#When I read that script I snorted

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt 7

Hearing the chime of rhe bell above the door, Danny mentally prepared himself before poking his head around the corner "Heya! I will be with you in one hot sec!"

Rushing around the kitchen, Danny set the chili to simmer and quickly cleaned himself up before coming back to greet his newest customer.

Stepping upt to the bar, Danny put his best customer service smile on and opened his mouth to speak, but the words that came out were not in English.

"Hey there! Welcome to Big C's diner what can i..." Blinking a bit before frowning, Danny looked closer at his customer, his eyes flickering a bright green as he squinted at the man.

Because either this man was the very strong revenant that had claimed Crime alley as his huant, or there some how was a 4th Halfa in the world.

---

Jason found the little diner comfortable, more up to date than the typical dive that was in the Alley, there wasn't even any blood splatter in the back booths!

He kinda didn't like how there was only a single person working there at night, being so close to the Alley and all, but that was easily fixed if he just happened to come around in his Red Hood outfit.

Sending a smirk like smile to the teen that came out from the kitchen, who had the fakest smile that Jason had ever seen outside of a gala.

But his smirk slowly slipped as the kid spoke, his words both sounding clear and distorted at the same time, he could make out words but it was very clearly not words at the same time.

Then, the kid's eyes flashed, and Jason had seen those eyes before, he had seen them in the mirror more times than he was willing to admit.

(Holy shit this kid is about to have a Pit episode in front of me...how the fuck did this kid get in the pits?) Jason thought as he leaned back into his seat, his hand instantly going to where his guns usually were, but only grasped at air.

(Right...forgot those at home...) He thought, settling instead to set his hands on the counter, Jason narrowed his eyes at the teen

But just like that, the green was gone, and the teen cleared his throat, "Sorry about that, um, welcome to Big C's, what can I get ya?"

---

Danny gave a weak smile, he didn't exactly want to throw down with this potential halfa, sure he liked a good ghostly welcome every now and again, but he just cleaned up and he would like his diner to stay that way thank you!

The man across from him glared for amoment longer before shaking his head, "Shit, ugh...gimme a coffee and...what's your special today?"

Reaching for the coffee pot, Danny felt a rumble in the diner cart, and there was suddenly a chalk board on the wall behind him.

Pouring his customer a mug, his brain paused for a moment, translating the ghost script before he spoke "Cadavers chili hotdogs, made with 100% not person meat...I promise neither are made out of people, definitely didnt seen any bodies when I made it my guy."

---

Staring at the blackboard that Jason was very much sure wasn't there a moment ago, he felt his chest tighten and ache as he read the...sigils? Words? They were definitely something and he totally shouldn't know what they mean.

Biting back a snort at the dry comment, Jason focused on him "I will take two...Danny? That your name or just the name on the aprin you got?"

Jason was totally not digging for information, because he totally wasn't a Bat or a Bird, and he totally didn't have an urge to know everything about the person across from him.

Getting a dry chuckle from the guy on the other side of the counter, who could only shake his head, "Sadly, that's my name, I will be back in a sec with your food, no running off tho' ya hear? Already dealt with dine and dashers once this week."

Letting out a chuff, Jason kept his eyes around the room, he knew logically he should be more freaked out by this whole experience, but he couldn't help but feel his body relax and his mind comfortable slow.

Holding the cup of coffee in both hands, he took a long sip and memories hit him harder than a crowbar.

It was his mother's coffee, not the bitch that sold him out but his mama, Catherine, the woman that struggled to keep him happy and fed.

It was the watered down brew, stretched to make it last longer.

It was milky and sweet with sugar packets pilfered form diners such as this and powdered milk he used to steal from the grocery store just for her.

His mama gave up so much for him, why couldn't he just do one little petty theft for her?

His heart aches again, and the intense feel of the pits roar in his ears, but they weren't calling for blood, the pits crooned in nostalgic heart break.

Usually remembering before his death was a trigger, was something that made him rage, but right now? He could only mourn for the mother and son that used to cuddle up together under a ratty blanket, of the mother that whispered stories to him during long quiet nights, of the woman that he had found dead on one such quiet night.

---

Tossing on the last bit of fresh diced onions, Danny had a cheesy grin on his face as he brought the plate to the front, mouth opening to speak before noticing his customers disposition.

He was hunched over on himself, looking small (which was impressive for a man thst looked twice his size and 4 times more muscular)

Tears were streaming down his face as he stared at the now half full mug, for some reason it felt heart breaking to see.

Setting the plate down carefully in front of the man, Danny placed a hand on his shoulder, "It's okay man...your okay bud." Awkwardly Patting his customers shoulder, Danny felt a bit of panic, he wasn't Jazz he didn't know how to like, console people!

It took a few minutes for the man to calm, and Danny handed him a few paper towels to clean himself up, patting him on the back one last time, Danny let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, "Well...um, hope that the coffee is so bad that it made you cry, I-uhh, could comp it if you want?"

The man just shook his head, "Fuckin' hell, ain't bad, just...God damn it..."

---

Rubbing at his eyes Jason huffed, "Sorry for, um....blubbering on ya like that..

don't usually get teary at coffee, that's more of Timmer's shtick, just tastes...tastes like my mom's coffee when I was a kid..." shaking his head, Jason looked at the chili dogs, they still steamed, the cheese now melted on nicely.

Danny just nodded, "Yeah, some reason i have gotten a few comments on that" shrugging his shoulders, he started to figgle with a cloth, wipping down the counter as he spoke "Meh, Gotham is fucked up and I don't want to even begin to try and figure out."

Croaking out a laugh Jason dragged the plate of food closer, "Fucking right about that...though if you keep making it like that you got yourself a regular customer."

Reaching a hand across the counter, Jason gave Danny a weak smile, "Names Jason, nice to meet ya."

Taking the hand, Danny gave a smirk back, "Got it, one sad cup of coffee for you then-" Snapping his head over as he heard a beeping sound, Danny got a panicked look on his face "Oh shit! My cookies!"

---

Storming to the back, Danny ran to the oven, throwing it open, scrambling for the oven mits, he phased a hand through them instead of tugging them on, and quickly pulls the smoaking batch of sweets from the rack.

Plopping them on the counter, he hears the oven snap shut as he sighs, turning to thank the diner, he pauses to see the sight of a man he was hoping that he would never have to see again.

"Oh little Bager, King of the Realms making food for the common folk? How the great have fallen.." Vald said with a viscous grin, his hand reaching up to flip off the oven, "Did you think I wouldn't find you? Thought you could rum off and not tell dear old Uncle? Don't worry Bager, while old Vlad might not come around to vist much..."

There was a flash of black light and where a man once stood was a ghost, his grin pulled back devilishly "I am sure Plasmius will make up for it very...very well."

---

Laughing a bit as he watched Danny scramble inot the back, Jason stared at the food, he was still hungry but...he held an apprehension of sorts, was this going to bring back memories? Would they be good like the coffee or...

His thoughts were cut off as a body was through through the deviding wall from the front of the house to the kitchen.

Bolting up out of his seat, he watched as Danny stepped out of the hole in the wall, shaking out his fist as he did, "I really don't have the fucking time for you Plasmius, don't you see I have a customer?"

Jason stared as the body that was punched through the wall, that looked mangled, twisted and broken start to twitch and crack back into place, limbs bending back from positions they should never be, and then the man sat up, a feral grin on his lips.

(Really fucking bad day for not having my God damn guns.)

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter four )

18+ 5.2k homelander x plus size f!reader. office romance, stalking, voyeurism, office sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, breast play, flight sex, lite overstim, riding. nebulously takes place post s1. part 4/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander takes what's his, and you get what's yours.

welcome to the final chapter! thanks so much for reading. i really enjoyed the dynamic between these two, and i hope you do, too. 🖤

Homelander doesn’t hold it against you that you take him up on his suggestion to be absent the following day. He leaves a little peace offering in your office to say as much: a mug for your collection that reads simply, You’ve Been Mugged. He adjusts it seven times on your desk before he finally leaves it alone, surveying your office a while before letting himself out.

The thugs he lasered down in the alley don’t garner much attention, but it’s enough to warrant a statement on the truth of what happened. With them dead, the truth becomes whatever he makes of it, and his truth is that two vagabonds were assaulting a cherished Vought employee before he put a stop to it.

It’s precisely the kind of hero story the public loves.

“I acted on instinct,” he tells the newscaster. He relives the moment as he tells it, recalls only to himself how fierce you had been. How determined you were that if you were going to die, you would die fighting. “They were going to hurt her. I like to believe any good citizen in my position would have done the same.”

Madelyn taught him that conviction without contrition would always read as arrogance, so he speaks firmly but with a furrow to his brow, and he closes his eyes when he inclines his head to accept praise. No matter how dead she is, her voice remains an echo in his mind: follow the script, and you’ll be fine.

They use his words to segue into a discussion of gun control, and Homelander’s mind drifts somewhere distant, hearing without listening to the petty squabbles of humans crying about their little toys and laws. He supposes this is how God feels when humans pray to Him over every minor inconvenience. Bored and painfully above it.

While it’s easy enough to keep himself distracted during business hours, Homelander’s life comes to an abrupt halt alongside the end of the working day. Like the equipment that broadcasts him, there’s little use for him once the cast and crew goes home. All around him the employees commiserate at the end of their work day and pass around invitations to the bar. 

He receives none. 

Not that he would accept them if he did.

Seeking both council and companionship, Homelander finds himself in Noir’s apartment, seated in the chair Noir keeps for him. It’s the only one the hero owns, what with his interior design being deeply steeped in westernized ninja nonsense. The place is half dojo, half living quarters.

He laments his situation to Noir, explaining his patience in courting you, the lengths he’s gone to endear himself to you on a personal level, and the bitter sting of your rejection.

“See her,” Noir writes in his sketchpad, sitting on the floor on the other side of the low table. “If glad to see her, good. If not–”

Homelander snorts at the series of knife sketches that follow. He has no doubt Noir would put an end to anyone for any reason Homelander gave. Simplicity has allowed Noir an unwavering loyalty to Vought, and as an extension, Homelander himself. Luckily for you, he has no interest in that happening. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Noir,” he muses, clapping his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “You’re right. I’ll go see her. Thanks, buddy.”

Noir offers two thumbs up. A true uproar of approval.

Under the cover of darkness, Homelander returns to your house, the flight path a familiar one now. He lands silently on your roof this time, cocking his head. He’s not confident he’ll be able to resist your siren pull if he approaches now. He folds his hands behind his back and peers through each layer between him and your bedroom, stopping when he can see you.

You’re nestled deep in the splay of your blankets, lips parted around shallow breaths. He bites his own bottom lip, remembering how badly he’d wanted to feel them. Taste them. He’s certain now that if he allowed himself to be close enough, he would. Denial, for as much as it stung in that moment, has only made him hungrier for you. Fuck, the way he’s craved you from the moment you first brushed him aside.

He watches you shift in your sleep and his eyes narrow, honing in on a familiar flash. His stomach flips–it’s his cape, the fabric pinned between your blanket and your body. You really are sleeping with it, the star spangled blue fabric tucked up under your chin. Do you smell him on it? Homelander groans softly. Like your underwear in his bedside drawer, you sleep with a trophy of your own.

“Fuck,” he says, aching. His heart, his mind, his cock–all of it at once a cacophony of vicious yearning and impatience. The urge to peel the roof like a sardine can and carve his way straight to you nearly knocks the wind out of him, has him preemptively reaching for the shingled surface.

Only the lingering wound to his ego gives him pause. He’s been bitten once, leaving him shy to instigate, but this revelation feels like progress. You’re aching for him as much as he is for you. He’s sure of that now. It’s time that he made you feel that ache. Feel his absence. Then you’ll realize the foolishness of your coy game.

Clenching his jaw defiantly, Homelander lifts up into the sky.

He’ll be benevolent when you come to your senses.

The next day, Homelander keeps himself scarce, preoccupied. Ashley is perkier than usual, thrilled–if not suspicious–with his easy participation in whatever inane business she brings to him. It helps distract him from the endless feeling of waiting that he’s enduring.

He sticks stubbornly to his schedule, fantasizing about the torment his avoidance has surely wrought. He’s tempted a time or two to break, but each time he remembers the mortified Oh! you uttered before he kissed you, he refocuses himself.

You’ll come.

Not before lunch, but that is the perfect opportunity for it. He makes himself more available then, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair. 

No sign of you.

He gives you the benefit of the doubt. A meal to embolden you.

Then you’ll come.

He waits.

Lunch long since over.

He waits.

The day is winding down.

He’s fucking tired of waiting.

Where the hell are you? He’s given you the entirety of the day to seek him out, ample opportunity to come thank him for his gift, to address the aching thing ruminating between you. You’d be a fucking liar to say you don’t feel it, too. By midday, he’s seething with impatience and hurt. There’s no chance he’s going to let you stand him up.

It’s precisely the wrong time for Ashley to rear her head back up. “Okay! That’s that, now regarding the amnesty for–”

“Ashley!” He snaps, a harsh and throaty sound. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

She stops in her tracks, staring wide-eyed. Of course it was too good to be true.

Homelander all but leaps to his feet, pushing out of his chair so hard that it flips backwards and into the wall in a heavy clatter. She clutches her vPad to her chest and quickly back steps out of his way, watching in frightened bewilderment as he storms from the room, making a beeline towards your office.

He doesn’t bother knocking this time. Still, his restraint is undeniable when he pushes your door open. He barely catches himself from pushing the damn thing clean off the hinges.

Your head snaps up from your computer, eyes wide. He hears your heart jump and he savors the alarm that shoots through you. Payback for the awful misery you forced him to endure in the hours since he last saw you. Still, the sight of you disarms him. For all his seething anger, there is something small in him that retreats it when your eyes are on him.

There’s a heaviness to your gaze that his strength can do nothing to alleviate. No incredible feat of his can wrench away what it is he wants from you. What he needs. It’s something you have to give him willingly, and that alone is enough to temper his rage. The familiar fear that you won’t.

He marches to the front of your desk and levels an accusatory finger on you.

“You like me,” he hisses, bending to brace his opposite hand on your desk.

You blink owlishly, lips parted. That clearly wasn’t what you expected him to say. He’s not sure it’s what he meant to say. “Homelander–”

“No,” he says, voice pitched low, a warning. “No, no. No games, no workarounds. You like me. You do. And I like you. So,” he abandons his point to make a vague encompassing gesture, but he doesn’t know what to say next. He didn’t think this far ahead. All day he had practiced the calm benevolence he would show when you approached him, chastised and yearning. He has nothing to back up this frenzied play for.

You stand. Homelander rises to his full height with you, jutting his chin out. He watches you with all the wariness of a wounded predator as you circle around your desk, your hand gliding along the wood like you would flank a horse so as not to spook it.

He can’t determine the intent behind your gaze. He angles his body towards you, facing you head on. You look like yourself again, in your element and free from the fawn fear of the alley. He can’t entirely decide which way he prefers you. When you were in his arms, he was your hero. In your office, his position feels more precarious.

The silence stretches on for hours–or seconds, it’s impossible to say–before he can no longer stand it. Sucking in a breath, he–

You kiss him.

Homelander goes shock still, hyper aware of your lips pressed feather light to his, your breasts against his chest, your hand on his forearm. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but he senses when you begin to pull away. 

In a flash he cups your face in his hands and pulls you in deep, inhaling sharply, like  he’s only just remembered how to breathe. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you as if he can trap you in the cycle of it. You don’t resist, you don’t tense. Instead, you sigh an angel’s breath against his lips. Only then does he break to look at you.

“I don’t understand,” he says, bewildered, flushed.

“I do like you,” you say, eyes glassy.

His brows pinch. “But… That night–”

“Wasn’t right,” you interrupt. “I wanted to kiss you, but not like that. Not then. Not because you saved me, not because I was in shock, not because of…” you rock your head side to side. “Whatever other bullshit… You let me down that night.”

“Let you down?” Homelander echoes, taken aback. “By saving your life?” He asks, his temper a perpetual simmer ready to flare. He’s immediately tempered by your hands taking his wrists, squeezing. You hold his gaze and your expression is gentle, but there is a firmness in your stare that he finds intoxicating. Not an ounce of fear, even when his anger emerges.

Good. You shouldn’t be afraid of him. He saved you.

“I was shaken. Badly. My date was an entitled asshole, those men, they tried to…” You shake your head, holding his hands to your face. “I didn’t need you to be a man. I needed you to be a hero. I wasn’t ready.”

A light in Homelander’s eyes flicks on. You just weren’t ready. He’d been right after all. He fixates on that, choosing to forgive you for that, at least.

“Well, why didn’t… You could have said something,” he says, feeling like a deflated hot air balloon, all slack expansion and heat with no purpose.

“I would have,” you say, your cheeks soft and round in his hands, lips slightly puckered from his hold on your face. “But you ran away.”

“What? I–” He laughs incredulously. “I did not run away.”

“Flew away,” you say, pushing in to kiss him again. He screws his eyes shut. Fuck, fuck. Oh fuck. He’s been dreaming of this, aching for it. To feel you against him, wanting him as much as he wants you. “Pretty fast, too. Looked like you shot straight up to the moon,” you say, breath hot and sweet on his lips.

“I…” He swallows, hands slipping down to either side of your neck, thumbs tilting your chin up. “I’m sorry. I wanted you,” he says, trailing his parted lips along your jaw, kissing and breathing you in the way he’s craved to. He can feel your skin growing hot against his lips, hear the uptick of your pulse as your heart begins to race.

“Do you still want me?” You ask, voice lower now. It sends a delicious hot pang all the way through him.

“You have no fucking idea,” he murmurs, nipping at the lobe of your ear, desperate to test the give of you under his teeth, the feel of your soft and yielding flesh branded into his memory the moment his lips touched your skin.

A knock snaps his attention away from you, but it isn’t at the door. He looks down and sees that it’s you knocking on your desk. “So take me,” you say, voice laced with heat. His lips split into a wicked grin. He snatches the edge of your heavy wooden desk and effortlessly tips it backwards until everything slides off of it, clattering to the floor. He lifts you up, relishing your delighted little yelp, and places you down on the cleared surface like a doll, stepping in between your legs. 

He kisses you again. Let me in, demands the press of his tongue. You yield to him, but it’s far from a surrender. Your tongue meets his eagerly, tasting him as much as he does you. Tasting you. That’s what he wants. He wants to map every inch of you with his tongue.

Homelander slips his hand between your legs, pushing your skirt up out of the way. He presses his fingers to the heat between your thighs, rubbing through the thin fabric of your panties. You sigh that same seraphic sound against his lips, slipping your hands up into his hair, already taking a handful of it to tug gently.

He breaks the kiss and takes his fingers from you after the barest tease of pleasure. The impatient sound you make goes straight to his cock, as does your flustered expression. He brings his fingers to his lips and drags his tongue over the leather of them, sliding them past his lips to give a quick suck. It’s not enough, too slight a hint of you. He needs more. You watch him with rapt attention, giving his hair a demanding little tug.

“You can pull as hard as you like,” he tells you with a smile, tilting his head against the grasp you have on his hair. “Tells me I’m doing a good job.”

“I’ll tell you when you’re doing a good job,” you rasp, giving his hair a sharp pull and then a downward push. That sends a shiver down his spine.

