#and maybe even ''living'' as a ghost who can see the body from the outside and is incorporeal!

[bisaster-energy]

Merlin but Merlin loses it when Arthur dies and instinctively starts a time loop and every time Arthur dies it automatically resets...for angst purposes it could stay tragic..no matter what he does to change the past kilgharra was right. no one can change their destiny nor can they escape it. or by starting this time loop at all he's doing is preventing the rise of the once and future king so by staving off Arthur's death he's actually preventing anyone from ever really living again. a never ending story with one character aware of the narrative but powerless to change it. a puppet with a brain but no autonomy to put it to use. A tragedy of his own making instead the one prophesized

[girl-lostconnection]

A little addition to this. Shout out to @sundaescreamcheese because they’ve guessed right.

Warnings: Banished knight!Ghost x Witch!Reader x Bloodhound knight Soap, Elden Ring AU, Johnny is a bit of a dog, possessive behaviour, suggestive themes, smut at the end, biting

“Hail, witch”, gruff low voice would have startled you if your wards didn’t tense the moment he stepped onto your territory.

You don’t know what he’s doing here, this deep in the woods, this far from his usual duties and this far from Stormveil Castle.

But you aren’t going to be rude to the man in full armour, with a sword taller than you.

If whatever he seeks can be found without much hassle and he could get off your territory that would be great.

“Hail, knight”, you muse back, careful distance from him. Your wards won’t let him step much closer to the cottage, not unless you specifically grant him entrance and for now…for now you aren’t sure you should.

The man looks at you — someone’s skull now adoring the front of his helmet, his horse a menacing thing that huffs out cold air in agitation. Yeah, it’s no easy journey to get here.

That’s why you live here.

The man in front of you is tall and absolutely huge, more monster than a knight. Makes you wonder what happened for someone like him to become Banished.

What brought him to your doorstep.

You sigh, a little grateful that Johnny is too busy fussing over chickens in the backyard because gods know he can’t stand strangers. Even more than you so.

“You seek refuge or favour?”, you tilt your head to the side, eager to get rid of him faster. Johnny may not be able to run like he did before but he’s still one very good Bloodhound. You don’t have much time until he will stalk outside to see what’s going on in front of your house.

(The previous visitor that had a gall to grab your hand before leaving was hunted down by Johnny. Hunted down and brought back, the hand that gripped you resting on the first step of your porch)

Banished knight looks at you for a few very long moments but if sensing your agitation, gets off his horse — landing on his feet with grace, that sends shivers down your spine.

He’s not just big.

He’s in a very good control of his body and he’s very aware of his size.

He’s dangerous.

Your wards tense up, not letting him through when he steps forward and he freezes as if he forgot about them. Though who knows, maybe he did forget.

Knights did have tendency to feel like they are owed entrance wherever they go, perhaps this one is no different.

“I need to find another knight. Bloodhound”, his voice is low, muffled by the helmet he doesn’t take off — dark eyes boring into you, staring you down from the high of his height.

Your brows furrow at the strange request, heart thumping faster. There’s only one knight who has been around these parts of the woods.

And he’s no longer Bloodhound. You are not giving him back. You are not going to let anyone take him away and rip him off everything you and time out here have been slowly restoring.

“I can’t help you”, you voice sharp, unusually so and Banished knight tilts his whole body forward as if trying to press himself through the wards, his fingers curling and uncurling — leather of his glove creaking.

“I don’t need much, witch. Just tell me where he went. And I will leave”, Banished presses further, shoulders tense and voice curling around your throat like a grip.

He takes a breathe before stepping back, raising his hands in half-hearted placating gesture.

“I mean no harm. I can pay if you need. Just tell me if you saw him”, he sounds almost gentle, head tilting down so he can look in your eyes without you having to crane your neck at him. “I’m…a friend”, he adds reluctantly, like he needs to physically tear the words out of himself.

Your brows furrow further and coincidentally Johnny couldn’t find a moment to show up better than now, sound of his walking uneven — still a limp to his step.

He rolls out of the house, picture of faux nonchalance, despite the sharp edge to his eyes.

“Hen, you alright? I heard-“, words die on his tongue when he sees the Banished knight, eyes widening. There is a strange kind of hunger in his gaze.

You don’t like it.

Because Banished knight sees Johnny and almost lunges himself in his direction, the only thing stopping him are the tethers of your wards, curling around his throat, forcing him back, forcing him out.

Air smells like ozone, air cracks with pressure, your fingers quickly warming up with a spell because you were right.

This man is dangerous. He saw Johnny.

You can’t let him leave now. He will need to disappear.

But Johnny grips your shoulders and shakes his head, eyes mad and desperate, an anguish to his face that you don’t quite understand.

“Nae, hen. It’s Simon. Don’t”, he breathes out, fingers digging into your skin, eyes boring into yours.

You glance back at Banished knight and he’s sitting on his knees now, tethers forcing him down, still tightly wrapped around his throat.

He’s dangerous. You don’t know him.

But Johnny’s nose presses to your cheek, breathing shuddering and he doesn’t let go of you. He doesn’t pull away until you give him a slow tentative nod.

Your fingers flick, soft popping of tethers letting go audible in the air and Johnny actually lunges himself at the Banished knight, sending them both tumbling in the snow.

Knight holds onto him with such hunger something in you churns uncomfortably. What if he will take Johnny away?

Your fingers warm up with the subconscious desire to push the strange man (Simon, his name is Simon) out. Out of your territory, out of your woods, out of your life.

But Johnny looks genuinely happy to see him so you let it go, just sitting yourself down nearby. You’ll be damned if he gets injured just because you looked away for a second.

But Simon grips Johnny like he’s the lifeline and answer to his prayers. Simon’s palms slide all over Johnny’s body, stroking sides, checking for wounds or tethers (your lips practically curl in snarl when you notice. Who the fuck does he think you are?).

He pauses at Johnny’s bad knee, touch getting more careful, eyes expectant and suddenly on you.

“Old injury”, you tell him for some reason. Not like you actually have to. You don’t owe this man anything, he’s unwelcome guest in your home. “I did what I could. If I found him later, he’d probably be without leg by now. Infection practically ate him alive”

Banished knight holds your eyes for a very long moment and then melts back into Johnny, murmuring something under his breath — too far for you to hear.

Doesn’t matter. The man isn’t staying in your home. He’s dangerous.

You tell that yourself and finally go back into the house to put kettle on. It’s too cold to stay mad out in the open. He’s not staying here anyway, so there’s no need to get too riled up.

He’s not staying but Johnny still shifts his weight from one leg to another in the doorway, Simon looming over his shoulder. They both look like a pair of big, wet from snow dogs.

You look at Johnny unimpressed but he tilts his head to the side, grown out strands of hair falling over his forehead. It should be illegal to be that bloody handsome.

You sigh and gesture for them to get in.

Okay, tea never harmed anyone. You’ll let this man warm up and he’ll be on his way before the sundown.

With or without Johnny.

The thought makes bile rise in your throat but you force it down focusing on the task at hand.

You can’t keep him if he’d want to go and you won’t humiliate yourself with begging him to stay.

But Johnny, so attuned to your moods by now, so used to having you chat for both of you steps closer — hands wrapping around your waist, part of his weight leaning on you to give a break his healthy leg.

“Yer not happy”, he notes, nose pressing to your ear, huffing out air and you can’t help but relax, letting him lean on you. He’s warm, heat rolling off him in waves, seeping through the sweater you made for him. Your head tilts back on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to your neck.

“He’s dangerous”, you muse quietly and ignore the chuckle Simon lets out. Banished knight is now sitting in front of your fireplace, cloak taken off and hanged on the chair to dry out.

Johnny just nods, calloused fingers rubbing idle circles on your solar plexus. It’s a long moment before he speaks again.

“I’m dangerous”, it’s said almost causally, his breath ghosting over your neck and you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

“It’s different”, you snap back immediately.

Simon huffs behind your back and if Johnny wasn’t leaning on you, you’d have probably thrown something in the man. He’s not going to laugh at you in your own bloody house.

“Simon’s not bad, hen”, Johnny breathes out, tone softer, teeth grazing over sweet spot behind your ear, heat dripping down to your abdomen. Bastard. He knows what he’s doing.

“And Simon is not staying here”, you grumble, pouring herbal blend in three mugs, suppressing the urge to shiver when Johnny bites your neck.

“Hen”, he starts and you already know where it leads, you head shaking quickly.

“No”, you cut him off and nudge him with a shoulder to step back so you can move. “Move, I need to give this Banished his bloody tea”

Johnny grumbles but peels himself off you, less than happy to lose the comfort and warmth your body provides. Less than happy to let you slip out of his grasp.

“He can stay in the barn”, Johnny offers and just grins when you send him a glare. His teeth itch to sink into the nape of your neck, press you into the bed, lick the fight and agitation out of you, make you soft and pliant.

“I said no”

“Hen”

“He’s dangerous”

“Hen, have mercy”

Simon watches the way you two bicker, enjoying that none of you even noticed he took the helmet off to drink the tea you placed on the table with more force than necessary, some of it trickling down the rims of the mug.

Simon huffs out a dry chuckle when Johnny tries to pull you back into his hands and you sidestep, smacking his hands away. Leaving Bloodhound almost pouting.

“Cruel”, he complains to Simon, hands crossing over his chest. But despite everything…Johnny looks good. Better than Simon remembers him.

He’s wider now, there is bulk to him that Bloodhound Knight Johnny didn’t have. His eyes are brighter.

He is talking.

Simon didn’t even know Johnny could fucking talk, thought all Bloodhounds are mute. Courtesy of the profession.

“I understand you want to sleep with your Banished in the barn today?”, the witch arches their brow at Johnny and groans when his eyes light up.

Like a bloody dog catching the whiff of blood on the hunt. Old habits die hard, evidently.

“You can stay”, Johnny announces to Simon like it’s his personal victory, like he brought his master a good game after the hunt and is waiting to get his ear scratched.

His grin so wide it’s a miracle his face doesn’t crack. Witch rolls their eyes but Simon sees the way their lips twitch.

Seems not only he has a soft spot for Johnny.

Maybe it should’ve made him feel uneasy but if anything he feels satisfied, like something finally clicked in place. Puzzle finally unlocking in his hands, showing him the reward.

Simon tilts his head to the side, scar crossing his lips stretching when he smiles down at you.

Yeah, he’s staying.

A day turns into a couple days and then into two whole weeks because of the blizzard, Simon pushing further and further.

Eyes heavy and dark when he’d catch a glimpse of your throat or Johnny’s bites — purple bruises on your neck, soft creaking of the bed upstairs whenever it happened.

Simon doesn’t tell you that he moved from barn to the cot in the kitchen and you pretend that you don’t know he’s been sleeping there for the last week.

Simon pretends in return that he doesn’t strain his ears, catching the smallest sounds Johnny tears out of you. That he doesn’t lean on the cold wall of the kitchen, thighs spread wide, his eyes closed. That his hand doesn’t find its way to touch himself, stroking at almost lazy pace.

After all, Johnny is not starving Simon of little love here and there, eyes electric blue, mouth slick on the inner side of Simon’s thighs — your taste still on his lips.

Simon worms himself into your life and starts moving bloody furniture so he can position himself more comfortably, clicking his tongue when you hiss at him — tilting his head at you the same way a heavyweight horse would at the farm’s cat.

His fingers catch your jaw when you grumble that he rearranges your kitchen again, his lips pressing to yours.

You take a step back just to feel Johnny’s warm chest pressing into you, breathing heavier than usually, hands wrapping around you.

Simon angles your face so he can slip his tongue in your mouth, groaning appreciatively when you let him in. When you tilt your head up, allowing his fingers to curl over your neck.

Here we go. Finally.

Simon licks your lower lip, finally pulling away and reaches for Johnny just to give him a kiss just as wet, now grinning like a well-fed creature. Satisfaction dripping out his every pore.

Johnny nuzzles into your hair, breathing out a low “think Simon can sleep with us now, hen?” and you just nod. Your legs jelly that don’t hold you properly, head stuffed with cotton, skin tingling from the heat of their stares.

That’s…an unexpected turn. You were ready for Simon to leave. You were ready for Johnny to leave with him.

But this…this is a surprise.

Simon presses a short kiss to your forehead and walks away to feed the livestock. There’s a new spring to his step, as if something just depressurised his spine, letting him grow a few inches up.

The issue arises only when it’s time to actually sleep because Johnny is insatiable and he refuses to move anywhere from between your thighs, not reacting to anything.

Especially not to Simon walking in.

You feel hot, Johnny’s tongue sending white hot sparkles down your spine, your eyes meeting Simon’s whose pupils blow wide and god, he’s more monster than a knight.

He’s the solide presence when he crawl in bed to pull you into his lap, big palms holding you open for Johnny, fingers sinking in the meat of your thighs.

“Eager today, aren’t we, sweet’eart?”, Simon sucks his own mark in your skin, teeth grazing your throat, his grip on your thighs getting stronger when you make the prettiest needy sound.

Music for his ears.

“It’s okay. Gonna take good care of ya. Gonna take care of both of you”, he practically purrs, sliding his fingers down your body to find the fluttering hole, dipping in it just to marvel at your body swallowing his first knuckle.

Johnny whines, his tongue circling lower, curling around Simon’s fingers, making you choke on your own breathing because too much-too hot-too wet.

Simon presses a kiss to your jaw, grin wicked and dark, stubble on his cheek scratching your skin.

“Be good, luv”, he murmurs, eyes heavy and hungry when Johnny sucks his fingers in, practically gagging on thick digits. “Open up for us”

Johnny bites on the fingers in his mouth before pulling away, dropping back down between your legs, sinking his teeth in the meat of your thigh.

Marking.

Simon smiles wider and adds a second finger, pushing in deeper, cooing in your neck when your hips buckle.

There’s no rush, love. They aren’t going anywhere.

After all, you already let them in. They might as well make themselves at home.

Johnny‘s tongue traces the bite mark on your thigh, his eyes fixed on another one he left on Simon’s knuckles that are currently sinking inside of you. Wet squelching sound sending a heatwave through Johnny’s whole body.

So welcoming to them. So sweet, hen. It would be their pleasure.

[maskedbyghost]

it's a happy ending, i promise!

The first thing Simon registers is pain.

A dull, burning throb in his ribs, a sharp sting along his jaw, and the constant, nagging ache of his wrists tied behind the chair he’s strapped to. The room is dimly lit, damp with the scent of mildew and blood—some of it his own. He keeps his breathing even and controlled, despite the way his head pounds from the last hit they landed.

A man steps forward, cracking his knuckles. "You’ve killed a lot of our people, Ghost." The way he says his name makes Simon's stomach churn. "You really thought that wouldn’t come back to bite you?"

Simon doesn’t answer. He’s learned silence is its own weapon.

The man chuckles and gestures to one of his men, who rolls a small television stand into the room. The screen flickers to life, static at first, before it settles on an all-too-familiar image.

Simon’s house.

His breath stills. The camera angle is high—hidden, probably in a corner of the living room. And there she is.

You.

Moving around the kitchen, completely unaware. A soft glow from the stovetop lights up your face as you hum to yourself, stirring something in a pot. Simon can almost hear your voice, that familiar melody you always hum when you’re cooking.

Ice settles in his chest.

"You see," the man continues, circling Simon like a predator, "an eye for an eye. You took our people from us. Now we take something from you."

The screen changes. Another angle. The front of the house now, where three men slip through the unlocked door like shadows. They move fast.

"Now, we could just kill her," the man muses, crouching beside Simon. "But where’s the fun in that? Maybe we start with a few fingers. Maybe a knife to that pretty face."

Simon jerks against the restraints, the chair creaking beneath him. His muscles coil with panic, and rage. His voice is muffled against the tape over his mouth, his heart hammering in his chest.

He watches as the men move closer—one creeping toward the kitchen doorway. He wants to scream, wants to warn you, to do something.

And then—

You turn.

And everything shifts.

The first man lunges.

You sidestep easily, grabbing a pan off the counter and slamming it into his face so hard he crumples instantly. The second man barely gets a hand on you before you spin, kneeing him hard in the gut before driving an elbow into his throat. He staggers, gasping, and you grab a knife from the counter, plunging it straight into his chest.

The third man hesitates.

Simon can see it—hesitation—as if he just realized this isn’t the easy job he thought it would be. He tries to pull a gun.

