from the mingling crowd before someone could claim you to their team "Stop it! I don't wanna be on a team with you!" You huffed, trying to fight him and his friend off "You need a team" He snapped, stopping so he could stand in front of you and make eye contact "Not if it has you on it" You growled, he sighed continuing to pull you. "You can't make it here, y/n you'd yell at me for killing bugs outside!" He shouted, you just rolled your eyes, of course he'd think you couldn't do it. "Because they were innocent babies, you are an entitled dick!" you argued, Thanos just rolled his eyes leading you over with him to sit down with the others "These people are crazy, beauty flower! You need someone there for you!" He shouted, you were starting to grow annoyed with his high ass, letting him drag you around with him, letting him shove you to the far end where you were only attached to him.

Walking into the main room afterwards with your team, Thanos shouted and cheered walking to his bunk, his hand never leaving your wrist, you tried to pull away as he sat down but he just gave you the same look he used to whenever you would get into an argument and try to leave the room. You huffed, trying to stand your ground, but your heart was still craving him, so instead you offered him a soft smile, sitting down next to him, and slowly sliding your wrist up, to where you were holding his hand now instead, neither of you said anything, instead just exchanging looks, Su-bong offering you a shocked but scared look, while you just offered him a sympathetic but stern look. He continued on talking to his friend, asking everybody their names and how old they were. You were stuck in your own thoughts to really pay attention though, you couldn't believe yourself, here you were sitting next to Thanos like a dumbass love sick idiot all fucking over again.

Whenever the lights cut out, you slowly made your way to your bed, hoping the conversation Thanos was having would keep him distracted enough. You managed to get to your bunk and start to doze off whenever you felt a warm body press against your back "Why'd you sneak off without me, beauty flower?" Su-bong asked softly, wrapping his arm around you "I didn't sneak off. I went to bed" You stated, your tone coming off a little harsh "Why'd you leave me?...before..this" He asked after a moment "Su-bong.." You warned, giving him a chance to retreat on the subject before you got angry, but he just continued "I-I got home..and you weren't there.." he whispered, even with his low whisper, you could still hear his voice breaking, his hand tightening in your jacket "I-I got scared.."He admitted, you sighed keeping your back to him "Su-bong. You had another woman basically sitting on your lap, your hands were all over her...and you didn't even deny it..you said that I couldn't tie down your greatness" It still hurt even thinking about his words let alone saying them aloud, it was completely different, saying it felt like you were confirming it. You both sat in silence for what felt like hours, Su-bong just pulling you back into a hug tightly "I never meant to hurt you, Beauty flower" He whispered sadly, now you decided to turn around, letting him pull you as close as he could without being ontop of him. "I am so sorry" He repeated, you never spoke though, choosing to savor the moment as you fell asleep.

Walking into the giant room with a carousel in the middle, made you feel a different type of anxiety, as the loud speaker explained the rules, you watched Nam-Gyu and Su-bong both take a pill. You chose to stand closer to Se-Mi and Min-Su, all of you exchanging looks before the spinning platform stopped "Four players" The speaker announced, Su-bong and his friend rushed over to the three of you starting to shout at Se-Mi and Min-su "Rock paper scissors! Winner comes with us!" It became a chant as you nervously watched the two, feeling your hear sink seeing Min-su form scissors with his hand, before Nam-Gyu grabbed his wrist, Su-bong grabbing yours, both of them dragging you away from Se-mi. You fought against his grip as he shut the door and it locked, you shoved Su-bong to the side looking out of the window, desperately trying to find your new friend anywhere. You ex just grabbed your arms pulling you away "Don't look, someone so beautiful and sweet as you, doesn't need to see that" He said, you could tell by his tone he was trying to flirt with you, you just shrugged his hands off of you, shooting all the men in the room a glare. As soon as the door unlocked you rushed out "Se-Mi!?" You yelled looking around, sighing in relief running a few doors down to hug your friend as she emerged from the room, you chose to stay by her the next round, or at least tried to, Su-bong just kept sending Nam-gyu after you to remind you that you were on Thanos's team, which meant stay with him. as the speaker called out five players you were relieved, watching as everybody funneled into a room

You couldn't shake the feeling you had though, that at the next second, he'd ditch you just like he did Se-mi. As the round continued, you didn't even realize, Thanos had moved closer to you and the others, the platform stopped and the speaker called out "Three players" You looked at Thanos, just in time to catch him glance between you and another boy, thanos had basically kidnapped into his team "Gyeong-Su! You're out!" He yelled before delivering a harsh kick to his chest sending him falling back, before you could react, Thanos was already dragging you into the room.

You were in a trance walking back and spinning on the platform, stuck on the fact that this round, Su-bong might actually leave you for dead, as the platform stopped your heart dropped "Two players" The speaker called, your heart started to race as you stayed in your place, maybe if you didn't act like you were going, you wouldn't have to deal with the rejection "Beauty flower! Come on!" He shouted grabbing your hand pulling you towards the room, maybe you were wrong, maybe Su-bong had changed, before you could say anything the air was knocked out of you, watching a blur of color run past you slamming Su-bong into the room shutting the door.

Su-bong screamed loudly, rushing to the door desperately trying to break it open "No! Please! Five more seconds!" He screamed out of the small window in the door, trying to break it open further to see if he could see you, but you weren't there anymore. His screams only amplified as the timer dinged and rounds of gunshots were heard echoing off of the walls outside. His fist slammed against the wall, slowly turning around to look behind him "You" He growled looking at the player who stood there terrified.

Gasping the doors opened, letting you all out, ready to play another round.

[hanasnx]

Omfg thank god you’re in on the daddy soldier boy shit

I feel like he’d find it really funny if you were being sassy/bratty to other people but god forbid you do it to him. He’d squish your cheeks real hard and very sexily tell you to “cut that shit out right fucking now or so help me god-” and you know you’re in for it when y’all get home.

BRAT-TAMING — s.boy

“ she got a real ass, but her personality real fake / that’s a real shame / no play, no games ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | the boys. NOTES. heavily inspired by @glossykissies legendary soldier boy works which i binged today bcos i miss him. WARNINGS. fem reader ノ unestablished relationship ノ suggestive content ノ degradation: slut shaming, calling you a bitch, calling you stupid ノ age gap ノ brat taming ノ sexual harassment technically ノ humiliation.

SOLDIER BOY’s got a little bit of a soft spot for you. everyone with a pair of eyes in their skulls can see it. there’s a prick in the corner of his lips when you say anything, like a condescending response is forming on his tongue at-the-ready to make you feel stupid just ‘cause he likes the way you scoff indignantly. he asks, “where’s the kid?” when you’re not around, an incredulous and questioning gesture with his arms at his sides. the kind of judgmental arch to his brow that makes hughie nervous enough to quietly consult butcher as to how bad would it really be if they took you on this mission just to pacify him. the amount of times kimiko has caught the old supe red-handed when he tilts his head in that specific way that conveys he’s checking out your little ass. oh, yeah. it’s pretty clear ol’ ben’s got it bad for their temp.

for all his silent compliments regarding how he really thinks of you, soldier boy’s hard on you too. he treats you way differently than the rest of the boys do. they’ve gotten used to your personality—which they graciously describe as “bold.” you’re not going to hand out exceptions to the new guy, no matter how intimidating he tries to be, you lost respect for soldier boy as soon as he made a pass at you and called you a slut in the same breath. you’re not afraid of him, you largely try to ignore him if you can afford it, even while you’re being used as a lure to get him to do what the boys want him to do.

it’s that lack of fear that plays you right into his hands. he’s expressed to the room how he thinks “she’s just some bitch that walks all over you pussies,” and “if you’d just have the balls to put her in her place she wouldn’t be such a fuckin’ problem.” it’s said as advice, but he really doesn’t give a fuck how you treat people, as long as you don’t send it his way. now he’s got it in his head that it’s his job to knock you down a couple pegs. so when you refuse to look him in the eye for the umpteenth time, nails clacking on the touch screen pad to monitor data points, you toss some little line at him. it’s some reasonless jab that you don’t even fully register is coming out of your mouth, “why don’t you mind your business, old man?” and after a day of taking cracks at him, making him feel like he’s wasting his time here, telling him his freedom is a courtesy—he’s done.

callused and rough fingers claw into your jaw, scraping your buccal against your molars. your eyes fly open, wide and confused as an ache sets in your cheeks pushed together. your lips pout out involuntarily, and your head is forcibly pivoted towards the towering figure to your side as he snatches you. it happens so fast, you don’t even fight it, gulping as you’re bullied right into submission. “listen, little princess,” he spits the word, and you peer up at him with curious batting lashes. his square chin juts, speaking through his teeth as he stared down at you like you’re scum, yet his tone is surprisingly level. it’s cold, low, and threatening. “i’ve had it with your shit. so get smart, or i’ll show you who’s boss. you got that?” while in his vice-like hold, you nod dumbly the best you can, having been corralled into a sub-space, you’d be embarrassed if you were self aware of how your puppy dog eyes beg up at him for a second chance. he jostles you with a jolt of his forearm, and your neck gets whiplash, “i wanna hear you say it.” suddenly you see how big he really is, how his eyes are green.