Fuck yes.

Homelander sinks down onto his knees, lifting each of your legs up over his shoulders. You give a little gasp when he yanks your ass to the edge of the desk, giddy with the way he manhandles you. He swallows, mouth dry, thirsty for the wet, heady smell of your pussy. He maneuvers his head under your skirt until he’s close enough to drag his tongue up the soft cotton of your panties. Your breath hitches and your grip in his hair tightens while you egg him on with sharp little rolls of your hips.

He closes his eyes, giving a rumbling moan for the taste of you, even through the fabric. He laps until the fabric is soaked, clinging to your skin, and he can feel your clit swollen and stiff on his tongue through your panties. He closes his mouth over it, sucking you through your underwear while you writhe above him, keeping yourself quiet.

That won’t do.

He wants to hear you.

He wants the whole fucking Tower to hear you.

Hooking the crotch of your panties with his finger, it only takes one sharp little tug to tear them, exposing you to him.

“Homelander,” you moan. The sound of it lances a spear of heat through him, leaves his cock throbbing needily in the rigid confines of his cup. He groans into you, rocking his hips against the empty air. The only proper answer is to dive in, to close his lips around your clit and finally suck the rich nectar of your cunt without the filter of fabric between you. You taste even better than you smell, like salt and sex and sweet ripe fruit. It overwhelms his senses immediately, his eyelids flickering. 

The more he laps at you, the silkier your pussy becomes. Between circling your clit, he drives his tongue deep into you, drinking you down noisily and messily, a parched man gulping from an oasis. Your thick thighs are tight on either side of his head, your pulse pounding in his ears. He moans low and wicked for the taste and feel of you.

Your grip on his hair tightens sporadically, sharp little tugs that match the staccato cadence of your breaths. “F-fuck, your tongue feels-feels fucking unreal,” you moan, grinding down against it. The strength of it, the slight thrum of restrained power that courses through him, and the sheer relentlessness of his stamina is driving you wild against his mouth. “Fingers, use your fingers,” you tell him. He loves the rawness of your voice, the authority and desperation in your demand.

Removing one of his gloves, he moves his bare hand to the sweltering wetness of you, teasing his finger just below where his tongue is rubbing your clit. His index finger slips easily into the slick mess, and he savors the quiver of your velvet walls around it. He lets you ride his finger, stays all but still while you greedily bounce your hips, both hands fisted in his hair. You use him for your pleasure, and it makes him delirious with want.

Homelander's gaze flickers up. He peers through the layer of your skirt to catch a look at you, to watch you while you cannot watch him. You’re losing track of yourself, lips parted, eyes glazed with pleasure, shivering with each flick of his tongue and dive of his finger. Euphoria looks good on you. 

Christ, he has been patient. He would chastise himself for waiting so long to touch you, to taste you, to feel you, but he can’t bring himself to. The wait gifted him with this exquisite hunger, and he proved something important; you both yearn for the other. You crave him. He can see it in your hazy eyes, taste it in the spill of your sweet cunt.

You belong to him. He needs only to take you.

One finger becomes two, and then three. Your heels dig into his shoulders and fuck yourself down on them, moaning recklessly now, not caring who hears you. It’s music to his ears.

“Fuck, Homelander, I-I’m coming, I’m-don’t stop, don’t stop,” you beg prettily. You don’t need to, but he enjoys the song anyway. He laps at your clit in quick upward pulls of his tongue, lips creating a seal around it. His brows furrow tightly, his own neglected arousal pounding through his body like a wardrum, but he doesn’t touch himself, too focused on you.

Your whole body locks up tight when you come, breath caught in your lungs, your clit fluttering delicately. He presses his tongue to it, savoring the taste of your euphoria, how it floods your system and changes the flavor of you. Your pleasure grows his hunger into something monstrous, something demanding, but there is satiation at least in bringing you this, in showing you all the things he will be for you.

You’ll never want for anyone–or anything– else ever again.

Homelander doesn’t stop. You begged him not to. He finger-fucks you through the aftershocks, lapping up every drop of your pleasure, stroking you inside and out while your cunt squeezes his fingers. He doesn’t stop until he feels you pushing him away, your sweet songbird moans sounding more like whimpers, oversensitized. He withdraws his fingers, giving one last noisy slurp before emerging from beneath your skirt. His face is shiny and wet with your slick, his pupils blown black. He's panting, looking every bit like a beast lifting its bloodied head from the belly of its kill.

Crawling up your body, still predator hungry, he rests his knee on the desk between your legs. He cups either side of your face, fingertips digging possessively into the back of your neck. He meets your eyes, pinning you with the intensity of his gaze, wordlessly drilling into your mind that this moment, this feeling, this tingling warmth in your body is him.

I did this to you, his expression reads. You’re on my lips, he says by pressing them to yours, kissing your own taste into your mouth, his body throbbing, desperate for an ounce of that same relief. You’re mine.

To his amazement, your eyes mirror his own savage hunger. You kiss him hard, shamelessly licking into his mouth, huffing shallow breaths from your nose. “Lie down,” you tell him, voice as sweet and coarse as raw sugar. “I’m going to ride you.”

Homelander doesn’t need to be told twice. Exhilarated, he rolls over, flipping you with him and steadying you above him in a fluid motion. The desk isn’t as long as he is tall, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already half suspended in the air with his own excitement, helping you with overly eager hands that fumble alongside yours with his belt, which falls to the ground with a distinct thud. He gives a little jump at the voracity you rip his zipper down with, grinning.

Together, you shuck his pants down to his thighs. You grip him through his red briefs, a fractured moan falling from his lips.

“Cute underwear,” you coo. His cheeks flush to almost the same shade. You flatten your palm over his cock and he bites back a whimper, teeth sinking into his tongue. You give a light squeeze, fingers curling around his cock through the fabric, and he lets out a rough breath. “You feel close,” you tell him, stroking him in a loose fist, your hand warm, the fabric soft.

He nods fervently, the friction and your voice already teetering him towards the edge. He makes a sound of both anguish and relief when you release him, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. You tug his underwear down, his cock bouncing free, engorged and dripping precome.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, bracing one hand on his chest and sliding forward, your other hand moving between your bodies to steady his cock against the rapturously hot press of your soaked cunt. His hands fly to your hips, fingertips biting into the softness of your body. You allow him that, focused entirely on the act of taking him into you. The fat head of his cock it slips inside, evoking a sweet little gasp from you, and Homelander fights not to slam in the rest of the way.

Both of your hands fall to his chest, your eyes meeting his. He holds your gaze, mouth twitching around silent sharp breaths. He watches you sink slowly down the length of him, engulfing him in such sublime rapture it’s a wonder he doesn’t come right then and there for the feel of you alone. His grip on your hips flexes and he gives a sharp little thrust up, forgetting himself to the divine feel of your pussy.

“I said don’t move,” you remind him breathlessly. God, you’re beautiful like this. The fluorescent light behind your head haloes you, giving you the look of a debauched angel he plucked from the heavens to have and keep as his own. He expects you to move, to bounce yourself on his cock like you did his mouth and his fingers. He wants to watch your tits bounce, see your face clearly when you come on his cock, but the only part of you that moves is your hand.

His gaze drops and quickly darkens, watching intently as you stroke your clit. The initial contact alone makes you jerk, makes your pussy spasm and squeeze him so good he almost chokes on it. Your only response is to sigh, tipping your head back and spreading your legs a little wider, taking him deeper. He wants so badly to fuck you, to slam you down and rail you until your desk cracks in half.

“Mmmm, fuck,” you moan, rubbing yourself in circles, the lewd noise of it loud and irresistible to his ears. “Fuck, fuck–ah, god,” you start to pant, head falling forward, brows tightly pinched. You’re so sensitive after the assault of his mouth, the flavor of you still fresh on his tongue. The faster your fingers move, the closer he feels you get, the clench around his cock steadily tightening. He wants to thrash, but you keep him pinned in place with your look of expectation and pleasure. You’re getting off on him as much as you are your own fingers, on the swell and throb of his cock inside you, on the sheer power you hold over a god.

You’re loud when you come, nails clawing into the chest of his suit. Homelander’s eyes roll back, lips parted on a soundless cry of his own. The spasming heat of your release is too much and he loses himself to it, eyes flaring up with crimson light as he comes with you, every shudder of your climax stroking and milking him of his own, flooding you with his own wet mess.

His restraint breaks with the dam and he sits up abruptly, startling a noise from you, which he swallows with a hard kiss, cupping the back of your head. He holds you still and he fucks you, lifting from the desk entirely so that he alone supports your weight, driving you deeper onto his cock. Your legs tighten on either side of him, shaking. 

Out of his mind with pleasure, he tears your blouse open with his teeth, diving in close to lick, suck and bite at your chest. He buries his face between your breasts, holding you tightly as he fucks you both through your respective orgasms, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing obscenely in your office. 

Hitching your legs properly around his waist, he bounces you on his cock until the pleasure borders on pain and a secondary shock rolls through him like another orgasm, stealing his breath. Only then does he finally slow, mouthing languidly at your chest until he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He moans against you, grinding to an eventual halt. You comb your fingers through his hair and goosebumps erupt across his body, which shivers in the euphoric aftermath.

He loses track of how long he stays suspended like that, lost to the overwhelm of sensation. Your legs go slack while his angles slightly upward, his face pressed to your chest, your head resting atop his. He nuzzles at you, bleary eyed and slack with pleasure. He kisses a trail up to your clavicle, your throat, your jaw, smiling in the loose, easy way that only a good fuck can never make him.

“Wow,” he says after a while, voice thoroughly frayed.

You giggle, groggily lifting your head. He adjusts until you can relax against his chest, fold your forearms across it and settling your chin atop them, admiring him. He touches your face with his ungloved hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb, then the curve of your bottom lip. His smile widens when you kiss the pad of his thumb.

“Wow indeed,” you say, swinging your legs lightly. “Can’t say I’ve ever been fucked mid-air.”

“One of the many benefits of dating me,” he purrs, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. He kisses you again, drifting slowly back down, unhurried.

Your brows lift lazily. “Who says we’re dating?” You ask, but your smile keeps his hackles from rising.

“Me,” he says, eyes crinkled at the corners. He lands gently on the desk, helping you to it. “You and I are officially going steady.”

You give a thoughtful hum, carefully untangling your limbs from his. You slide off of the desk while he puts himself back together, your knees trembling faintly. “Fairly sure asking someone out requires a question mark. You know. The asking part. You didn’t even buy me dinner.” You attempt to button up your shirt, but it’s obviously a lost cause.

He exhales a quiet laugh, pulling you back into his arms. “Well, I certainly ate.”

“God,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but they don’t stray from him for long. There’s a sparkle to your gaze that he wants to capture in his palm and never set loose.

“Will you go out with me?” He asks, lips brushing yours.

“Mmmmmmmm….” You hum once more, drawing it out, feigning a great deliberation. “There’s something you should know first.”

He quirks a brow. “What’s that?”

“My guilty pleasure,” you say, nose bumping his.

Intrigued, he inclines his head to prompt you to continue. Can’t be worse than mine.

“Superheroes,” you say conspiratorially. “Can’t get enough of them. Loved them my whole life. Especially this one in particular…”

He breaks into a frayed, charmed laugh. “Let me guess, name starts with an H?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, lips curved downward in a mock grimace, and nod subtly. “ Total fangirl. Embarrassing, right?”

Homelander shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt guilty about pleasure. Where’s the harm in it?”

The harm inflicted on those thugs couldn’t count. They had it coming.

“Harm to my pride, my ego, my reputation,” you list, tapping his suit to punctuate each one. “I made a pretty big fuss about not liking you. I had myself convinced that my Homelander only existed in my fantasies, and you were just the guy who plays him.”

My Homelander. The words stir an unexpectedly sentimental surge of emotion that wells up from somewhere deep in his chest. He clears his throat lightly. “What’s the verdict now?”

You sweep him with an appraising gaze. “Still deliberating.”

He clicks his tongue, nodding. “I don’t suppose I could arrange a meeting with the jury?”

“They’re available for dinner tomorrow,” you say, the tilt of your lips sly. 

“It’s a date,” he murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You kiss him, pressing your smile to his. He doubts he’ll ever tire of the softness of your lips, or the easy way you melt against him. He wraps his arms around you, content to let this moment pass only because he knows there will be more to come. He’s determined to make every one of them better than the last.

All of the pleasure, none of the guilt.

[surielstea]

Wedding Crasher

Based on this request.

Paring: Azriel x Fem!Reader (mates)

Summary: Reader is forced into an arranged marriage, and when the day of union comes it is interrupted by two familiar Illyrian warriors.

Warnings: Toxic relationship with parents | forced marriage | Azriel threatens a life | but pretty much all fluff <33

2.4k words.

My white dress hung heavy on my shoulders, my corset too tight, my heels already making my feet ache.

The plastered smile on my face hurt my cheeks, and the thorns in my bouquet prickled my sweaty palms. I released a shaky breath as the music of the string quartet began to play, an unmistakable tune meant for happy brides ready to walk down the aisle.

Which is what I was supposed to be, happy, ready. Heads turned in my direction and my back straightened, my brows creasing the slightest fraction.

My husband-to-be waited at the end of the walkway, his smile broad and malicious. My stomach churned.

I didn't want to be here, here on this beach getting married to some guy twenty years older all for an alliance my parents forced me into. My self-sovereignty for what? For a few pieces of gold and a minor title?

I took a steadying breath and began walking forward, keeping in rhythm to the strum of the music. The groom reached his hand out towards me, my own shook as I took it and he pulled me the rest of the way to the altar.

The officiant began the reading from his script, and with it, my ears began to ring, I tuned the priest out and my eyes fluttered closed. My fiancé's hands squeezed mine, not in a comforting manner, but a warning. I snapped my head up and looked at the officiant, I blinked at him with creased brows.

"Do you, take Rhen Talor to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do you part?" He repeated each word adding another pound of weight to my shoulders.

"I—" I look between the oblivious officiant and the groom, Rhen, to my parents who were watching with narrowed eyes. "I..." I wanted to say yes, I was going to say yes, but the pounding in my heart could be heard in my ears and I got the sneaking suspicion that I was about to vomit all over my white gown.

An unnatural wind blew my hair back as if nature itself was beckoning me to step away, to run.

I looked in the direction of the wind, my hands slipping from Rhen's as I spotted two towering, familiar winged figures in the distance and I realized the pounding in my ears was the beat of their wings.

The crowd murmurs at the intrusion as the two Illyrians casually stroll towards us, arrogance and power in each step.

"Excuse me for a moment," I say, gathering my skirts in my hands and rushing over to the two males as fast as I can in my heels that seemed determined to get stuck in the sand.

"What in the seven hells are you two doing here?" I seethe, looking at the fae warriors who were smiling at me with wicked amusement. Some part of me relaxed to feel anything besides fear and nausea, even if it was anger taking over.

"We're here to save you, what else?" The shadow singer arches a brow, dark shadows swirling up the pure white of my dress.

"I don't need anyone's saving, especially not two Carynthian warriors," I argue and Cassian snorts, taking in my appearance.

"I only came along because Az promised there'd be a buffet," The lord of bloodshed shrugged.

"Not for— this is wildly inappropriate, even for the two of you." I groaned but Cassian only continued walking, towards the guests that were scrambling away from the sight of his seven siphons. Leaving me and Azriel, our words drowned out by the crashing of the waves.

"You're too late. I already said I do," I cross my arms over my chest.

"Liar," He narrows his hazel eyes on me. "You know better than to try and fool me, Love, I could feel you tugging at the bond, you were in distress," Azriel took a dangerous step forward and I sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of the bond, not accepted but not rejected either. A bridge between us that I both refused to sever and to walk across.

H grabbed my hand that was prickled with the thorns of my bouquet, shadows soothed over my palm, relieving the sting of my minor wounds. "You shouldn't be here," I frowned but his smile remained.

"No, probably not, but I can't let you marry him," He said, his voice brooking no room for argument, ever the cool and collected male.

“Go home, Azriel,” I speak quietly, but not weakly.

“Come with me.” He matches my tone, his scarred fingers intertwining with my manicured ones and the sensation was so different than the feeling of Rhen’s grip. "Why did your parents arrange this? What are they gaining from this union?" He asked, voice slightly stiff at the idea of selling me off for their own personal achievement.

"Money, the Talor's have a small title and crop of land, it'd be enough to last us a few centuries,” I shrug. I loved my parents, despite their twisted and corrupt ways, I loved them because they fed and raised me, I loved them because they put clothes on my back and told me bedtime stories. I never assumed I’d have to pay them back, not this way, at least.

"I'll give you every cent to my name if that's the price of my mate's freedom, if money is what they want, they can take mine." The shadow singer stated, his words certain that it made me realize that I’ve never been as sure about anything as he was about this.

"I can't ask you to do that." I shake my head, slipping my fingers from his, knowing the lingering guests were watching.

"You don't have to, I want you to be happy, let me buy you then set you free." He implored, allowing my hand to fall to my side only because he moved to cup my cheek. "And if I'm lucky you'll fall in love with me along the way." He shrugged with a smirk of pure fae male arrogance.

"Az," I deadpan, the words half a growl.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm asking you not to marry him." His eyes flick back to the male watching with furious eyes from the archway. "If you tell me to I’ll leave, and you can walk down that aisle again— but let's not kid ourselves, you never wanted this, never wanted him,” His hand on my face made me melt slightly, and he was right, despite wanting to pay my mother and father back, this is nowhere near anything I wanted.

I swallowed thickly, weighing the options. If I married Rhen my parents would be happy and this would all be water under the bridge— but I’d suffer a life of being both a housewife and broodmare with a male who did not truly love me.

If I went with Azriel my parents would likely attempt to cleave us, unless Azriel paid them as he said he would, as long as gold was placed in their hands I doubted they’d have much argument— and I could be free to choose what I wanted with my life, I could accept my mating bond.

"But where will I go? What will I do?" I ask, my mind filled with questions that could only be answered by my future self.

"It's entirely up to you, you can live with me, or you can move to another court, whatever you choose. You'd be free." He stresses and my mouth gapes open, then closes. I look to the waves crashing against the shore only a few yards away, shouting at me to flee, to go with him.

All of it was too good to be true, Azriel coming to be my savior with this plan. It couldn’t be real and I needed him to punch me so I could wake up from this dream.

"Though I'd prefer if you stayed close, it's painful having you so far even right now— and you're only a city away, I can’t imagine a whole court,” He added and I looked back to him, a small smile pulling at the corners of my lips.

"I haven't even accepted the bond yet and you're already desperate." I tease.

"Yet?" He arched a scarred brow.

I flush a soft hue and avert my eyes again, this time settling them on the approaching figure that formed a knot of anxiety in my stomach.

"You're out of line, get your hands off my bride you bastard." Rhen spat and I flinched at the way he cursed the word, Azriel didn’t so much as shift, in fact, I could’ve sworn there was a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Out of line? No, I'm exactly where I should be, you're the one that's in my way." The shadow singer smoothly replied, Rhen snarled at his retort and grabbed me just above my elbow, his grip as tight and immovable as iron.

"Don't touch me." I gritted out, tugging at my arm but he didn’t budge and simply pulled me back towards where the officiant stood, uneasy on his feet.