But you’re faster.

You twist his arm, forcing the gun toward his own leg before squeezing the trigger. He howls, dropping to his knees, and you grab the knife from the dead man’s chest, slashing the last attacker’s throat in one clean motion.

Silence.

The only sound is your heavy breathing.

The room Simon is in is frozen. No one speaks. No one moves.

"What the fuck," one of the men behind the camera mutters.

Simon can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. His body is still tense, his pulse still erratic, but his mind is caught between disbelief and something close to admiration.

He didn’t know you could do that.

Hell, he didn’t even know you knew how to throw a punch properly, let alone take down three armed men like it was nothing.

On screen, you quickly search the bodies, taking one of their guns and their earpiece. Then, without missing a beat, you grab your jacket and bolt out the door.

The man next to Simon snarls, grabbing a radio. "Find her!" he shouts. "She couldn't have gone far!"

Simon lowers his head, exhaling through his nose, swallowing down the relieved laugh bubbling in his throat.

That’s his girl.

It takes hours for you to track Simon down. Hours of listening in on enemy radio chatter and moving with the precision you never thought you’d need outside of training. Your heart pounds, but your hands remain steady as you grip the stolen gun.

When you finally pick up on the radio chatter—"Move the prisoner to the safehouse outside the city"—you know exactly who to ask for help.

The moment you contacted Price, he didn’t even hesitate. "We’re on it," he had said, and that was that. Now, as you move through the safehouse with the Task Force, the sound of suppressed gunfire fills the air as they clear the rooms.

Your thoughts are simple. Find Simon. Get him out.

When you reach the back room, you kick the door open so hard it nearly flies off the hinges.

Simon lifts his head at the sound, and the sight of him knocks the air from your lungs.

He’s tied to a chair, his wrists raw from the rope digging into them. There’s blood at his temple and a bruise darkening along his cheekbone. His mask is gone, and his hair is damp with sweat. But it’s his eyes that stop you in your tracks—sharp despite the exhaustion, locked onto you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

"Jesus, Simon," you breathe, already moving.

You reach him in seconds, hands shaking as you rip the tape from his mouth.

"Fuckin’ hell, love," he rasps, his voice hoarse.

"You look like shit," you mutter, and his lips quirk up at that, just a little.

"Feel like it too."

But you’re already working, fingers fumbling at the knots around his wrists, trying to ignore the way they’re rubbed raw. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you? How bad is it—"

He cuts you off.

"Marry me, woman."

You freeze. "What?"

"Marry me." And there’s no hesitation in his voice.

You blink, mind struggling to process. "Simon, are you concussed?"

"Dead serious, love," he mutters. His head tilts slightly, eyes flicking to the doorway behind you. "Get me outta this chair first, then we’ll talk rings."

Behind you, a low chuckle sounds. "Well, that’s one way to propose," Price comments, stepping into the room.

"Should we give ‘em a minute?" Soap adds, grinning.

You don’t even look back. "No, because I’m gonna kill him."

Simon snorts, and somehow, despite everything, that tiny sound makes your chest ache.

Your fingers work faster, finally loosening the ropes enough for him to yank his arms free with a hiss of pain. The second he’s out of the chair, your hands are all over him—checking his bruises, pressing against his ribs to see if anything gives under your touch.

He catches your wrist. "I’m fine."

You glare up at him. "You’re not fine."

"M’fine now that you’re here."

And there it is again—that way he looks at you, like you just flipped his entire world upside down and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

You shake your head, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, exhaling hard. "You scared the hell out of me, Simon."

His hand slides up your back, fingers curling into the fabric of your jacket. "Didn’t know you could fight like that, love."

"Yeah, well, I don’t advertise it." You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. "Didn’t think I’d ever need to."

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Lucky me."

"Lucky you," you agree, voice softer now.

Simon’s thumb brushes against your cheek, and there’s something raw in his expression. "So, that’s a yes, then?"

"To what?"

"Marry me."

"Simon—"

"You literally just saved my ass. Killed three men in our kitchen. Lookin’ downright stunning doin’ it." He squeezes your waist. "Think I’d be an idiot not to put a ring on you."

You stare at him, pulse thudding in your ears. "Simon, you’re literally bleeding out right now."

"And?" He tilts his head slightly, looking at you like he’s already made up his mind. "Still waiting on an answer, love."

You groan, pressing your fingers to your temple. "Can we please get you out of here first?"

"So that’s a yes?"

"It’s a 'get moving before I knock you out myself.'"

His smirk is lazy, but there’s something warm in his eyes, something real. "Close enough."

Behind you, Soap snorts. "Bloody hell, that was the least romantic proposal I’ve ever heard."

Price sighs. "Sort it out later. We need to move."

You shake your head, but when Simon tugs you just a little closer before letting go—you know he already knows your answer.

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

@daydreamerwoah

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 257

Now Danny loves space. He loves everything about it, to the point his core quite literally is space. And he’s also a baby ghost, even if he could argue he’s not in human form. But see, being baby has an honestly great consequence once it’s noticed- despite the Observants’ best attempts at hiding it, the assholes. 

Of course he would be far more worried- and even a bit pissed- if his caretaker wasn’t who it was. Look, he’d never met Clockwork’s siblings before, but apparently everyone was really against Clockwork himself adopting. 

But Clockwork as his uncle is fine. Besides, his caretaker is Space! Space itself is holding him, cooing gentle words in the sounds of the very cosmos. And they’re huge, like parts of their body going through portals so they can fit outside Long-Now sized big- and apparently Clockwork can get just as big and they can get even bigger- 

Okay, he needs to take a breath- even if he doesn’t need to breathe- to stop his squealing because holy Realms this is so cool. 

Space is awesome! And he’s getting so much more rest than he did in Amity- and even if Space sort of shrugged at the idea of school at first, they did help him set up online schooling. So there’s that, and it’s just the start! 

He gets to learn so much about space and it’s honestly kind of… nice? To be taken care of? And he can do whatever he needs for his Core and Obsession with only a few interruptions to take care of his living needs. Erm, sort of living needs? 

But even that gets turned into a bit of play or even a lesson too! He’s honestly having such a good time right now! He’s learning so much about spaaace! And dimensions! And interdimensional portals and- oops! No one saw that. 

Ahem- But he’s learning so much about space and getting to explore other dimensions with Cosmos! And sure he no longer looks as human as he once did and all that, but he’s seen so many people who also don’t look human that does it really matter? 

Of course it doesn’t, and he matches his sort-of-dad! Even though the streaks of color in their hair are more of a brown-red like they’re literally bleeding out the cosmos around them instead of it fading to void and space like his own. But still! They match and it’s fun! 

And they’re going to go on another trip from the in-between to one of the dimension realities! He’s going to start a game of tag this time he thinks! But no cheating with portals or bending space! Tag! 

Look, the Justice League? Not paid enough for this. In fact, technically not paid at all due to being volunteers (not that it stopped them from finding money in their accounts) but still. 

There is some sort of figure… being… thing… zooming around the asteroid belt, about the size of Earth itself. Let them repeat themselves. A planet-sized creature (are those hands or paws? Tail or simply its body stretching? Hair or the Abyss-) is currently darting around the asteroid belt like a child running through grass. 

That is, without noticing or caring if something bug-sized might be crushed. And they are very much bug sized, as the governments are concerned about. Like really concerned about. Like talking about trying to nuke the entity if it wanders closer sort of concerned. 

Which they are all very concerned and very much like, against. Because it isn’t seeming to notice the asteroids it’s knocking into their area. It’s like… not a space whale or eel or anything like that but also is something like that. 

And they would also maybe like to see if they can attempt to talk it down first maybe and-

oh. 

Oh. 

That creature is the baby. And mama just arrived, stretching across the entire galaxy, from them to Pluto and beyond, like something took the cosmos and shaped it like clay into some sort of form. Like reality itself has wandered into their galaxy with what they are suddenly realizing must be a very young child. 

Shit, they really have to make sure no one tries to piss either of these things off-

[rememberwren]

I’ve thought of surrogate!reader with Ghoap but lately I’ve been obsessed with the thought of established Ghost/fem!reader with sperm donor!Johnny and it’s a whole new dynamic okay

Another month, another bunch of negative pregnancy tests. I can see you crying in the bathroom when Simon admits that he went and had himself tested even though you both promised not to, and he knows that he’s the one at fault. Sperm ain’t sperming. You’re not the broken one, he is.

Of course you don’t see it that way. But you finally decide to put away dreams of carrying a child of your own and instead start thinking of adoption.

All the people in your life are having children now—Gaz’s second daughter’s first birthday arrives and you’re surrounded by people politely (and not so politely) wondering when it will be your turn to have a baby. “Always asking you, but never asking me,” Ghost says dryly to make you feel better, hand on his stomach. “Maybe I want to carry the baby.”

Even Price has a child on the way—and Kate and her wife don’t want to adopt but they regularly foster. Everybody has kids in their lives.

Everybody except Johnny.

On the way home from the party Ghost brings it up—Johnny was real good playing with the kids. He’s a nice kind of guy. Good genes. Would you like to have his baby, you think? And what? It breaks your brain a little bit. But you can’t stop thinking about it. So one day Ghost has him over and the two guys go out into the yard and talk, and they’re out there for forever it feels like as you wash the same dish over and over again, watching them through the window above the sink, but then they come back and Johnny has agreed. It’s a yes. Anything for you and for his lieutenant. Ghost has saved his life enough times over in the past years; this is just one way that Johnny can pay him back.

At first you all keep it strictly above board. Johnny jerks off in the bathroom into a cup, hands off the specimen and disappears into your living room to let you and Ghost handle the insemination. Cheers.

Ghost doesn’t mean to make it sexy, gently spooning Johnny’s seed inside you—there’s just something taboo and dirty about it that sets you off. Ghost touches you so soft and gently, spreading your folds, playing with your clit, feeding the sperm into your hungry little cunt. And he makes you cum at the end because that wive’s tale is always at the back of his mind, that cumming helps with conception.

And it doesn’t work. The next month you’re devastated—and perhaps just as devastated as you is Johnny. It’s touching, almost endearing the way he takes it to heart so much, feeling like this failure was his own.

Ghost is the one who suggests that the three of you hadn’t done it right. It hadn’t been by the book. Sperm can’t live long outside the human body. The solution is simple: you and Johnny should have sex. You start stammering disapproval of the idea and have listed a whole host of reasons why it’s inappropriate when you notice Johnny’s silence. He’d do that for you. Wouldn’t be a hardship either; you’re a beautiful woman, he’s always thought so. Which is how you end up with your legs wrapped around Johnny’s waist while Ghost sits beside you in bed, reminding Johnny to make you cum. Because it helps.

And the next month, Simon and Johnny are both pacing holes in the floor outside the bathroom while you take your tests. When the door finally opens, you don’t need to say a word. The expression on your face says everything. It worked. You’re pregnant.

That should have been the last and only time Johnny fucked you with Ghost.

But it isn’t.

[batsovergotham]

the unmasking pt1

"You've got the costume. You've got the power. You're Spider-Woman. Act like it."🕷🕸️

Main!Mark Grayson x Spider-Woman! Reader

warnings: angst, hurt some comfort, murder, cecil is his own warning, mark is such a caring ex bf

w/c: 7.5k

a/n: next chapter is gonna be so fluffy and smutty since its a flashback chapter. yall deserve a break!!

The camera feed shakes before it stabilizes. In the backdrop, studio lights hum softly; the distant noise of disorder from the city outside these walls seeps in like a ghost. Before the picture even comes into focus, you are familiar with the voice, booming, self-important, and clearly gravelly.

Already mid-rant, J. Jonah Jameson, mustache bristling and suit wrinkled in a manner that shouts "I didn't sleep last night and I like it that way,"

"This city is rotting," he shouts, waving angrily to some off-screen picture that, minutes later, shows in the upper-right corner: a murky snapshot of an alley roped off by NYPD tape. The corner's timestamp says 5:02 a.m., yesterday morning. “And while our so-called heroes prance around in spandex like it’s Comic-Con every damn day of the week, innocent people are dying in the streets.”

He pounds the desk with his palm. Papers shake. Somewhere, a struggling intern winces.

“Three corpses. Three. Mutilated. Torn apart. Half-eaten.” He leans in like he’s daring you, daring the city, to look away. “These weren’t gang hits. These weren’t carjackings gone bad. We’re discussing something different. Something inhuman.”

He shifts now, snatching a remote and pressing a button like he’s intending to put a hole in it. The screen behind him flashes again, a shadowy form from a shaky mobile phone recording. A gigantic, enormous figure bulging amid buildings. Its body gleams moist and inky black under faint streetlights, and for a brief instant, white eyes sparkle in the gloom. The vision is grainy, the audio worse, panicked yells, distant sirens but it's enough.

“There!” Jameson stabs a finger at the screen. “That thing. That’s not a man. That’s not a mutant. That’s not some ‘enhanced vigilante’ playing hero.”

He pulls a breath. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is Venom. And it’s real.”

His voice lowers low, heavy with dramatics. “For weeks, I’ve been warning you. And for weeks, you’ve dubbed me a conspiracy nut. A crackpot. Said I needed to ‘chill out’ and ‘touch grass.’ Well, you can keep your grass, since the truth is right in front of you.”

A pause. Just long enough to let everything sink in. 

“And don’t even try to tell me it’s a coincidence this monster shows up right when our dear Spider-Woman goes radio silent. Disappears for days, then reappears, violent. Unhinged. More aggressive than ever before.”

He smacks another button. Footage plays on the side screen now. Not shaky mobile phone footage, this is security cam. Spider-Woman lunging down from a fire escape, a guy screaming underneath her. She doesn’t murder him, no. But she doesn’t exactly hold back either. The screen hides the worst of it, but you can still see the blood spattering on the sidewalk. Her outfit is odd, too. Darker. Shinier. As if something’s covering it, something living.

Jameson doesn’t even blink. “Tell me that’s the same girl who used to pull kids from burning buildings. Who waved at news helicopters. Who posed for photographs with kids. That thing isn’t Spider-Woman. That monster is a threat.”

Another slam. Another graphic. This time, side-by-side images. One of Spider-Woman from a few weeks ago, bright and clean-cut, mask curved in a loving smile as she presented an autographed poster to a Make-A-Wish kid. And beside it, the vision from yesterday’s chaos, sharp fangs bared, a tongue snaking out of the shadows, claws curled and slick with someone’s blood.

“She’s changed,” he growls. “Or maybe, this is who she’s been all along.”

He leans forward, palms splayed over the tabletop, gaze keen as broken glass.

“Think about it. Who else might be lurking behind that mask? Someone the public trusts. Someone who knows how to influence the press. Someone who’s had you all eating out of the palm of her hand since the day she showed up. Always smiling. Always rescue cats from trees. Well guess what?”

He jabs a finger toward the screen again. “Kittens don’t leave half a corpse in an alleyway.”

A moment, then he sneers.

“I warned you about Iron-Man, and look how that turned out. And now we’ve got his warped little female protégé wandering about like she’s auditioning for a horror flick. Let’s call it what it is, folks. Venom is Spider-Woman. Or worse, Venom is within her.”

The studio gets colder with his stillness. He lets the sentence hang there like a guillotine ready to descend.

“She’s hiding something. And I guarantee, when we get the truth, when the mask eventually comes off, it’s going to be worse than anything we’ve seen before.”

He takes up a sheet of paper, hardly glancing at it before slapping it back down. “Sources close to the NYPD are already saying the alley killings show signs of predation. Bite marks. Human tissue missing.” His lip curls. “We’re not talking about a mugging. We’re talking about feeding.”

The studio displays another image, a crime scene shot blurred to hell and back. Just enough to make it safe for television. But even blurred, it’s apparent. The contour of a jawbone stripped clean. Fingers severed off the hand. Clothes torn like tissue paper. There’s a blood trail that goes for a whole city block.

Jameson leans back, voice now low and iron-hot. “And still, no one’s talking. No statement from the mayor. No news announcement from the GDA. And don’t even get me started on Cecil Stedman. You believe he’s not connected somehow? Every time something incomprehensible happens, there he is, smiling behind the curtain.”

He moves again, gaze cutting straight through the camera like he’s gazing directly at you.

“You want to know what’s worse than monsters in the shadows? The individuals who guard them. Who enable them. Who call them heroes.”