“uh-huh.” you reply, your brows upturning as you give him a watery gaze. even if it’s fucking pathetic, he doesn’t push it. at least there was something coming out of your mouth besides mindless bitching. he lets his lesson sink in, and he releases you with a jerk, making you sway back with a proper sting in your face.

you rub it cautiously while his heavy boots thunder against the floor taking his exit. a little sheepish, mostly humiliated, you look around the room to the shocked audience, and butcher takes a deep swig from his flask with a scoff.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[k6tzie]

oh my goodness ive had so many ideas running around my head about sub! & virgin! ghost and im so in love with your depictions of sub him.. just imagine he being so confused on why hes so painfully hard and he doesnt know what to do, he just wants his mommy help him out so desperately, and hes so confused why it feels so good when she wraps her hand around his length.. 🤭

ive never actually been an anon on your page before so hii

hii my lovely anon thank u for this request, read this and started gnawing on the bars of my enclosure this is so good YES! 💯 sub!virgin!ghost who never had or has time to rub one out, he doesn't know how to 'do it', per se, and he doubts it feels that good anyway - always cynical. he's far too busy to even think of anything like that and he doesn't wanna sit there and just rub it like he's stroking a dog or something. what if it doesn't feel good? what if his hands are dirty and he contracts some illness? he's always overthinking whilst he suffers another night of his painfully hard, fat cock straining his pants as he scrolls through your social media, seeing your pretty little smile and the clothes he's convinced you put on for him to see like minx. and here he is again, back at square one as he thrusts his hips around in his sheets, not daring to touch himself. and next thing he knows, you found out about all this and wanted to take care of your sweet boy. you are the only female figure in his life after all, why not help him? by this point, he's begging you to sit on his face, dominate him, ride him until he is an overstimulated, stupid mess. he's babbling how good your hand feels rubbing his lengthy cock whilst his eyes twitch in pleasure and his pretty brown eyes cross.

you don't let him cum, no not yet. you don't just wanna feel his warm cum drip down your fingers, what a waste. you wanna feel it drip down your belly, or the crease between your boobs - not just on your fingers. instead you climb atop his red leaky cock and sink down right onto it whilst your gummy walls stretch to accompany his girth. his eyes lock onto yours in pure adoration whilst his cock twitches and stretches inside your gummy walls. he loves being fucked by his mommy, a smart one you are. so experienced huh?

and each jagged, awkward thrust he pounds into you is followed by a weak; "am i being good for you? is this good love?" in need of reassurance. so when you cup his face, pouting and reassuring him, "yeah baby," his cum shoots right inside you :(, feels good having his mommy take care of him. but he feels so bad about coming without telling you yet, he was just so overstimulated with emotions he didn't know what to do or say, so he apologizes profusely and offers to get you off with his mouth until you're trembling against his tongue with your juices spread on his mouth, cheek and chin as he holds your waist longingly in hopes you'll say yes. (inspired by this video<3)

[mulloey]

hi, love! congrats on 2k! can we get 113 + 130 + 321 with junhui? 🤭

pretty dumb

bimbofication/objectification + daddy kink + “that’s what i thought”

daddy!jun x sub!reader, condescending dom jun, degradation, dumbification etc

park of my 2k event.

“Not so smart now, are you?”

His lips are curled, sneering, eyes sharp. You wriggle a little more underneath him—just enough to make your displeasure known without provoking him into actual anger; no, that’s the opposite of what you want now. You want him irritated, challenged, itching to put you back in your place—you want him like this.

On top. In control. Unquestioned authority, no matter how much you pretend otherwise.

He slides his leg forward, knee pressed up against your clothed pussy, legs held open by his strong thigh. Arms on either side of your head, weight resting on the couch cushion; caging you in. Just as you like it. “You think you know everything,” he says, “think you’re such a smart little girl who knows the answer to everything. But you don’t, do you?”

“Shut up,” you grunt.

On another day, that would get you slapped square across the face; a red mark on the pretty cheeks he instead caresses like soft fur; fragile porcelain about to crack.

Fuck, do you always break so beautifully. So slowly and tenderly like it’s what you were made to do.

“Poor girl,” he coos. “You still don’t get it, huh? It doesn’t matter how smart you are, or how independent you are. Not with me. With me you’re a toy, and you’re treated like one. That’s what you like, isn’t it?”

You open your mouth, ready to bite back; before you can he takes his chance and shoves three thick, sticky fingers into your mouth, pushing to the back of your throat until you gag. “There we go,” he grunts. “That’s better. You don’t need to talk, just listen to daddy, sweetheart. Daddy’s gonna set you right.”

Your eyes are brimming now, tears welling from the pressure in your throat; he watches you for a moment, taking you in, and sighs almost dreamily. Like you’re a trillion fantasies come to life. “Pretty girl,” he says. “This is what you’re meant for, baby. To spread your legs and go dumb on my cock. You want that?”

You nod, desperately, dumbly, and his smile widens. “Good girl,” he praises. “Let’s get you nice and full so you can stop your squirming, yeah? Little cockslut needs her cunt stuffed to keep her calm.”

His other hand moves to his sweatpants, making quick work to pull out his dick. Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of it, thick and bulging and leaking from the tip and it only makes him more smug; more determined to ruin you. “Yeah,” he grins. “I saw that, stupid girl. All that spark disappearing as soon as you’ve got a cock in your sights, that’s what I thought.”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, now coated in your saliva and the slick from earlier, when he’d pinned you against the door and stuffed them in your cunt before dragging you over to the couch. His dick lines up with your entrance, pulsing with need—you both are. His lips quirk. “Beg for it.”

“Please,” you grunt. “Please, daddy, I need it.”

“Exactly what I thought.” He pushes in slowly, a torturous pace you know is meant to make you more desperate. “Act however you like, pretend however you like, but in the end you’re just a stupid little bimbo who craves to go stupid on my cock. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. He’s almost all the way in, but not quite; after your attitude today you know it won’t be that easy.

“Say it,” he demands. “Tell me what you are. Use those words you love running your little mouth with so much.”

“I’m a stupid bimbo,” you breathe. “I crave to go-ah, go stupid on your cock.”

“On whose cock?” He asks. “Say it and I’ll fuck you how you’ve been wanting.”

“On daddy,” you mumble. “Daddy’s cock.”

“Good,” he smiles. “That’s a good little baby. Hold on tight.”

—

[caramel-maive-chiato]

Accidental pregnancy and rivals to lovers with Viktor, with some “They hate each other, but now they have to co-parent a kid” vibes too?

Stuck with you - Viktor ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Summary: You and Viktor had been rivals for a long time, until one day after an argument, you both get tangled in the sheets, and one time is enough to cause a nightmare for both of you.

masterlist | Part 2.

✦ genre: drama/hurt-comfort

✦ pairing: fem!reader (afab)

✦ tw!: mild cursing, mentions of s3xual relations (no actual explicit content), Viktor being kind of an asshole to you.

✦ author`s note: hit me up in the comments or my dms if you want a part 2, I really want to do it cause I couldn't reach the 'to lovers' part of the trope without this being extremely long. Hope you like it!