"Come on, be a good little wife, and finish the damned ceremony," Rhen growled, and before I could take even another step towards the archway my fiancé halted, freezing in his footsteps as shadows wrapped around his limbs, his neck, encasing his body and shoving into his open mouth, restricting him of oxygen.

"She told you not to touch her Talor, so I'd highly suggest you let go or you won't have a hand anymore." The Spy Master’s voice was death incarnate, I had never heard anything so paralyzing in all my immortal life. It chilled me down to my very bone, and I thought that I might be carrion if I was ever on the receiving end of my mate's deathly stare.

Rhen’s hand releases me if only to grasp at his own throat, silently pleading with his eyes to have mercy.

The shadows released him and Rhen was sent running, sprinting as fast as he could away from the male that stood before me, now looking at me with an incredulous grin. Insane, he must’ve been insane— and I must’ve been too, to be so in love with that smile and the dimples that came along with it.

"You were seriously going to marry him?” He scoffed, hand coming to my arm and inspecting the area Rhen held me for any injury.

"Well, it wasn't really my choice," I grumble under my breath as Azriel lets go of my arm with a gentleness that rivaled his vicious exterior that occurred only moments ago.

Azriel’s eyes flicked over to the few remaining guests and I turned in the direction he stared, at my parents who were staring with both helplessness and fury in their eyes.

"Me and Cass will deal with them later, let's get you out of here, alright?" He tugged at the tether between us and my head whips back to him.

“Okay,” I nod and reach out, my hand finding his. His eyes soften as he pulls me into him, wrapping a wing around me and cocooning us in darkness before he utilizes his shadows to pull us into another realm entirely, it was only a brief moment of darkness and an empty void before my heels were on a hardwood floor and the sweet citrusy smell of Velaris flowed through my nose.

"We left Cass," I say, glancing around to find the second Illyrian nowhere to be found.

"He was in the midst of stuffing his face with bread rolls, I think he'll be just fine." Azriel half scoffed, half chuckled. He pulled away but before he could completely slip from my grasp my hand tightened on his and his brows lifted a fraction, eyes lighting with intrigue.

"Thank you." Is all I can manage to say.

"Don't thank me." He shakes his head. "I should have gotten you out of there far sooner." He spoke as if he was more dissatisfied with himself than anyone else.

"But still, when it mattered you came for me," I utter, taking a cautious step forward.

"You're my mate, even if you haven't accepted the bond, it's my duty to keep you safe— you shouldn't have even been out of my sights," He says, his voice soft as he looks down at me, hand squeezing mine.

"I wasn't, not really." I hum, gesturing down to the shadow that swirled around my ankle, the one that would always remain there.

He smiles at the thought, then says, "You look beautiful, by the way." His eyes flick down to my white gown and I follow his gaze, smiling softly at the dress, it had been the only thing that was my decision in this entire endeavor.

"I only wish that it was your choice to put that dress on, this morning," He added, as if reading my mind, and for a moment I wondered if the mating bond allowed him to see how I felt.

"It will be, one day," I nod confidently and his brows raise with insinuation. A gentle smile blooms across my lips and I cup his sharp jaw. “But for now, baby steps,” I suggest rising up onto my toes, leaning closer, placing a kiss on his adjacent cheek.

When I pulled back he was beet red and I giggled at the sight, it was a wonder that this male, who flushed at a chaste peck on the cheek, was also one of the most feared in Prythian.

“Right,” he swallowed down the lump in his throat, his hand only a phantom at my waist, hovering. "I'll have money sent to your parents by Dawn." He says, then quickly adds, “Even if they don’t deserve it.”

I smile brightly and pull away. “Thank you, Az,” I murmur.

“Anything, for you.” He confessed, and I knew he meant it. I smiled, thinking that in the morning I might reward him with some breakfast, in turn, accepted that golden tether between us and finally allowed myself to be happy, with a mate.

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[beesspacedotorg]

Dibs

Summary: You get close with your new pack, especially the Luna. 5.5k words

Warnings: it's omegaverse. guys. it's omegaverse. there's gonna be omegaverse in it. reader is an omega, so is lino. there's mommy kink. towards lino. uh. there's s3x. what else. readers genitals and pronouns are not specified or elaborated on at all B). one (1) piss joke. poly ot8 and it's implied they all bone but there's no actual boning that happens. there's boning described once for two seconds.

Notes: I have almost all of the legendary fish in stardew. this was inspired by this ask that @hyunsvngs got like two days ago. it was also finished yesterday, but I was busy so I didn't post it. thanks to my friends who read it and gave me feedback. uhm. that's all.

Hyunjin is the one who finds you. You’re both in the same class at university, a filler class, something to do with philosophy, and you group up on a project to discuss the differences in the eastern and western versions of the practice.

“Do you think the whole ‘Alpha Mindset’ that’s going around these days could be a facet of modern philosophy, or is it just omegaphobia repackaged?” You’re dicking around on your laptop in class. After assigning the project, your teacher gave up on doing their job, which would be great, but attendance is still mandatory.

“Probably repackaged, hey I have a question for you.” Hyunjin sets his phone down when he asks, tilting in his seat to face you and your heart skips about seven beats in your chest.

He’s pretty, almost pretty enough that it’s annoying, that and he smells nice. It took you two weeks of classes to muster up the courage to ask him on a date only for him to say that he has seven boyfriends but he’d be more than happy to be friends. You would sell your soul to the nearest evil spirit to be lucky enough to have one boyfriend, much less seven, but you aren’t going to let a good opportunity slip out of your hands, so you took his offer of friendship even though you wanted- want- more.

“Yeah, what’s up?” You can feel that this conversation is bordering on serious, a topic that you and Hyunjin broach often. He’s the poetic type, and often you find yourself discussing the intricacies of human emotion with him. He seems nervous though, nervous enough that you temporarily pause Papa’s Pizzeria and boot up 2048 instead, giving him as much attention as you can offer.

“So. Okay wait. Give me a second, I have a list of questions to ask you. Seungmin made me a flowchart.” You smile at him, he’s cute. Seungmin is one of his boyfriends, Hyunjin spends more time than is strictly necessary talking your ear off about how smart and cute and talented Seungmin is. You’d be jealous if you hadn’t seen Seungmin pick Hyunjin up from school one time. Your pants filled with slick so fast you had to hide in the bathroom for half an hour pretending to be sick until you calmed down enough to head home.

“Okay. Uhm. Would you consider us to be good friends?” His voice sounds slightly robotic as he reads from his script and you laugh slightly before confirming.

“Oh, that’s great. Me too. Uh. Do you have a boyfriend?” He pauses. “Or a girlfriend, or a partner?” He adds those last two as an afterthought, rushing through them and you laugh again.

“You would know if I managed to pull that off, Hyunjinnie.”

“What about that pretty girl from your math class?”

“She only dates Alphas unfortunately.”

“Damn.” He doesn’t sound very sorry as he says it, but you can tell he’s trying to be nice. It irks you just a tad, but you think this conversation is leading up to something so you drop the irritation and motion for him to continue.

“Okay, if ‘no’, the next question was,” he’s mumbling to himself and you snort slightly. “Do you have a pack?” You blink. He’s never asked you this before and you shake your head. Where you’re from, people have moved away from forming packs, something about a post World War 2 culture shift and traditional values and homophobia and what not. Your generation is working to bring them back, but the only pack you have is your immediate family. You haven’t gotten close enough to anyone on campus to try and start one, and the one time you felt the need you were swiftly friendzoned.

“Ah. No. I don’t.” He hums sadly.

“Okay. Would you like one?”

“Hyunjin…” You’re starting to feel slightly defensive, and you’re not sure if you like where this is going.

“Wait. Wait. Let me finish.” He huffs. “I told Chan these questions would weird you out, but what do I know?” He sets his phone down and grabs the hand that was busy moving the 2048 tiles around on your computer screen.

“I have a crush on you.” You blink, rapid fire. “And I would like to date you. And also so would my seven boyfriends. But we can get to that later. I got here first, I call dibs.”

In the version of this you tell your friends and family, you accepted immediately and you and Hyunjin went on your first date that afternoon. In reality, you stood up so fast you almost passed out and hightailed it to the bathroom to have a mild panic attack. Hyunjin was kind enough to grab your things and wait for you. He was also kind enough to wait the months-long process of you being generally distrustful of him and his intentions until you decided he was actually serious and that you wanted to give it a try.

-

Which leads you to where you are now, in the passenger seat of Hyunjin’s car, hands outrageously sweaty as you prepare to meet the rest of the pack for the first time.

“Listen, we don’t have to.” He says. “I’ve talked it over with the rest of them, it can just be you and I. I like you, I want to date you.”

“No, no. Even if it does work that way, I’d have to meet them eventually.”

“Yeah, but meeting ‘my boyfriends that you have no commitment to’ would probably be easier than meeting ‘my boyfriends who might also become your boyfriends.’”

“I can guarantee you it wouldn’t.”

“Jeeze. You should talk to someone about that.”

“Insurance.”

“Channie has good insurance.”

“I’m not legally dependent on him.”

“Oh.”

He grabs your incredibly sweaty hand in his huge and not-so-sweaty one and holds it for the rest of the drive. When he pulls into the driveway he kisses said hand and bats the other one away from the door handle.

“Don’t worry. I got it.” Usually, he would just walk around the car to open it for you, today he bodily throws himself over the hood before doing a weird roll and a cartwheel. You laugh and he opens it and helps you out. He smiles.

You’re still laughing at him as he guides you to the front door and opens it, you’re laughing as he helps you take your shoes off, and you’re laughing through introductions.

“What’s so funny?” Jeongin asks, and you burst into more laughter as you remember the way Hyunjin chucked himself over the car. You’ve calmed down enough to tell him just as you hear yelling from a different room.

“Hwang Hyunjin! How the hell did you get dirt on your shirt? We told you to pick them up, not stop for mud wrestling!”

(You do, eventually, tell Jeongin what happened. He demands a live demonstration and almost cries at it.

“It’s just so dumb! He’s usually graceful and he just- How did he move his body like that?”

“That was the ugliest fucking cartwheel I’ve ever seen.”)

-

The pack is nice and touchy and, best of all, they want you around.

Heeelllloooooo

hi jisung

Jisung ??? Are you mad at me or smth?

hi jiji

Okay great

WHat are you doung today

And don’t say “your mom”

your mom

ah shit

uh. nothing. sleeping. eating. pissing.

In my mouth?

????????????

Ignore that.

Anyways.

Come over :D 

You can do all of that here

In my bed >:)

I was over there yesterday

Idc. I’m sending over Changbinnie with the car &lt;3

I’M NOT PREPARED TO LEAVE THE HOUSE

Good thing you’re just coming to hang out with me then

-

So, you like them. You’re comfortable with them, there’s only one problem.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“How do you even know that?” Seungmin levels you with a stare.

“It’s physically impossible to hate you-”

“Not true.” Seungmin stares again. You stare back. He rolls his eyes.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“He doesn’t talk to me.”

“He’s shy.”

“Well! So am I! Only one of us can be shy in this relationship and I call dibs!” Seungmin huffs and smashes his head into a pillow.

“Kim Seungmin, if you mess up my nest, I’m kicking you out.”

“This is my bed.”

“Not anymore.” He fixes the pillow and holds your face in his hands.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“What if he does? What if Luna doesn’t like me?” Seungmin plants a kiss to your nose and lets you cry.

-

haihai

Minho?????

I’m the only one without a cute nickname

rectify that immediately

what should I call you then

Idk. I’ve never had to give myself a nickname.

anyways

a little puppy told me that you think I don’t like you

kim seungmin is dead to me

say your goodbyes

kkkkk

no need for that

I could smell your tears on him after you went home

I thought he scared you away

it took a very long time to get him to fess up >:)

what did you do

nothing he doesn’t enjoy

anyway 

Luna is sorry

for making you think he doesn’t like you

come over tomorrow

I’ll make it up to you >:)

???

I’m not really up to boning rn, sorry to say

>:( that’s not what I meant

Jisungie says you like this game

Stardew Valley

he says it has multiplayer mode

I downloaded it on our switch for us to play together

just us

everyone else can suffer

oh. 

just us?

unless you’d rather have company

I think Channie is free

NO THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT WE CAN PLAY IT ALONE

chan is free you say >:)

Yah! I called dibs on you!

I’m kicking him out of the house tomorrow

teehee

-

Stardew with Minho is surprisingly fun. You put him in charge of fishing while you spend your days toiling in the mines. He starts beef with Harvey, the local doctor, after you tell him that Harvey is your go-to love interest when you play the game solo.

“He’s pixels! Code and pixels!”

“I don’t care! This stupid doctor wanders onto our farm and charges me money for passing out on my own land. And! He’s stealing my Omega. He needs to go. How do I replace him?” You let out a laugh and ignore the flutters in your stomach when he casually lays claim on you.

“Do you get this upset when Felix or Ji talk about their media crushes?”

“... I don’t see how that’s very relevant to the conversation.”

“You’re silly.” He huffs at you.

-

“Why is this fish ugly?”

“That’s a- You just caught a legendary fish. Do you know how hard that is?”

“It’s ugly. I’m selling it.”

“No, don’t! Let me buy a fish tank! We can display it on our farm!”

“Why would you want to display this?”

“You can only catch one per save file.” He rolls his eyes but dutifully places the fish in the tank when you return to the farm. You kiss his cheek and watch his ears turn red.

-

After that, spending time with Minho is easy. You can’t really imagine what it was like being in the pack without having his attention on you. Felix starts joking that he’s been replaced as Minho’s favorite. (He stops because it starts to make you mildly upset, but also because you’re pretty sure Minho sucked the soul out of his dick right after he first made that joke.)

It comes to a head around exam season, this time, you and Hyunjin don’t share any classes, and annoyingly, Chan is too busy to eat much less help you settle, so you end up floundering with anxiety and stress and lack of sleep.

“Jagi? What’s wrong?” It’s Minho, his scent lavender and undercut with something sugar coated.

“Everything.” Your head is in your hands and you’re shoving your palms into your eyes to push back tears. Minho hums, hand coming to the back of your neck to scruff you just slightly.

“What’s your schedule like right now?” You shove your calendar at him and he hums, considering for a second before he’s hauling you up by your armpits.

“Wait- I have to study. I can’t just-”

“You have to eat.” This is the harshest you’ve ever heard him speak to you, but strangely enough, you don’t feel scared. “You have to eat and sleep and maybe shower and cuddle with Luna because he misses you and then you can get back to studying. Yeah?”

His suggestion makes you whine and struggle in his hold a bit. His hand returns to your neck to re-scruff you.

“Settle. I’m not asking, jagi, I’m telling.” You huff and pout at him, but he’s the pack’s head Omega for a reason, and who are you to question his authority? So you listen, going limp in his hold and forcing him to bear your weight.

“I see why you and Seungminnie get along so well. You’re listening, but not without struggle, hmm? Brats. The both of you.”

“‘M not.”

“You are. But that’s okay, Luna will train it out of you some other time. You’ll learn to behave.”

You can ignore how his words sent a spike of heat to your belly, but you can’t ignore the way he smirks at the change in your scent.

“Oh? Do you like that?”

“... I thought I was supposed to be eating.”

“Nice subject change. But yes, you are. Sit there and let me handle it.”

He feeds you and helps you shower, despite your many protests that you’re gross and can handle it yourself he refuses to back down.

“Let me do this for you, hmm?” His eyes are soft. “I don’t have to if you really don’t want me to, but I want to take care of you. Let me take care of my baby.” So you do, melting under his soft gaze and softer words, and he must be doing something with his scent, because you feel mildly scent drunk as he drags you into his nest.

“I’m allowed in?” You’re surprised. You’ve never been in his room before, most of your hangouts happening in the living room or Chan’s room when he’s not home because Minho thinks it’s funny to bother the Alpha. So you’re slightly out of it and a lot surprised and Minho looks a little upset that you asked but he takes your arm and shoves you onto his bed, rearranging his nest around you before climbing in himself.

“Of course you’re allowed in. You think Kim Seungmin is allowed in here and you’re not? You think I let a sweaty, post-gym Changbin in here but won’t let you? You’re silly. Hush.”

“But-”

“Hush.”

“Okay.” He hums, satisfied at your submission and wraps himself around you. 

“Luna will give you a reward when you finish exams.”

“What if I don’t pass?”

“You still deserve a reward for trying.” He kisses your head and you fall asleep like that, curled around each other, comfortable in his bed and warm in his arms.

-

“I’m finished!” You wander into the house the next week, fully prepared to spend your break doing absolutely nothing.

“Yay! With what, exactly?” Changbin asks. You hang your self off of him, forcing him to drag you along as he putters around the kitchen.

“With exams! Didn’t Yongbokkie and Minho ban you from the kitchen?”

“Well, yes. But what they don’t know won’t kill them.”

“What who doesn’t know?” It’s Minho, and you giggle as you push your face in between Changbin’s shoulder blades. He’s so big and warm. You want to bite him and also want him to hold you against a wall for unholy acts. Your hands wander around while he’s stuttering out a lame excuse to grope his chest.

“Wh- Hey! I’m busy getting threatened here!”

“Yes. I’m busy celebrating being a genius. It seems we both have full schedules.”

“Celebrating,” Minho steps next to you and taps you until you look at him, cheek still smushed against Changbin’s back. “Are you finished with exams then?”

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closing. Changbin really is comfortable, he smells slightly like chocolate and raspberries, and you could do with a celebratory nap.

“That’s great!” You’re being tugged away from your napping spot. “Come, Luna promised you a reward.”

“My nap.”

“You can’t sleep standing, you’re not a horse.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

He crosses his arms after closing the door to his bedroom.

“Do you want to nap before or after your reward?”

“What’s my reward?” The sentence hasn’t been out of your mouth for very long before he’s cupping the back of your head and kissing you.

“Oh. Oh. This is a good reward.” He smiles against your mouth, gently pushing you back towards his bed.

“Yeah? I thought you’d like it. I can smell you, you know.” Your back is hitting the mattress and there’s a shirt by your head that you think Hunjin was looking for a little while ago. “When you stare at me for too long, I can smell how needy you get. We all can, but I called dibs.”

“Dibs?” Your hands are under his shirt squishing his pecs.

“Mhm. Dibs. Hyunjinnie got to date you first. Kiss and hug and hold your hand. But do you know what I get to do first?” You shake your head and he gives you a wicked smile before he leans down next to your ear. “I get to fuck you first. Not Channie, not our Alpha, not Hyunjinnie who found you first. Me, your Luna. I get you first.” You inhale, shaky, and your legs shake slightly with the way blood rushes away from your brain. You can smell how your scent spikes and you can smell how Minho’s spikes in return. He smells so good, you want to get your mouth on him, so you do. You pull him down until his neck is in reach and seal your lips around the scent gland there, licking the sweat from his skin and letting your lungs fill with nothing but him.

“Jagi,” his voice is breathy, he pulls your head away from his neck and you whine. “You’re gonna get yourself scent drunk and I want you to be present for the things I’m going to do to you. Be good for me.” You pout slightly at him but nod, you’ll be good for him, you’ll do anything he wants. But you want to kiss him again, you want to kiss him so badly that you think you’ll die without it. You throw yourself up, arms circling around his neck as you press your mouth on his and you knock him off balance a bit. You’re upset when he tilts, separating your mouths and you push and push until suddenly he’s on his back under you, but you’re finally kissing so you don’t care all that much.