A lengthy beat. One more image flashes behind him, this one isn’t from the alley. This one is just… a frame. Mid-leap. Spider-Woman silhouetted against the moon, web trailing behind her. For a minute, it’s gorgeous. Then the eyeballs flare white again.

“I see what’s coming,” he adds. “And it’s not salvation.”

Jameson straightens his tie. Brushes a hand down his lapel. The fire in his chest doesn’t dim, it never dims, but for now, he coaches his face into something frigid. Certain.

“I don’t care how many kids she’s saved. I don’t care how many photogenic moments she’s had with the press. If she’s part of this, if she is this thing, then she doesn’t deserve our quiet. She doesn’t deserve our faith. She doesn’t deserve our forgiveness.”

He punches the air once more, his voice booming:

“She deserves to be unmasked. And held accountable.”

The screen rushes back from commercial with no dramatic music, no anchor-friendly grins or warm welcomes, just frigid haste and Jonah’s silhouette already mid-turn in his seat, mouth tense. There’s something unsettling about seeing a man like him calm. Not because it’s pleasant, but because when J. Jonah Jameson is quiet, it implies the storm has already passed furious and settled into something far more dangerous. Conviction.

“Let’s talk about patterns,” he begins, voice like gravel scraped against metal. “Because Spider-Woman didn’t just change. This didn’t come out of nowhere. The signs were there. The escalation was right in front of us, and we looked the other way.”

Behind him, new footage plays. A montage. Grainy security recordings. Blurry street cam pictures. Cell phone captures, most ending suddenly in screaming. The camera portrays you like a shadow dashing through alleys, plummeting from roofs. Some clips conclude with a haze. Others stop exactly as you knock someone into concrete, shoulders, necks, ribs splitting like twigs.

“People said she was getting more efficient.” Jameson doesn’t look at the screen, he stares right into the camera, into you. “More ruthless. Less chatter, more takedown. And certainly, the city adored it at first. Crime reduced in such communities. Until the bodies started piling up.”

A fresh headline appears across the screen in blood-red font:

SPIDER-WOMAN “CROSSING THE LINE”? LOCAL MAN IN COMA AFTER ALTERCATION WITH VIGILANTE.

“Twenty-three-year-old Jamal Reynolds,” Jameson reads, his voice harsh. “Minor drug possession. Not trafficking. Not armed robbery. Just a kid with a couple priors and a rough night. What does Spider-Woman do? She tosses him through a windshield. He's currently in a coma with severe brain damage. Doctors claim the swelling on his brain didn’t originate from the impact, it came from many fractures.”

Another image. A hospital bed, a young man’s face bloated beyond recognition. His mother crying at his side.

“No charges filed,” Jameson replies, teeth clinched. “No accountability. Because once upon a time, she smiled at a fireman’s fundraiser and kissed a baby for a photo op.”

The screen switches again. Another name. Another face.

"SHE NEARLY KILLED ME." — FORMER GANG MEMBER DESCRIBES TERRIFYING RUN-IN WITH SPIDER-WOMAN.

“She doesn't talk anymore,” the man adds in a weak interview, his voice barely audible. “Doesn't say anything. Just… hisses. You don’t even notice her approaching. There’s a sound, like something wet dragging across metal, and suddenly she’s on you. You blink, and she’s in your face. She bit my shoulder. Bit it. Through the jacket.”

A still shot reveals the wound. It's ragged, tattered. Not a clean strike, like an animal had gnawed at him, mouth unhinged.

Jameson doesn’t blink.

“And we’re supposed to believe this is the same girl who handed out teddy bears and webbed up purse snatchers like some neighborhood mascot?”

He leans forward, fixing his tie like the activity is keeping him linked to something other than primal wrath.

“They’re calling it ‘lethal restraint,’” he scoffs. “The NYPD has at least seven ongoing investigations into incidents where her methods were described as ‘borderline fatal.’ At least three others are under review by the GDA itself, and you know how infrequently they even admit anything’s under review.”

Footage plays of a warehouse bust. Flames lick at the edge of the screen, and through the smoke, she flows like liquid shadow, silent, scary, unstoppable. You watch the silhouette of her arm jerk as she smacks someone against a steel beam. The scream breaks off midway.

“She isn’t arresting these people,” Jameson continues. “She isn’t dropping them off in front of police stations, gift-wrapped and webbed. She leaves them broken. Bruised. One of them has spinal injury. The other suffers lung trauma. One of them, God help us, was missing a bit of his thigh.”

And yet, every time they bring this up, someone’s always ready to leap to her defense. The same justifications, again and over again.

“But they were criminals.”

“She saved a bus full of kids last week.”

“She’s just going through something.”

“She’s a hero.”

Jameson laughs, harsh, humorless.

“I don’t care if she cured cancer and kissed Mother Teresa on the mouth. If she’s stalking people, if she’s feeding on people, if she’s hurting more than she’s helping, then she’s not a hero. She’s a threat.”

The screen flickers to one last picture. A hazy close-up from a drone, captured the night of the alley killings. A streak of white, fanged and grinning, splattered with blood. Your eyes are pitch dark, your stance hunched and horrible. Your mouth is wide open and her tongue is exposed, unusually long. You can’t even tell where her flesh finishes and the suit begins.

It’s not Spider-Woman.

It’s something donning your face.

“Ask yourself,” Jameson adds, gently now. The words felt weighty. Almost like a plea. “How long until she stops pretending to protect us at all? How long till she turns that hunger on the people who used to root for her?”

He sighs. Tired. Angry. Certain.

“They used to say power corrupts. That total authority corrupts absolutely.” His eyes narrow. “But no one ever tells you what happens when the corruption feeds back. When it becomes something else. Something alive.”

His last remarks seem like a final verdict.

“She’s not the hero anymore.”

The camera cuts to black.

But you can still hear it.

That thin, moist, slithering sound.

Something slithering beneath the quiet.

Something waiting.

The fluorescent lights in the GDA war room buzz above like they’re anxious too. The air within the steel cylinder is tight with tension, filtered and recycled and antiseptic in a way that makes you feel more like a weapon than a human. On the main display, a blown-up still frame of Spider-Woman looms above them all, fangs bared, mouth split too wide, eyes like polished obsidian. It seems more like a mugshot of a monster than a hero.

Cecil Stedman stands at the head of the table, hands planted on a holographic display throbbing with red-lit data. For once, he isn’t grinning beneath his constant five o’clock shadow. He looks… weary. Even behind the tiredness of his eyes, there’s something empty about his countenance. Like he’s staring at someone already gone.

"She’s crossed the line."

His voice isn’t elevated, but it doesn’t need to be.

All around the table, the Guardians of the Globe sit stiff. Or restless. Or both.

Bulletproof’s jaw is tense, a vein flickering in his temple. Dupli-Kate stares down at her own hands like she’s trying to press away the shame that’s started to fester beneath her skin. Black Samson is inscrutable, arms crossed over his chest like a wall, yet even he’s breathing deeper than normal. Shrinking Rae, poised on the edge of a chair far too big for her, mutters something that’s cut short by a quick flick of Cecil’s hand.

Robot talks first.

"Has she communicated at all since the incident in Queens?"

Cecil’s cybernetic lens flickers. “No. We’ve had no contact. No sightings in twenty-four hours. Which is… even more frightening, given what she did the last time she was seen.”

Another display lights up with blurry imagery. The alley. The three victims.

There’s quiet.

Eve glances aside, jaw gritted. “This can’t be her. Not the girl who dragged a kid out of a burning apartment with a smile on her face. Not the girl who-”

“is now tearing men in half like wrapping paper,” Cecil cuts in, forceful. “We don’t have the luxury of sentimental denial right now. This isn’t a PR disaster. This is an increasing bio-threat with extraterrestrial origins and unexpected neurological influence.”

“She’s not an alien,” Mark adds from where he’s standing at the back. He’s not sitting. He can’t. His hands are clinched at his sides and his voice is gruff, laced with something just shy of rage. “She’s not one of them. It’s… something else. Something that got into her.”

Cecil turns to him, slow. “And how do you know that, Grayson?”

Mark doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t need to.

The way he’s holding himself, shoulders pulled in like something is clawing at his ribs, it’s enough. It’s written all over him. There’s history here. Personal. Messy.

The type of stuff that gets people killed if it’s let to cloud judgment.

Robot’s mechanical voice crackles again. “The symbiote shows signs of parasitic bonding. If the host’s intellect is weakened, it’s not an issue of identification anymore. It’s an issue of containment.”

"And if containment fails?" Bulletproof asks bluntly, arms crossed, muscles tight and stiff.

That’s the question that’s been sitting in the center of the room like a ticking bomb.

Cecil breaths out, then hits a switch on the display. New slides replace the footage. Strategic layouts. Names. Resources. Weapon kinds. Containment levels.

And finally, at the bottom of the file. TERMINATION PROTOCOL. SUBJECT VENOM: STAGE 5 INFILTRATION

“She's not just killing,” Cecil explains. “She’s feeding. We found tissue samples from the alley. Not just blood, saliva. Digestion enzymes. She’s metabolizing human materials. That’s hardly a tactical error. That’s not adrenaline. That’s predatory adaptation.”

"She's not that far gone," Mark snaps. “I know her. This isn’t her. We can fix it.”

“She bit someone’s face off, Mark,” Samson grinds out. “At what point do we stop calling it a misunderstanding?”

“Is there a way to extract the symbiote?” Eve asks, turning to Robot, her voice tinged with the same frantic note Mark had, but better concealed behind the trained calm she’s learned over years of losing people.

Robot pauses. “Not without risking the host’s life. The link appears to be neurological, not just physical. Attempting forceful separation would certainly result in significant brain harm. Possibly death.”

“Then don’t force it,” Mark replies, coming forward. “Let me talk to her.”

“No,” Cecil replies, and this time his voice slashes the air like a knife.

Mark rounds on him. “You don’t even know what you’re dealing with-”

“I know exactly what I’m dealing with. I’m dealing with a ticking bomb in a skin-tight outfit that’s already blown up three bystanders and is revving up for more.”

Cecil moves closer, his tone low and lethal.

“You think this is about trust? About friendship? You think if you talk to her, she’ll suddenly snap out of it? This isn’t an teenage drama, Mark. This is war. And if she’s already attached to that thing, if she’s already begun changing, then she’s not your friend anymore.”

Mark flinches. Eve stares between them, like she’s ready to jump in, to stop anything before it breaks wide open. But she doesn’t. No one does. Because the truth is festering in all their stomaches. They don’t know what you are anymore.

Kate eventually speaks, her voice quiet. “So… what’s the plan?”

Cecil glances back at the files. Two folders are lying on the screen. One green. One red.

“Plan A. Containment,” he says. “We isolate the subject. Use sonic weapons and electromagnetic pulses. Designed by Robot, derived from Kree tech intercepted last year. We subjugate the symbiote. Secure the host.”

“And Plan B?” Bulletproof asks, already knowing.

“Plan B,” Cecil replies coldly, “is we take her out. Clean. Fast. Before she can spread it. Before the creature inside her finds a new host.”

Silence deepens again.

Robot’s optics flash. “I recommend both contingencies be prepared simultaneously. Deployment time may be the determining element in casualty prevention.”

And Mark? Mark merely stares at the picture still shining behind the display. Not the monster. Not the swirl of black and fangs. But the one before that. The woman who laughed with him under a streetlight. Who joked with him like he was the only thing preventing her from plummeting over the edge of the planet.

“Don’t do this,” he says. It’s scarcely more than a whisper. “She’s still in there. I know it.”

Cecil doesn’t answer.

The red folder remains on the screen.

Unopened.

For now.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

The sofa lowers slightly beneath your weight as you move, drawing one leg up and resting your elbow on your knee. One of Harry’s hoodies drapes off your frame, sleeves bunched over your wrists. There’s dried blood on the hem. You haven’t attempted to disguise it. You haven’t even glanced in a mirror.

The place smells like that expensive fragrance he wears, warm and clean and chemical. The sort that clings to a person like they’re attempting to keep a mask on even while they sleep. You wonder if it’s soothing to him. If it helps him imagine he’s still a normal guy.

He hasn’t talked anything since you got here. He didn’t inquire why you showed up without notice, or why you looked like you crawled out of a murder scene. He simply opened the door. Let you in.

Now he’s standing at the window, arms crossed, gaze on the skyline like it’s got the answers he doesn’t know how to ask for.

“You gonna say something?” you mutter.

Harry turns slightly, his features crisp in the faint light. “I’m trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to say.”

You extend your leg out, kicking off your boots. “ Try opening with, ‘Damn, you look good. Did you lose weight?’”

Harry’s jaw tenses. “You look like you killed someone.”

You gaze up at him. Smirk. “Three someones, actually.”

His eyes narrow. “Jesus.”

“Relax,” you murmur, reclining back. “They were assholes. Caught them trying to pull a girl into a car. No masks, no weapons. Just normal, scum-of-the-earth trash. I handled it.”

“You didn’t just ‘handle it,’” he snaps. “You ripped them apart.”

You gaze at him. Then shrug.

“They got off easy.”

There’s a long quiet.

Harry runs a hand through his hair and mutters, “You don’t even sound like yourself.”

“Maybe this is me.”

“No.” He approaches over, laying his hands on the back of the recliner across from you. “This is you with a parasite talking in your head twenty-four-seven. Don’t pretend like that doesn’t matter.”

You snort. “Does it? I feel clearer now. Stronger. All the noise, the second guessing, the self-hate, it’s just gone.”

Harry observes you for a beat. “So you’re fine with it? The voice? The black goo taking over your body? You’re just alright with it now?”

You smile. “Well, it is flattering.”

‘We are flattered,’ the voice hums, warm and smug in your mind.

You roll your eyes. “See? He appreciates me.”

Harry blinks. “He?”

‘We like this one,’ the voice purrs. ‘He smells… expensive.’

You moan beneath your breath. “Don’t be weird.”

‘We’re not being strange. He’s lovely. He doesn’t yell. He has hair like a golden retriever.’

Harry’s eyebrows raise gently. “It’s… talking to me now, isn’t it?”

You groan and climb to your feet. “Yeah. You’re its new favorite person. Try not to let it get to your head.”

Harry doesn’t flinch as you stroll past him, barefoot, hoodie hanging just slightly off your shoulder. He watches you pace, silent.

“How long’s it been like this?”

You shrug. “Since the alley. Since before that, maybe. It’s hard to tell. Some nights I feel like I’m still dreaming. Other nights I’m fully awake and just… watching myself from across the room.”

He steps forward. “That’s not nothing. You’re still in there. That part of you, the one watching, it means you haven’t lost yourself.”

You give him a peek over your shoulder. “Don’t give me a pep talk, Harry. I didn’t come here to be saved.”

“You came here because you don’t want to be alone.”

You blink.

You turn, gently.

And instead of rejecting it, you remark, “It’s quiet here.”

Harry walks over. Not fast. Just enough to be near. “You’re safe here.”

You chuckle, low and bitter. “I’m not.”

“You are to me.”

‘We should say something,’ the voice pushes. ‘He needs to see us. The real us.’

You tilt your head, contemplating.

Then you announce, without warning. “It wants to meet you.”

Harry hesitates. “I… what?”

And then, the darkness spreads.

Not brutally. Not in an eruption of fangs and tentacles. But like a darkness pouring from your flesh. It crawls across your shoulders, up your neck, out from your jaw. The room goes still. The symbiote rips away just enough to develop its own shape, attached to you, but clearly its own. Heavy. Massive. Towering.

Harry doesn’t run. He doesn’t yell. He just watches. The monster standing in front of him opens its eyes, unimaginably wide. Then smiles.

��HELLO, HARRY.”

Harry stares. “Right. Yeah. Definitely not weird.”

“WE HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOU.”

“Uh-huh.”

“YOU ARE VERY… LOYAL.”

Venom leans in. You remain still behind it, expression unreadable.

“WE LIKE YOU.”

Harry blinks. “I don’t know whether to say thank you or start praying.”

Venom laughs. A deep, moist, rumbling thing that resonates in your chest.

“WE DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU. YOU ARE IMPORTANT TO HER.”

You speak out again, voice still part-morphed. “It means you’re off the menu.”

“That’s… reassuring.”

Venom’s grin doesn’t fade.

“YOU MAKE HER FEEL SAFE. SHE WON’T SAY IT. BUT WE KNOW.”