It was stupid.

It was so stupid that now you had a 2-month bump under your belly, that your pants didn’t fit, that you were craving strawberries because of him.

If you had ever asked yourself a year ago if you would become pregnant with your rival's baby, you would have just scratched it as nonsense.

So why were you now? You always wanted kids, but you never thought you were getting a kid as white as paper, peppered with moles in its face, curly brown hair? golden eyes? His golden eyes.

Viktor, how do you start to describe Viktor? He was the most snappy bitch you ever met and he wasn’t even a woman, he was determined to be better than you, to be smarter than you, to handle Heimmerdinger his reports at 7 am to make you look like a mess when you showed up at 10 with yours, he was making sure his whole hextech deal was a ‘Jayce and Viktor dream’ when you were there too.

You were always Heimmerdinger's most well-protected students, scholarships covered, gifted new uniforms and library passes to enter the whole day and even night. You two were always head to head, actually really good acquaintances and late-night study partners.

Until he stomped on you to be Heimmer's assistant, he purposely made you fall on his bait and then bit like the most experienced shark any small fish had ever feared.

Since then, you two will always share side-eyed glances and bumped shoulders in the hallways like immature kids.

Until Jayce and the professor asked you to join the hextech production, you were great at energy stabilizers, one of the things they were lacking. Then years passed, and you always had a new chore to help with; you found yourself immersed in Hextech more than you realized, and he didn’t like that.

More than once, you two got caught in long ethical debates about progress, meritocracy, and calculations. And the answer in your brain was always the same.

'He is so hot I want to punch that stupid smirk out of him or kiss it deeper into his asshole face'

You never thought those thoughts would end up somewhere in reality until that night. And you didn’t though he felt the same way about you.

“You can't just go around pointing your hexclaw thing everywhere in the lab, Viktor!” you sighed, and your tone was the closest it had ever gotten to scolding a child, hands gripping your notebook, imagining it was that thick, attractive and smart, square head of his.

“Sorry" he said not even looking at you while taking the gemstone out of the leather glove

You slammed your notebook onto the table, the sharp crack of paper against wood cutting through the silence. “You never listen, do you? You just charge ahead like you’re the only genius in the room.”

Viktor scoffed, crossing his arms. “And you never stopped questioning everything I did. If you were so certain of your ideas, perhaps you should have been Heimerdinger’s assistant instead of me. Oh, wait—you weren’t.”

Your jaw tightened. "Right. Because you made sure of that. You took half of my research, paraded it around like it was yours to fix, and left me sunk in the dust."

Viktor stepped closer, his voice cold. “I did what I had to do. If you weren’t prepared for competition, then maybe you shouldn’t be here now.”

You laughed bitterly. “Competition? Is that what you call backstabbing? You used me, Viktor. You saw an easy way to climb higher, and you took it.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “I improved on what you had. Something you clearly weren’t capable of doing yourself.” you were now trapped between him and the desk.

Fury surged in your chest as you stepped into his space, close enough to see the flicker of challenge in his gaze. "You arrogant, self-righteous—!"

You felt his breath on your face, and when you focused, you actually focused, your faces were inches away

“-asshole” you whispered, his eyes shifting between your own and your lips

And then you kissed, and then you ended up on the couch, kissing aggressively, clothes pulled aside, moans stifled for your own pride. And then your period was late. And then you wanted to throw up at the smell of expresso coffee.

He didn’t even look up when you walked in the lab. “If this is about the new project, I already—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words left your mouth before you lost your nerve. No buildup. No soft approach. Just the truth, slicing through the lab’s quiet like a knife.

Viktor froze. The pen in his hand hovered over his notes, ink pooling in place. For a long moment, he just stared at the page as if he could pretend he misheard you.

Then, finally, he set the pen down. Slowly. Carefully. “…What?”

Your arms crossed, tension coiling in your stomach. “You heard me.”

His eyes snapped up to yours, searching for any trace of a joke. When he found none, his expression cracked into something sharp and disbelieving.

“This—” He exhaled harshly, dragging a hand through his hair. “This cannot be happening.”

“Oh, trust me, I wish it wasn’t” you shot back.

Viktor pushed back from his desk, standing too fast, gripping the edge like he needed it to keep upright. His mind was already spinning—calculating, fixing, solving—because that’s what he did. Except this wasn’t an equation. This wasn’t something he could just engineer his way out of.

His mouth opened, then shut. Then, in a voice that was entirely too high-strung for him, he let out a humorless chuckle.

“Oh, this is rich.” He rubbed his temple. “Out of all possible disasters… Of course, it had to be this one. With you.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, well, if it helps, you weren’t exactly my first pick for co-parent of the year either.”

He shot you a glare. “Forgive me if I do not find this particularly funny.”

“Yeah? Well, neither did I, but that didn’t stop me from laughing for ten minutes straight in absolute horror when I saw the test.” You leaned against the desk, giving him a dry smile. “I think I actually went a little insane.”

Viktor didn’t return the smile. He pressed his fingers to his temples, muttering something in Czech under his breath. Then, after a long pause, his fingers twitched in a vague, frustrated gesture. “But we—we only did it once.”

You deadpanned. “Wow, really? I totally forgot about that.”

“I am serious.”

“So am I.” You shrugged. “Turns out once was more than enough. Congrats, genius, you somehow managed to succeed at the one thing you probably weren’t even trying to do.”

Viktor let out an exasperated breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, do not act as if I am the sole contributor to this catastrophe.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of my involvement, thank you.” You crossed your arms. “And let’s be real, it wasn’t exactly a stellar performance from either of us. I should’ve known nothing good would come from two people who hate each other trying to one-up each other in bed.”

Viktor let out a short, bitter laugh. “Yes, well, congratulations. You have won.”

“Great. My prize is morning sickness and your company. What a dream.”

Viktor groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was physically causing him pain. “This is a nightmare.”

“Tell me about it.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Finally, Viktor let out a slow breath, the initial shock dulling into something heavier. He looked at you properly this time—his sharp gaze, for once, uncertain.

“What… are you going to do?” His voice was quieter now, more careful.

You swallowed hard. “We, Viktor. What are we going to do?”

His fingers curled into a fist at his side, his jaw tight. “You assume I have an answer.”

“You always have an answer.”

“Not this time.”

For the first time since you’d met him, Viktor—the man who always had something to say—was speechless. And for the first time, you weren’t sure what to do with that.

The next morning, you walked into the lab expecting awkward silence, a few glares, and maybe even a full-blown argument if Viktor was feeling particularly irritable. What you didn’t expect was to find a cup of tea sitting next to your workstation.

You frowned. “What’s this?”

Viktor, hunched over his notes, didn’t even look up. “Tea.”

You picked it up, suspicious. It was still warm, a gentle herby scent rising from it. Definitely not the usual acidic bitterness of black coffee that always clung to the lab.

You glanced at him, narrowing your eyes. “You poisoned this, didn’t you?”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yes, clearly I am the type to commit murder via tea. So sorry, should have gone with something more dramatic.”

You smirked, but then realization hit—oh.

He’d noticed. He must’ve realized before that the smell of black coffee sent you gagging and rushing to the nearest bathroom, though he hadn’t put the pieces together at the time.

“You noticed?” you asked, watching him carefully.

“I am observant,” he said, still scribbling. “I simply assumed you had bad taste. But no, turns out you were just harboring my child.”

You snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

Viktor finally glanced up, and there was something unreadable in his gaze. Something careful, like he was still feeling his way through this whole thing. Then he exhaled through his nose, tapping his pen against the desk.

“I thought about it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

He gave you a flat look. “Do not make me say it.”

You just sipped your tea, waiting.

Viktor rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the armrest. “I will parent the child with you.”

You blinked. "oh.”

“That is all you have to say?”

You shrugged. “I mean, I figured you weren’t going to run off to some secret second lab and pretend this never happened.”

“Tch. You overestimate my options.” He tilted his head, a sharp smirk tugging at his lips. “Besides, I would hate to give you the satisfaction of complaining about how I ruined your life and abandoned you.”

You snorted. “Oh, please. I was already planning my ‘tragic single mother’ era. Could’ve milked so much sympathy from it.”