“Eager.” He’s too busy trying to talk to kiss you and you nip at his lip lightly until he gets the message.

“You’re only getting away with this because this is the first time,” he warns. “Next time, I won’t be so lenient.” You think he might be lying, that he’d let you do whatever you want regardless of how many times you fall into bed together, but you aren’t in the habit of letting other people know you have an advantage so you let it go.

You’re grinding down onto him, chasing friction as your pants fill with enough slick that you worry you might be in heat, whimpering with every movement when he grabs your hips, stopping you.

“Minho, why?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Don’t you wanna get your pants off? Hmm? Feel me bare?” And suddenly, you do. He’s so smart for knowing that, you think. You let him slide your bottoms off and tug at his until they’re gone and there’s nothing separating the two of you save for the fact that you can’t fuse into one person.

You settle yourself back over him and oh. Omegas are supposed to be small, in the dick department, and you suppose compared to an Alpha, he might be. But he feels so good against you, he’ll feel so good inside of you, that you don’t much care, pawing at him desperately. He chuckles and grabs your hand, flipping you back over so he’s on top again.

“Baby, don’t tell me you’re already gone?” You are. You’re so gone. If you’re being honest, you were gone the second he kissed you. He does it again and you whine into his mouth.

“Noisy little thing. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Make sure my pretty Omega is all satisfied before you leave my bed.” He smiles and then he’s kissing his way down your neck and grumbling about the shirt you’re still wearing before his mouth is on the place where you’re leaking slick and suddenly your brain is falling out of your ears.

Your hands grab onto his hair and pull, hips arching up into his mouth. You think the sound that you let out could be heard from outer space, but in your defense, he’s good with his tongue.

“I knew you’d taste good.” You have no idea how he’s still talking, but the vibrations feel nice enough that you don’t want to stop him, that and you don’t think you could stop Minho from doing much of anything at this rate.

“We talked about it, you know.” You didn’t know. The pack talked about you? You quickly lose your train of thought as he slips one of his fingers inside of you. Small, he always says. They don’t feel small.

“It was all Jeonginnie could talk about during his last rut.” Minho huffs and you can see him roll his eyes despite the fact that yours are closed. You weren’t there for his last rut, too nervous and too busy with school to stay. It had caused quite the fuss and you had to spend extra time with Jeongin before and after to soothe him.

“Knuckle deep in Yongbokkie and all he could talk about was you. How good you’d taste, how warm you’d be. He’s lucky that Yongbokkie has the hots for you too, otherwise he’d be down one appendage.” The implication of the youngest Alpha getting his dick chopped off by Felix makes you laugh, but the knowledge that the pack desires you knocks the wind from your lungs. Either that, or the thing Minho is currently doing with his fingers.

He licks you again, and then places his mouth around your hole and sucks, like he’s trying to drink the slick straight from your body. The sound it makes is absolutely obscene, and your face heats at it, hands coming up to hide.

“No, no. Move your hands, jagiya. Let me see you.” He’s moving, mouth no longer on you and you hate it, but your embarrassment outweighs everything else so you don’t move your hands and instead shake your head at him. He pauses, hand stilling inside of you.

“No? Did you just tell me no, sweet thing?” You shake your head again.

“You didn’t? It seems like you did. Seems like you still are.” He’s laughing, or, he was.

“I thought you were going to be good for me. Do I have to turn this reward into a punishment?” That’s the one that does it, your eyes go wide and your hands fall from your face to grab at him, head shaking violently.

“No! No! Mommy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I was just nervous, please. I’ll be good. I’m good.” It takes you a second to register what you’ve said, and when you do your hands move up to cover your face again. Minho catches your wrists.

“Mommy? Yeah? Am I your mommy, sweetheart?” He drops your wrist to cup your face and you’ve lost all coordination. He taps your cheek, just a hint of a slap, but it’s enough to have you looking at him with wet eyes.

“I asked you a question, jagiya. Answer mommy when he talks to you, okay?” You nod, still in a daze and he huffs and takes a hold of your hair.

“What did I just tell you, doll?”

“To answer you.”

“Mhm, and what are you not doing?”

“Answering.”

“So what do you say to me?”

“I’m sorry, mommy. I’m sorry, please let go, it hurts.” He lets go of your hair and gently massages your scalp.

“Hmm. That’s better. And, it’s supposed to hurt, baby. That’s how you learn to listen to your mommy. That’s what a brat like you needs to learn their place.” You choke slightly on your own spit, hands coming up to rest in his hair, playing with it. He smiles at you.

“Good. Now, be good for your mommy, yeah? Be good for your Luna and I’ll make sure you get everything you need. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Yes. I can.” He hums and suddenly his fingers are in you again and he manages to take one of your nipples into his mouth, and you’re already so keyed up that you feel slightly embarrassed when you’re cumming on his hand a moment later.

“Oh, sweet thing. Did I take too long? Hmm? Did mommy tease you too much?” You shake your head.

“No, ‘m sorry, mommy.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Don’t worry so much. You used your brain so well this past week, let mommy do the thinking for you. I’ll tell you when to apologize, how about that?”

“Sounds good.” You’re hot, overwarm, and you're shoving your shirt off the rest of the way and chucking it somewhere. The shirt’s only over your eyes for a second, but somehow Minho has managed to coat his fingers in his own slick and shove them into your mouth. Your eyes roll so far back into your head you’re worried they might stick but he tastes so good that you would suffer blindness for eternity just to have this.

“Mommy, mommy, you taste so good-”

“Shh, I know.” He shoves his fingers far enough back that you gag a little and your eyes water and he coos and wipes at your tears with the hand that was in you, smearing slick across your cheekbones.

His fingers are out of your mouth and he’s between your legs, shoving them apart to get at your hole and then he's sliding in.

“Oh God.”

“Just Minho is fine. Or mommy,” he giggles at you, “since you seem so fond of it.”

Your glare slightly at him, less than pleased with the corny joke, but he shifts his hips and hits a spot that has you keening, arching up into him for more.

“There? Yeah? Jesus. You're leaking so much that I'd think you're in heat if you didn't know any better.” He's right, but it's unfair of him to single you out.

“You are too.” It comes out a lot more whiny than you wanted but he’s nice enough to look offended anyway.

“I thought I took care of your attitude. It seems I have my work cut out for me.” His pace picks up at that, and suddenly you don't have enough brain cells to think, let alone talk back.

You're not wrong though, there's slick everywhere. From you and him, it's soaking through the sheets, it's sticking your thighs together every time he thrusts forward, it's coating his hands and everywhere he touches you. It's loud, the slapping of your bodies accompanied by a wet squish every time either of you moves. It's messy and sticky and slightly gross and you want more. You want to be covered in him and he in you until you smell so similar not even the best drug dog would be able to tell you apart.

Your hands wander searching and searching until you’ve found the place where he’s leaking too and you're coating your fingers in it and smearing a hand over your chest before sticking them in your mouth. You hear Minho gasp and his hips stutter before picking back up.

“Dirty, that’s dirty, Omega. You want me to make a mess of you?” You nod. Of course you do. You want your mommy to do whatever he wants to you. He coos and guides your hand back to his hole, guiding you into fingering him while he’s rearranging your guts.

“Mommy, it’s- you’re so warm.” He hums at you, breath finally turning ragged.

“Yeah? You wanna fuck mommy sometime? I bet you’d be good at it. Such a good little Omega for me, for us.” You do. You would like to fuck him sometime. Anytime really, you bet he’d be so warm. Tight and hot and wet. You have him on your fingers now, but you’re too overwhelmed to really enjoy it the way it should be enjoyed, the way he should be enjoyed. You want to eat him out, drink his slick straight from the source for the rest of time. You wouldn’t need water or food anymore if you could just have him.

“Yeah, I would. Mommy, please. I’ll be good. I’ll do so good.” You’re babbling at him, out of it and barely able to speak. He has to strain to understand you properly.

“You would. Mommy knows you would. Such a sweetheart, you’d make your Luna feel so good, hmm?” And you tighten around him with a loud moan and there’s a bang on the wall connecting Minho’s room to Chan’s and Minho bangs back.

“Yah! Just because you’re too busy to get your dick wet doesn’t mean I am! Leave us alone and go jack off or something!” He huffs and looks back down at you, kissing your nose softly in a stark juxtaposition to the way his hips are probably bruising your own.

“Why don’t you go ahead and cum, baby? Hmm? Mommy’s right behind you.” He shoves his fingers in your mouth again and this time, this time, his fingers are coated in a heady mixture of yours and his slick and that’s what does you in. That’s what makes you cum so hard your legs shake and makes Minho take his fingers out of your mouth lest you choke. He follows not too soon after, and when he pulls out you can see the mixture of cum and slick slide out of you.

“Next time,” Minho’s looking down at it too, “I’ll make sure that stays in. Can’t have it go to waste, can we?”

-

Despite his earlier promise, he doesn’t let you nap yet.

“But you said-”

“I know what I said. And now I’m saying that you can’t sleep like this.”

He bodily drags you to the shower, again, and changes the sheets before he lets you lie down.

“My hair is gonna be so dry.”

“Where’s the stuff you put in it?”

“At my house.”

“This is your house.”

“I still rent an apartment close to campus.” Minho pauses, shifting so you’re face-to-face.

“Don’t. Come live with us.”

“There aren’t enough rooms.”

“If privacy is what you’re worried about, Luna will build you a room right next to his with his bare hands.” You giggle at him.

“Yeah. But I have to pay a fee for breaking my lease.”

“Luna will take care of it.”

-

haihai

hi minho what’s up

>:( still no cute nickname?

I feel like it’s inappropriate to call you mommy in a casual setting

oh >:)? that’s my nickname now?

if that’s okay

whatever you want

as long as I have a cute nickname before kim seungmin I don’t care

then why did you harass me about it??????!??!?!

kkkk I had to get you in my bed somehow

-

“Can you guys stop texting when you’re right next to each other? All of your weird flirting is really interrupting movie time.” Jisung is complaining from where his head is rammed into your stomach.

“Dude. You’re literally not even watching it.” It’s Jeongin now, reaching over to smack Ji’s head.

“And? You’re the one who’s always complaining about how loud they are.” This is news to you.

“Is it really that bad?” Your voice is small and immediately Minho’s hands are touching you.

“No. They don’t know what they’re talking about, they’re just mad that they haven’t figured out how to get you to make such pretty noises yet.”

The room erupts into shouts as people defend themselves from Minho’s claim, you smile at him and tuck yourself further into his side, kicking Jisung out from his spot in your lap.

“Hey! I called dibs on your lap! You can’t take that away!” He’s shoving at your knees, trying to shove them back off the couch so he can lay comfortably again.

“When did you guys even call dibs on all this stuff?”

“It used to be while you were on the drive here,” Felix says, “now we do it while you’re  getting a blanket from your room.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“Sure. Just call dibs first.”

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Martyn calls Iskall to ask to join Vault Hunters

transcript under the cut

Martyn: So, I-I don't know what I'm going to do now. I've got (coughs) a lot of time between now and when Rats SMP starts, um, in October, so…we gotta figure something out. My gosh. I tell you what, actually, I do have one idea. Let me…let me make a call real quick, hold on. Let me see what I can do…there we are. (Discord beings ringing) Martyn: Give me a second. (call is picked up after ringing a few times) Martyn: Hello. Iskall: Hello? Martyn: Hello! H-how are you? Iskall: Hello? I--wh--I thought we agreed not to ring each other on Discord. Why--how have you managed to get my Discord to send me a notification-- Martyn: Look-- Iskall: I--this is so cursed. Martyn: Look, we don't need to go into the semantics of it, okay? Barry and the Belbs, they've got a lot of programming knowledge, they know how to break things, um. Iskall: It's the one guy, its the one man, it's the--I knew it. Martyn: It's always Barry. Iskall: It's always Barry, yeah. Martyn: When you ask how, its always Barry. Um, so, this is a random call. My calendar has just opened up, uh, for-for the forseeable future, I got nothing till I have to go back to Paris, um, so I was wondering if I could join Vault Hunters? Iskall: Oh! Uh, I mean that's starting in eight days-- Martyn, hopefully: Yeah? Iskall: Uh, and your schedule cleared-cleared up (clears throat) Do you not know--this is, this is not how you join an SMP. You don't just call your friend and ask if you can join. You have to call your friend, give them a bribe, and then you can join. Martyn: Okay, wh-what bribe, what bribe do you want? I-What--what do you need? Iskall: I-I. Now I have to think about it. Martyn: Yeah, cause I was going to say, whatever you were gonna say, I don't have it. But what I do have is desperation, and uh, pluck, and puns. And that's all I can really bring to the table. Iskall: You know what, I-I-I d--okay, will you be-its a difficult server-- Martyn: I heard there was an okay, I heard there was an okay! C'mon! C'mon! I'm in! Iskall: I didn't say okay yet! Martyn: You heard-I heard 'okay!' Iskall: We gotta do the interview! Okay, we gotta do the interview. Martyn: Oh, okay. Iskall: Okay, here we go, okay, here it is. Are you an enjoyer? Martyn: Sometimes. Iskall: It--"sometimes," okay. I, uh, hold on, let me note that down. (clears throat) "Sometimes." Have you played before? Martyn: Played what? Uno? Yeah, I played Uno before, yeah. Iskall: Okay, 'Uno' is good, yeah, Uno is good. Martyn: Cool. Iskall: That-that's a pass, there, okay. Uhh, lets see here, uh its not that I'm coming up with questions, I just, I've got a terrible headache today-- Martyn: It's fine, its all good-- Iskall: --and slowly reading the script that I have for like, new members to the SMP-- Martyn: You know what I heard, I heard pity is the best medicine. Iskall: (small pause, snorts to himself) Martyn we'd love to have you, we'd love to have you. Martyn: Yeah!!! Vault Hunters SMP here! We! Come! Iskall: Heck yeah! Martyn: Let's do it!

[sysakiddo]

Max is the youngest Dutch chef with three michelin stars and is seen as the world’s best cook by most of the relevant people. Buuut the word gets out that he doesn’t treat his cooks very nicely and then one time, someone he had fired said Max got physical in several instances. Max thinks it’s all bullshit and doesn’t listen to the buzz, he wants his food to speak for him. So what if he raises his voice sometimes? They are not in kindergarten, for fuck’s sake. 

The restaurant’s marketing team is not thrilled. They make a plan to salvage his reputation. Basically, they make him be the judge for one of those Masterchef VIP things, where he needs to comment on horrible food made by some celebrities who are usually too dumb to read the script. He says he will do one season, unfiltered, and then never walk out of his restaurant ever again. He doesn’t care about his reputation in the tabloids, he only cares about his stars. 

Daniel just won his third WDC. He’s also there. Cooking. His marketing teams think this is a beautiful opportunity to milk the American market. And Daniel is like, you want me to cook now? Okay. He is on top of the world, he doesn’t give a shit. 

His opinion changes drastically during the first challenge.

They are supposed to make a food they would cook for a friend. To balance Max out, the other judge is Charles. With one Michelin star. Max tries not to make himself look too smug about it. 

“So, what is this pasta situation?” Charles asks Daniel, who is currently failing to drain the pasta water without getting rid of half the pasta down the drain. 

“Um, I’m making pasta and chicken,” Daniel smiles and points at the charred chicken breast served on the table. He puts a bit of pasta next to it unceremoniously, “There it is! I’m done.”

Max narrows his eyes. “With sixty minutes on the clock, you are done after twenty?” he asks. 

Daniel giggles, “Yeah, I drive fast cars for a living.” 

“Your girlfriend must not be thrilled about your performance.”

Daniel laughs nervously. Max doesn’t join him. Charles bites his lip so as not to snort out, and points at the selection of spices Daniel hasn’t touched once during the cooking. 

“Maybe you could play with the seasoning now,” he says to soften the blow that came from his co-judge. Max moves on to another contestant without saying anything else. 

When Daniel brings them his final dish, Charles says, “It’s bland,” while Max looks him straight into eyes and says, “The chicken is so overcooked I feel like it had been killed years before I was born.” 

Daniel’s palms are sweaty, his jaw keeps ticking. He still laughs, loud, too fake. He sees Max visibly cringe. Even worse, the judges pick the contestants into their teams after that. Max picks him into his blue team as the second-to-last. 

They finish rolling and Daniel practically runs to the changing rooms, speed dialling the head of his marketing team.

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) Chapter Three

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months sooner than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. Afterall, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plans brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down, but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tags: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut 

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Author note: Okay Hoteliers, this was my first attempt at some spice. I'm open to constructive criticism! I am a published author but spice is something I am new to and not confident in. Any suggestions are welcome :)

<3 Stay smutty.

Chapter Three - Care for a Drink?

Content warning: mentions of blood, mentions of abuse

You were late. 

“Not me! I have to go home and study!" Sir Pentious’ voice echoed through the foyer as you stepped in, nearly missing the first few drops of acid rain. 

You were at the Clocktower when the clouds rolled in and threatened to melt your skin off. Unclipping your Mary Jane’s, you took off down the street, doing your best to avoid the trash piling outside the Doomsday District. Out of breath and, with mere seconds to spare, you finally rolled up to the Hotel only to find that Charlie had started without you. 

Well, you did say one and it was now twenty minutes past. 

“Come on kid, it'll make you cool like me …the crackhead." Angel did not sound amused. 

You rounded the corner to find Angel and Sir Pentious reading from scripts and dressed in… Costumes? 

"The only cool thing here is to say no to drugs! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to not have sexual intercourse before marriage!" Sir Pentious chimed. 

You snorted into your hand at the sight of Sir Pentious in his sailor-like child costume, complete with large lollipop in hand. 

“Hey, Hair clip,” Angel frowned, clearly irritated with his current situation. 

You couldn’t blame him. If these were the exercises Charlie had in mind, you don’t know how long you would last either. 

Then he eyed your feet and your dress. “What the fuck happened to you?” 

“Huh! You made it!” Charlie jumped to her feet and slammed into you with a hug so powerful it knocked you backwards. 

“Ouch!” You rolled back on your heels, pushing your blisters into the hardwood flooring. 

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry! What’s wrong! I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hurt you. Did I hurt you?” Her eyes begin to fill with tears, her pupils growing big. 

Before you had a chance to deny vehemently, Vaggie cut in. “I think it’s her feet, babe.” 

She took a step back, giving everyone a view of your blistered toes. Your feet were normal - human shaped, that is - and although you had the same ashen complexion as Charlie, your limbs blackened at the ends, beginning at your elbows and knees. The dark fur hid the grime now encasing your toes, but not the blisters rubbed raw and bleeding red.

“Yeah, that doesn’t look so good, toots,” Angel frowned. 

It had to be the heels. Rosie was right, you did need new shoes. 

“It’s not that bad,” you waved them off, heading for the stools at the bar. 

“Your wincing,” Charlie motioned to you. “She’s wincing.” 

“Oh no! You are in pain,” Sir Pentious cried. 

“Guys, seriously. I don’t… Ah!” Angel scooped you up into his arms, carrying you to the stairs. 