You close your eyes. Just for a second.

Because it’s true.

Because it’s always been true.

Harry watches you as the blackness begins to creep back into your flesh, like smoke reversing course.

And when you’re standing there again, fully yourself, at least on the outside, he advances closer.

“You could’ve gone anywhere tonight,” he says. “But you came here.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t,” he says. “But I’m not going anywhere, either.”

You gaze at him. “Even if I screw this up?”

“Especially then.”

You pause. Then mumble, “You’re loyal to a fault, y’know that?”

Harry grins. “Yeah. But I make great eggs.”

You grin, tiny yet sincere. And when the calm comes back, it seems a bit less weighty. Because you’re not alone. And neither is it.

The eggs are cold by now.

Your fork hangs loosely in your palm, forgotten. Across from you, Harry’s abandoned his plate altogether. You’re both leaning on the kitchen island now, hoodie sleeves bunched over your wrists, a dull ache growing at the base of your brain. Venom is silent. Watching.

You haven’t talked for a few minutes. And that’s when Harry breaks it.

“So…”

You don’t look up. He clears his throat. “Are we gonna talk about it, or do I have to say his name first?”

You blink carefully, then raise your eyes to meet his. “Depends. Which name are we talking about?”

“Mark.”

You squeeze your lips together. A beat.

And then you respond, “Of course we are.”

Harry rests on his elbows, expression inscrutable. “He hasn’t called, has he?”

You shrug, nonchalant. “Haven’t exactly been glued to my phone.”

“He used to call every night.”

You gaze at him. “That was before I got a little murdery.”

Harry doesn’t flinch. He only tilts his head slightly. “You think that’s why he hasn’t checked in?”

You chuckle, bitter. “No. I guess he hasn’t checked in because something’s wrong with him.”

Harry’s stare sharpens. “You noticed that too?”

You nod slowly, eyes distracted.  “It’s subtle. But… yeah. He’s different. The way he looks at people now. Like he’s trying to measure them. Or categorize them. Like he’s always one step out of the room, even when he’s standing right in front of you.”

Harry frowns. “He used to be so-”

“Present.” You complete it for him. “Yeah.”

‘He is not like us,’ the voice says. ‘But he is not human either. We do not trust him.’

You brush your thumb across your temple. “The suit doesn’t like him.”

Harry blinks. “Seriously?”

You nod. “Every time I see him, it tenses. Like it’s on alert. And it never does that around you. Even when you were poking at me like I was a science fair project.”

“I was gentle.”

You grin faintly. “Barely.”

Then your grin fades.

You gaze into your water glass for a time. “There’s something he’s not telling me.”

Harry’s voice is soft. “You think it’s about you?”

“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “It’s not about me. It’s in him. Something deeper. Something he’s burying. But the craziest part? I think he’s scared.”

“Of what?”

You glance up. “Of what happens if I find out.”

Harry exhales. “That’s… a hell of a thing to feel coming from your boyfriend.”

You snort. “Was.”

“You’re still calling it quits?”

You shrug again, like you don’t care. “We haven’t even said it out loud. Just stopped talking. Like the universe hit pause.”

Harry studies you. “So what happened? Really?”

You push your nails into your hand. “I think he knows who I am.”

Harry leans forward, frowning. “You mean-?”

“I think he knows I’m Spider-Woman.”

The words weigh thick in the air. You wait for Harry to speak, but he doesn’t. So you keep going.

“The last time I saw him, I said something…something I said once, back when I was on patrol. When I fought the Flaxans.” Your voice lowers. “Mark’s face changed. Just for a second. Like he connected it. Like it all clicked.”

Harry breathes out slowly. “And he didn’t say anything.”

“Nope. He just… looked at me. And I felt like I was being studied.”

‘He hides too much,’ the voice hisses. ‘We should break him open. Find the truth in his bones.’

You shake your head.

“It’s not that he doesn’t trust me,” you remark. “It’s that he thinks he does. But he’s lying to himself.”

Harry sits back. “You think he’s dangerous?”

You pause. Then.

“…I think he’s trying really hard not to be.”

And somehow, that’s worse.

Harry’s eyes flick to yours. “Do you still love him?”

The question hits you harder than you anticipate. You swallow. Look away.

“…I think I miss what I thought we were.”

Harry doesn’t push. Just sits there. Steady. Like he usually does.

You look at the window, eyes unfocused. “You ever get that feeling that someone’s not who they say they are, but the second you ask, you know it’s all gonna fall apart?”

“All the time,” he says. “I lived with Norman Osborn, remember?”

You puff out a faint chuckle.

He nudges your elbow. “If you want my advice, which I know you don’t, you should talk to him.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe he needs you too. Not Spider-Woman. You.”

You go silent. Venom stirs beneath your ribs.

‘We do not trust him. But if you must communicate with him… we will observe. Closely.’

You sigh. “Maybe.”

Harry leans back in his chair. “Whatever happens, just don’t let him convince you that you’re the problem.”

You gaze at him.

“Because you’re not,” he adds. “You’re… surviving.”

You grin faintly. “You’re too nice.”

“No,” he says. “I just remember who you were before the black goo. You were strong. Scared out of your mind, yet powerful. And I think that girl’s still in there. I guess she’s got teeth now.”

You laugh. Not bitter. Real. For once. And when the calm falls again, it’s not heavy. It just feels like breathing.

The closet light hums above you, dull and warm. It casts a faint golden glow across the scattered mess of your gear, gloves slung over a dresser handle, boots half-zipped, the half-shredded sleeve of your old Spider-Woman suit still hanging like a ghost from a chair you haven’t sat in all week.

You move like muscle memory’s all you’ve got left. Black leggings. Reinforced boots. Sleeveless compression shirt pulled over your ribs like armor. And the hoodie, Harry’s, still smelling like him, gets tossed to the bed in a heap.

There’s a mirror near the corner, but you avoid it. You always do lately. You know what’s in it. The way your reflection twitches sometimes, even when you’re standing still. The way your eyes flash black when your thoughts stray toward hunger. Toward rage. Toward him.

Mark.

God. Just thinking his name makes your jaw tighten.

You reach for your gloves and tug them on, flexing your fingers. The material’s reinforced now. Not like before. Before, you still cared if people saw bruises on your knuckles.

Not anymore. Not when the people who used to hold your hands don’t call anymore.

‘You think of him too much,’ Venom murmurs. ‘He hides things. He lies. We could take the truth from him.’

You sigh through your nose. “Yeah. That’d go over real well.”

‘You protect people. He watches you. Pretends not to see.’

You walk to the window and crack it open. The city roars beneath you, traffic, sirens, a thousand lights flickering in a thousand different apartments. All of it humming, alive, dirty. Just like you.

Harry’s voice floats in from the hallway. “You sure you want to go out tonight?”

You glance over your shoulder as he steps into the room. He’s barefoot, wearing a threadbare shirt that clings to his ribs. The kind he used to wear to crash on your couch when life got too loud. You don’t answer right away.

Then. “Yeah.”

Harry leans against the doorway, watching you grab your mask off the dresser.

“It’s just…you’ve barely slept. You haven’t even let the bruises on your back heal.”

You smirk. “And here I thought you liked seeing me like this. All battered and emotionally unavailable.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t deflect.”

You pause mid-motion. Lower the mask.

“…I have to go.”

“Why?”

You swallow. Because you don’t have an answer that makes sense. Not out loud. Because you don’t want to sit here waiting for Mark to show up. Or call. Or say something that makes it all make sense again. Because the voice in your head only grows louder when you’re still. Because some part of you still believes that saving strangers is the closest you’ll ever get to saving yourself.

“…Because someone out there might need me.”

Harry’s face softens.

“You ever think maybe you’re the one who needs something?”

You walk toward him, slow, the mask dangling from your fingertips.

“I need to feel useful,” you say. “I need to hit something that deserves it. I need to stop thinking about him. And you—you need to stop looking at me like you’re afraid I’m not coming back.”

Harry doesn’t flinch. “I’m not afraid of you not coming back. I’m afraid of who’s gonna walk in if it’s not you anymore.”

That hits harder than you expect. You look down. Then back up.

“…I’m still me.”

“You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

You step closer. So close you can smell the coffee on his breath. “If I wasn’t me, I wouldn’t still be here.”

Harry���s jaw works, but he doesn’t speak. He just… nods. Like he’s not sure if he believes you, but he’s willing to pretend for your sake. You pull the mask on. The fabric’s softer now. Adjusted. Redesigned to flex when the symbiote moves beneath it.

It covers your face, but not your eyes. You can still look him in the eye. And you do.

“You see something weird on the news,” you murmur, “call me.”

He nods again. “I always do.”

You turn to the window. Venom shifts under your skin, stretching like a cat preparing to pounce. Eager. Restless. Almost… happy to be moving again.

‘Finally. We hunt.’

You step onto the ledge. The air bites your skin. The wind claws at your arms. The city opens up below. And somewhere out there, Mark is still lying to you. Or hiding. Or watching. You don’t know which one hurts more. You take a deep breath. And jump.

The wind snaps at you as you swing across rooftops, momentum carrying you forward in long, soundless arcs. The suit crawls over your clothes, to you, alive and fluid, catching you when you falter. Enhancing your reach. Strengthening your muscles.

Every shadow feels like a warning. Every heartbeat feels like a countdown. You hit a rooftop and stop, crouching low, eyes scanning the streets. You can feel it, even before you see anything. Trouble.

A robbery two blocks over. Two masked men dragging a shop owner by the collar. One of them shoves a pistol into his chest. You grin beneath the mask.

‘Let’s play.’

You launch forward again, silent and smooth. And as you descend on them, you stop thinking about Mark. Just for a moment. You stop feeling anything at all. Except power. 

Blood on pavement. Not yours. The two muggers are down, breathing, twitching, but barely. One has a fractured wrist and a web cocoon attaching him to a trash. The other is suffering from a dislocated shoulder and what could be two fractured ribs. You’re standing over them, gathering your breath, chest heaving. The mask’s mouth pulled apart just enough for you to breathe through your teeth. Venom is calm, contented, vibrating through your limbs like an engine still idling.

‘They will not try it again,’ the voice replies, amused. ‘We taught them a lesson. We are teachers now. Educators of pain.’

“Could’ve left a little less blood,” you whisper.

‘We could have eaten them.’

You roll your eyes. “We’re not eating anyone.”

‘Just a bite?’

“No.”

You turn away from the alley, vault up a fire escape in two leaps, and land on the rooftop like you were born with talons. The moon casts silver lines over the buildings, making the shadows long and sharp. You squat low on the edge, looking for more action, more crimes, more reasons to keep going.

But your neck itches. You feel it before you see it, like a gut-deep tug behind your ribs. A presence. No, not one. Several. You twist just in time to hear the quiet whirr of hovercraft turbines.

Shit.

A spotlight flashes on overhead, nearly blinding you. You slip backward, shroud of darkness fading under white-hot artificial light. Reflexively, the symbiote surges up your spine, curving over your neck and mouth like a shield. A voice resonates from above.

“Spider-Woman. Stand down.”

You don’t recognize it. But you don’t need to.

GDA.

You’re already moving.

A shock round smacks into the rooftop behind you. The concrete splinters. You leap from the ledge, web-line grabbing a rusting balcony across the alley. You swing hard, make it halfway before a second shot blasts past your ear.

‘They are not here to talk.’

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You land on a rooftop two buildings over, roll to your feet, speed for the next ledge, and run right into a containment net that wasn’t there a second ago. It bursts open around you, sticky with electromagnetic pulses that flare and hiss the instant the symbiote touches it. You scream through clamped teeth as anguish floods your nerves.

‘GET US OUT!’

You press your claws into the roofing and rip through the mesh with a blast of venom-black muscle. The net shreds like wet paper. You stumble, panting, and spin. Three GDA officers are waiting at the far edge of the roof. Full tactical gear. Visors down. Sonic weapons aiming at your head.

The one in front advances forward, voice calm through his helmet. “You need to come with us.”

Your eyes narrow under the mask.

“I don’t take orders from guys who sneak up on me like cowards.”

“Directive came from high command. You’re a threat. We’ve been given two options, confinement, or neutralization.”

You tilt your head. “You really gonna try both in the same sentence?”

“We’re not here to kill you.”

You smile behind the mask. “Sure sounds like you’re not not here to kill me.”

Venom snarls in your throat. Black mass flows across your arms, your fists, your shoulders.

‘We kill them now. Rip and scatter. They will learn.’

You grit your teeth.

“You’re not gonna take me in. You know that, right?”

“Then you leave us no choice.”

The first one shoots. You move. Too quick. The shot grazes your shoulder but the suit absorbs most of it, crackling. You leap, flip, drive your heel into the nearest one’s jaw before he can react. His visor cracks. He stumbles backward.

The second one swings his weapon like a club. You dive under it, throw your elbow into his belly, turn him around and web his feet to the ground. The third attempts to backpedal. You’re already there. A black tendril comes out from your side, snatches his weapon, smashes it in your palm. Then you take him by the vest, shove him into a vent.

Hard. Not enough to kill. Just enough to hurt. He moans and crumples. You step back, breathing hard, heart banging into your ribs.

‘You should’ve let us finish it.’

You bend over the unconscious officer, checking his pulse.

He’s alive. Barely. But that’s enough.

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

‘Next time, they won’t offer us an option.’

You lurch backward, eyes leaping to the roofs above. More drones. Two, maybe three. Watching. Recording.

You curse under your breath. You know you’ve been tagged now. This wasn’t a warning. It was a test.

The new wave had no idea what hit them.

They came fast, black vans, VTOLs, ropes dropped from rooftops like spider silk, armed to the teeth but empty of insight. You were already moving by the time the first one fired. Reflex. Rage. Instinct. Now, ten minutes later, the rooftop is a graveyard of broken armor and half-conscious groans.

You walk through the smoke.

Boots crunch over shattered visors, bent batons, and puddles of someone else’s blood. You don’t speak. You don’t need to. The symbiote vibrates across your back, alert, humming like it’s waiting for the next hit of violence.

‘They didn’t bring fire. Didn’t bring sound. Just bodies to throw. Like kindling.’

“They thought they were hunters.”

‘They are meat.’

You crouch beside the last one twitching, helmet cracked, armor splintered across his ribs. You tap his chest once with your finger. Hard enough to sting. Not hard enough to kill. Yet.

He flinches anyway.

“They send you out here without knowing what I am?”

No answer. Just a groan. You lean in closer, voice low.

“They want to box me up. Cage me. Figure out what makes me tick.” You pause. “Tell Cecil something for me-”

‘Tell him we’re awake now.’

You web him to the floor with a flick of your wrist and turn away. The suit ripples, climbing up your arms, muscles tightening under your skin like drawn cables. You stretch your fingers, black claws emerging at your knuckles.

‘More coming.’

You stop. Beneath the rhythm of your own pulse, you hear it.

‘Boots. Fast. Heavy.’

A new wave.

You smile.

‘Round two.’

They hit harder this time.

Rappel lines cut into the wind. A fresh drop team lands across the opposite rooftop, spreading out in a practiced formation, twenty, maybe thirty. Snipers take up perches above, laser sights combing the smoke.

And for a heartbeat, everything holds.

Then you run straight at them. A flash of black. They shout orders, rifles up. But they’re slow. You’re already inside their ranks, slamming one into the rooftop hard enough to crack the concrete. Another swings his baton, you duck under it, uppercut with a tendril-wrapped fist that sends him flying into a wall.

Three more surround you. You twist, grabbing the first by the collar, lifting him over your head and hurling him into his teammates like a wrecking ball of bone and armor.

Someone yells, “Pull back—SHE’S IN THE AIR-”

You launch yourself upward, tendrils bursting from your back mid-jump, slamming into a sniper tower and ripping the guard rail free. One sniper fires as he falls. The shot grazes your shoulder. Pain slices through you. And it feels good.

‘Let us show them real pain.’

You drop down in a full-body slam that cracks the rooftop beneath your feet. Debris flies outward. The nearest six agents are thrown back instantly. You grab one as he tries to crawl away, web him to the ground, then rip his rifle in half and hurl it off the roof.

Another squad closes in. They never touch you. You shift mid-run, Venom spiking into armored plating across your forearms, your fists becoming clubs. You hit two with a wide sweep, helmets crunch, visors explode. The third grabs your arm. You let him. Tendrils spiral up your elbow and snap his wrist backward, then toss him like trash.