“Cynical and manipulative. Remind me, how did I ever end up in bed with you?”

You smirked over your tea. “Burnout and an argument.”

He made a thoughtful noise, then muttered, “Should have stuck to arguing.”

You kicked his chair. “Too late.”

Viktor shook his head, sighing dramatically. Then, quieter, he added, “You are fucking insufferable.”

There was no venom in it, though. If anything, it almost sounded… affectionate.

You hummed, cradling the tea between your hands. “Yeah, well, at least I have an excuse now.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You let out a short, dry chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah. Can’t be that insufferable if someone’s gonna call me mom.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than they had any right to be.

Your smirk faltered.

Your throat tightened.

Someone’s going to call you mom.

It wasn’t just a snide remark anymore. It was real. A real person. A real child, who was going to depend on you for everything.

The realization hit like a gut punch, and before you could stop yourself, your breath hitched. Your eyes burned.

Shit.

You curled in on yourself, gripping the edge of the desk, blinking rapidly. No, no, not here, not in front of him—

But Viktor noticed.

His smirk faded. His hands stilled on the desk. For a second, he just watched you, his brows furrowing the way they did when he encountered a problem he couldn’t immediately solve.

Then, awkwardly, hesitantly, he shifted closer.

Not much—just a slight lean forward, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out but thought better of it. Instead, his knee bumped against yours under the desk.

You stiffened at the contact, but Viktor didn’t move away.

“…It is terrifying,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “Is it not?”

You swallowed hard. “You think?”

“I know.” His lips twitched something dry and self-deprecating passing through his expression. “It is you I am trapped with, after all.”

You let out a breathy, wet laugh. “Wow. Romance is dead.”

“Mm. And yet, somehow, it seems like you are the one who killed it.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a shaky smile. God, you hated him. You hated how he knew exactly what to say to stop you from spiraling.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the desk, steadying yourself. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

Viktor exhaled slowly, then gave you the smallest, barest nod.

“It seems so.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting it sink in. Then, with a deep breath, you opened them and met his gaze.

“Okay,” you murmured.

Viktor nodded again. And though he still looked thoroughly exasperated, there was something else there now—something steadier.

“…Okay.”

Part 2? @forlornghosts

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 4.

When things do not go well, they continue to not go well.

This is the feared Dorm Head Riddle Rosehearts. This abridged story's Red Queen, the Rose-Red Tyrant. And to you the most frightening title of all, the Head of a Dorm full of controlling yanderes.

Ace wasn't very smart. That was the first thing. Rule of thumb, don't bad mouth someone when you haven't checked first to make sure they aren't around.

Second thing, of all the ways to officially meet Riddle Rosehearts, this was had to be the worst way. Immediately after Ace's smear campaign. Are you unlucky? You feel unlucky.

Well, here we are, no turning back now.

Whatever you do next, it's all based on Riddle's reaction to Ace's stupidity. Riddle's face is tight in a scowl, arms tightly crossed and you can feel the glare going through Ace right now. Let's hope this doesn't end with an actual beheading.

Cater jumps in to damage control, "Hey Riddle! What's shakin', pal." That was so forced, it might as well have been written by a computer, and not said by a chronically online person. "You're lookin' adorbs, as always!"

Riddle's scowl softens, maybe there's hope. "Hmph, Cater, keep running that mouth and you'll lose it - along with the rest of your head." Nope, no there isn't. When was there ever? Riddle's face may have softened but his temper sure hadn't. Is he always like this?

How can he so casually threaten doing the magician's equivalent of an amputation for an greeting he didn't like!? Maybe your plan was doomed from the start. Does this guy even have friends?

Still, you're not trying to actually be friends. You're looking for allies to use in cases of emergencies. So you'll bite your tongue.

"Sorry, sorry! My bad!" Cater shuts up, faster than you ever seen him so far.

Grim probably seem can't read the room, because he tries to square up with the magic severing Dorm Head with a fuse shorter than Grim himself. "Myah?! You're the guy who put that stupid collar on me at the orientation ceremony!"

Riddle doesn't miss a beat, and throws it back at your foolish feline friend. "And you're the new students who were nearly expelled earlier this week. I'll ask that you not refer to my signature spell as a 'stupid collar" Ok, shitty start so far.....

He glares directly at you next, and you hadn't even said anything yet! "The headmaster's habit of tolerating rulebreakers like you is going to send this entire campus spiraling into chaos one day." You tighten your jaw around your the tip of your tongue. Don't say anything. Just don't say anything.

"Those who break the rules should have their heads removed immediately, without exception." You can taste blood in your mouth, but you won't say a word against his little slander rant. Even if Ace and Grim are sending this plan downhill at the speed of an avalanche, you will persevere.

Unlike you, Ace doesn't seem to know when to shut his big fat mouth, because even after that, and how this conversation started in the first place, he doesn't shut up, "Dude, seriously? This guy looks like a wimp but he sounds like a monster," You hear Ace hiss under his breath. You only hope Riddle didn't hear it.

This polite insult-laden speech finally draws to a close. "The headmaster may have forgiven you, but if you break any further rules, I assure you I will not."

Ace, pulling the idiot card from the deck once again, chooses now to get his collar off his neck. Perfect. "So, uh, listen, Dorm Leader, sir..." Off to a wonderful start, Ace. "Any chance i could get you to remove this collar?"

The response wasn't a surprise. It was expected, really, "I had intended to remove it once you'd taken an opportunity to reflect upon your crimes," So, no. Yay, Ace is stuck in your dorm tonight...."But I've not detected so much as a hint of remorse in the foolishness I've heard you spout today. So I think I'll let you keep that for a while." Saw that coming a mile away.

You tune out the reassurance that he offers regarding school life, more concerned with the fact Ace will be alone with you tonight, again.

"Now, if you've finished your meal, you should quit gossiping and prepare for your next class. Rule 271 is quite clear: One must leave the table within five minutes of completing their lunch."

There are over two hundred rules...? You'd scanned the first fifty rules of the Queen of Hearts, before stopping under the reasonable belief that no one actually followed these insane rules. Was that too much to hope for?

This time his ire is pointed directly at Ace, "You DO understand what happens to rulebreakers I trust?"

Ace sighs, "More insane rules...."

Riddle's eyebrow twitches in irritation, "I believe you mean to say, 'Yes, Dorm Leader!'"

"Yes Dorm Leader," Ace and Deuce yell, and you felt nearly compelled. He's like a dictator threatening his troops.

"Very well then."

Trey tries to calm Riddle down, "Don't worry I'll keep an eye on them."

Riddle eyes Trey with skepticism, "Hmm. As Vice Dorm Leader, I trust you'll avoid any further indiscreet conversation."

Trey is the Vice? Why didn't he tell you guys? Is he trying to hide something. Or, is he trying to separate himself from a certain tyrannical dictator.

Riddle seems satisfied now that he's said, read ordered, his piece. "Now, as per rule 339: The post-meal beverage is to be lemon tea with two sugar cubes. Thus I must go acquire my sugar cubes. Farewell." As he walks away you can hear him mutter under his breath, "Don't even get me started on their violation of running out of sugar cubes....!" Is he ever happy? If you can nitpick every single detail and violation then how do you find any joy in your life? No wonder he's such a jerk to his own dorm mates.

Is it even possible to get him to forgive you? Much less befriend you?

"Yeesh!" Cater exclaims, "That was terrifying."

"That guy......has some serious issues." says Grim. "I don't think serious is enough of a word to describe this...." You agree.

"Hey, we shouldn't disrespect him.." Deuce sounds like wants to agree with you but can't.

You shake your head. "I don't think we're the only ones who think that your Dorm Leader is a bit nuts." You can hear the fearful murmurs of some other Heartslabyul students, relieved that Riddle didn't collar them.

Cater and Trey don't argue against your claim, and that speaks enough in itself. Two upperclassmen are too afraid to even deny what you had said. Trey's smile now feels forced as he explains, "Riddle managed to secure the Dorm Leader title before the end of his very first week at school. I know he can come off a bit harsh, but-"

You cut him off, "Trey, no offense but over half of your dorm mates are cowering in fear because Riddle walked over here. I don't think he comes off a bit harsh. I think he is harsh."