You tried to protest but he interrupted you. “I got a first aid kit in my room. It’s not a big deal.” His voice was stern, his jaw set. You took this not as a rescue for yourself but a rescue for him. He needed an excuse to get away. 

“Wait! Wait!” Nifty sprinted around, taking a photo of the two of you before heading back for the couch. 

“What the fuck was that?” You asked Angel.

“Charlie put Nifty in charge of the Hotel’s Sinstagram,” the spider demon rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at it. It’s a clusterfuck of a whole lot of nothin’. Mostly bugs and shit she’s found around the joint.”

“Great,” you mumbled, letting the spider demon whisk you away. 

____________________________________________

“I seriously don’t know how you walk in shoes like that every day!” You motioned to his ridiculously high heeled boots. 

“Practice, toots. You don’t get as good as me by lyin’ on your back… Wait.” 

You laughed as you pulled your other sock on, careful not to ruin the bandages Angel oh-so delicately wrapped around your feet. For a Porn Star he sure knew his first aide. You knew it was because of Val, of course, but he didn’t know that you knew… 

Never in your years of working have you ever thought about the victim. At least not with sympathy. You enjoyed the chaos, you enjoyed the killing, you enjoyed the fear. Now, something in your chest was twisting itself at the thought of Val placing his hands on Angel. 

Angel was such a soft and adorable person, you couldn't fathom Val hurting…

Stop! 

You flinched, covering up the action with a cough. You got to your feet, testing their durability. “You, uh, wanna head back down?” 

His smile faded. “Nah, I’m gonna lay low for a bit.” Turning to the pig, he collected him in his arms, side glancing the pink phone laying on the bed. “I’m sure Charlie is just dyin’ to dress you up next.” 

You paused. “Okay.” That thing in your chest twisted again, rooting you in place before the door.

You sighed. 

Fuck. 

“I have to change before I head to the bar, but I have some lemon sweets in my room that I know Fat Nuggets would love if you wanna join me.” You ran your hand down the pig’s snout, earning a squeal from the little ball of squish. 

You could tell he was debating it by the look on his face, but wasn’t convinced. 

“And chocolate,” you sang.

That caught his attention. 

“Alright,” you helped him off the bed. “But only a piece, Fat Nuggets is watching his figure.” 

You laughed as you headed for the room next to his humble abode, pulling the door wide and gesturing to the couch for him to take a seat. 

“Wow, nice place ya’ got here,” he let the pig loose to sniff about the room. 

It was. Your room was almost double the size of Angel’s and included a small sitting area. Wonder why he got the short end of the stick? 

Then you wondered who else might have seen your room… perhaps without you knowing? You set a mental reminder to place some runes later - keep Alastor and his shadow out. Not that you had anything alarming in here. All the important stuff was kept in your personal Void. 

You grabbed the leftovers from the club you got stuck with and moved them to the coffee table. Grabbing a lemon square, you let Fat Nuggets crawl onto your lap as you sat cross-legged on the ground. The small creature squirmed in your lap till you finally handed him the sweet. 

Angel helped himself to your pile of chocolates - you hated chocolate, but didn’t want them to go to waste. Thankfully, he left his phone in his room. 

“You know,” you started, unsure of where you were going with this. “I’m new here, but sometimes new people observe things others might not notice - a third party perspective if you will.” 

“A-ha,” he eyes you suspiciously. 

“Sometimes they notice things others may be trying to hide…” You were hoping he would get the point and pick up where you were leading him.

“What are you tryin’ to say, Hair clip?” He ignores the chocolates completely, turning to you with irritation sprawled across his face. 

“Ugh,” you huff. “I’m sorry I’m not good at this stuff - feelings and trying to comfort others.” You clear your throat, resisting the urge to rub the back of your neck. “It seems like something is wrong and I was wondering if you wanted to talk about it?” You avoided eye contact, this was uncomfortable enough. 

“I’m fine,” he shot you down, tossing a chocolate into the air and catching it in his mouth. 

“I know what it’s like to come from a place of… neglect.” You continue anyway. “To be trapped in a situation you cannot control. To be a victim with no power, forced to do things you didn’t wanna do…” Your voice cracked. When had you started tearing up? “And when you try to speak up, to refuse to do something that would harm others…”

“Hey, hey,” Angel was on his knees before you, cupping your cheeks, soothing you with shushes. He smiled when you finally looked up at him. 

“You’re gonna ruin all your beautiful makeup, Hair clip.” 

You giggled into his hands, your heart warming just a bit. 

God, what was it about this Hotel that made you so emotional? 

“Look,” Angel huffed. “My boss has just been gettin’ on my nerves lately. He doesn’t like that I moved out. He’s pissed actually. Been blowing up my phone for days, but it’s nothing that I can’t handle.” He rubbed your cheek with his thumb. “I’m managing, I just need some time to work through some things ‘tis all. Alright, toots?” 

You knew it wasn’t alright. You’ve heard some pretty infamous stories of the moth demon - yet another reason you have steered clear of the Vees - but Angel was at a point that if you kept prodding, he’d most likely just flip you off and disappear for the rest of the day. Pushing him would be a step back and you needed to take a step forward. 

“Okay,” you pouted, wiping your face with your sleeves. God this dress needed to be thrown away.

“Now let’s get changed because I need a drink!” He pulls you to your feet before heading for your clothes. Pulling open your closet door he was shocked to find it empty. Your drawers were no better. 

“Seriously?” He waved to the black abyss. 

“I’ve been low on cash lately… but I just got paid and new clothes are on the way.” 

He held up a pair of black slacks. “Please tell me they’re from this century?” 

You ripped the pants from his hands. “I happen to like my clothes, okay.”

“Okay, grandma,” he shrugs. “One of these days, you gotta let me take you shopping. Your closet is an insult to closets.” 

“Ha, ha very funny.” You grab a blouse and head for the bathroom. 

“Do you even own a pair of sweatpants?” He asks through the door. 

“I have silk pajama bottoms?” 

He pauses. “Okay, actually impressed by that, but I think I’ve made my point.” 

“Whatever,” you emerge from the bathroom, shoving the gray blouse into your pants, giving you that hourglass figure. 

Actually, now that you had Angel’s attention maybe he could help with some of your wardrobe problems. Starting with your feet. 

“Do you know where I can get a new set of heels?”

————————————————————————

“Hey, whiskers! Pour me something strong, daddy needs a drink!” Angel took the stool next to you. 

Husk huffed, rolling his eyes, the bar cat grabbed a random bottle and just started pouring. “Feeling better?” He asked you.

You nodded, twirling in circles on the barstool. You dangled your toes as you spun, smiling at the fact that your feet didn’t touch the ground. 

That was probably the one thing you got from Dad you didn’t mind - your height. You and your brothers were short as fuck, but mightier than you looked: fierce beings in tiny packages. Yet, despite the roughhousing between siblings, you were always obedient - Dad wouldn’t have it any other way. 

As for Mom? Well, you didn’t have one. You and your siblings never did. You didn’t know the story but then again you never asked. It didn’t seem like something you asked your father. He wasn’t the type to… share certain things with you. He wasn’t closed off, he just didn’t treat you like kids. Dad treated you like soldiers. He commanded and you obeyed. 

And at one point in time you were okay with it. Dad said jump, you said how high? Now… After everything that happened on Earth, you promised yourself you’d never let anyone tell you what to do again. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon behind that bar of yours would you? It’s my favorite.” You beamed. 

“Wine?” Angel scoffs. “Come on toots, I thought you were a lot harder than that.” The spider demon downed half his drink before Husk had even finished pouring it. 

“Watch it!” Husk snaps. 

“I’m not a hard liquor kinda gal,” you shrugged, watching Husk wipe up the spilled alcohol. “I like to sip and enjoy.”

“Fuck that,” Angel scoffed, examining the new stain on his shirt. “Damn, this is my favorite top.” He grumbled, getting to his feet. “I’ll be back. I gotta spray it before it sets.” The spider demon made his way back upstairs. 

Husk waited till Angel was gone before he made your drink next. A glass of red wine in a metal red wine glass - how on the nose. Maybe your lipstick smear won't look as gross.

“I thought I’d give you a heads up, the Princess and her girlfriend went out shopping this morning and got ya’ a little something. Syrups and flavoring for the coffee machine. She’s gonna surprise you at breakfast. Just thought I’d let ya know. You don’t seem the kind who enjoys surprises,” he finishes pouring your glass. 

You sniffed before you tasted, letting the smell of currants and oak swim in your nostrils. It was smokier than you expected, but the tannins made your taste buds sing. 

God, you missed the wine from before Hell, before your entire world flipped on end… 

“Thanks, Husk.” 

He leans back against the counter behind the bar, a look of hesitancy on his face that said he wasn’t done talking yet. You sensed giving you a heads up about breakfast tomorrow wasn’t the reason why he asked to speak with you. 

“What?” You asked, after his silent gaze became uncomfortable. 

“Look. No one gives a shit what you did before you got down here. You’re down here, same as the rest of us, but you gotta watch what you say in… mixed company.” 

“What does that mean?” You scrunched your nose in confusion. 

“This mornin’, at breakfast.” 

He was referring to your small nugget of honesty at the table - your slip of suggested murderer status topside. He was referring to Alastor. 

Rosie told you the stories - things only she knew about the Radio Demon. He was a serial killer turned cannibal during his days amongst the living - wasn’t caught either. He died in some sort of hunting accident - explains the deer form. After his death, he rose to power faster than anyone had ever seen, took down some big important Overlords too, projecting their screams over his radio broadcasts. 

God, what a sight that would have been.

He showed up out the blue a few weeks ago after disappearing for seven years. Uprooted Husk and Nifty and planted them at the Hotel - he owned their souls, they had to obey. 

He had business with the Princess, but no one knew what - mere rumors, but nothing good. Whatever it was, you needed to find out. 

If his plans got in the way of yours, you were going to need to do something. You didn’t know what it was you were going to do, but eliminating him wasn’t going to be simple. 

“So?” You took a longer sip, needing the alcohol for yet another emotional conversation. 

“You’re not stupid kid.” He crosses his arms over his chest, ignoring the glass of whiskey before him. That’s how you knew he was serious. 

“Look,” you took the stem of the metal cup between your first two fingers and twirled it about. The glass danced on the edge of its base, twirling like a ballerina on a stage. Husk watched the movement, eyeing the liquid as it spun. “This place is about redemption, correct? So, shouldn’t I be a little honest about my sins, that way I can atone for what I’ve done?” 

His eyes were glued to the glass as he responded, “There’s a difference between honesty and painting a target on your back.” 

“You mean painting a target on my back in front of him,” you corrected. 

He finally met your eyeline, “He’s dangerous, kid…”

You hold up a hand, interrupting him, “You can save your lecture, Husk. I already got it from Rosie this morning.”

His eyes grow a few sizes. “Rosie? The Overlord?” 

“No, Rosie the tailor. It seems the Radio Demon and I have similar tastes in fashion.” Another sip - no, a gulp. The glass was practically empty already. You continued your twirl. 

So much for slowly enjoying it…

Husk drained his glass, “I’m not gonna bullshit you, kid.” He pours himself another. “He asked me to keep an eye on you.”

You freeze, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end. “What?” You bite. 

“I suspect it’s not because he’s concerned for your well-being, either.” The cat demon adds. 

So, Alastor the Overlord had his suspicions - going not only to Rosie but Husk as well. It appears poking and prodding during his battle with Sir Pentious was enough to raise his alarms. You were going to have to be very careful from here on out. Alastor was a ticking time bomb without a timer and you were going to have to do something to prevent him from exploding. 

Perhaps you should do something to throw him off. Make yourself appear weaker than he expects. Get into a fight which you lose on purpose to a demon far weaker than yourself. Would that be enough or would he know Husk had warned you? Would he expect you to do something to completely negate his suspicions only to make him look at you even more closely? 

Fuck - you didn’t know what to do. 

“So, he didn’t say why,” you finished the glass, gritting your teeth in frustration. 

Husk laughs. “He doesn’t explain anything to me and he ain’t about to start.” 

Great, so Rosie was going to be your only insight into the red demon. 

Unless��� 

Unless, you befriended him yourself. Now that would really throw him for a loop.

“Hey, where did you learn to do that with the glass…?” Husk begins to ask but is interrupted. 

“Get your aggressively average body OFF OF ME!” Sir Pentious’ scream echoes throughout the foyer. 

You and Husk fly to the library to find Angel wrestling the snake demon to the ground. Charlie and Vaggie followed soon after. 

“What’s going on?” Charlie asks, concern flitting between the two demons. 

“This little bitch is a traitor!” Angel moves aside a pile of books to reveal a video camera.

Vox.

Sir Pentious flies into a panic, summoning the media demon on his watch, demanding evacuation.

Pathetic honestly. You’re not sure you would have responded any better to the snake demon than Vox had. Not that you wanted to agree on anything with the leader of the Vees, you detested the sore excuse for an Overlord and wanted nothing to do with him.

Yes, you fixed his bowtie earlier today, but he looked so… pathetic standing in that alleyway. It actually kind of irritated you now that you think of it. A demon of that caliber throwing tantrums in a random back alley? Come on man, get yourself together.  

Vaggie pulls out her spear, prepared to skewer the snake, before Charlie interrupts. “It starts with sorry…”

Ah, fucking kill me. Little Ms. Bleeding Heart everyone. 

As you watched the events unfold, you felt static zip down your spine. Almost as if you were being watched. 

You spun and searched the shadows but there was no one there. Wait, no one you could see. Rosie told you of Alastor’s shadow, how it could hide him in darkness, how it could detach from his form and do his bidding elsewhere. You were going to have to take that into account when sneaking out at night - double check every shadow and second guess every dark corner. 

“Good first day! Let’s get some rest.” Charlie guided him back to his room. 

You waited until the hallways were empty before taking a step towards the abandoned watch. 

“Would you like to do the honors or shall I?” You ask the darkness. 

There’s a pop of static before the Overlord melts from the floor, scooping up the electronic device. He crushes it beneath his fingers in a burst of electricity. You watch as Vox’s image blurs before dying. 

Alastor drops the plastic and metal to the floor before addressing you. “You knew I was there,” he purrs, his radio a silent static, his back to you. 

“Saw the shadows move,” you answer coolly. Technically a lie, but you weren’t about to tell him that you could feel his presence before he entered a room, that you could feel his shadow follow you. 

Alastor spun, his eyes narrowing on your form, kicking the butterflies in your stomach into a flurry. God, his eyes. They glowed red, like crystals in a fire. A fire that ignited something foreign within you.

The double doors behind you slammed shut causing you to jump.

And then they locked. 

You were alone, alone, and trapped with the Radio Demon and one of Hell’s finest Overlords. 

He takes a step towards you, his microphone slipping into the Void as his eyes, half-lidded, slowly slide over your form. The gesture, so simple, had you frozen in place where you stood. His pupils constricted, his smile curling, you watched as Alastor transformed into the predator he was born to be. Like a prey before its kill, he honed in on you, identifying you as prey.

You pull your hands behind your back, threading your fingers so he doesn’t see them shake so he can’t see just how much power his gaze alone had over you.

He takes another step, still ten feet away yet so, so close. 

You take an imperceptibly small step back.

Why are you so nervous right now? It’s just the Radio Demon. This man is not a threat. He’s just a Human Sinner. 

He takes another. 

Shit. 

His smile deepens, sensing the hesitation, the worry, the anxiety building in your chest. 

Was it getting harder to breathe in here? 

You force your lips into a thin line, force your body to stand ramrod straight. You will not back down. Overlord or not, you will not let him win this game of intimidation. You were a fucking god down here in Hell. The Radio Demon didn’t know it, couldn’t know it, your entire plan rode on him never knowing it, so why was every instinct in your body screaming at you to not back down? To not play the powerless victim you were supposed to be?

Alastor thought you a mouse and he a cat, but he was oh-so wrong. You were a fucking lion. You were an…

In one breath the Radio Demon closes the distance, stopping a foot away from you, your toes barely brushing his shoes. The demon was close enough that you could smell the rye on his breath; the liquor washed over you and made your toes curl. Of course, he drank something so sophisticated. Not vodka; not rum; but a dark liquor that burned on the way down. Like the fire in your veins.

He wasn’t drunk, perhaps just a nightcap? He didn’t seem like the type who ever got drunk. Getting drunk would leave one vulnerable and would leave one weak. Alastor would never allow that. He cared too much for his appearance. 

You go very very still as he reaches a hand out to you, his eyes suddenly captivated with your cheek. The tip of his claw tickles your skin, drawing a gasp from your lips, sucking the breath from your lungs and kicking your heart into a beat so loud you couldn’t hear anything else but its pounding in your ears. 

Crimson fire ignites behind Alastor’s eyes, his smile curling at the tips as his hand dances to a stray strand of hair. Shivers explode down your spine as he tucks it behind your ear, pausing to appreciate your neck. His eyes hone in on your jugular, almost as if he could see the blood rushing through your veins, almost as if he could taste it.  

The demon licks his lips drawing your eyes to his perfectly shaped mouth, to the sharp teeth behind it. What would it feel like to have those razor-sharp canines sink into your flesh? To allow Alastor a taste of the blood pumping through your veins?

A moment of clarity suddenly hit you at the sudden realization of just how much control you had lost. To allow Alastor to taste you? What were you doing? 

Swat his hand away. Bite his head off. Stab him in the gut. Eviscerate him where he stands. Kill...

The demon pulls you away from your thoughts as his finger moves south to your collarbone, eliciting a blush across your cheeks and igniting a warmth in your belly that traveled down, pooling between your legs. 

There it was again, that scent wafting through the room. The same scent you smelled off of Vox in the alley. You had never smelled something so sweet from a demon before - like warm vanilla heating on a stove. Yet now, it was coming from you.  

Something at the periphery of your power shifts. Like a second presence has joined yours, you try to think but your mind grows numb as Alastor’s dances across your collarbone. Delicately, so as not to draw blood, he follows it to the dip at the base of your neck. You swallow dryly and watch as Alastor’s eyes follow your throat’s bob. 

The demon pauses, a question swimming behind his eyes before he slowly - oh-so painfully slowly - wraps his hand around your throat. 

God-be-damned, you have never had another creature’s hand at your throat, and God-be-damned if you didn’t enjoy it. 

The demon squeezed, not enough to cut off your air supply, but just enough to send your mind spinning. A small moan escapes your lips. Alastor’s eyes shot to yours, a look of surprise filled them before they darkened. His smile shifted into that of a lopsided grin, a smirk of satisfaction. 

And then you feel it. 

You shove Alastor away from you, your mind sobering at the realization of what the Radio Demon was trying to do. 

You both pause for a moment, trying to catch your breath, before the demon takes a bow. “Goodnight, Ms. Thestral.” The shadows swallow him whole. 

You wait until you can't feel his presence anymore before you bang your head against the wall and scream. “Fuck!” 

It was all a big FUCKING distraction! He was prodding you to read your soul - to read your power. Just like you had tried to do that day he battled Sir Pentious. And you had caught him. He didn’t get far, but your reaction confirmed everything for him. 

He knew you had power. 

He knew you were a threat. 

And he knew you wouldn’t back down easily. 

You were fucked.