‘Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Getting bored.’

You spin midair, webs catching the edge of a billboard, swing, twist, land hard on another rooftop where reinforcements are already waiting.

This time, you don’t pause. You leap into them like a warhead. Someone screams as a tendril wraps around his neck, yanking him into the air.

“Wait—WAIT—she’s not supposed to be this-”

You silence him with a palm to the face, slamming him into the concrete with a wet crack. Someone else runs. You web his legs, yank him backward, drag him screaming through broken glass.

‘No more games.’

You stand there, heart pounding, surrounded by the fallen. Fifty, at least. They came with gear. With numbers. With orders. But they didn’t come ready. You’re not breathing heavy. Not anymore. The suit is still pulsing. But slower now. Resting.

‘They’ll send more.’

You whisper, “Let them.” Then something changes. A low hum fills the air, not mechanical. Turbines. Big ones. You look up. And there, cutting through the dark, a ship.

Not a van. Not a drone. Not GDA. You know the silhouette. Your body shifts without thinking, mask sealing fully, tendrils rising. Another shadow passes overhead. You feel it. A presence. Weight. Power.

‘Guardians.’

You take a slow step back.

A shadow descends through the clouds, broad-shouldered. Gleaming. Bulletproof. And where he goes, the others follow. Dupli-Kate. Black Samson. Shrinking Rae. Shapes slicing through the fog like knives.

Your jaw tightens.

‘They sent heroes.’

“They’re late.”

‘They’ll learn.’

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

“Fifty confirmed incapacitated,” a tech reports. “Eighteen with critical injuries. Some are missing.”

Cecil doesn’t blink. He watches the feed from a drone barely clinging to the skyline. The image is shaky, but it’s clear enough. You. Standing over the wreckage. A god in black. Breathing. Waiting.

“She escalated.”

“No,” Cecil murmurs. “We did.”

He reaches for the comm.

“Status on the Guardians?”

“They’re en route now. Two minutes out.”

“Tell them…” He hesitates.

Then. “Tell them this isn’t a takedown. This is a test.”

The tech blinks. “Sir?”

“Find out if she can be stopped,” Cecil says quietly.

“And if she can’t?”

Cecil watches you leap off the rooftop like gravity means nothing. Then he turns.

“…Then we pray she doesn’t decide to burn the rest of the city down.”

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

current taglist: @adeptusxia0 / @moonjellyfishie / @ladynoirx321 / @moraxussy / @saturnalya / @the-good-kooshe / @atomspidyr / @iansimpsforeveryone / @luvvcharxo / @jiyeons-closet / @weponxwrites / @xzmickeyzx / @heiankyonoeiyuukun / @edgycatx / @oxymorondemon / @bluerrie / @swtheartz / @maxi-ride / @nightmarewasteland / @hot15936 / @rotinginmybed / @deleted-1-800 / @thehumanradio17 / @mhrasm / @yzzaqczec / @pickledsoda / @qxuanii / @tr3nzit444s / @ketsuekiakane / @jiminie-08 / @thatwaspossesion / @xoyumiqls / @liliesclouds / @maki-ki / @wifeofmarkgrayson / @pixviee / @sugawoonie / @uselesstutor09 / @marinefreaakk / @monaekelis / @woodle-isbae / @simping4l1fe / @wasitforrevenge

[aquasoftware]

𖦹 NOW LET’S GET IN FORMATION!! ☆

Nerd!jo x Majorette!reader (suggestive on one/fluff) + ML

A/n: Satoru kinda implied a comp sci major/Black reader in mind, but everyone is free to read!!

÷ Nerd!Satoru who never misses a single one of your performances EVER!

⛤ He’s the loudest person in the crowd wearing your team colors, yelling shit like: “THAT’S MY GIRL”

“LOOK AT HER GO!!”

“YOU’RE DOING AMAZING BABY!” (Whole time you’re not dating him yet.)

⛤ Some mildly annoyed people in the crowd have to tell him to shut up.

⛤ He records every routine, adding silly little filters on the video, or doing boomerangs to post to his story.

⛤ He sometimes goes on facebook live during your halftimes just to get a solid four viewers.

÷ Nerd!Satoru who programs things for you.

⛤ Makes a whole custom countdown app (even if he could just go to his pre-installed reminder app on his iphone) that alerts him before your performances so he never forgets.

⛤ One time you mentioned needing a playlist for practice, but he’s too extra to just have his girl using spotify so he coded a whole-music app where you can queue songs with simple voice commands.

÷ Nerd!Satoru who hates coming outside until you take him to your practices.

⛤ The first time he sees you perform up close he’s stunned because of your body control, the uniform, the facial expressions when you dance, he’s obsessed with everything about it.

⛤ His pervy ass nearly drools when he watches you do a death drop or a split.

“Damn Y/n, you think you can do that on—”

“Toru I swear if you finish that sentence.”

÷ Nerd!Satoru who has you tutor him in social situations.

⛤ You have to teach him how to flirt without sounding like an avid reddit user.

⛤ Forces him to actually text people back instead of ghosting for 12 hours.

⛤ You teach him how to flirt without sounding like a Reddit mod, even if he doesn’t wanna flirt with anyone else but you.

⛤ Meanwhile, he teaches you how to code (or tries to).

⛤ You attempt to follow along, but end up doodling hearts around his notes instead.

⛤ He catches you and gets way too smug about it.

“Aww, you’re thinking about me? That’s so cute.”

“Boy bye, nobody thinking about you.”

÷ Nerd!Satoru who loves when his majorette best friend seems lovestruck when you have an “Oh shit, he’s kinda fine.” moment.

⛤ You’ve always seen Satoru as your nerdy/dorky, lazy guy friend, but one day he actually dresses up (no hoodies, no glasses, hair trimmed & styled) and you almost malfunction.

⛤ He absolutely notices how hard you smile when you try to be subtle by saying “I see you Toru!”

“Wait, do you actually think I’m hot? Stop, I'm blushing.”

“Satoru shut up before I break your neck.”

“You’d never. I’m too cute.” (You got him feeling himself now)

÷ Nerd!Satoru who asks you to be his girlfriend by programming a whole website, it’ll say “Will you be my girlfriend?” with only two options that say “Yes or yes!”

⛤ When you call him out on it he just shrugs.

“Satoru there’s only a yes option…”

“Guess that means we’re practically married now”

÷ Nerd!Satoru who gets on your nerves daily, but he’s also your biggest supporter.

⛤ He hypes you up, calls you the prettiest, most talented majorette alive, and always makes sure you know how proud he is of you.

⛤ He’s also your personal chauffeur when you’re too tired from practice.

⛤ Drives you home, lets you nap in his lap, rants about nerdy shit while playing with your hair.

Bonus: Whenever you have a bad day from your coach, maybe being too harsh on you he makes sure to cheer you up with corny little jokes or he’ll do your assignments for you to take the load off your shoulders. <3

Divider/Boarder creds | enchanthings-a & enchanthings.

REBLOGS ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED!!! thank u

[daenysx]

tangerine and misunderstanding trope 🥺? i love how you write him!

-send me drabble requests!

tangerine x fem!reader

It hurts more than you think it would. The messages he didn't reply, the missed calls, the invitations to your apartment he didn't even respond to.

Maybe you were fooling yourself.

You don't let yourself fall into self pity, though. Tangerine is not your boyfriend. He's not, right? Because to be your boyfriend, he should've done something about it. Instead he's been ghosting your efforts to reach out.

You think being hurt over a man who's not your boyfriend is a terrible thing. For many reasons.

He is your something, though. You really like him. You like his deep blue eyes, his kind smile, his stupid jokes, and his frown. You like how soft he seems to be next to you, how his lips curl upwards when he talks about Lemon, how his hands always find yours under any table. You don't want to let this go. You just wish him to try a little, at least.

And, you know what? Fuck him, if he doesn't. Maybe he's not the man you met, maybe he's changed. Maybe he doesn't have enough courage to come and say he doesn't want anything to do with you. Maybe he's just a coward who doesn't know how to end something that didn't even start.

You wish you could stop liking this coward so much.

The day goes on just like any others. You come home earlier, luckily taking the emptier bus and buying some much needed groceries. You settle down on your evening routine easily, a nice shower and dinner afterwards, picking up something to watch as you mindlessly scroll on your phone. The couch is comfy under your body as you get a book in your hand, minutes slipping quickly, you think you can fall asleep here tonight.

Someone knocks on the door.

You flinch, sleep leaving your body immediately. No one called you before coming over, who's at the door? You walk slowly, trying to get a glimpse of the person outside with your hand on your heart.

It's him.

Is it too late to pretend to be asleep? No, you're not running away from this. You're having this conversation, what is he doing here anyway? He doesn't even have the decency to let you know before he comes over. You open the door with a rush of anger in your chest.

"Hey, darlin'," Tangerine says. Is that blood on his hands? "Sorry, were you sleeping?"

You shake your head, trying to get your mind work properly. "You didn't call."

He looks sorry. He should look sorry, actually. You didn't deserve any of it.

"Can I come in?" he asks. You let him take a few steps inside. He follows you to the living room, leaving his suit jacket on the side of the couch with practiced movements. It suddenly hurts how he looks like he belongs here. How he acts like it.

"Where have you been?" you ask without thinking. "You didn't answer my calls for days."

You don't care if you sound pathetic. He really worried you.

"I apologise," he begins. "I- I lost my phone on a business meeting and couldn't get a new one, I still don't have one actually, didn't have time to-"

This sounds like a shitty excuse and you talk before you can stop yourself.

"You know what- don't explain. I mean you don't have to. I'm not your girlfriend, so it's none of my business. I was just thinking you'd at least say something real. Something that sounds like a proper excuse."

"Wha- What do you mean you're not my girlfriend?" Tangerine asks. He looks genuinely confused.

You part your lips, then close them. He does surprising things tonight.

"I mean, we never made that clear, did we?" you say, slowly. "And to be honest, it's worse if you think I'm your girlfriend and still ghosted my texts for days."

"I didn't- Look, I'm sorry if this sounds like a fucked up explanation, but I'm telling the truth. I-" he takes a deep breath. "I never properly told you what I do for work, and it was wrong of me, but I was afraid that if you know- you'd never want to see me again."

You know bits and pieces about his job, you think you don't care about it now, though. You can get over it probably, but being hurt by him and feeling like he ignored you all this time is harder to accept.

"I really did think we were in a relationship," he says. His eyes are- oh, fuck him. They look so beautiful under this light, all wide and somehow innocent, he's telling the truth. "I promise, I didn't ghost your calls. I tried to do better, but I- I'm really sorry."

You take his hand. He looks at you like he's lost in all the emotions. Tangerine is not used to this, to have someone other than Lemon who worries about him and he clearly doesn't know how to make his thoughts on relationships clear. You know things don't work well over assumptions, but it doesn't look hard to fix them. You really like him. Like him enough to forgive him when he's telling the truth and rub your thumb on the back of his hand.

"Do you want me to be your girlfriend?" you ask, bravely. Things are gonna be okay, you believe.

"Of course," he replies. It's a risk, but he's made for worse of them. "More than anything."

"Okay," you say, nodding with a nice smile on your face. "But if we're gonna start this properly, we need to communicate. I don't wanna lose my mind over doubting if you like me enough to reply my texts."

He holds you, unable to stop himself from kissing your forehead. An untold apology lingers in the air. You like having Tangerine in your space.

"I like you more than enough," he says. "I know I don't deserve it, but I'm a lucky bastard that you even care to give me a chance. I'll try to be better, yeah? Really, I'll do better."

You kiss him, it's a good one for your first kiss as lovers. You squeeze his hand in yours, he kisses you back with a rush of big emotions. He's gonna carry them well, though. He has to, otherwise he'd never forgive himself.

"You can tell me all about your job when you get cleaned up in the bathroom," you tell him. "Maybe I'm being an idiot for starting a relationship with a guy when I barely know what he does for work, but I'm gonna take that risk."

Tangerine likes risks. He likes the idea of someone taking risks for him, it's a delicious feeling on his chest. He promises to be honest. Anything comes after, is a risk for him to take.

He lets you take him to the bathroom.

[the-original-skipps]

|| Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine x Reader || Headcanons || Honkai Star Rail ||

you guys voted so here it is! I tried to write it without the yandere but I couldn’t lol also I got another yandere pirate aven where’s he’s alive if yall wanna check that out

HUMAN VER.

CW: slight sexual content. forced relations. major yandereness. ghost possession. non-consensual touching. mentions of death & the afterlife.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who feels himself standing by death's door but doesn’t want to actually die. He thought he’d be able to accept it or welcome it even - it’s what he’s always wanted; to be free from this cursed life but images of you flash through his mind as he takes his last breaths.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who before he completely loses himself to the beckoning darkness, silently pleads for death not to take him. There’s so many things he wants to see, to accomplish, that lost treasure he’s yet to find - but most of all he wants to remain beside you longer.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who realizes his luck somewhat saved him again as he’s now a ghost. He’s disappointed that he no longer has a mortal form, completely phasing through any physical object. He also no longer feels urges like hunger or sleep but one urge still remains within him. The urge to see you again.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who leaves the cold waters of the ocean to roam the mortal realm to try to find you again. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he died, he’s not sure if you’re even alive but he needs some closure. Maybe if you’ve died, he hopes that by gaining that knowledge there will be no more lingering regrets tying him to this world. He’d pass on, hopefully to see you in the afterlife. Though he doubts that sinners like him wouldn’t end up in the same place as you.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who has supposedly died but is somehow here in your very living room. After an excruciating long time, he manages to find you alive and well. He looks the same as the last time you’ve seen him except now his fingers have turned blue. Ghostly blue orbs floating around him as he smiles at you gleefully.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who decides to bind himself to you. It’s the whole reason he’s still alive right? The gods he never believed in - they’ve heard his pitiful last wish to remain by your side. They’ve granted it to him! He’ll remain by your side until death comes knocking at your door too. Then you’d be together forever right?

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who’s just as mischievous and teasing as when he was still alive but only this time you can’t do anything against him. He’d play countless pranks to scare you - delighting in your frightened expressions. He’ll randomly appear behind you, make objects float around you and purposely make sounds late into the night to frighten you into not sleeping. Don’t sleep, he’s awfully lonely when you do that.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who spends every single second attached to your side. Even if you’re at home or outside in town - he’s there floating around you. Not only is he always there, he also never stops talking. He can’t help it, he’s got no one else to talk to and you’re the only one who can see him.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who likes to whisper distracting and sometimes dirty things in your ear when you talk to other people. Making it hard to concentrate and for the other person to look at you weirdly. Because why are you glancing at something behind them? There’s nothing there right? Right?

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who asks - borderline pleading for you to let him possess you. It’s been awfully long since he’s done anything besides being glued to you. You don’t always respond to him either, choosing to ignore him, he needs something else to do. So he constantly asks you to the point of annoyance to give up your body for him. Which one day succeeds because you’re tired of listening to him - even when you’re trying to sleep he doesn’t leave you alone. A decision you’d come to regret.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who immediately breaks the rules you’ve set for him once he’s possessed your body. He can’t help it, there are just so many things he’s always wanted to see you do but you keep refusing to. So he uses this opportunity to make you pull different faces and say things you’d normally not say for his amusement. Is it weird to feel his heart fluttering when he makes you say things like you love him, that you only need him - even though he’s the one who’s controlling your body to do these things?