"I know....but" But it doesn't seem like even he believes that, "he's not a bad guy inside. Everything he does, he does because he thinks it'll improve the dorm."

"Would a good guy go around putting collars on strangers' necks?" Trey and Cater laugh awkwardly but they can't deny it. So Grim actually is right.

"So what's this signature spell he mentioned?"

"Hm? You're curious about Riddle's signature spell?"

"That means, like.....it's a spell that only he can cast, right?"

"I doubt he's the only person in the whole world....But yes, a signature spell is a magical ability that is, generally speaking, unique to its user." It might be best you remember this. If there's magic unique to the user, could that magic be dangerous against you? Riddle's own seals off magic, so you're not in immediate danger thanks to that. But you still don't know about the rest of the Heartslabyul students you know. What exactly is their Unique Magic? Does Grim have one?

"Which is why all of us at Heartslabyul House try hard not to violate Riddle's rules." But back to the present issue, Riddle's magic sounds terrifying to magic users. So that does explain why Heartslabyul lives in fear.

"And as long as you are following the rules, Riddle isn't so scary." And that's all you needed to know. If he is kinder to those who follow the rules, then you just had to be a teacher's pet, or a dorm leader's pet. Wait, that sounds wrong either way.

"Speaking of which- are you still not gonna let me into the dorm until I buy a tart, Cater?"

"Don't @ me, but yeah. That's rule 53, so my hands are tied."

"Isn't that taking this too far? Sure, Ace stole something but he still lives in that dorm. Kicking him out is too harsh of a punishment."

"Riddle really looks forward to having the first slice of a tart. So he won't forgive you unless you come back with a whole tart."

Perfect. So all you have to do is find a tart and all will be well. You're starting to realise that that is a whole lot of fat chance served on a plate. Maybe Ace will steal it, and cut you a break.

But as it turns out, Ace is flat broke, so he can't just go buy a tart to replace it with. You would happily just go buy one to save your own ass, but Crowley (the bastard) is yet to give you any money.

Thankfully, Trey offered a solution that would work, make a tart on the cheap and give that to Riddle. You also learned he was a talented baker, which sounds like something you might take advantage of in the future but priorities.

You hope that the tart plan does work, because if you have to do an entire run around for a honestly exhausting wild tart chase is becoming very annoying...

"Riddle wants a chestnut tart next, so I'm gonna need you to gather a ton of chestnuts."

"Like that's any less of a hassle. But.....fine. How many do you need?"

"Well, it's for the unbirthday party, so....Probably two or three hundred?" You choke on your own spit.

"S-Sorry, HUNDRED!?" You splutter.

"And they're all gonna need to be boiled, shelled and pureed." What you do to get Ace out of your house. It may seem that easy to just make a tart and be forgiven, but with how complicated this whole thing had been so far, things will probably be more difficult.

Whatever you have Grim and Deuce to help-

"Alright, I'm gonna head out." "I'm leaving too."

Why are you even surprised. You would have done the same really.

"You heartless cowards!" Ace objects from the abandonment and betrayal. But to be honest, considering he caused this whole mess because he couldn't keep his fingers out of someone's tarts, and the fact he exposed you to another obsessive psycho, you really want to leave him to his own devices.

Before you can jump in with a BS-laden speech to persuade them Cater thankfully jumps in. "Hold up! Haven't you ever heard that food tastes better if you make it with your friends? This'll be a memory to treasure! It could even be your chance to make a splash as a cooking blogger!"

Trey even proves useful, "Don't tell Riddle, but chestnut tarts are at their tastiest when eaten right out if the oven.. And the only people who get to experience that culinary privilege are the ones who make it."

That's enough to convince Grim, "Well, when you put it that way...Come on, humans, let's do this!"but you doubt that's the same for Deuce. But where you'll go, he'll follow.

"I'm only helping because it will mean you're back in your dorm sooner, Ace. You gonna help, Deuce?"

Deuce smiles at you. "S-Sure, Prefect." You're starting to get the hang of this.

Later, you'd focus on Ace's apology tart. Right now, you'd focus on your own. The apology, not the tart part.

After getting the cut in your tongue treated, you'd asked Ace and Deuce to go to class with Grim without you to get something private done. They'd both pushed to go with you but you managed to shut that down.

With what you had planned, you needed Ace, Deuce and Grim away from you. To prevent any unwanted incidents like accidentally sending Riddle off in an angry fit.

You had a plan, so you just needed to start that plan.

So here you were back in the cafeteria, searching for a head of red hair and there he was sipping a cup of lemon tea with exactly two sugars, if you remembered the rules right, completely alone with only thick tomes for company.

You don't bother yourself worrying about the implications of the him sipping tea all on his lonesome. That's not your priority right now.

You tap Riddle's shoulder, "Excuse me? Riddle Rosehearts, was it?" you say as politely as possible.

He first gives you a look of chagrin, only for it to relax when he realises that you're alone. "You are correct. Have you come to cause more trouble and break more rules?"

His suspicion is warranted, but you've prepared for that. "Actually, I'm here to apologize to you specifically for all the trouble I caused." His eyes widen in surprise. He wasn't expecting that. Alright, here we go. "May I sit with you?" You say, allowing a small smile grace your lips.

He snaps out of his surprise at your question, but he doesn't reject you. After a few moments of silence, he finally says, "I-I'll allow it." He motions to the empty seat in front of him, and you accept the seat with another smile and a word of thanks.

Alright, step one of the potentially dangerous plan, apologise the the Heartslabyul Dorm Leader. "I'm sorry about bothering you like this. I'm sure you'd rather spend the time around your friends rather than a troublemaker."

He doesn't answer for a few seconds, "I'd rather spend my time in solitude than in the company of troublemakers," he responds. Does he not have friends? That answer makes you feel that the answer to the question is a yes. "However, you wish to apologise for your violations, so I'll humor your presence." Ok, so far so good. "Well, I should get the apologies out the way. I'm sorry about all the trouble I've caused since I've been here. Grim during the ceremony, accidentally damaging the Great Seven statues and destroying the chandelier. I hadn't meant to."

Riddle frowns, setting aside his teacup to cross his arms, "One should not apologise whilst making excuses." he recites as if he'd heard or said that a thousand times. He really is a stickler for the rules.

"What rule of the Queen of Hearts is that?" You ask, with how many there are you really need to remember them.

He shakes his head, "It isn't one. It's one of my mother's." Let's not touch that, insulting someone's mother is the fastest way to piss someone off.

You take a deep breath before continuing, "Well, then I'm also sorry for making excuses for my behaviour. I hope you can forgive me."

Riddle's silent for another few seconds, as if contemplating the validity of your apology. You feel yourself stop breathing in anticipation.

Finally, he answers, "It's rare for a troublemaker to be genuinely repentant, so I'll accept your apology. However, I won't be as forgiving should you choose to continue breaking the rules." So he is capable of forgiving troublemakers, that means Ace will eventually be back in his own dorm.

"Thank you." you let out a sigh of relief. Alright, time for stage two. Suck up like the worst kind of teacher's pet, "If you don't mind me asking, could you maybe teach about the rules of the Queen of Hearts?"

Riddle chokes on a sip of his tea, and looks at you in incredulity "Y-You what?"

"I want you to teach me about the rules of the Queen of Hearts, so if I ever break any of them I can't use ignorance as an.....excuse?" You trail off as you find Riddle completely stunned, has this never happened before? Has no one bothered to ask him to help them learn the rules so they could avoid breaking them?

"W-Well, it seems you really are trying to atone for your mistakes. If that is the case, then yes." He pauses, before offering you a cup of tea, smelling of sweet citrus, " Would you like some?"

If it's lemon, you don't want to drink it. The citric acid in the lemon will burn your tongue like hell. But there are unfortunately rules. "Are they any rules that say whether I can say yes or no?" You're not failing if this is a test.

Riddle smiles at you, "You learn quickly, Rule 114, One must never reject a cup of tea from the Queen." You, against your better judgement, accept it and take a sip and the tea burns the cut on your tongue but you force it down nonetheless. In the name of Future you's safety you would do what you had to. As long as it goes down without objection, you'll drink as fast as you can to dull the burn.