Link to Chapter Four

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

[marinersapartmentc0mplex]

Dangerously Yours

Ao3 Link

Summary:

You were sent to kill Damian Al Ghul, not to fall for him. Lies, deceit, and undeniable attraction leads you both down a path where loyalty is a fragile thing and love is a weapon. As secrets are laid bare, and the lines between betrayal and passion blur, you must decide if you can destroy each other—or become something more than enemies. Will love be your salvation, or will it be your downfall?

This story is inspired by the radio show Dangerously Yours (specifically the first episode, titled 'Masquerade'), and much of the dialogue in this piece is taken directly from the show.

Light angst, angst with a happy ending, love confessions, assassination plots

The firelight danced along the cold stone walls, casting Damian Wayne in shifting, shadowed relief. He was still as a predator poised for a final strike, his hands resting loosely on the carved edges of the table between you. You could feel the weight of his gaze—piercing, calculating—as if he were studying not just your face but the moves you had yet to make.

“You know nothing about me,” you said, your voice taut, pulled thin as a wire. “You’ve known me for three weeks.”

He leaned forward, the flickering light catching in the sharp lines of his jaw. “Three weeks?” His tone was soft, a murmur wrapped in a blade. “I’ve known you my whole life.”

You snorted, a bitter sound as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest. “Your whole life. That’s absurd.”

"It’s true," he said, his tone unyielding, eyes glinting like the edge of steel under moonlight. "I’ve seen you in a thousand plays. Read you in as many books. When I’ve heard beautiful music, I’ve thought, she’d like that. I've spent years painting canvases, each stroke a whisper of what I’d one day capture in you."

Your jaw tightened, his answer as infuriating as it was unreadable. “Stop this,” you said. “Whatever you think you see in me—it’s wrong. I’m not—” You faltered, then forced yourself to continue. “I’m not the person you think I am. Perhaps I could've been, but not now.”

His head tilted slightly, the movement deliberate and predatory. “You keep telling me what you’re not,” he said, his voice cool and even. “But you’ve yet to tell me what you are.”

“You cannot trust me.”

“Can’t I?” Damian’s steps were soundless as he closed the distance, the weight of his presence suffocating yet electric. “Are you trying to tell me someone sent you? Shall we say it together? Shall we name the one who pointed you to my throat and set you loose?”

Her fingers clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “What are you saying?”

“That I’ve known since the moment you arrived,” Damian said, his voice as calm as the still surface of a poisoned lake. “I had you followed the moment your shadow crossed my halls.”

She spun to face him, the fury in her eyes masking her fear. “And it didn’t matter to you? Knowing what I am?”

“It didn’t matter.” Damian stepped closer, his towering form casting her in shadow. “Because I trust you.”

The words hit her like a blow, and for a moment, all the air fled her lungs.

“You came here to betray me,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “To dismantle the League. To cut out its beating heart. And yet… I trust you. With my life, and far more than that—with the League itself, its purpose, its future.”

You shook your head, your throat tight. “Stop it. Just stop. You have to listen to me,” you said, each word sharper, more frantic. “I’m not who you think I am. Maybe I was once, but not anymore. You don’t see it. You’re playing the wrong game. You can’t trust me.”

Damian tilted his head, his expression so calm it was maddening, as though your words were part of a script he’d already memorized. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a pawn? Because I don’t believe you. Someone as sharp as you doesn’t settle for following orders blindly.”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your hands pressing hard against the table. “Don’t turn this into a puzzle you think you can solve. You’ve known since I arrived—don’t act like you didn’t. Someone sent me.”

His lips twitched, the faintest shadow of amusement darkening his face. “Of course I knew,” Damian said, his voice lowering into something dangerous. “The day you arrived, I had my men uncover everything there was to know about you. Your alliances. Your moves. Your purpose.”

The breath hitched in your chest, the truth of his words as sharp and cutting as the knives hidden on your body. “And it didn’t make a difference?”

“It didn’t make any difference,” he said, leaning back slightly, an air of cruel confidence radiating from him. “You came here to play a game you thought you could win. You wanted to corner me, to checkmate me. But I don’t play by your rules.”

Your voice dropped, raw and laced with anguish. “I will betray you.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, studying you as if you were already one of his pieces. “If you do, you’ll betray yourself,” he said simply. “That’s the inevitable endgame.”

The words struck you like a blade driven deep. “You don’t understand,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If I betray you, I lose everything I’ve built. But if I betray them, I—” Your voice broke. “I betray my guild. My people. My home.”

He straightened, his composure unshaken. “And yet, you already know which path you’ll take.”

“I can’t,” you said, desperation seeping into your words. “I’ve spent years playing this game, setting every piece in motion for this moment.”

“So have I,” Damian said, his tone sharp and resolute. “Do you think I haven’t felt the weight of every decision, every move? Do you think I don’t know what it is to carry an entire war on my back? You're not the only one playing to win.”

You stared at him, your heart hammering in your chest, the lines between enemy and ally blurring with every breath. “You’re asking me to turn my back on everything I’ve ever known.”

“And I’m telling you,” Damian said, his voice cold as the mountain air outside, “that your guild has already sacrificed you. They sent you to me knowing you couldn’t succeed. They wanted you to fail.”

“Why would they do that?” you demanded, your fists clenching at your sides.

“Because they knew I’d see through you,” Damian replied, his gaze burning into yours. “Because they underestimated what I’d see in you. They thought I’d discard you, but they didn’t account for one thing.”

“What’s that?” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips.

“They didn’t know I would love you,” he said, the words like a dagger plunged straight through your defenses. “And they didn’t know you’d love me back.”

You froze, the weight of his words crashing over you. “No,” you said, shaking your head. “No, they didn’t guess that.”

His expression softened—not with kindness, but with the inevitability of someone who had already seen the end of the game. “Even so, you should know this: Tonight, my forces move against the guild that sent you. My assassins have already set the stage, and when the dust settles, there will be nothing left of your masters but whispers of defeat.”

Your breath hitched, her throat tight. “You’ll destroy them?”

“They sought to destroy me first,” Damian said simply, stepping closer. “But their greatest mistake was sending you. You, who were supposed to end me, but instead…” His hand brushed your cheek, the leather of his glove cool against your flushed skin. “You have come to love me.”

Damian’s lips curved ever so slightly, the hint of a smile laced with danger. "Are you trying to tell me that someone whose name we both know and won’t mention sent you?"

“No,” you choked out, your voice barely more than a plea. “They didn’t know I’d…” You faltered, your hand rising as if to push him away, but it lingered, trembling in the air between you both.

“Love me,” he finished for you, his green eyes piercing your soul. “You do. You can deny it, fight it, but it’s there.”

“I can’t betray my guild,” you said, the words breaking against the tide of your emotions.

“Is it dearer to you than I am?”

Your silence was answer enough.

Damian exhaled slowly, his expression softening in a way that almost undid you. “Then help me, beloved,” he murmured, the endearment rolling off his tongue like a promise. “Help me bury the past. Help me build something better. The League can be more than blood and shadow—it can be power, justice, a force for a future neither of us imagined.”

Your chest tightened, body trembling as you whispered, “You want me to betray them.”

“I want you to choose,” he said, his voice steel lined with silk. “Them, or us.”

Tears stung at the edges of your vision, but you met his gaze with the last of your strength. “You think you’ve won. That you’ve beaten me. But you haven’t. I hate you, Damian Al Ghul.”

He smiled, a faint, knowing curve of his lips. “Hate and love are two sides of the same coin. I knew I’d flip yours eventually.”

His fingers moved with practiced precision, slipping the expensive gloves from his hands, the soft fabric gliding over his skin, revealing the warmth of his touch beneath. He leaned closer, the air between you crackling with an electricity that had nothing to do with the room you were in.

He reached for your hand, his skin brushing against yours, the contact sending a ripple of warmth through you that made your breath hitch. His fingers interlaced with yours, his grip firm yet tender, as if he was already claiming you without a word. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, soft but knowing. "My heart belongs to you, my beloved," he whispered, his voice low and velvety, carrying the weight of unspoken promises. "The question is, will you allow me to keep yours?"

The proximity of his body, the heat of his touch against your skin, made your pulse quicken. The question hung between you, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you both knew but had never dared to fully admit. His thumb gently caressed the back of your hand, tracing the delicate lines of your skin, as though memorizing every inch of you.

The world outside seemed to fade, leaving nothing but the quiet, steady rhythm of your breaths, the soft flicker of firelight dancing against the walls, casting fleeting shadows in the room. Every inch of space between you had narrowed until there was nothing left but the touch of his skin against yours, his scent filling the air, warm and intoxicating, as if his very presence had become something you could breathe in.

Your heart was beating faster now, each thump louder in your chest, a mixture of fear and longing you hadn’t expected to feel. It was all so sudden, this pull between you, as if the universe had conspired to draw them together, two souls tangled by fate, only to find their own peace in the midst of chaos.

With a quiet, almost imperceptible movement, you leaned closer, your forehead resting gently against Damian’s, breath mingling with his. You closed your eyes, finding solace in the contact, the heat of him surrounding you, making everything else feel distant, insignificant. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable, to drop the armor you had worn for so long.

The weight of the world—the mission, the guild, the lies—had felt so suffocating, so all-consuming, that you hadn’t realized how desperate you were for something different, for someone who didn’t see you as a weapon or a tool, but as something more. Something whole. And now, with your head resting against his, the tension in your shoulders slowly unraveled, piece by piece, as though the very act of letting him hold you was enough to make the fragments of yourself you’d hidden away fall back into place.

His fingers tightened around yours, the contact small but meaningful. There was a quiet strength in his touch, a steady warmth that made you feel anchored in a way you never had before. You squeezed his hand gently, a silent affirmation of the connection between you, a promise of trust in the most intimate way.

Damian didn’t pull away, didn’t break the moment. Instead, his other hand—still warm from the gloves he’d removed—moved to your back, sliding along the smooth line of your spine, urging you to come closer. His chest rose and fell with each breath, slow and measured, but there was a tremor in his movements that belied the calm of his exterior. You could feel the shift in him, the way his body seemed to soften as he wrapped you more firmly in his embrace. He was holding you, not out of necessity, but because he wanted to. And that made all the difference.

Without a word, his arms encircled you, pulling you gently but firmly against him, the heat of his body pressing into yours. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath the layers of clothing, the rhythm grounding you, reminding you that for the first time ever, you were safe.

Your fingers slid up his arm, your palm resting against the smooth fabric of his shirt, before you reached up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing softly over the sharp line of his jaw. You could feel the faint pulse of his heartbeat in his neck, as though every inch of him was alive with something more than just the physical. It was the kind of connection that words could never capture, something that needed no explanation.

“You’re safe now,” Damian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves were a secret meant only for your ears. “No one will touch you. Not your guild, not my enemies.” He gently squeezed your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm in a tender, possessive way. “I won’t let them.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shuddering slightly as his words sunk deep into you. There was something about the way he spoke, about the way he held you, that made the weight of the world seem lighter, more bearable. You’d never known this kind of tenderness before—not in your training, not in your battles, and certainly not in the twisted paths of your past. But here, in his arms, in the simple touch of his hand around yours, everything felt... right.

You sighed softly, the tension in her body unwinding as you let herself lean into him more, your breath mingling with his. Your fingers squeezed his hand again, a silent request for more. You needed more—more of his presence, more of his assurance, more of whatever it was he was offering. But you didn’t have the words to ask for it.

Damian, as if reading your thoughts, responded without hesitation. He reached up slowly, one hand cupping your cheek gently, the roughness of his fingertips a contrast to the softness of your skin. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if you were something precious he was trying to hold together, something fragile he feared would slip through his fingers. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, the touch so light it could have been a dream. But it wasn’t.

“Stay with me,” he said, the words soft and commanding in the same breath. "Let me protect you. Let me hold you."

Swallowing hard, you lean in, the tension between you crackling in the air, your lips mere inches from his. Your breath fans softly over his skin, the heat of the moment making every second feel suspended in time. His eyes, dark with intent, lock onto yours, and you feel the weight of everything—every choice, every truth—pushing against the fragile barrier between you.

Then, his hands find your waist, pulling you closer with a quiet, undeniable force. The touch of his fingers on your skin is warm, grounding, and for a moment, the world outside of this room seems to disappear. He moves, capturing your lips in a kiss that is gentle but certain, a kiss that speaks of promises unspoken and things both lost and found.

It's a kiss that lingers, slow and tender, as if savoring each moment before it can slip away. Your heart races against his, as the kiss deepens, his grip tightening around you, pulling you fully into the storm of him. Every flicker of his touch, every shift of his mouth, is a quiet confession of everything that’s been building between you—the weight of the past, the hunger of the present, and the uncertainty of the future.

But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. In this moment, there is no game, no betrayal, no mission. There is only the feeling of him, of you, together, and the soft press of his lips against yours, steady and sure, as if telling you that everything will be alright as long as you stay with him.

[pankowcrumbs]

Admit it X Joseph Quinn

The room buzzed with excitement and nervous energy as I stepped into the table read for Stranger Things Season 4. The cast and crew were scattered around the long table, scripts in hand, some already laughing and catching up. I had only a small role in the other seasons but this season I was one of the main characters so I felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration. Playing Tessa Harrington, Steve Harrington’s younger sister, was a dream come true, but it also came with a fair bit of pressure.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice called out, and I turned to see Gaten Matarazzo waving me over with an enthusiastic grin. his infectious energy had put me at ease instantly.

“Hey, Gaten!” I greeted, making my way over. He pulled me into a quick hug, then motioned toward the table.

“Come on, you’ve got to see everyone,” he said, dragging me along before I could protest.

I Greeted everyone not really knowing them well since I only had scenes with Joe and Gaten in the last seasons and then my focus zeroed in when we reached Joseph Quinn. He stood up as I approached, towering slightly over me with an easy, almost shy smile. His curly hair was tousled, and his brown eyes held a warmth that immediately made me feel less out of place.

“Joseph Quinn,” he said, extending a hand. His British accent caught me off guard for a moment.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm but gentle, and the way his eyes lingered on mine sent a flutter through my chest.

“You’re playing Tessa?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.

“That’s me,” I said with a small laugh. “I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said, his smile widening slightly. There was something earnest about the way he looked at me, like he was genuinely interested in every word I said. It was... distracting, to say the least.

“Alright, lovebirds, take a seat,” Joe Keery’s voice cut in, snapping me out of whatever trance Joseph had me under. My face heated instantly as I turned to see Joe smirking at us, his eyes darting between me and Joseph.

“We’re not—” I started, but Joe waved me off, clearly enjoying my embarrassment.

“Sure, sure. Just sit down before Gaten starts assigning nicknames.”

Joseph chuckled, gesturing for me to sit beside him. I did, trying to ignore the way my heart raced when our shoulders accidentally brushed. Gaten and Joe exchanged knowing glances, and I had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t the last I’d hear of it.

Rehearsals and table reads became a whirlwind of activity over the next few weeks. The cast quickly became like a second family, and I found myself growing more comfortable—except when it came to Joseph. Something about him left me feeling off-balance in the best way possible. He was kind and funny, always willing to help me with my lines or offer advice, but there was an undeniable tension between us that I couldn’t ignore.

Unfortunately, neither could Gaten or Joe.

“Hey, Y/N,” Gaten called one afternoon as we hung out on set. “What’s it like working with Joe Quinn? You know, since you two seem to have this... connection.”

“Oh, stop it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “We’re just friends.”

Joe Keery, lounging nearby, snorted. “Yeah, okay. Friends who stare at each other like they’re in a rom-com.”

“I do not stare at him,” I protested, feeling my cheeks burn.

“You kinda do,” Gaten said, grinning. “And he stares right back. It’s adorable.”

Before I could argue, Joseph appeared, looking between the three of us with a puzzled expression. “What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes lingering on me for a beat longer than necessary.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, shooting a glare at Gaten and Joe. They just grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

It all came to a head one afternoon when we were filming on one of the sound stages. Gaten and Joe Keery had been whispering and plotting all day, which should’ve been my first warning. But I was too focused on my lines to pay them much attention.

During a break, I went to the greenroom to grab some water, only to find Joseph already there, sitting on the couch with his script. He looked up and smiled when he saw me.

“Hey,” he said. “Taking a breather?”

“Something like that,” I replied, walking over to the mini fridge. Before I could grab a bottle, the door slammed shut behind me, and I turned to see Gaten and Joe grinning like Cheshire cats through the small window in the door.

“What are you—” I started, but they were already locking the door.

“You two aren’t coming out until you admit you like each other,” Gaten called through the door, his tone sing-song.

My jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” Joe Keery added. “We’ll let you out in time for your next scene. Just... come to terms with your feelings first.”

I turned to Joseph, my face burning with embarrassment. “I am so sorry about this,” I said.

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t be. This is... well, it’s Gaten and Joe. I should’ve seen it coming.”

We stood there for a moment, the silence stretching awkwardly between us. Finally, Joseph spoke.

“They’re not entirely wrong, though,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. “What?”

He looked up at me, his cheeks tinged pink. “I like you, Y/N. I have since the first table read. I just... didn’t know how to say it.”

My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I was sure I was dreaming. “You... like me?”

He nodded, his eyes searching mine. “I do. And I’m sorry if that makes things awkward, but I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. Then, before I could overthink it, I blurted out, “I like you too.”

His eyes widened slightly, and then he smiled—a real, genuine smile that made my stomach flip. “You do?”

I nodded, laughing nervously. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but... yeah, I do.”

For a moment, we just stood there, grinning at each other like idiots. Then Gaten’s voice broke through the moment.

“Okay, are you done confessing now? Because we’re on in five minutes.”

Joseph rolled his eyes but laughed, stepping toward the door. He unlocked it and swung it open, only for Gaten and Joe to stumble inside, clearly having been leaning against it.

“Subtle,” Joseph said, shaking his head.

“So?” Gaten asked, looking between us expectantly. “Did it work?”

I glanced at Joseph, who met my gaze with a small, knowing smile. “Yeah,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling back. “It worked.”

Gaten and Joe cheered, high-fiving each other like they’d just won some kind of contest. I couldn’t help but laugh, even as I rolled my eyes at their antics.

As we headed back to set, Joseph fell into step beside me, his hand brushing against mine. When I looked up at him, he hesitated for a moment before taking my hand in his, his fingers lacing with mine.

It was a small gesture, but it felt like the start of something big. And as we walked onto the sound stage, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for Gaten and Joe’s meddling. They might’ve locked us in a room, but in the end, they’d opened the door to something even better.

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [9]

Part Nine | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, realizations, reunions and resurrections, chapter follows "Tell it to the Frogs" but dialogue and events are paraphrased.

Word Count: 1.8K

Author’s Note: I am officially laid off for the winter. I make no promises, but I really want to write more often during my layoff. I'm really happy with this chapter (even though it might feel like a dagger to the heart), but things are really ramping up. Also don't worry, Daryl will reappear in the next one. Now that we've gotten to the show starting, this fic will follow the plot of TWD, but events and dialogue will be paraphrased so as not to simply rewrite episode scripts — hope you guys understand. Let me know what you guys think! Your support and excitement for this fic mean the world to me. Additionally, if I don't post beforehand, happy holidays and merry Christmas (to those that celebrate).