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine after being deprived of you for so long, wants to play with your body. He’s missed you deeply, the sight of your bare skin reflected in the mirror inducing excitement within him - your body. It’s a strange feeling he must admit as he runs your hands through your body, wanting to know what makes you tick. He can’t help it, he wants to know everything about you, especially what makes you feel good. As your hand inches closer to your most sensitive parts, Aventurine thinks to himself. You wouldn’t mind if he played a little right? Your body would definitely enjoy it.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who had to forcibly peel himself from the mirror finally heads into town to indulge himself. He doesn’t want to spend the money you painstakingly made so he has to earn some himself. Aventurine in your body hits up the largest tavern in town to gamble. It didn’t take long for him to sweep the table clean of riches, all for his taking. The usual accusations of cheating happens, and a fight breaks out. The last thing he wants to do is to get injuries on your precious body so he ends the fight quickly and cleanly. He has some shopping to do after.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who lays down beside you on your bed after enjoying a night out in town. As much as he enjoyed possessing you, he misses your actual presence. So, he lays there beside you until you wake up. When you do, you almost jump out of your skin with how close his face is to yours. You feel as if you’ve gone into the deepest sleep, not remembering anything after you gave Aventurine permission to possess you. You immediately ask him what happened and what he’s done while he controlled your body. Only for him to give you a teasing smile. Which makes you horrified and confused as to what he’s done. Also as to why your room is filled with ribboned boxes.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine as days goes by starts to become more possessive of you - wanting to monopolize you. He keeps track of the people in your life, who they are and what they mean to you. He wants to get rid of them one by one until you have him remaining. So, don’t be so surprised to hear that your friends want nothing to do with you anymore - or if the person who was seemingly interested in you disappears. Oh, they got into a tragic accident? How unfortunate! Don’t look at him like he didn’t do anything or so he wants you to believe.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who’s starting to miss touching and holding you like he used to when he was still alive. At this point he’s starving for the feel of your skin on his hands again. He ponders if he should possess someone to make that happen but he doesn’t want anyone else’s hands to touch you even if he’s in control of it. He’ll just have to find some other way then. He’s heard rumors of a sea witch who supposedly grants people’s wishes. Maybe he’ll pay her a visit?

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who contemplates every now and then when you’d die. If you died would you also become a ghost? He ponders this question a lot in his abundant free time. What if you just pass on? There are too many uncertainties, he needs to find the answer. When the time comes you’ll gladly join him right? No? Well, he has ways to make it happen whether you’re willing or not. Only then would you both be truly bound to each other, beyond life and death. 

[the-palelady]

CAN I PLZ HAVE SOME HUNTER GHOST MAID READER HCS???? IM OBSESSED

anything for you my love! ( •̀ ω •́ )♡

cw ; brief mentions of blood

hunter!ghost is silent as he comes and goes through cainhurst castle, not even speaking to queen annalise, but he’ll stop to speak with you

your focus tends to be drawn to whatever is in front of you whether that be wiping dust from the candelabras, sweeping the floors, or brushing away the patches of snow that build up on the flower boxes outside

ghost likes to catch you off guard, finding your little yelps or squeals endearing

when the two of you first met, you were far too shy to say anything, instead cautiously watching him as he sauntered off with an amused glimmer in his eyes

but now that you are much more familiar with the hunter’s presence, you instead turn to playfully smack his arm, “what if thou possessed a weapon?!”

“lil’ dove like ya would never think twice to carry a weapon.”

ghost is a hunter. of course he’s clever, astute. so he knows how to roam about the palace undetected, and he uses this to his advantage

you could be completely immersed in your daily tasks, unaware that the hunter is lurking within the shadows literally 2 steps to your left or right, maybe right behind you

ghost enjoys watching how concentrated you are when it comes to your work, your brows pinching as you try to rub an extra tough stain out of the curtains or the secret little curses you let slip when you drop the laundry

despite how frail and soft you might look, you are a spitfire

ghost could return late one night from an extra bloody fight, tracking in blood and remnants of pieces of beasts flesh that stick to his coat

and you’re right there at the big double doors, hounding the hulking hunter with a broom in one hand and a feather duster in the other, the two pointed at him as if to intimidate him

he thought it was cute honestly

“milady wouldst be furious if thou sees the hall in such disarray!!!”

you would force him into the guest chambers, grabbing at his hunter’s garb and tearing it from his body piece by piece (making sure to keep the filth off of the rugs of course)

you’d have a warm bath already prepared for him, something you had started doing the first night he had come back to the castle from a hunt

ghost would never admit that it was what he looked forward to the most when returning

the water smelt of lavender, the warmth of it immediately soothing him as soon as he stepped foot into the wash tub

and you were always there, like the dove you were, nimble fingers rubbing out the knots in his shoulders and upper back

sometimes you’d secretly make him silly hats with the bubbles

“wha’s goin’ on back there?”

“n-nothing! nothing!”

he’d relax back while you continue to giggle, your nails dragging delicately along his scalp and working the soap in before rinsing it out

when you were done, you’d stand in an attempt to give him his privacy, knowing the mental and physical toll that being a hunter had to have on him. who wouldn’t want their privacy after such a long night?

but he’d reach out before you could step away, his beast like hands wrapping around the circumference of your wrist and pulling you back to sit on your stool

he’d ask you about your day although he knew you had a routine that was hardly ever broken

however, you indulged him anyway, rambling on about your day despite how miniscule it was compared to what he did

in the mornings, he can’t help but crack a smile at the neatly folded clothes that you’ve left him at the end of his bed

the subtle scent of you lingers along the the fabrics, and after a fight he’ll sometimes catch a whiff of you, the smell calming him more than the oils you use in his baths ever could

you live in this man’s head (i’m talking rent free) 24/7

he seeks you out like a lost puppy when he doesn’t have beasts to hunt, you becoming his sole source of entertainment

you’d huff and puff in annoyance as he follows you up and down the halls, simply just watching you clean

sometimes queen annalise will spot you whacking him on the head with your feather duster (the feather part of course)

it’s just been you and the queen for so long, so you secretly enjoy having ghost here, his presence a breath of fresh air

and he feels the same about you, your smile awakening something in his cold heart

sometimes he’ll steal a quick peck on the lips from you while you’re yelling about him making a mess, and you’ll go silent immediately, a look of shock and exasperation on your face

“cat go’ ya tongue, love?”

[gezelligs-world]

Crawling Back To You

(Bada Lee x Fem!OC)

Summary: After break up, Sara tried to move on by attempting to have another relationship with a guy. But Sara still can’t forget about a certain girl that always haunts her mind like a ghost.

Reminder: This work is purely based on the author’s imagination.

Warning: slight NSFW

“Hey Sara, you’re getting off early?” Sara looked towards her coworker, Min-ju who is still busy typing on her desktop. She replied politely as she put her belongings inside her bag.

“Yes, I’m afraid so…” Sara contemplates whether or not she will tell the truth. Min-ju has been an acquaintance of hers for several months now, she’s sure she heard her reason from others several times already considering how long Min-ju has been working here in this company.

“I have a date today.” Min-ju stopped typing and turned towards Sara with a smile.

“Really? That’s amazing. You finally told yourself to have a date with someone. A guy or a gal?” Sara looked down and back to Min-ju.

“A guy. A really nice one.” Sara smiled as she zipped her handbag and put it over her shoulder. She stood up and was about to turn and walk away but Min-ju’s words stopped her from making any further movements.

“I’m glad you finally got over her. Separating in good terms is one of the worst breakups out there. I understand why it took you so long to try and be with someone else.” If only emotions can speak, it’s already speaking gibberish out of Sara’s body. Sara turned to Min-ju’s direction and smiled politely.

“Thank you, Min-ju. You’re such a great… friend.” Sara bowed lightly and walked away. Not bothering to see what was Min-ju’s expression behind her pause.

Sara walked outside her company building, not forgetting to smile politely at her colleagues. She walked at the parking lot and saw a gray Honda car with a decent guy leaning towards the side. Kang-ho.

She met him when she is drinking herself out at a bar. They talked and it somehow led to exchanging socials, with Sara drunk. Kang-ho is a proof that they indeed live in a small world because she found out that he is a friend of a friend. A magna cum laude, an engineer, handsome, masculine— who wouldn’t want him?

“Ready to go?” Sara smiled at his question and nodded. Kang-ho smiled back and opened the door for her.

“So— where are we going?” Sara asked as she buckled her seatbelt.

“Don’t worry. You’re going to love it.” Kang-ho reassured, checking on her if she had already buckled her seatbelt. Once secured, Kang-ho started the engine.

Sara looked through the window as she admired the busy streets of Seoul. Seoul is a noisy city but she once loved it. Once loved it.

Cities like this can be her comfort but also her hell. It’s a small world after all. Millions of people walk around the busy streets and sidewalks every day. You can either walk past them or perhaps bump into them that will somehow turn to a good friend in the near future— maybe even a lover.

Flashback

“I know! I know! I’m on my way!” Sara exclaimed through the phone as she jogged over the busy streets of Seoul. People don’t even care when she went past through them. This is probably a common scenario to them. Her steps paused when the pedestrian signal is in red mode.

“Come on… come on…” She bit her lips with her heels continuously making a stepping sound on the ground. Once the signal turned green, Sara immediately jogged to cross the pedestrian line.

Sara smiled in satisfaction when she finally got over to the other side as if she won the first place trophy.

“Not so bad—” Sara gasped when she felt a hard body bumped into her.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” Sara exclaimed when she saw the stranger’s coffee got splashed all over the stranger’s clothes.

“Nah, it’s fi… ne” The stranger looked up to Sara’s face and her mouth suddenly shut. A foreigner.

“Ma’am?” Sara asked which made the stranger went out of her mind’s floatiness. Thank goodness— she speaks korean.

“Yes yes— sorry. You just speak korean so well despite you being a foreigner.” The stranger complimented Sara which made her chuckled.

“I’ve been here for five years now. Learned the language in a hard way.” Sara half jokingly said.

“Can I give you money for your laundry? I felt bad for your clothes.” Sara looked at the stranger’s white button up shirt that is stained with coffee.

“Oh no. It’s alright—” The stranger shook her hands in disagreement but got cut off by Sara.

“I insist. Please. Just give me your name and number, I’ll send the money.” The stranger thought for a moment and finally agreed.

“The name’s Bada. Bada Lee.”

“Sara?” Sara’s eyes opened when she felt Kang-ho’s hand shaking her shoulder. She sat up and looked through the window.

“Are we here? Sorry I fell asleep.” Sara rubbed her eyes as her surroundings went clear. They are in a fine dining restaurant that overlooks the entire Seoul.

“Do you like it here? You once mentioned you like city lights.” Sara turned to Kang-ho and smiled appreciatively.

“I like it. Thank you for bringing me here.” Sara smiled politely which made Kang-ho nod in satisfaction. He got out of the car before opening Sara’s door. They then went inside with Kang-ho’s hand supporting Sara’s lower back.

They went inside the restaurant and the waiter guides them to their designated seats.

“The interior is amazing.” Sara complimented as she looked around the place.

“Yeah? I’m one of the engineers that participated on the process of building this restaurant.” Kang-ho boasted naturally. Sara looked at him in slight awe.

“Truly? No wonder.” Both of them chuckled. The waiter approached them and handed two menus for each of them.

“Ladies first.” Kang-ho proposed making Sara hum.

“I’ll have a risotto for the appetizer. For the main course, I’ll have the grilled fish. For desserts— blueberry cheesecake. Wine also for the drink.” Kang-ho smiled when Sara finished and also ordered his food. The waiter bowed and went to inform the cooks.

Even after ordering, Sara still looked at the menu to check some possible dishes she would like you to try next time. Perhaps even try making it at home if possible.

Sara noticed that Kang-ho is quiet and not talkative as usual. She looked up and saw him anxiously looking around— did she just saw a hint of annoyance in his eyes?

“Is something wrong?” Sara asked which made Kang-ho turn his head to her.

“Sorry— it’s just… a lot men are staring at you.” Sara looked around and he was right. Majority of the men inside keep on glancing their way. Perhaps it’s because she’s a foreigner. Sara turned her head back to Kang-ho.

“Does it bother you?” Sara asked, her eyes narrowing as she waited for his response. His response will change her perspective of him.

“A-A little. Yeah. A little. I just don’t like them staring at what’s mine, you know?” Sara’s lips formed a thin line but quickly hid it with a hum.

Flashback

“Baby! How do I look?” Sara asked as she fixed her earrings. She then heard footsteps approaching her bedroom. Sara turned and saw Bada leaning towards the door frame with a smile of adoration plastered on her face.

“Beautiful as always, dove.” Bada approached Sara and kissed her cheek with Bada’s hands around her waist. Sara chuckled and turned to the mirror again.

“Don’t you think the skirt is too short?” Bada hummed and looked down at Sara’s skirt.

“Wear whatever you want, pretty. I wanna show the world how gorgeous my lover is.” Bada turned her around and nuzzled her nose against Sara’s.

“Don’t let other people’s opinion stop you from expressing yourself. Doll yourself up and look pretty. Leave the fighting to me.” Bada leaned in and kissed Sara’s soft lips. Sara smiled through the kiss and wrapped her arms around Bada’s neck.

The night had progressed smoothly. Sara and Kang-ho had a great time inside the fine dining restaurant. Lots of laughing, hum of approvals because of how delicious the food was, and maybe a hint of getting to know more about each other.

Sara and Kang-ho went out of the restaurant with Kang-ho talking about his work as an engineer in different companies. Sara just nod in approval trying to understand the unfamiliar words only used in his field.

“It must be exhausting, working at a well-known company.” Sara commented as they went down the stairs since the restaurant is elevated from the ground.

“A little bit, but it’s all I have dreamed of since I was a child. Working at a company known for its quality.” Sara smiled at how Kang-ho seemed so committed in his work

It certainly reminded her of someone.

“You should visit my workplace soon. My colleagues will surely like you.” Kang-ho suggested as they went to the parking lot where his car is parked.

“Soon.” Sara replied.

Flashback

Sara sat on the floor of Bada’s studio as she admired the way her girlfriend moves as she dance. At that moment, her world revolves around Bada. She fully understands why so many people admires Bada for who she was.

She looked down the floor and chuckled at the things around her. A blanket to warm her incase the ac gets too cold, a plushie for comfort, her favorite snacks and drinks, Bada’s phone where her favorite movie is playing, Bada’s Ipad incase her phone ran out of battery, and Bada’s jacket incase the blanket is not much of a use.

Bada glanced at Sara when she heard her girlfriend’s chuckle. She smiled and raised her brows. Bada lowered down the volume of the speaker and adjusted her cap.

“Yes?” Sara looked up and saw Bada walking towards where she’s sitting. She chuckled in response when Bada pulled her up for her to straddle her lap.

“Isn’t this too much? Your dance studio is not even that cold.” Bada tilted her head and chuckled.

“That’s because I adjusted the temperature to your liking. Don’t want this pretty girl to catch a cold, right? I will be a bad girlfriend if I let that happen.” Bada replied while caressing Sara’s waist in up and down motion. Sara tried her hardest to not satisfy Bada’s pride by showing not too much reaction. Damn, this girl got her wrapped around her finger.

“But you like it cooler— and you’re sweating after dance. Goodness sake! Look! You’re still sweating—” Sara’s ramble got cut off by Bada’s soft lips against hers. She immediately melted through the kiss as she wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s neck with Bada’s hands gripping on her waist.

Bada’s hands gripped on Sara’s waist harder to pull her up, pulling her closer than the previous contact. Sara whined through the kiss, asking for more— no— demanding for more.

The kiss ended, followed by two woman who were breathing heavily— they didn’t regret falling out of breath though.

“My place?” Bada’s question echoed around the four walls of the dance studio but Sara shortly nodded with a lustful emotion present in her eyes.

Bada smiled and placed a short kiss on her girlfriend’s lips. Before scooping her up to go to the parking lot and drive to her apartment.

They didn’t waste time when both of them arrived inside Bada’s apartment. Their makeout session continued behind the four walls surrounding them.

Sara is pinned to the bed with Bada’s soft lips distracting her from the outside world. Bada’s kisses never failed to take her to heaven.

Others might send them a judgmental stare and throw words portraying their action as a sin but Sara never cared. Bada is too good to be a sin. No human goes up to heaven without making many sins. If there’s no such place where she’s allowed to rest peacefully once she died— Sara will gladly stand in hell with her heaven in her arms.

Sara’s thoughts got cut off when she felt Bada sucking on her sweet spot that made her mind go blank. Her hands quickly made its way to her blouse but Bada’s hand stopped hers from doing so.

“A beautiful girl like you should only be lying pretty as her clothes got removed one by one. Be the pillow princess as you should be.” Sara whimpered from just hearing Bada’s words. It definitely made her wet down there.

Her whimpers only got louder as Bada indeed removed her clothes, she let Bada do all the work— it’s not like she will let Sara do any minimal work, she always treated her like a princess after all. After the last remaining clothing, Bada’s kisses went from her neck to her chest and to her stomach. Sara felt Bada’s movements suddenly stop as she met Bada’s eyes.