"Perhaps there is hope for you, even with that unignorable violation." Riddle says and you hesitate in your next sip.

"And what is that?" You ask, before taking another mouthful of tea.

He spares a few glances around as if looking for any eavesdroppers before dropping his voice into a hushed whisper, "That you are a darling attending Night Raven."

You choke, how does everyone keep knowing?! "H-How did you know?!" You ask, your voice barely a whisper.

"I was taught to recognise all the traits your kind has as soon as I was registered." How many of those were there?! Besides all the darlings here can't be exactly like you, that would just be impossible. Right?

Riddle continues, "That and you remind me of my father, kind and bubbly when you are surrounded by people you do think are trustworthy and jumpy and frightful when you think you are surrounded by those you don't. Subtly is not exactly your strong point."

You deflate like a balloon. You carefully set down the teacup before it breaks in your hands. "Are...Are you going to tell anyone?"

He shakes his head, "No, and while I feel your presence at this school is a travesty that Crowley has allowed to happen, you attempting to hide your identity keeps the members of my dorm from killing each other. You must understand it is quite difficult to mix paint in manner that hides the smell of blood." They kill people and mix their blood with the paint. Oh, shit, did...did you paint with blood earlier!?

"So I suggest you figure out how to circumvent your little issue." He finishes.

But that's impossible thanks to that stupid law, "But how do I do that if I can't access any of the things you can?" You ask.

"Your testing papers, all darlings have the legal right to see them after their registered. Headmaster Crowley should be able to give them to you if you request them. You'll be able to tell with those." Riddle gives you the first answer that actually helps you.

All you need to get Crowley to give you those papers and you'll be free to figure out how to save your skin.

You sag in relief, finally some good news. And then you remember, "Wait, why are you helping me?"

"Because it will keep you out of trouble. Speaking of, I expect your attendance at the unbirthday party tomorrow, so that I can keep an eye on you."

"Thank you." You whisper, for once you actually feel relieved. You were wrong about earlier it seems, he isn't as bad as you though he was.

"Now, Rule 71 of the Queen of Hearts states that one must never arrive on time, always early. You should leave now, before the bell rings." You nod, rising from your seat as he does the same.

"Thank you for everything. See you tomorrow, " You say with a smile before turning heel.

If only you hadn't failed to see how his face flushed and how he grabbed his heart as you left.

The woodland behind campus were surprisingly bright and vibrant, like a painting you would see in picture books, even with the change seasons coming up. As it seems the chestnut season is equally vibrant, as hundreds upon hundreds of chestnuts covered the forest floor. But the chestnut spines were too much of a bother to ignore, so here you were in the Botanical Garden looking for a basket and some work gloves.

The gardens are stunning, full of life and thousands of plants. Some you recognise, some you don't. The whole building is enormous. Finding anything here is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Which means you have to split up to find what you need. "We should split up, we'll cover more ground that way."

Ace and Deuce open their mouths to object, "But-"

You're not wasting any time on them coming with you and taking longer. Besides having two bodyguard/friends feels a little suspicious.

"We're going to spend the rest of the night making tarts, we don't exactly have time to waste..." You argue and they don't fight back against this.

".....Sure. Dibs on the right side."

"Then how about I go left, while Prefect and Grim go straight ahead?"

"Sounds good, we'll meet up here at the entrance in 10."

You immediately regretted your decision to split up, as Grim got distracted every ten seconds by all the ripe, sweet smelling fruit. So you spent the five minutes that you were supposed to spend looking for a groundsman, chasing after your 'boss'.

"Hey, come take a look at this!" Grim runs to another bright, ripe fruit. "There's a ton of fruit growing here! Smells like they're ripe."

You grab his tiny body and yank him away from the fruit on the tree. "Grim, we're supposed to find a groundsman, not snacks!" You don't recognise any of the plants in this section. They all look mystical, but that doesn't mean safe. "Don't pick anything."

Grim wriggles loose to run to chase after another bright and shiny fruit. The grasses here are tall enough to reach your waist, and Grim disappears into the long stalks, "Grim. Stop!" Grim doesn't listen to you. "Don't pick anything!" You yell out as you wade through the tall grasses after him.

You stumble over the lush stalks of grass. It's so thick that you can't see your own feet. You hope there aren't any animals-

"Ngh!" A groan of pain fills the air and you feel something underfoot slip out and you reflexively take a few steps back. That didn't sound like an animal...

"Did I just step on something?" You think aloud, looking around for a source as a nearby patch of grass starts to rustle.

"Hey! You got some nerve steppin' on my tail and just walkin' away!" To your surprise, someone rises out of the grass, and he looks angry. Crap.

Originally, your brain had failed to compute the 'tail' part of what he'd said, but it's obvious to you now that you see his ears. He's a beastman. And he's wearing the Savanaclaw colours. Wait, didn't Cater say that Savanaclaw students like fighting. Shit.

"I-I'm sorry!" You say immediately, taking a few more steps backwards. You feel compelled to run.

"Tch. Ain't nothin' worse than bein' in the middle of a good nap and havin' some jerk step on your tail." Ok, no. He's the one who decided to sleep in waist high grass. Be mad at yourself for your bad decision making, buddy.

Despite how you feel, "It was an accident...." is what you mumble instead, but he doesn't seem to care, instead he stalks towards you, with a smirk on his face. "You.....I know you. You're that herbivore from orientation who couldn't use magic."

"What did you call me?!" You demand, outraged. He still ignores you, and he leans forward and..."And why are you smelling me?!"

He ignores you, pulling away with that punchable smirk. "Huh. It's true. You don't smell of magic at all."

"Did you miss the part where the mirror said that to everyone?!" You can feel yourself losing every ounce of your patience. You'd felt apologetic for accidentally stepping on his tail and waking him up, but this guy was being such a jerk, you no longer found it within yourself to care.

"Well, well, well, the little herbivore thinks she has claws. Can't say it'd be much fun to hurt someone like you. Still gonna do it, though."

"Do what?" You spit through gritted teeth. You clench and unclench your fists.

"No one gets to stomp on my tail and just walk away without payin' the price."

Ok, that's fucking it. You aren't a weak darling, and all the earlier rage and anger that you've felt in the last two days.

"Then maybe don't sleep in waist-high grass, and maybe in your dorm next time? That way no one will step on your tail" You say as sarcastically as possible.

"Hm? Herbivore, I'm afraid you're all bark and no bite." Oh? All bark and no bite, mystery animal man? Let's see how he bites your fist when it flies into his-

You tighten your fist before taking a swing aimed at his jaw. With his face so close to yours, he has no way of moving out of the way in time-

He stops your fist just shy of his face. He gives you an unimpressed look, before replacing it with that fucking smirk. He laughs at you, like you were foolish to even think that would work. His grip on your wrist is so tight that you wince as you struggle to twist it away.

"L-Let me go!" He laughs at your pathetic struggles to free yourself.

"Pathetic, like a mouse trying to kill a lion." He's a lion? Well then, what an arrogant asshole he is.

You struggle fruitlessly for a few more moments, before giving up. "Fuck you." You spit.

"You're a brave herbivore, I'll give you that. Still," His already tight grip feels like it's crushing the bones in your wrist. "You woke me up from my nap, that'll cost you a tooth."

"Fine. Take it." You hiss. Maybe you can get him in trouble for darling abuse or something after this. Would Crowley take you to a dentist?

"Leona! There you are!"

"Heh?" Leona turns to someone, and you follow his gaze to another beastman student, wearing the colours from the same house Leona is. His cocky, arrogant face tightens in annoyance.

The new mystery beastman looks like he's spent the time since last bell chasing down Leona. "I knew I'd find you here! We got after-school classes today, remember?"

Leona groans. "And now, I've got this guy on my tail...." You can hear him mutter.

You take the chance to do something stupid, rewarding in the moment but still stupid. Ah, whatever you only live once.

"What's wrong, Carnivore? Too afraid to bite?" You taunt, throwing his own words around and right back at him.