You watch as the sun begins to set from your spot on top of Dale’s RV — mesmerized as the clear blue sky slowly shifts into an array of golden hues. The sight almost makes you forget how much the world has changed — how much everything seems to have changed.  You sigh as you realize how envious you are of your past self. Just a few weeks ago, you were complaining about your boss to Lori, grabbing coffee in between shifts with Shane, and helping Rick with his latest home improvement project. Life was simple and stable. You had a lovely home, a decent job, and a loving boyfriend. Now, well, you’re lucky if there’s enough food at the campfire at the end of the day to feed the entire group.

You tear your eyes away from the sunset and look down at the book in your lap. The very book you attempted to busy yourself with this morning before Shane’s interruption. You haven’t gotten much further, finding yourself distracted by Daryl’s crumpled note that you’ve begun using as a bookmark. You can imagine him scoffing beside you as you reread the simple, messily written words. His brow furrowed in confusion as he tries to decipher what’s troubling you — and he’d read you like a book. You’ll never admit it, but you’ve yearned for his silent, stable presence more than usual today after your conversation with Shane this morning.

The sound of someone climbing the ladder and approaching from behind you pulls you from your thoughts. Your hand instinctively grabs the shotgun beside you as you turn your head toward the sound. Your mind starts anticipating the worst, but you loosen your grip as your eyes meet Dale’s. Dale raises his hands in front of him as he approaches; the gesture is playful, but his features are laced with concern. 

“I come in peace.”

You snort at his words before removing your hand from the shotgun entirely. 

“Sorry, Dale. I was just a thousand miles away.”

Dale hums in response as he takes a seat beside you. The two of you sit in comfortable silence while watching the sunset. You don’t mind Dale’s company. Despite his dislike for Shane Walsh, he’s never treated you differently despite your connection to the deputy. You’ve always appreciated that he sees you as you, not just Shane’s girlfriend — if you can even call yourself that anymore. 

“You’ve been up here for a while.”

“Got nothing else to do, I suppose.”

You shrug nonchalantly before glancing over at Dale. His eyes are still focused on the sunset, but you can tell he’s thinking over his next words. You appreciate how intentional he is with what he says. It reminds you of Daryl in a way. Your hands find their way to the crumpled note again — moving on their own accord.

“I’m just surprised to see you here — thought you’d be in Atlanta. I mean, Glenn wouldn’t shut up about you asking him to show you the ropes when it comes to scavenging.”

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you close the book in your lap and toss it to the side. Your eyes do a quick sweep of the camp, ensuring that Shane is not within earshot. 

“Shane decided it was best that I stayed here and helped Lori and Carol with chores.”

Dale lets out a dry laugh at your admission. 

“I didn’t know you needed his permission.”

You meet Dale’s expectant gaze and try to formulate a response, but his sarcastic tone has you floundering. Because as much as you want to assert that you don’t need anyone’s permission, you’ve also become somewhat of a prisoner in your own relationship. You shouldn’t need Shane’s permission to do anything — he certainly doesn’t need yours. And yet, here you are, a shell of your former fiercely independent self. Your shoulders slump at the realization, and your eyes drop to your hands, which are desperately gripping your only lifeline. 

In an act of comfort, Dale moves to cover your hands with his, and you involuntarily flinch away from his touch. Guilt washes over you as Dale pulls his hand away. Logically, you know that Dale would never try to hurt you, but your conversation with Shane this morning has you on edge. You look up at Dale and meet his sympathetic gaze. 

“Dale, I…”

Before you can explain yourself, you’re cut off by a blaring car alarm. Without a second thought, your hands find the shotgun at your side and aim toward the direction the sound is coming from. The once-sleepy camp quickly awakens at the first sign of trouble. You hear countless voices yelling, but one cuts through them all: Shane Walsh.

“Dale, what do you see up there?”

Dale looks to you as you peer into the scope. You can hear the car alarm clear as day, but you’ve yet to see any sign of life through the scope. You shake your head at the older man, keeping your eyes locked on the dirt trail leading up to the camp.

“Talk to me, Dale!”

“We can’t tell yet.”

“What the hell do you mean you can’t tell yet? Just look in the fucking scope, it’s not that hard.”

That sets you off. You don’t know if it’s the edge in Shane’s voice or the condescending tone in which he speaks, but something inside of you snaps at the words.

“I know how to look through a fucking scope, Shane!”

You can hear a low growl rumble through Shane’s chest at your retort, but you keep your gaze steady. You tune out the ensuing chaos: Shane insisting you hand the shotgun over to Dale, Jim attempting to defuse the situation, and Amy incessantly asking if it’s her sister. Dale offers you gentle words of affirmation as you take deep breaths — attempting to steady yourself. And then you see it: a bright red Dodge Challenger with none other than Glenn Rhee at the wheel. You finally pull away from the scope and hand the shotgun over to Dale, who looks at you in astonishment.

“It’s just Glenn.”

Dale takes the shotgun and peers through the scope. He searches for a moment before speaking.

“Well, I’ll be.”

And then the two of you erupt into a fit of laughter — after all, this whole situation is nothing but absurd. Dale pulls himself together just long enough to alert the group of your findings. There’s a collective sigh of relief, and everyone seems to relax until Glenn peels into camp. Glenn climbs out of the sports car and smiles brightly up at you.

“You like it?”

Another laugh escapes your lips as Glenn points at the blaring vehicle beside him. You nod at his words before responding. 

“Love it. You rob a bank along the way?”

Dale interrupts the conversation.

“Can you turn it off, son?”

Glenn’s brow furrows at his question, glancing between the car and the two of you.

“I don’t know.”

Quickly, Shane steps in and starts yelling at Glenn to pop the hood. You and Dale decide to finally descend from the top of the RV and join the rest of the group. When you enter the chaos, the car alarm is finally off, and several other vehicles begin pulling into camp. You smile as you watch reunions unfold before your eyes. Amy pulls her sister into a tight hug before she even has a chance to exit the vehicle fully. Morales’ children race to see who can get to him faster. Dale claps Glenn on the back as the young man excitedly shows off the vehicle they managed to jumpstart.

Deciding to give them all some privacy, you turn to walk back to your tent. Your smile quickly fades as you spot Carl’s saddened expression. His misty eyes scan the crowd, looking for someone who will never return. Your heart breaks as you watch Lori kneel beside him and pull the small boy into a comforting hug. Still, Carl’s gaze doesn’t falter. You lower your head as tears well up in your eyes. You understand.

Shane had told you about what happened at the hospital the first night at camp. You remember sitting beside him in your small tent, your heart breaking as you watch one of the strongest men you’ve ever met crumple due to the loss of his best friend. Setting aside the grief sitting heavy inside of your chest, you spent that whole night comforting Shane until he finally fell asleep. It was only then that you buried silent sobs into your pillow and prayed for the impossible — for your found family to be whole again. 

It isn’t until Morales speaks to the group that you finally look up. Your brow furrows as he explains that a new guy helped them out of the city, so they decided to bring him back with them. It’s been a long time since anyone new joined the quarry camp — Daryl and Merle were technically the newest members, but you’ve all been together for weeks now.

“Hey, helicopter boy! Come say hello.”

Shane plants his hands on his hips looking toward the SUV expectantly as Morales explains that he’s also a police officer. Finally, you see the new guy, and you can’t believe your eyes. Standing before you is Rick Grimes dressed in his signature sheriff’s uniform and cowboy hat. Rick’s eyes meet Shane’s first, and the two stand in silent astonishment until they hear Carl’s small voice.

“Dad?”

Rick’s eyes well up as he finally spots his boy at the back of the crowd.

“Oh, my God.”

Rick hesitates for a second, almost as if he can’t believe this isn’t real. But Carl sprints toward him, with Lori close behind. Tears stream down your face as Carl crashes into his father’s embrace. You look beside you, expecting to see Shane, but you meet Dale’s reassuring eyes instead. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you take a moment to find Shane in the commotion. Surely, he’s as choked up as you — hell, his best friend just came back from the dead. 

But when you spot him leaning against the red sports car at the back of the crowd, watching his best friend tearfully reunite with his wife and son, he looks less like a man who just got his brother back and more like someone who just lost everything. 

You want to be elated at the scene unraveling before. After all, you’ve been dreaming of this moment every night since the world fell apart. But something feels wrong as you watch as Shane lock eyes with Lori over Rick’s shoulder. Lori looks at him apologetically, and Shane’s expression shifts into a mix of anger and disappointment. Confusion washes over your features as you watch the exchange until…

Oh. Oh.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Every time you couldn’t find Shane in camp only for him to miraculously appear with Lori hours later. Every time you attempted to spend time with him only to be dismissed for something more important. Every time you waited up for him to return to your shared tent, only to fall asleep in a cold, empty cot. 

Taglist: 

Suddenly, everything makes sense — and you feel nothing but a stark hollowness settle into your bones. Because although your found family may be whole again, you’ve never felt more alone.

@minervadashwood

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@dreamtofus

@youcantstandit

@ajlovesdilfs

@prettywhenibleed

@luvsvnlqt-things

@strnqer

@marina-isabella

@lissanovak

@elissanatok

@luv-4-aria

@moejoeflow-blog

@ceoofdisappointment

@jewellthebooknerd

@callsignwidow

@genderless-ghosty-boi

@all-will-be-well-love

@tabzthemightyyyy

@mychemicalimagines

@nosebleeds-247

@catradora333

@punicorn999

@tybsbnbn

@i-wear-wet-socks313

@sunny92sworld

@echothy

@ta3baee

@rottngzombi

@rhey-007

@azanoni

@ritosparty

@vaniniweenie

@nameless-ken

@ibuch7

@theunfortunateshadow

@j0joworld

@marauder-exe-old

@hello-emma

@ziziriaa-blog

@livingdeadblondequeen

@krissophia

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog

@kellie-ana-blog

@my-name-is-heartache

@the-valars-sapphire

[flowerandblood]

Play with my heart (Sneak Peek)

The Fall from The Heavens Universe Mini-Series

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rheanys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rheanys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name.

_____

The door opened, but the girl who stood in it looked at him for a moment with big eyes, as if she didn't recognise him. There was something endearing in that gaze. She turned behind her, as if she was afraid of being seen, and immediately closed the door, breathing loudly.

At last, real acting.

She turned towards him, as if she was afraid of him, and he pressed his lips together, involuntarily looking at her body hidden only beneath a thin nightgown, her slightly wavy, long dark hair falling freely over her shoulders.

Her face was gentle, warm, her eyes large, her lashes and eyebrows dark, accentuating her charm.

She was silent for a moment, her lips trembling, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"Did you received my letters?"She muttered softly in a hopeful voice, from which he felt goosebumps pass along his back.

"Yes." He whispered, his voice soft and low.

Yes, he thought, give me something I can work with.

She swallowed loudly and clenched her hands into fists, shifting from foot to foot. She shook her head, her eyebrows arched in pain as if asking how he could do this to her.

"Have you read them?" She asked, and he pressed his lips together, tilting his head back and snorted under his breath, turning the blade in his hand. She jumped up, horrified when he slammed it suddenly into the armrest lying beneath his hand.

"Yes, my Lady Strong. I have read them all. Many times, here, in this chair." He murmured mockingly, looking at her with slightly parted lips, lifting his chin in a gesture of superiority.

He was sure the director would interrupt, but he let them continue.

The girl lowered her gaze, her body quivering as if she was about to cry, an expression of humiliation, pain and shame on her face from which he felt heat in his heart.

Her gaze suddenly changed. She swallowed hard, as if she had also swallowed his insult, and moved ahead of him, pretending to walk towards the bookshelf.

He pressed his lips together and looked at her over his shoulder, measuring her with a furious, cold stare.

"Do you often visit men like this?"

She turned to him with a look as if she wanted to kill him, her hand dropping as if she had run out of strength after what she had heard.

"Have you no shame?" She asked coolly, the way she said it, the look in her eyes made him feel a cold sweat on his back.

"Cut! That was fantastic, thank you!" Said the director, and she blinked, the expression on her face turning from cold and disgusted to a wide smile full of joy, her gaze warm and welcoming.

"– you were amazing – I had goosebumps –" She whispered as she walked past him and giggled, waving goodbye to him, disappearing out the door a moment later.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 6 - Crunch

@jegulus-microfic January 6, Word count 286

Previous part First part

James snorted into his pumpkin juice as he watched Regulus dump a pot of stew on his friend Barty.

“You alright, Prongs? Sirius asked, patting his friend on the back.

“Yeah, sorry. I think Crouch just pissed off your brother,” He was careful not to call him Reg. Sirius would know something was up in an instant. He was many things, but Sirius Black was not an idiot.

“Ha!” He barked. “I wonder what he did. My darling brother isn’t one for large dramatics,” Sirius shrugged and went back to his own bowl of stew, missing the small scrap of parchment fluttering into James’s hand as Regulus strode out of the Great Hall. James carefully glanced down at it and read the words he’d hoped to read in Regulus’s elegant script. ‘Come-and-go room.’ He wasn’t asking James he was telling him. James didn’t care either way and began to wolf down his dinner. He wrapped up a couple of slices of Bakewell tart, slipping them into his pocket.

“See you guys later,” He said to the others as he jumped up from the table and began to walk away.

“Oi, Prongs, where are you going?” Sirius called after him.

“Nowhere,” James grinned.

“He’s going to get the other side of his neck sucked,” Remus teased, blowing loud, smacking kisses at him as he hurried out of the door. 

He’d barely made it two steps when he heard a crunch from under his shoe. He lifted his foot and found a very squished snail. Huh, he thought, why would a snail be inside the castle? But he put it out of his mind as he climbed the marble stairs up towards where Regulus was waiting for him.

Next part

[luvnami]

office!au ushijima who works in sales

before an important meeting, you rush into the office. your hair is sticking up in the back and your shirt is untucked - but you make it into the meeting, anyway.

ushijima realises that your hair is a mess. he doesn't say anything, even though the clients give you a funny look. you close the deal and that's what matters the most. post-meeting, you check your appearance in your front camera and your heart falls when you see the birds nest on your head.

"ushijima-san!" you protest, turning to him with an accusing glare. "you didn't tell me i looked so bad!"

he pauses from typing out an email and looks up at you with an impassive face. "i wasn't aware i was supposed to."

he returns to tapping away on his keyboard while your blood boils.

the second time ushijima catches you with your hair out of place is at the end of year christmas dinner. he has a plastic cup in one hand and a santa hat askew on his head (tendou had plonked it on and ushijima hadn't bothered to remove it).

he taps you on your shoulder. you spin around, eyes widening at the tall, imposing man that looms before you. he motions to a part of his head, mirroring a piece of hair that's escaped your updo.

"your hair," he deadpans.

"oh!" your hand flies up to touch it. "thank you, ushijima-san."

he nods seriously and returns to get himself a second cup of corn soup. next to you, semi snorts.

the third time, it's when you run to catch up with him in the elevator. the doors inch shut until ushijima politely punches the 'open' button.

"you have a habit of running late," he observes.

you slide in next to him, panting and leaning back against the cool metal wall as you catch your breath. "shut the fuck up."

he wrinkles his nose, then tells you your hair is matted to your sweaty forehead. you tell him to shut up for the second time.

the fourth time, it's before a meeting in another city. the fifth, it's on your first date that drenches the both of you in a sudden downpour. the sixth, the seventh, the eighth, the nth.

ushijima buys an extra set of your haircare supplies for you when you stayover at his apartment. he learns your favourite styles, listens intently when you ramble on about sulphates and silicones, googles how each comb has a different purpose.

"come here," he says softly.

it's a perfect day. cottony clouds float aimlessly through the blue sky and the sunlight frames ushijima in rays of white gold.

you step forward. he's wearing a navy suit you picked out together, with a flower pinned to his breast pocket. he pushes back a stray lock of hair from your cheek. you breathe in the scent of his cologne on his wrist and your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet.

"you look beautiful."

"you look very charming yourself, wakatoshi."

the crowd aws and your face heats up, but ushijima's gentle smile never leaves his face.

the officiator clears their throat, then reads off their script. "do you take ushijima wakatoshi to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

you clutch the bouquet of flowers in your hand. a passing breeze tousles your hair and ushijima swallows thickly.

"i do."

[justporo]

From the Touch of Gentle Fingers

Just a short little drabble of Astarion and Tav sharing a tender, vulnerable moment worrying what the future might hold. Pairing: Astarion / Tav (You) (Genderneutral reader) Rating: General

You were organising the enormous stacks of books all over the floor in the room Astarion wanted to turn into a study. And he kept buying tons of books and scripts. And yeah, he did read them but he didn't care very much about keeping them in order or putting them back where they belonged. Seemingly his neat outter appearance didn't seem to reach past his own fingertips.

In fact in the months of living together in an actual home you had learned a thing or two about him and yourself. For example, you seemed to care much more about order than you'd thought possible while he seemed to have quite the chaotic nature.

But it might not be that but rather that he tried desperately to find out who he was or at least who he wanted to become now that he was free of higher powers. Maybe it was that with the still pretty recently regained freedom he felt a sort of impeding doom having to choose from a seemingly infinite amount of choices of what came next. You thought about that a lot and hoped you could help him and ease his anxiety.

As you were putting away another dusty old tome, you heard a few soft notes from a piano downstairs. You frowned. There was in fact a piano downstairs - the two of you had bought it. But you had been sure it had been a splurge only for decoration. So either Astarion was downstairs playing the piano or you had to deal with a ghost.

The sounds stopped then began again and started a little melody. You slowly got up and silently walked down the stairs. You felt that what was going on was pretty intimate. You stopped in the frame of the door and saw that Astarion was indeed sitting at the piano. His back was to you.

He softly played the keys and was humming to himself while the melody went on. It was hesitantly at some parts but still pretty impressive. The longer he played the more confident he got, the chords coming more quickly.

But then it ended promptly: a note amiss, Astarion angrily slammed his hands on the keys causing a discordant sound. Then he sighed in desperation and threw his head back. He was about to slam the case of the keys shut when you made yourself known: "I didn't know you could play."

Astarion winced and turned around as you walked over to him. "I don't really... It's been over two hundred years since I last played." "Sounded pretty good for that." He snorted and turned to the piano again while you slid down onto the bench next to him. He shuffled a little to make space for you.

You grabbed Astarion's hand that was closest to you and started to massage it. "You know how to do incredible things with these hands, Astarion, I bet you'd quickly take it up again if you wanted to." "Hmm yes, I bet you know exactly what these hands can do", Astarion replied with a smirk and a wink. Then the vampire sighed, his cheeky demeanor gone. You let go of his hand and stretched yours out to reach for the other. He gave it to you and you started massaging it as well.

"It's so frustrating", the vampire said with another sigh and looked at you. "Sometimes I'm reminded of something in the past, something I felt back then was true to myself. And some of these are things I want nothing more than to get rid off and then there's other stuff I would like to get back but it's all tainted." He softly took his hand from you and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "And then... there's stuff I desperately hope will be true for the rest of time." "Like for example?" "That you're here and that I love you, that there's always a path to take and that at the end of the road the clouds will always pass." You grabbed his hands from his eyes so he would look at you. "Well, the first one's a given, isn't it?", you said and leaned in for a kiss Astarion happily provided.