“Thank you for the meal…” Sara gasped and moaned loudly as Bada’s tongue went to where it belonged to.

Intimate moments with Bada has always been a romantic feeling. Not like the others who use other people’s body for pleasure. Bada is more of a man than any other guy who walked into Sara’s life.

It made her realize that loving someone is not so bad at all. Especially if you have someone who loves you and treats you as if it’s as easy as breathing air.

Sara was busy admiring the city lights but looked down and smiled at the sleeping Bada beside her. Their clothes are scattered around the bedroom including Bada’s cap which was in the doorknob. All of what’s left are their naked bodies with their markings of each other left as a sign of their commitment and their love.

She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Bada’s lips which causes Bada to stir and to tightened her grip around Sara’s waist.

Sara smiled at the action that it almost made her heart swell with affection.

“I love you, Bada… so much.” Sara mumbled through Bada’s ear and kissed her cheek once more.

Sara sipped her wine as she admired the city lights below her. After Kang-ho dropped her off the apartment building, she immediately grab her leftover wine and sat at the edge of her bed to look at the view of Seoul.

She glanced at the frame placed on her bedside table that was facing the wall. Sara turned it to face her revealing a photo of her and Bada. The only evidence of their love left in her bedroom.

“We look so happy here…” Sara smiled sadly as she grabbed the frame. She wonders where it all went wrong. Is it there busy schedules? Bada’s dreams? Her dreams? Their time? The disappearance of physical affection? Sara never knows.

Both of them knew that their relationship was slowly falling apart. There is no one to blame. They’re in their 20s— still figuring out life and nowhere in place to be considered a grownup.

She somehow wonders if she ever crosses Bada’s mind. Probably yes, but she will never know what emotions Bada were feeling whenever she got reminded of their love.

Their breakup resulted in good terms, with communications, and with clarifications. Sara hoped it wasn’t the case. She hated that it ended in good terms. The four walls surrounding her knew the cries of pain she let out every night just by merely a memory they shared. The touches. The smiles. The laughters. The kisses. The I love yous. She hated them all.

Sara didn’t even notice a tear running down her cheeks as she thought about those moments that continuously lingered her mind.

Without further to do, she grabbed her phone and messages Kang-ho.

‘I believe our relationship will never work out. I apologize if I ever let you think that this will lead into something serious. I’m sorry.’

Sara sighed and put down her phone. She stared at the ceiling, the pressure on her chest was finally free.

Maybe she was too busy being hers to fall for somebody new.

Might do a part two :)

[hollowmem]

Even the cold ones can break

GN!Reader and Simon "Ghost" Riley

I decided to take on a 2 week challange that may or may not extent to a month, we will see. I will be posting everyday, a new story with a prompt I will get for that day

Day 14: Cold character finally breaks down with Ghost

Too quiet, even with the low rumble of the chopper blades overhead.

You stood there, arms crossed tightly against your chest, heart thundering in your ears as you watched the team disembark.

Price first, moving with the weight of a man carrying more than just the mission’s burden.

Gaz next, grim-faced, a flicker of devastation crossing his features when he met your eyes.

And then Ghost — head down, shoulders stiff, like he was made of stone.

But no Soap.

Your stomach dropped. You forced your legs to move forward. It was Price who turned toward you, his mouth a hard, grim line. Ghost didn't even look up.

Your voice cracked when you spoke. "Where’s Soap?"

Price hesitated, like he hated to say it out loud. Like saying it would make it too real.

"He didn’t make it."

You swayed where you stood, blinking against the sudden sting behind your eyes. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. Soap — always smiling, always ready with a smartass comment — couldn’t just be gone.

You wanted to ask how. When. Why. But Ghost brushed past you without a word, his presence a cold gust of grief in passing, and your voice caught in your throat. You watched him disappear down the corridor, toward the barracks, away from the living. Away from you.

Hours later, you found yourself outside his room, your hand hovering uncertainly over the door. The hall was empty, the whole base swallowed in a heavy, choking silence.

You knocked once, softly. No answer.

Another second passed, two. You heard the faint, ragged sound of breathing from the other side. Without thinking anymore, you grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.

The room was dim, lit only by the glow of a single desk lamp. Ghost sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, head bowed so low. Still wearing the same gear from the mission. Still wearing the mask.

He didn’t move when you stepped inside. Didn’t acknowledge you at all.

You closed the door gently behind you, sealing the two of you in the heavy, suffocating silence.

Slowly, you crossed the room and lowered yourself onto the bunk beside him. Close enough to feel the tension radiating off him like a second skin.

For a long time, neither of you spoke.

You could hear the rough, uneven sound of his breathing behind the mask. Could see his hands — gloved and trembling faintly — clenched so tightly together.

Your chest ached just looking at him.

Carefully, you reached out and placed a hand on his back, light at first, a simple offering. When he didn’t pull away, you shifted closer, sliding your arm across his broad shoulders and pulling him gently toward you.

He resisted, just for a second — stiff and shaking — like he didn’t deserve it, like he didn’t need this. But then something in him cracked.

A broken, guttural sound ripped from his chest, and he slumped against you, burying his masked face into your shoulder. You tightened your hold instantly, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other anchoring him to you.

His whole body shook with the force of what he was finally letting go. Silent sobs tore through him, muffled against your uniform, raw and unfiltered.

"I should’ve saved him," Ghost choked out, the words distorted through the mask but no less cutting. "I should’ve been faster... smarter..."

You just held him tighter, feeling your own tears welling up, sliding down your cheeks as you pressed your forehead to his. "It wasn’t your fault," you whispered hoarsely. "Simon, it wasn’t your fault."

Maybe he heard you. Maybe he didn’t. But when you gently brushed the edge of his mask, and you slowly took of his mask, to reveal his face.

His red-rimmed eyes clenched shut, tears cutting silent tracks down his cheeks — before he tucked himself into you again like a wounded animal seeking shelter.

It was the first time you’d ever seen him without the mask. And you didn’t look away. You sat there for what felt like hours, rocking him slightly, murmuring soft, broken reassurances into his hair.

You didn’t know if he would ever forgive himself. You didn’t know if the pain would ever fully fade. But for tonight — for this moment — you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely, and you weren’t going to let him stay alone.

[ohbo-ohno]

I’m feral and need more of your a/b/o thoughts. Like I need to know your thoughts on alpha!141 snatching omega reader to keep for themselves

yknow i was gonna say that i haven't touched abo in forever, but then i remembered the gaz thing i just posted the other day lmao

(btw i wrote alpha 141 here but i think abo poly 141 would have alphas price/ghost and betas soap/gaz. probably. maybe. idfk.)

cw for noncon and kidnapping below the cut

i find poly 141 x reader really difficult to write outside of porn, since there's already so many interesting dynamics in regular poly 141. i have a hard time adding in a FIFTH element, yk? especially when that fifth element has to be a reader insert instead of some sorta OC or smth

anyway, i think the best dark poly 141 x reader idea is basically reader being used as a sex toy for the guys. like, she's there for them to relieve their stress in. but in an abo au i could totally see them using her as an element of softness in their lives. with 4 alphas in one home, you need an omega to soften things up a bit

and there you are. soft and sweet and small (compared to them at least) and just so perfect. you're the unlucky bastard who happens to smell appealing to all of them, and you're whisked away before you really even know it

they'd have to be sneaky, probably. you'd have a positive reaction to their scents too, so maybe johnny or gaz gets you to go on a date with one or both of them and then kidnaps you. maybe price or ghost just grabs you one day. something like that, i think, but there's much higher angst potential is kyle and/or johnny lulls you into a false sense of security first (and you know i love a good betrayal)

they'd push and prod at your instincts to force you into a heat before anything else. lock you in their den (soon to be their nest) and surround you in their scents, make low purrs to convince your instincts that you're safe

and as terrified as you are - and oh boy, are you - there's only so much you can actually fight your instincts. lets say you're either not on heat blockers, or maybe the blockers are weak, but for whatever reason you're very susceptible to all of their little pushes

they've got you knotted and mated by the end of the week

it's odd, coming up from that heat. your neck aches all the way around, to the point that it's painful to even turn your head. despite the unfamiliar room, your brain screams at you that you're safe, that you're in your nest.

it doesn't take long to put together the pieces. it also doesn't take long to become very very upset

thing is, it's too late to do anything now. you can't break a bond, and they're not giving you any opportunities to get away. you're stuck with these alphas who have performed the greatest invasion possible on your body and soul. it's crushing

cue lots of attempted comfort. soap and gaz would be the softest with you, always trying to tempt you into realizing how good it is to be with them. soap is rougher when he fucks you, but they're both equally soft outside of that. they bring you nesting materials, constantly make sure you're covered in their scents, and bicker over who gets to cuddle you on the couch

ghost isn't willing to coddle you. he's sweet (in his own right) but he's not nice. he doesn't try to make you feel better - you're meant to be with them, why should he apologize for making it happen? all they did was skip the courting process, this is always where you were going to end up. he refuses to apologize for that. but he also doesn't want you miserable. he holds you close at night, soaks with you for long hours in the tub, and is always making sure you clear your plate

price is... weird. i'm never sure if i should make him the meanest or a softer kidnapper. because i could absolutely see a version of price whipping your ass raw every time you scream at them and call them names, but i can also see a version of price who just levels you with a disapproving stare and locks you in a small dark space when you get like that

regardless, they all smother you. you help balance out their dynamics a bit more, but they're always fighting each other for your attention. especially with the bond making it so they always know what you're feeling. and your instincts scream to trust them (and you can feel their emotions too, know that they really meant for the best, as sick and twisted as it is).

[thewinter-eden]

Blood Sugar Virus (29)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense, slow burn Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, zombies, language, discussion of parasites, gore, angst, heavy topics, suggestive content

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

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Namjoon sits next to Jimin on the couch, reaching out a hand to pat his arm companionably. “Still hanging on, Chim?”

The younger man sports an easy grin, and even you can see the color returning to his cheeks. “My leg feels like it’s been put through a wood chipper, but the burn in my chest is finally starting to fade.”

Namjoon looks at you. “How did you come up with hitting him with a defibrillator?” He glances to the very same AED machine, which you had left near the axes.

You frown, still too concerned about the pain you caused and the potential harm you caused Jimin to be overly comfortable with your idea yet. “I don’t know. I just saw the AED and all I could think about was the bug zapper in the hallway of my apartment. I thought maybe sending a shock through his body might kill the parasites in him.”

“And it worked, right? I mean that was like an hour ago.” Hongjoong is still sitting with his back against the couch, his head near Jimin’s shoulder.

“I’m not a zombie.” Jimin says brightly. “I’d say it worked.”

“Have you looked at your leg?” Namjoon asks. “To see if the parasites made it farther after the shock? I don’t want to suggest that maybe you knocked them unconscious or something, but what if?”

You’re too amused by the thought to be worried about it. “I don’t think you can knock a parasite unconscious.”

“Nonetheless, anybody who wants to take my pants off is welcome to check.” Jimin winks at Namjoon. “You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse?”

Your co-captain rolls his eyes and slaps the man’s good hip. “Shut the hell up and roll over.”

Jimin shrugs and rolls onto his good side, which puts his posterior on the side of the room where you’re all sitting.

“While I’m sure we’re all excited by the prospect of earning a peep show in the middle of the worst night of our lives, if every one of you assholes doesn’t turn around I’m serving fat lips for dinner.” Rosé proclaims, reaching over her head to grab Mingi’s face in both hands and turn it towards the wall.

“I’ve already seen it anyway.” You quip, but you scoot yourself around with the rest of Ateez to face the other direction while Namjoon pulls at the waistband of Jimin’s high school costume.

“Ooo, you’ve seen it already?” Of course it’s Wooyoung.

When you glance toward him, you see a comical contrast between his teasing expression and Yeosang’s disturbed frown. The latter shoots you a side eye that has you giggling with evil intensity.

“Hey Jimin, remember when that dog bit you in the ass that time we were on a lunch run?” You call over your shoulder.

“Don’t fucking remind me.” His voice is muffled by the couch cushions.

You turn your grin back to the guys. “This crazy little purse dog jumped down from someone’s table outside this sandwich shop that we were getting everyone’s lunch orders from and fully latched onto Jimin’s butt. Ya boy was freaking out, like, ants-in-his-pants freaking, and he dragged me into the men’s restroom and dropped his pants without warning so I could make sure he didn’t get rabies or some shit.”

San nearly falls over, laughing so hard. “Oh my god.”

“Dog bites are serious!” Jimin whines.

“Yeah so is sexual harassment.” You fire back. “I could have had you blacklisted.”

“He was crying too hard for it to be sexual harassment.” Namjoon argues simply. “Though we did make him buy Sugar’s lunches for the next two weeks.” There’s the sound of rustling fabric. “Alright, Jimin, happy to report that your annoyingly perfect ass is intact. Looks like the fuckers didn’t make it past your upper thigh, but your leg is pretty bad.”

“Yeah no shit.” Jimin grumbles. “And the bite hurt. You guys would have been crying too.”

“I don’t cry.” Jongho returns flatly.

“You guys can turn back around.” Namjoon says, and your group returns to sitting in the circle around the snacks.

For the next few minutes, the room continues to fill with chatter as Namjoon, Seonghwa, and Jongho rest and refuel after their trip up to the third floor.

“So now that we know the AED works, we at least have a defense against getting infested.” Namjoon nods to you, offering props for thinking to grab the device and bring it back with you. “We should have grabbed the ones from all three floors, but it’s better than nothing.”

Or maybe not props so much as a subtle jab that you should have brought it up when you first split off for the axes.

Dammit.

“I have a taser in my purse.” Rosé offers softly.

“Hell yeah.” San grins at her as Mingi’s eyes go wide with delight.

“Best damn thing I’ve heard all day.” He says, squeezing Rosé proudly. “Fuck yeah, you have a taser in your purse.”

Yunho turns to you. “Do you have a taser in your purse?”

You shake your head. “It didn’t fit with my gun in there.”

Wooyoung’s and San’s jaws both drop at the same time. “You have a gun in your purse?”

Yeosang has already identified the sarcasm in your voice by the time you level them both with a dry stare. “She’s kidding, you numb nuts.”

“It’s South Korea, of course I don’t have a fucking gun in my purse.”

While they groan in disappointment at the lost opportunity to turn this night into a zombie shooting video game, Yeosang turns to you. “But you have a taser, right?”

You give him a sheepish smile that’s more of an ugly grimace. “I kept meaning to get one. But I never had time, and they’re so expensive!”

“I offered to buy you one.” Jimin refutes. “You just kept pushing it off.”

You shrug. “I’ve never needed it.”

Yeosang’s eyes are saucers. “What do you mean you’ve never needed it?”

“The taser conversation didn’t happen until after that incident. And what am I supposed to do, just carry it everywhere? Stuff it under my costumes?”

“Ideally, yes.” He returns, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “After this, we’re getting you a taser.”

“Sure thing.” You bluff, not at all willing to fight the ‘after this’ statement right now. “But some of my costumes don’t have enough fabric to conceal it.”

He just stares at you.

“I’m kidding.”

“Damn, I was gonna re-up our contract.” Wooyoung mutters. When San slaps him upside the head, he backtracks immediately. “I was also kidding! Jesus, it was a joke.”

“It’s okay, they’re our more popular programs.” Rosé says, happily adding fuel to the fire. “And besides, your siren costume has that strappy leg thing, we could just make it cyberpunk or something.”

Yeosang looks physically pained. “Is that another joke?”

She just snickers at him, and you don’t say anything, just watching him struggle to get his face under control. You can’t tell if he’s trying not to imagine the costume or if he’s disturbed by your more racy program options, but you let him figure that out on his own.

You do have a number of more scant costumes for certain jobs, but they’re all paired with your scariest storylines to make up for the sensuality suggested by your wardrobe department.

“I don’t really know what to believe right now, but I just want to say that your job scares me.” San says seriously. “Like, before this zombie stuff actually started, our program was awesome. It was intense and frightening and really cool, but to hear about some of your experiences?” He shakes his head and looks down at his hands. “I would be scared to do what you do with some of the clients that you’ve had. And now, knowing you, knowing the risks, I’d be so worried about you guys every time you go to do a job.”

“That’s why we do the program prep with clients now.” You tell him reassuringly. “It helps you get to know us and immerse yourself better when the program starts, but it also gives us a chance to get a feel for you. We’ve been able to catch some odd vibes and cancel contracts with some clients because of it.”