He glares at you. But the beastman speaks up before Leona can actually break your wrist. "Leona, you've already had to repeat one year. If you get held back again, we'll be in the same grade." You snort from repressed laughter, trying to hold back your laughter before the person holding your wrist captive decides killing you is better just breaking your wrist.

"Oh, put a sock in it already. I'm tired of all yer yappin', Ruggie."

Ruggie frowns, "Look, you think I like always being on your case? C'mon man. You act like it'd be hard for you. You could skate through life if you'd just TRY. Come on! Let's go already!"

Leona finally releases your wrist and you wince as blood returns to your fingers. "Hmph...Herbivore, you better not cross me again."

"Oh, I'll be sure not to." You turn, and walk as confident as possible through the tall prairie grass back into the fruit trees.

It was nice to actually be in control for once.

You eventually find Grim half finished eating a dozen multi-coloured unknown fruit. You don't feel as mad as you were earlier. So you don't bother with the scolding that you originally planned on giving him. Instead you scoop him up like a bag a rice.

"Nyeh?!" Grim exclaims in surprise, "Henchman, where'd you come from?!"

"Nowhere, I thought you already ate your weight in lunch earlier?"

Two familiar voices fill your ears.

"Yo, guys, we found the baskets and gloves."

"Prefect, what in the world happened to you?" And you smile.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

You feel a little better now.

You feel worse now.

Not in a bad mood, just tired. A sleepless night would do that, then harvesting about three hundred chestnuts on your hands and knees plus hauling them back to the communal kitchens.

And now here you stood struggling to peel the soft skins of the chestnuts.

Deuce and Grim are lucky because they have the magic that Trey showed them to magically and quickly peel them, but you, a poor magicless human, must fiddle with sticky skins. Ace, forced to do this the old fashioned way, is struggling equally with the much higher pile that he'd been delegated for getting you all into this mess.

Still, it was actually fun to see the 'friendly' competition Ace and Deuce went through as Ace struggled to keep up with the magical efficiency.

Problem was, you were so much slower.

"Need any help?" Trey asks. He'd stopped supervising Deuce with his peeling. And he's looking at you with"You look like your having a hard time."

"Yeah...I've never really done this before...." You reply, still fiddling with the finicky skins.

"Here." He places his hands over your own, directing your fingers into a proper hold. "Like this." You can feel his chest against your back, his head over one of your shoulders. He smells nice, like a bakery right after the oven is opened and the sweet aroma of warm pastries has filled the air. The shell holding the nut finally gives way, done with your hands and guided by Trey's.

"Thanks", you say with a smile.

"It's no problem", he returns with his own smile. "Do you want help with the others?" He feels friendly, and you can't see that glint. Maybe it's his glasses.

"Sure." You respond.

With Trey's help, you start to fly through the pile of chestnuts that you'd once struggled to peel. You can actually keep up with Ace and Deuce in their chestnut peeling, being only a few dozen behind.

It's like painting the roses earlier, you like the serenity that you feel as you do this. The same when you were straining, and pureeing. Despite the fact you were willingly unwillingly roped into this, it's actually quite relaxing maybe you could talk to Trey about teaching you.

After what had to be a good two hours, straining and pureeing three hundred chestnuts, Ace finally groans in relief "There! Finally got 'em all pureed!"

"My arm is killing me..."

"Well at least it's over.." You agree as you massage the ache in your forearms. Deuce and Ace actually did most of the work for you, but you still tried to help. And now your arms hurt more than your legs.

"Nice work. It'll be all the sweeter for your pain!"

"Are you sure about that?" You say with a laugh. But seriously, your muscles hurt. It better be sweet for all the work that it better be.

"The smell alone already has me droolin'." You manage to grab Grim before he sticks his paws into the puree. You're not letting everyone's hard work to waste.

"I just need to add butter and sugar to the chestnut paste, and a sensible splash of oyster sauce- that's my secret ingredient." Oh, cool then you'll be done soon. Wait...

Your brain fills in the blanks. "Did you just say oyster sauce?" You say in utter disbelief. Maybe Trey shouldn't teach you how to bake....

"Yep. The umami of the oysters gives the cream a deep, savory flavor." He can't be serious, can he? Are desserts different here? Because last you checked a sweet dessert wasn't supposed to taste like salt.

"I use this one here: Walrus-brand Young Oyster Sauce. All the best bakers use it in their tarts." Your brain tunes him out in utter disbelief. Was this place just completely fucked? Because you'd have to dig through the mold on the underside of the barrel to actually find this madness. It's not the scariest thing or the most insane thing you heard in this misadventure, but an insane thing nonetheless.

Deuce actually seems to believe him, at least a little, "Really? But isn't oyster sauce like, super salty?"

Apparently so does Ace, "Some folks put chocolate into curry, don't they? Maybe it's the same idea." No, Ace. Whether it's pineapple on pizza or chocolate in curry, whether you like or hate it, it is not a total abomination of the culinary world. Oyster sauce in a chestnut tart cream is.

"You guys......are messing with me right?" You say, still in disbelief.

"Pfft...Ah ha ha ha!" Trey laughs, is he mad? If this dorm is Wonderland, is he actually the Mad Hatter and not the three of clovers.

"I'm totally lying! No one in their right mind would put oyster sauce into a pastry." You breathe a sigh of relief, okay this world wasn't completely far gone.

"Let that be a lesson to you. Don't believe everything you hear."

"Feh. And here I thought that human was actually somewhat decent." Grim murmurs.

"It wasn't that bad." Out of all the things you'd experienced this week, let alone today, this was by far the most tame. At least he revealed the lie, before Ace poured oyster sauce in the cream.

Trey has to be the most tame person you met so far, it's actually hard to connect that he's supposed to be a yandere and not a normal friendly dude with a hidden mischievous side.

That reminder isn't a fun one, but he seems perfectly nice...you hope.

"Next, I'll put in the cream....Oh!"

"What's wrong?"

"You guys gathered so many chestnuts that we may have overdone it with the chestnut paste. I don't think we have enough cream to mix in."

"Then I'll go buy some." Deuce volunteers himself, "Do they sell it at the school store?"

Thankfully, according to Trey, it does. You haven't been there yet, but no better time to find out like the present.

"I don't think I'll be able to carry all that back. ___-"

"I'll go with you." Whatever gets you back here faster. As soon as Ace gives Riddle this tart back tonight, you'll be in the clear. If he doesn't you're stuck with him tonight.

Deuce ended up calling this shop wild. Wild is an understatement. The shop is full of....everything. From fruits to stationary, and crystal skulls to rare plants. There's even a restricted access section, with locked cabinets full of freshly sharpened short and long blades to guns to pre-made potions filled with unknown fluids.

It's a perfect one stop shop for students, and for criminals.

"Do you really think they sell cream in here?" Grim says incredulously. Grim ended up tagging along, and looks equally mystified from all the products this 'school' store as to offer.

"I'm not-"

"Greetings, my stray imps, How fare you today?" You yelp as you reel back in surprise. The shopkeeper appeared quite literally from nowhere. "Welcome to Mr.Sam's Mystery Shop. What among my humble selection interests you? A charm from a secluded land? The mummified remains of an ancient king? A cursed tarot card?"

Ok, a name, the shopkeeper's name is Sam...something. And humble is modest understatement. You're pretty sure that this place makes the mega department stores back home look empty.

"How about some cream...for baking?" With so much stuff here, you feel a little overwhelmed.

"Y-Yeah, we wanted to buy all the items on this list."

"Ring up two cans of tuna while you're at it!"

"With what money, Grim?"

"Yes, Grim! We're not here for tuna!"

"What's this? Cream and eggs and....Quite the sacchariferous list! I'll get everything for you." It's impressive that he even knows that he has everything. With all the stuff here, you wouldn't even notice something strange or normal on these shelves. There's animals skulls, jewellery, weird taxidermy, even a weird shadow hand waving at you.

.......Y'know what, who cares. You wave back just in time for Sam to return with all your groceries. That was fast.

"Here you go. It's pretty heavy.....Are you sure you can carry this?Luckily for you, our 1/100th size flying saucers are 30% off today. Perfect for carrying groceries!"

Grim falls for the advertising, but Deuce stops him before he spends your nonexistent money. "We're fine, thank you. Let's go."