"And as for the rest", you continued, "I guess you can have and be all of the things because they're a part of you but it's up to you how you let them define you - and you can always make something new... something better." Astarion looked at you for a moment of silence. Then he tenderly cupped your cheek and pressed a soft kiss to your lips: "Then I guess I might have already started doing that."

[catghoststories]

Unscripted Kiss - A Sally x Julie One-Shot

Summary: Frank and Eddie like each other. Sally doesn't know this. She also doesn't know that she has a crush of her own.

Words: 1,576

Pairings: Sally Starlet x Julie Joyful, Eddie Dear x Frank Frankly

Characters: Sally Starlet, Julie Joyful, Frank Frankly, Eddie Dear

⭐ AO3 Link Here, and You Can Also Read the Full Story Below! 🌺

~⭐🌺~

~ Unscripted Kiss ~

“Me?  And Frank?  Kiss?”

Sally groaned, throwing her hands up into the air.  “Yes, Julietta!  It’s the romantic climax of the entire play!"

Julie sat on the ground, her pink and white dress fluffing up around her.  “But Frank just ate a cough drop!  I don’t want that to be my first kiss.”

Sally’s eye twitched.  “Julie…”

“I'm not kissing her.”  Frank crossed his arms, looking equally unimpressed.

"Franklin, you must!  It’s in the script!”

"I mustn’t do anything," Frank snapped.  He fiddled with the buttons on his suit jacket like he had all afternoon, before finally yanking it off over his head.  "And for the twentieth time, it's Frank!"

A chuckle from behind Sally snapped her last bit of patience like an old violin string.  “What's so funny, mailman?”

“He has a name, you know.  Do you know any of our names?  I'm beginning to think you don't.”

Sally glared at Frank before turning her ire back onto Eddie, who didn’t notice.  He sat cross-legged on the grass between their houses, Sally's manuscript in one hand, the costume he was sewing in the other.  “Miss Starlet, I was just thinkin’.  Wouldn't it be better if the princess professed her love to the prince before kissin’ him?  Seems a bit outta nowhere otherwise.”  He licked his finger and turned the page.  “Just thought it'd be a bit more romantic-like.”

“Aww.  That'd be cute!” Julie agreed.

"If it delays the inevitable," Frank sighed.  Julie giggled.

“Ugh!”  Sally threw her script onto the ground.  "You peon!  As if you know anything about the theater!”  But she knew for a fact that Eddie did.  Annoyingly, the mailman was the most well-read out of all them—excluding herself, of course.  “You do it, then, if you're such an expert!"

Eddie's grin evaporated.  "Ma'am?"

"You heard me.  You be the princess.”  Sally curled her lips, feeling smug.  “You kiss Frank.”

To her utter satisfaction, Frank looked mortified.  "What!  Why me?"

"Why not?  You’ve been complaining about this scene since I cast you.  Perhaps Edward can make it better for you, hm?"  Sally wielded her rolled-up script.  "Go ahead, mailman.  Show us how it’s done."

"All righty, then."  Eddie stood and dusted himself off.  He approached Frank, stopping a respectful distance away.  He took off his blue mail cap and held it in his hands, as if about to enter his house of worship.  "This okay with you, Mr. Frankly?"

Frank lowered his eyes.  "It's fine."  

He can barely speak! Sally thought with glee.  It wasn’t often that she got a leg up on both the mailman and the neighborhood grinch.

But her attitude changed when Eddie brushed Frank's bangs out of his eyes.

"You had some glitter on ya."  Eddie gave a lopsided smile.

Frank snorted.  "Did I?”

"It was probably from me.  Y'know, from the papier-mâché flowers I was makin' earlier?"

Frank’s sour look dissipated, replaced with a light flush.  “Oh yes.  I think you did a wonderful job.  You always have such nice color choices, Mr. Dear.”

Sally watched this exchange with a frown.  They’re awfully friendly, all of a sudden.  “Edward, if you're going to do this, get on with it.  We don't have all day!"

"Kiss kiss kiss!" Julie cheered, her tiara toppling off her head.

That got Eddie's attention.  “Right!”  Despite Sally’s request, he yet again arranged Frank’s hair, then stepped closer.  “Mr. Frankly—I mean, Mr. Prince—I want you to know that I love you.  Always have, always will.”  He touched Frank’s cheek, then leaned forward, gently placing his mouth over Frank’s.

Sally was sure it would be over in a second.  But Eddie’s free hand found enough time to make its way down to Frank’s slender waist.  She was sure Franklin would push him off, but he didn’t.  Instead, he held onto Eddie's large shoulders.  They didn’t kiss just once, either.  Eddie pulled back and returned two more times, once on the lips and once on the cheek.

Sally got the strong impression that this was not their first time doing this.

"All right, cut!” she said.  “That means stop!”  But the two paid her no mind.  They had entered a scene of their own, in a different time, a different place.

“Was that all right for you?” Eddie said softly, when they were finally done.

Sally didn't hear Frank's answer, because Julie interrupted.  "Wow, that looks fun!  I wanna try!"  She jumped up and straightened out her dress.  "Sally, now you be the prince, and I’ll kiss you!"

That shocked Sally even more than the previous display.  She stumbled over her words like she never had before.  "What?  Why me?" 

Julie looked at her as if she'd grown a second head.  “Well, I can’t kiss Frank, and I can't kiss Eddie now, either, because I bet he also tastes like cough drops.  So you!”

“I can’t!"  Sally crumpled up the script in her hands, her last line of defense.  "It’s not in the play!”

“It’s okay to improvise sometimes,” Eddie said, his hand still wrapped around Frank's waist.  Frank's were still on Eddie’s shoulders, but when he saw Sally watching, he quickly removed them.

“But I'm the director!”

“Isn't the director supposed to know how to do everything?” Eddie suggested helpfully.

"Yeah!" Julie agreed with aggressive cheerfulness.  "Oh please, Sally?  I really, really, really need to practice!”

Sally now entered a scene of her own.  The lights dimmed, the audience went silent.  The other actors left the stage.  A monologue.

Are you being foolish again, Starlet? an old voice whispered.  Are you cracking under pressure?  Are you thinking with your heart instead of your head?  That was always your problem, wasn't it, Sallinda?

Sally placed a hand on her stomach and exhaled.  She then ran a finger along each of her sixteen star points, making sure they were all on straight.  "Come here, Julietta."

“Yay!”  Julie gathered up her oversized dress and ran towards her.  Sally couldn’t help but be flattered by her enthusiasm.

Julie stopped in front of her and patted down her hair.  To Sally’s surprise, she seemed fidgety, nervous.  She then remembered that this would be Julie's first kiss.  Well, she'd have to make it a good one.

Sally flitted aside Julie's blonde locks before realizing it.  “It was all over your face.  I didn’t want it getting in the way!”  But she felt embarrassed as soon as she said it.

Julie laughed, a perfect sound, as if ripped straight from a recording.  “Thanks!”

"Hurry up.  We don’t have all day," Frank heckled.  Sally scowled at him.  She noticed Eddie’s hand still hadn't left his side, despite the return of his grumpy demeanor.

Sally shook out her shoulders.  "Could you please close your eyes, Julietta?"  She didn’t want Julie to see how nervous she was, either.

"Okie dokey smokey!"  Julie did so.  Now she looked calm, at peace, like Sleeping Beauty.  Sally took her in, her green eyelids, her button nose, her wide mouth that said so many funny things.  She knew she’d probably never be this close to her again.

“Don’t forget your confession,” Eddie said.  Sally’s heart stopped before she realized what he meant.  Oh.  The play.

“I…really like you, Julietta.  Princess.”  She couldn’t bring herself to say love as easily as the mailman had.  

Sally waited for Julie to move first, per the script, but she didn’t.  So Sally closed her eyes and kissed her instead.  They didn’t open their mouths, but that was somehow better, since Sally could draw closer, hide in Julie’s long bangs.  She waited as long as she could, taking solace in her beauty, her heavenly warmth.

When she pulled back, Julie's cheeks were rosy.  She looked at Sally like she was a star, not just in name only.

“Are you all right?”  Sally grew worried at her uncharacteristic silence.

Julie fluttered her delicate lashes.  “Yes!  Thank you, Sally!  That was really nice!”

Sally smiled, but of course Eddie shattered the moment with his loud voice.  “Say, that was pretty good!  Although Julie's the one who's supposed to make the confession.  An’ she’s supposed to kiss you first.  But I liked your version, too!”

Sally turned to sass him but was caught in Frank’s fierce gaze.  He didn't say a word, but he didn’t have to.

Sally stared back, hoping to match his intimidation.  Do you know what I am, Frankly?  Just like I know you?

Frank watched her a moment longer.  Then he plastered on a fake smile and chirped, "Was that fun for you, Sally?"

Sally gritted her teeth at his annoying falsetto.  "No!  It was all wrong!  All of you, start over again, from the top!"  She went to snatch her script from the ground but paused, staring at the words on the page.  She thought about Julietta’s hair brushing her cheek, a golden curtain, behind the stage, where she could finally feel like herself.  But she shook her head and smoothed out the pages.  “Don’t just stand there!  Act one, scene one!”

Julie startled to attention, but she still hugged Sally before hurrying back into place.  Frank gently removed Eddie's hand from his side and accepted his suit jacket with a sigh.

They returned to their roles, Frank the prince, Julie the princess, Eddie the stagehand, Sally the director.  But as the play went on, Sally couldn’t focus.  All she could think about was how she wished she had cast herself as the prince instead.

~⭐🌺~

Thanks for reading! Stay warm out there!

[your-girl-mj]

heyy! could you do hcs where the reader is a female and is ganke's cousin and she just moved to brooklyn from korea and then she meets miles at the brooklyn visions academy and miles fell first but she fell harder?? tysm if you will do it!

that's your cousin?? [42 + 1610!Miles × f!reader]

summary: he fell first, but she fell harder. headcanons!

warning: swear words.

note: she/her for reader, he/him for miles, he/him for ganke.

created: august 20, 2023

published: august 21, 2023

earth-1610 [miles morales]

he fell first

she was the first thing miles noticed when he got into physics class.

headphone plugged in her ears, the sun from the window shining on the side of her face. her fingers twisting and turning, playing with the pen in her hand as she read a comic book.

baby deer is mesmerised.

miles was in complete awestruck

to the point their teacher told him to sit down because he's frozen in his spot, staring at her.

miles took a seat next to her.

he was awkwardly fidgeting, stealing glances at her every now and then.

he wants to talk but doesn't know how to start :(

at the cafeteria, miles is sitting down brainstorming how he will talk to her.

he didn't expect her to sit right in front of him.

she talked to his roommate in korean, though it was more like they're arguing over the food choice.

she left shortly to fetch something while ganke ate

"hey, ganke. you know the new girl?"

"[name]? yeah, she's my cousin."

"that's your cousin???"

[name] retreated back before he could ask anymore questions

the next day in physics, he sat in the same seat again.

he's writing a script about how he will talk to her and how the conversation would go if he said something like this and like that.

he heard her humming to his favourite song, sunflower; as she sat next to him.

he panicked for a second because [name] knew his favourite song was not on the script

"uh, hey. you like sunflower too?"

boy, he's sweating like crazy when he only received a side eye.

"y'know...the song? heh, i uh, like that song, too..." he's biting the inside of his cheek, wanting the floor to swallow him whole.

"i guess it's not so bad."

that simple comment made his day bright. he looked back, with a smiley smiley face, but wipe it off. like, it's cool. she's cool, he's cool, everything is cool.

"yeah, yeah uh.. it's sounds okay."

[name] hides a snort because she can clearly see how happy he is at something.

"hey, i didn't catch your —"

the teacher shushed him, and it got him embarrassed.

he was doing a good job talking with her, and now he looks like someone who doesn't listen to classes.

he's literally have a :( face.

"[name] [lastname]"

her voice echoed and he's awestruck again, and thinking; "she talks to me again! she likes me too!"

"oh uh, I'm miles. miles morales." he made sure he repeated his first name like those cool dude introduced themselves in action films.

and his uncle aaron used to do that too.

do not even get me to the shoulder touch.

she was by her locker and then closed the door and saw miles standing there, waiting for her.

the original plan in his head is he's gonna do the shoulder touch and then ask her if she wanna hang out after school.

and his prayers are not enough.

"hi?" she looked at him sceptical.

— it was so awkward, and miles made it even worse when he put a hand on her shoulder and made a ... some sort of face at her

"hey."

his one brow is rised, it's like he's smiling but also not?

[name] literally have "??????" flying over her head. and look at him weirdly.

"hey?" she repeated his word in a question matter.

miles felt sad after that because he thought she wouldn't talk to him anymore and that he look so weird in her perspective.

but [name] act like that awkward moment never happen to save miles' whole being.

and he's so grateful for her to do that.

she fell harder

how can she not fall for him? he's an absolute sweetheart!

miles invites her to all his hangouts with ganke

(ganke doesn't give a shit but it bothers him a bit that his roommate have heart eyes for his cousin)

sometimes, he brought to her different places in brooklyn. and even if there's a warning sign, it didn't stop her from going with him.

miles treated her so well it makes her heart go BOOM BOOM BOOM

he always has a hand out to help her up, like she wants to get up and his hand is out.

"let me help you up," was always his dialogue for her.

he also pays for her food.

(she and ganke fought about who's miles' favorite)

(in korean of course. no way they let miles heard it.)

he likes to leave little gifts for her.

mostly it was little notes and drawings.

sometimes it was a freshly picked sunflower, or sometimes he gave her a full-grown [fav.flower]

she doesn't know how he got it in a city but didn't question it.

the fact that miles is just expressing his feelings, [name] feel more and more appreciated.

no boy can ever top miles.

[name] is not used to his act of service.

she refuses, knowing she can handle it herself.

but only accept when he insisted or when he looks disappointed.

miles do it all the time, that it became a routine for him <33

to the point that [name] also got used to his sweet actions and unconsciously sought it T_T

(ganke was force to get use to it)

she noticed she feels more giddy with him

she knew she fell when miles stuttered a few words in her mother tongue.

in her head, she was screaming, "HE LEARN HER LANGUAGE SO SHE CAN TALK EASILY TO HIM"

while miles want to jump off the window by how stupid he thinks he sounds.

miles did so much for her. she always returned it back as well. <33

miles is too flustered to even keep his "cool" demeanour whenever she left little notes like he always do

little cousin is forced again to participate (she made ganke give miles her old art materials that still work)

of course, she finds out he's spiderman.

she wasn't allowed to go to the boy's dormitory and vice versa.

but she couldn't take it anymore when her cousin "borrowed" her comic book and hasn't given back for over 5 months and it's pissing her off because she knew ganke can be careless with her things.

she opened the door unannounced and saw something she shouldn't

miles was trying to take off his suit but is stuck, and ganke is helping by pulling it as well.

[name] awkwardly close the door.

with a flaming crimson face, before bolting to her dorm.

miles is slamming his head repeatedly on the wall.

ganke was a little worried that miles' secret is revealed to his cousin, and she might tell on them

that's not what miles is sulking for.

"she saw me without a shirt on... kill me."

he's so embarrassed, he want to stop existing.

to be honest, she doesn't give two fucks that he's spiderman, she's just angry they didn't tell her

especially miles.

they make up tho <33

their hangouts upgraded from abandoned train vandalism to watching the sunset from the top of a tower.

it was also where they had their first date.

[name] confessed. she did it first before miles for the last second.

he's a little pouty about it because it made him look like a chicken

earth-42 [miles morales]

he fell first

just because he fell first doesn't mean he notice her on her first day.

miles didn't officially meet her in school.

he met her at night. when he was prowler, patrolling.

he saw it with his night vision. a drunk guy was following a girl.

he already know it's not gonna end well.

miles was ready to tackle the guy from the top of the building, but what the girl did was unexpected.

she has a tazer in her hand, electrocute the drunk by his neck.

she watches its body tremble for a few seconds before she lets go.

the drunk's body just fell unconscious with a loud thud

the girl needs things to protect herself too, y'know, especially in a city full of crimes.

miles felt his heart do a small flip.

a smirk under his mask as she watch her walked away like nothing happened.

she's a tough one. feisty. and he's desperate for her number.

but he can't just randomly show up. he'll get knocked out as well, and he doesn't want that.

miles thought he'll never see that girl again, but to his general shock, they sat next to each other in one of his class.

he's pissed at himself for not noticing her much earlier.

miles is also pissed when he saw her and his roommate hanging out, inside and outside school.

he thought they were lovers 💀

he's pissed at himself when he finds out she's ganke's cousin.

"that's your cousin...?"

"yeah, she transferred here for over 7 months now."

"...fuck."

he get that they're not that close but still. he's still his roommate, and he could've told him about his cousin he didn't know about.

and didn't make him listen to broken-hearted songs on repeat.

he learned her name indirectly, which was [name] [lastname].

mister here finds himself searching for her whenever he's on patrol or when he's on a heist with his uncle.

his mask have a search thing where you type a person's name, and then he can detect if they're around the area. (inspired by his uncle's old mask)

it has a history bar, and aaron is shocked to see a girl's name over and over again.

one lucky morning is when they got partnered up, and they both started hanging out.

from strangers to best friend kind of one.

but one of them already have feelings for the other.

and he wishes to stay it that way unless she shows some signs she likes him too.

she fell harder.

every moment she feels herself falling, she's snapping herself out of it.

he's good-looking, of course he is.

he always thought he was scary, especially with the rumours of him being in a fight after his dad died.

he always has this frown in his face, too

her fear of miles made ganke take advantage of it by hiding in his dormitory knowing she will leave because miles will show up in any second

she's mad at him for it. (she didn't talk to him in 4 months)

but when they become friends, she feels a small, giddy feeling inside.

miles treated her differently.

but a good differently. anyone can tell he have a soft spot for her and no one knows why, even [name] herself.

yes, he still teased and was annoying as usual, but the way his eyes softened at the sight of her made her feel content with life itself.

she feels a bit special how miles treated her differently than the others.

let say she read a trope like theirs

she didn't look into it much. she hates that assuming something that will turn out to be wrong, she has false hope this entire time.

that's why she stopped herself whenever they're together.

she still acts like she did with everyone else, but she's a little more open to miles than the others.

she lost it when he suddenly grabbed hold of her shoulder, looking directly in her eyes with an unreadable expression.

"hey." was all he can say, and her face fires up like one of her cells commited arson

"oh, oh shit. uh, hi? what the fuck??" she suddenly blurbs out, jumbled on her own words. "miles, what??? what the hell??"

miles burst out laughing at her reaction, he haven't laughed like that in a long time.

[name] just stood there processing everything. she's flabbergasted.

was that a flirt?? or was she not paying attention for him to do crazy things like that???

after that, she didn't know what just happened or what he ate, but [name] feels like he's flirting.

and she's flirting back, with a little violent action as well.

she smacks him every time he smirks, that literally screams, "you want me so bad."

miles concluded her love language is physical. just physical. (she hits him too much that he feels numb but won't change a thing <3)

few weeks later, they're dating, miles did the shoulder touch, and he swear that will not work (it did) to see if she likes him too or not.

through out their relationship, [name] get easier to be flustered now than before since miles was born a flirt.

this is my first time doing headcanons, so idk if i do it right. snsbsksbei

but i hope you like it! comments and reblog are deeply appreciated. thank you for reading!