"Myah! I didn't realize today was National No Fun Allowed Day!"

"You're allowed to have fun as long as you don't make a mess." He deflates, "Grim, if it makes you feel better I'll give you an extra can of tuna for dinner." he perks up at that.

You and Deuce take the bags and bid Sam thanks. Deuce pulls you aside on the way out, "That store was amazing."

"Yeah, it was." You make a mental note to inquire about some products before your time of the month comes. That store has everything after all.

Main Street is practically void of any students, though you can see a pair walking up. The two are wearing red vests, Heartslabyul or Scarabia students probably. Besides that it's just, you, Deuce and Grim, who starts whining about his lack of purchases. "Yeah, and you guys are amazingly cheap."

"Hey!"

"Who are you calling cheap?!"

You shake your head, before readjusting the cords of the bags digging into your arms. You wince from the pressure relief, the bruise on your forearm that Leona gave you from earlier still stings. The bags are too heavy but you'll manage the rest of the way back.

"Hm?" Deuce must have seen your struggling, "_____, looks like you got the bag with all the cans. That must be heavy."

"It's not that bad," You shake your head, lying, "I can carry it."

"Here, let me take that one." He takes one of the heavier bags from you. And you breathe a sigh of relief now that the weight is off. "I've got a little trick for carrying heavy bags."

Smiling, you say, "Thank you." He smiles back, balancing all the heavy bags with ease. "You're quite the power shopper."

He nods, "Yeah. My mom always used to stock up at sales, and the bags would get ridiculously heavy. I was the only man in the house, so I got to do all the heavy lifting, and-" He pauses, "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to monopolize the conversation."

You shake your head, "No, it's okay..." Actually, you might be able to learn something useful from this. "Y'know if you want, you could talk about her, you seem to care about your mom a lot."

He deflates, "No, it wasn't like that at all." He takes a deep breath, "The truth is, I-OW!"

The students you saw down the street from earlier, ran directly into Deuce.

The sound of something cracking into bits fills the air. Clear and yellow goop drips out of one of the bags.

"The eggs!"

Deuce hurriedly opens the bag to inspect the damage. "The carton is completely smashed! And now the bag's dripping egg goo everywhere."

"Ugh! Why don't you watch where you're- Hey!"

The offending student turns around infuriated, and then his eyes widen in recognition. You recognise them too. The delinquents from earlier. The ones who through a fit over a broken yolk. Surprisingly, they're wearing the Heartslabyul ribbons. Hard to be delinquent when a tyrant can collar them with ease.

"It's you from earlier."

"Yeah, and you're the jerks who broke the egg yolk on my carbonara!"

"It was just a yolk." You repeat but it's pointless.

The other delinquent stalks up to you, grabbing you by your tie , "I've had enough of you punks. You need to learn your place." They threaten.

You can see Deuce's eyebrow twitch in fury. "You're the ones who darted out at as from around a corner!" He mutters, you can hear the hostility deep in his voice. He's angry. "And you picked a fight with us at lunch over an egg that you were still totally able to eat!"

"And now you've destroyed six of OUR eggs!" That anger in his voice is getting louder, clearer. You've seen Deuce a little angry before, but something's off about this time.

"Yeah, he's right!"

"So what? You sayin' that was our fault?"

"I am. Please reimburse us for the eggs." Deuce is frighteningly calm. He's not yelling or anything. "And then apologise to the chickens."

"Ooh, look who's got his big boy pants on. You sure are makin' a big deal outta some stupid eggs." The one with hold on your tie taunts Deuce.

"You shut your mouth." You hiss at him.

"What?" Deuce is still way too calm.

The idiot delinquent keeps blabbering, "They haven't even touched the ground, so they're still edible. Quit whinin'."

His idiot lackey keeps up the nonsense jabber. "Yeah, you should thank us for savin' ya the trouble of crackin' em."

They laugh and it's mocking and cruel.

"That ain't funny." Deuce's voice has a low growl and very quiet, the delinquents are idiots so they don't notice but....

"Deuce?" You ask, and you can see his eye twitching. He's angry. dangerously so.

"Huh?" Idiot delinquent number one asks.

And then that anger that Deuce was holding back finally bursts forth.

"I said......THAT AIN'T FUNNY!" The yell is so loud, it stuns you. The normally polite and reserved Deuce is replaced with one with a voice so loud, you're surprised that it didn't awaken the statues.

"You don't get to call my eggs stupid! You don't get to call ANY eggs stupid!! Those eggs may not have gotten to be chicks, but they were gonna make some amazing tarts!!"

"And you," Deuce's voice drops low as he rips the second delinquent away from you. "You apologize to her, right now. Do you get it yet!? DO YOU!?" Your tie comes apart in the delinquent's grip, said delinquent too afraid to actually let it go. They looks like he's about to piss himself from fear.

"W-What is with this guy all of a sudden?!"

"You owe me six eggs. If ya ain't gonna pay me for em, then you're gettin' a bruise for each one!" Deuce cracks his knuckles for emphasis.

"A-Are you serious right now?" The other little twerp is shaking in his sneakers.

''Buckle up, jerks!!"

Deuce's fist sails home into the cheek of the red-haired one, and another into the nose of the other. Blood splurts out staining the gloves he's wearing.

Like two pathetic little bitches, the two delinquents scamper and struggle against the one man army Deuce proves to be. And he isn't even using his magic.

"This guy's outta his mind!" The first one stammers.

"Bwah! L-Let's get outta here!" The other squeaks. And they both take off running. You hope Deuce doesn't get in trouble for this.

"Next time you eat an egg, you better apologize a hundred times, you buncha chumps!!" He yells at the retreating duo.

"D-Deuce! You need to calm down." You cup his face with both hands. And the blind rage on his face dissolves completely into calm.

He pants as he tries to calm himself. "....Urk!"

"W-What's wrong?" You let him go. All that anger is replaced with sadness, or actually....It looks like disappointment. "Are you ok?"

"I did it again, didn't I...?" Did what again? Deuce stares at the blood on his gloves, and he looks pained. "ARGH! I was dead-set on becoming an honor student this time, too."

"Huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I was in middle school, I was pretty wild. I cut school all the time and got in fights. I called my teachers names, hung out with bullies, bleached my hair..." Deuce lists off all of his middle school crimes, and honestly....He did sound a lot like the delinquents back in your world, minus the Magic Wheel thing and the magic.

"So you were only a little more annoying than you are now?"

"Grim, not now...." You scold Grim before trying to comfort Deuce. "No offense, but that's kind of hard for me to picture..."

Deuce continues to tell his backstory, "But one night, I saw my mom talking with my grandma. She was trying to hide from me, but I saw her, and I could tell she was in tears. She was saying how she must have been a horrible mom, and that she never should have tried to raise me by herself."

Ouch, that must have been tough to hear, especially from his mom.

"That had nothin' to do with it! She hadn't done anything wrong. It was all me......And when the carriage came to take me to Night Raven, she was so happy for me. I decided then and there that this time, I wouldn't do anything to make her cry. That this time, I'd become an honor student-someone she could be proud of."

"And I messed it all up!"

"No, you didn't." He looks so surprised at what you said.

"But-"

"Deuce, you didn't get into a fight for no reason. You got into to a fight because someone destroyed your stuff, and threatened your friends. Besides, they probably would have attacked me if you hadn't stepped in. And protecting the people you care about is something honor students should do."

"R-really?" You nod.

"Plus the thing an honor student should do....is report this to the Dorm Leader that some of his students tried to get into a fight with two freshmen." You whisper into his ear. "Let's see how they like it when they can't use their magic." You chuckle.

"______....."

"And to be honest....I really enjoyed that."

Deuce cheers up at that, "Heh heh....I guess you're right! I just hope those chicks can rest in peace."

"Uh, Deuce, the eggs were unfertilised..." He blinks at you, he doesn't know what you're talking about. "They were never going to hatch in the first place..."

"Wha-WHAAAAAT?! Are you kidding me?!"

You giggle again whilst shaking your head. He's not very smart, but you don't mind.

"But about your mom, could you tell me about her? She sounds like a really nice lady."