He looks relieved, but still concerned. “I’m still gonna be worried. Some of us could come with you, you know? Hang out outside while you work, so we can be nearby if you need us.”

His care for your team after only a week and one hellish experience is endearing and incredibly heartwarming.

“That’s a good thought, San, but we won’t have programs after this.” Namjoon says carefully. He bears the weight of everyone’s saddened looks with quiet anguish. “Our team is gone. If we survive this, it’s done. It’s over.”

“Don’t say that.” Rosé pleads. “Honestly, Joon, why did you have to say that? Why couldn’t you just let us have a few good moments?”

He turns to her, eyes tracing the sorrow on her face before examining every inch of Mingi’s body pressed against hers. His jaw tightens. “Our friends are gone.” He says again. “My best friend took a chunk out of Sugar’s shoulder. I can’t just pretend this isn’t happening, and I can’t pretend things are just gonna go back to normal after this.”

Her eyes harden bitterly. “Nobody’s pretending anything.”

“Guys.” Jimin coughs weakly, a deep frown signaling his obvious discomfort with the argument. “We’re just talking.”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to—” San starts, but you cut him off.

“You didn’t. It’s okay. We thought about hiring extra security, but our company didn’t have the budget for it.” And you couldn’t afford to cover it.

“They had the funds.” Namjoon mutters, backing off from Rosé. “They just didn’t have the fucks to give.”

Hongjoong pulls one foot up to rest his elbow on his knee. “Well, in the spirit of saying fuck you to your company, if you guys ever decide to go back into the business, in any capacity, I’ll get you some security.”

Rosé smiles at him. “We can’t let you do that, but it’s so sweet of you to offer.”

“Oh I wasn’t offering.” He informs her.

You’re smiling at the exchange. You don’t throw in your own two cents, because it doesn’t involve you, but you’re grateful to hear his protective support all the same.

“You don’t have to foot any bills for us just because we’re trying to get you out of this mess.” Namjoon adds, but he nods appreciatively.

“It’s not a thank you. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all indebted to you guys for risking your asses for us, especially Sugar—”

“Leave my ass out of this.” You quip, and Yeosang snorts into his own water bottle.

“—Alright, respective asses notwithstanding, I’ll be hiring a security company because we’re all friends now and I’ll be damned if I’m letting any of you worry about asshole clients anymore.” Hongjoong finishes, shooting you a playful sneer. “You guys should have had security from the start.”

“Hell yeah,” Seonghwa agrees. “We could start a company for security guards to get trained for stunts and acting and shit. We could make it so you don’t even have to leave them out in the parking lot, because our van crews weren’t exactly effective as oversight.”

“Hyung, that’s fucking brilliant.” Sam exclaims. “Dude, we’re so starting a company. Look at us—entrepreneurs.”

“And this is how Ateez takes over the world, by starting a private military of armed actors.” You remark, grinning when he points at you like you’ve inspired him.

“I’m so in.” Wooyoung agrees. “It’s gonna be badass.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” Jimin says. “We could take real fight training now.”

Namjoon lets them continue to brainstorm for a few minutes, and then crunches his soda can and throws it into the trash pile. “Alright, back to work.” He stands and unfolds the floor plan again. “We’re gonna hit the barricade at the southeast corner, in these two classrooms and the bottom of the corner stairwell. Everybody’s coming this time, so we need someone to help with Jimin. I’ve got one of the axes, who else wants the other two?”

“San and Yeo are the strongest, but Mingi and I can step in if we need to take turns.” Yunho says.

“Me too, I’ve got you, hyung.” Hongjoong says to your co-captain.

Namjoon is momentarily stunned by the honorific, biting his cheek to stop a flattered smile. “Alright, sounds good. I also want people with free hands to watch out for each of us with axes. Zombie watch and also keeping an eye out for signs of fatigue so someone else can step in and start chopping. Sugar, Seonghwa, Rosé, I like you for the job.”

You hook a thumb at Yeosang. “He’s mine.”

His head snaps to you, eyes wide, cheeks reddening as he gives a flustered chortle.

You hear your words then, also hearing the hoots of teasing laughter from the others as you drop your head to your chest and groan. “I meant I’ll take Yeo. Dammit, shut up Wooyoung, I meant I’ll keep an eye on Yeosang. God dammit. Shut up, Yunho.” You’ve sunk yourself. Damn your tired brain.

Yeosang is grinning. “Alright, I’m hers. Who’s my second?”

You and Namjoon facepalm simultaneously.

“Oh I’m definitely sticking around for this.” Yunho volunteers. “I’ll step in for you, Yeo.” He winks at you.

“Kill me now.” You grumble into your hands.

“Maybe later.” Yeosang quiets you with a satisfied little smirk that makes you want to throttle him.

“Okay, pivoting from that weirdness, I volunteer to watch San’s muscles for signs of fatigue. I’ll watch ‘em like a hawk.” Rosé promises.

“Oh hell no.” Mingi grumbles as Rosé cackles. “I’m San’s second.”

No room for argument, not like there were any other options.

Namjoon groans. “Oh my god, I’m surrounded by horny teenagers. Seonghwa, that leaves you with me. You fine with that or do you have a crush on one of the muscle boys too?”

“No, I’m good.” Seonghwa’s laughing, giggling with Hongjoong at the matching blushes on San, Mingi, and Yeosang’s faces.

“Wooyoung, can you be on Jimin duty?” Namjoon questions.

“Why am I a duty?”

“Because you’re a three legged dog and you’re gonna let Wooyoung carry you.”

Wooyoung, meanwhile, seems pleased by the appointment. He salutes Namjoon. “I’ve got him, hyung.”

Namjoon fights another tiny smile. “I want you guys with Sugar’s team. She’s stronger than Rosé, and she doesn’t complain about how much Jimin smells.”

“Hey!” Rosé.

“Fuck you, I smell like roses.” Jimin.

“Jongho, you’re our overwatch/backup. Our teams will be working in different rooms, so I want you moving between the three of us as a line of communication.”

“Happy to warm the bench, hyung.”

Honorary big brother Namjoon looks suddenly overwhelmed by the abrupt cohesion of the remainder of your team and the entirety of Ateez. “Alright. Good. Let’s get going.”

Jimin’s grunting, struggling to push himself up. “Fuck, I can’t get off this couch.”

Wooyoung instantly jumps to his feet, hurrying to assist. “I can get you off.”

“I’m sure you can, darling, but our friends are still here.” Jimin returns without a second’s hesitation.

The room erupts again and Namjoon rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “God help me.”

The troops are readying for battle. San lands a few practice swings into the big desk, making Rosé shriek with surprise as wood chips fly at her. Mingi shields her with the breadth of his body and glares at San, who keeps practicing.

Namjoon is consulting with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, softly going over plans that you can’t hear about facing the military on the other side of the barricade.

Wooyoung has Jimin braced against his hip, standing with you as you watch Yeosang shrug off his dirty white button down and stretch his arms in preparation.

When he’s just in a tight undershirt, you are not at all prepared to see the obvious evidence of Wooyoung’s earlier claim about him being a gym junkie. “I am no longer thinking professional thoughts.”

Wooyoung cackles and almost falls into you, laughing so hard as Yeosang gapes at you.

“Oh my god.” You just fucking said that out loud. “Oh fuck me.” If you could just go ahead and use Rosé’s taser on your own brain, you’d solve so many issues.

“Oo, me—I volunteer!” Wooyoung chortles at you, barely managing to hold Jimin up when Yeosang scowls at him.

“I think that’s a bad idea, bud.” Jimin grumbles, face already pale at the stress on his leg.

“Do not make me axe my own head off right now.” You mumble, turning away from your stupidly self-appointed team and hiding your face in the corner. You think you hear Yeosang’s soft laughter behind you, but it’s entirely drowned out by Wooyoung continuing to mock you for completely losing your brain to mouth filter.

You cannot get yourself eaten by a zombie soon enough.

Anything is better than this.

“Would you idiots keep it in your pants and strategize or something? There are fucking zombies out there.” Namjoon shouts over the din.

The noise lessens immediately, the members of your team finally settling back into the situation you’re about to face.

“Woo, can you help me adjust my weight? I feel like my leg is going to fall off.” Jimin mumbles, and you turn back to them in time to see Wooyoung’s expression shift into solemn focus, hurrying to lean Jimin against the splintered remains of the desk.

“Why don’t you get on the side of his bad leg,” you suggest, moving over to help.

Wooyoung follows your instructions perfectly, planting his hip right beneath Jimin’s.

You guide Jimin’s arm over the younger man’s shoulder, and help Wooyoung ease the entire weight of his bad side over onto himself.

Jimin settles on his good leg with a sigh of relief. “Much better. Thanks.”

“When we get to our classroom, you can sit down again.” You promise, ruffling his hair. “Are you okay right now?”

He smiles shakily at you. “I might throw up the four bags of Doritos that I ate, but I’ll try to give you a warning.”

“That would be appreciated, hyung, thanks.” Wooyoung utters smartly. “Seriously though, just let me know if you need to rest. We can borrow Jongho if you need a piggyback ride.”

“That’s definitely on your list of good ideas.” Jimin wheezes weakly. “I’ll let you know.”

You step back from them, satisfied that they’re ready to go, and bend down to collect four water bottles that had been passed over for the sodas. You shove them into your duffel bag, along with the defibrillator box, and sling it across your back, wincing at the sting of your cuts.

When you straighten, you find yourself next to Yunho. He’s also warming up his upper body in preparation to eventually take over swinging the axe for Yeosang, but he smiles down at you as you approach.

This could be it.

This could be your last quiet moment with him before it’s all over. You can’t keep seeing the traces of guilt in his eyes when he looks at you. “Hey.”

“What’s up?” He asks you. “Can I help with anything? Want me to take your bag?”

You shake your head with a smile. “No, I’ve got it. I just wanted to talk to you.”

He stops swinging his arms, halting the windmill movements you’ve done a million times to warm up for your programs. “Sugar, about earlier, when I—”

You put up a hand to silence him. “Yes, about that. We’re good, Yunho. I still owe you my regret for stopping you from helping Yeosang and Mingi with Jungkook, but on the count of the other thing, we’re good.”

He looks down, mouth tightening. “That wasn’t the same. You made a good call with Jungkook. I stand by that. But the other thing, what I did to you—Sugar, I abandoned you to die. After you swooped in like a fucking answered prayer and tackled those zombies, after they had you pinned, I left you to die. I pulled Yeosang away, and he was trying to help you.”

“You fucking what?” Namjoon.

This is the first he’s hearing of the incident, and pissed doesn’t even begin to describe him.

Yunho blanches, stumbling back a few steps as your co-captain is suddenly in his face, stammering in a struggle to figure out if he should explain himself or just take whatever abuse he’s about to get.

You’re not willing to let it get that far. Shoving yourself between them in a move that makes your entire body seize with pain at your hip, you grip one hand in Namjoon’s shirt and rest the other more comfortingly on Yunho’s arm. “Stop. Back up.” You’re talking to Namjoon, but he doesn’t even look at you.

“Is that true?” He’s seething, speaking to you without meeting your eyes. “Did he let you save his ass and leave you to die?”

“Namjoon, I said get back.”

The room goes quiet at your snarl, all eyes turning to the three of you.

“I sent you out with her. I sent you to get the axe and you didn’t think to fucking mention that you don’t care if she lives or dies?” Namjoon lunges forward, shoving you back into Yunho, and you just barely get your footing back in time to push him back again.

The others are tense, concerned, hesitant to jump in while you’re still managing to hold off a physical altercation. They can’t defend Yunho for his panicked choice against you, but none of them look pleased about your friend trying to jump down his throat.

“I do care. I fucked up and I’ll never forgive myself for it, but I do care.” Yunho argues, his voice brimming with anger. “Don’t talk to me like I wouldn’t do anything to make that right, and don’t fucking talk to me like I don’t care.”

You’re seconds away from kicking Namjoon in the balls just to make him look at you, but you need him to be able to swing an axe in a minute or two, so you just settle for digging your nails into the muscle of his chest and forcing him back with all of your strength. “Hey.” You snap, and his eyes finally flicker down to you. He’s fuming, beet-red with rage, shoulders trembling furiously. “You walked up in the middle of a conversation between me and him. You need to take a step back.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I need to know when someone in my group is putting you in danger—don’t touch her, asshole, I’ll fucking break you.” Namjoon’s arm jumps up as Yunho puts a hand on your shoulder to protest you trying to defend him.

“Hey!” You punch the heels of your hands into his chest. “Joon, we’ve dealt with this. This is old news, it’s handled, it was a mistake. It doesn’t concern you.”

He’s wide-eyed, gawking at you. “Doesn’t concern me? You almost died—you were almost killed. You spend all of your time and energy trying to protect people and they turn around and throw you to the wolves? Goddammit, Sugar—”

“Hey, don’t turn this on her.” Yunho snaps, no longer apologetic. “She’s the reason we’re all here, she’s the reason you even had your acting team in the first place. Why don’t you try trusting her with the job that she obviously does better than you?”

This is no longer helpful.

“No, stop.” You’re holding them both back now. “Stop, none of this is valid, or constructive. Yunho has been locked in. He’s had our backs—he’s had my back. And this team would be nothing without Namjoon, so just take a minute, please.”

Namjoon hasn’t cooled off even a little bit. “No, this is bullshit. I’m not sending him out there with you again, he can fuck off and find the zombies for all I care.”

Before you can center yourself, he puts a hand to your shoulder and pushes you out from between them. Your weight lurches, body folding over on your hip, and you give an involuntary cry as the raw flesh pinches itself in the movement. Namjoon freezes, watching you stagger.

It’s Yunho who catches you, Yeosang suddenly close enough to take your arm as well, both of them glaring at your co-captain.

You don’t want this.

It was so wonderful, so beautiful the way you had all come together to decompress and joke and embarrass yourselves among friends, and you can’t stand to watch it all fall apart before your eyes.

You can’t leave them like this.

“Please stop.” Eyes brimming with tears at the sting still burning through your hip, you stumble in Yunho’s grasp and feel him brace you with an arm around your waist. “Please, Namjoon, please stop. I trust him, okay? We’re good.”

He’s still frozen, face splashed with horror at the pain he caused you, and he’s finally listening.

“When I came up with the AED idea for Jimin, he was the one who delivered the charge. He wouldn’t let me do it. We thought—” Your voice breaks, tears slipping. It’s such a miserable memory, such a viscerally terrifying moment that still has its claws in you, that you can barely say the words. “We thought it might kill Jimin, or hurt him irreparably, and he wouldn’t let me be the one to do it. He saved me from that, Joon. He cares. I trust him.”

Namjoon swallows, eyes flashing between you and the man who is stabilizing you after his own actions harmed caused you harm. “I don’t want him on your team. He can swap with Mingi.”

“No.” You sniffle and glare at him. “I want Yunho. Don’t touch my team.”

“Sugar, I need to know that you’re safe—”

“Don’t touch my team.” You pull yourself upright, letting Yunho’s arm release you, and approach Namjoon with as little limping as you can manage. You lower your voice until only he can hear you. “I get that you’re scared. I get that you’re worried about me and Rose and Jimin. But you haven’t been through what I’ve been through with these guys. And if you don’t get your head out of your ass and remember all of the things that they have done for us tonight, you’re going to make yourself the enemy. I trust them. Trust me.”

He’s quiet, jaw clenching, cheeks hollowing.

At long last, he nods. “You cleared things up with him? You feel safe?” He’s terrified. He’s fucking terrified that he’s going to lose you, or worse, lose all of you and walk out of here alone.

You can never even hint to him that your own safety is no longer your concern. “I feel safe.”

He glances over your head at Yunho. There are a few seconds of tortured silence before he closes his eyes and pulls you into a tight hug that sets your body on fire all over again. “I love you. I just want you to be safe.”

“I know.”

“Please be careful.”

“They’ve got me, Joon.”

“Okay.” He lets you go. Stepping around you, he extends his hand to Yunho and waits upon the grace of the man who is well within his rights to withhold every ounce of courtesy and respect. He doesn’t say anything—he won’t apologize for acting to defend you, and he won’t offer a blanket declaration of trust, but he’s willing to rebuild the bridge.

Yunho shakes his hand. “I am sorry. I always will be. But it will never happen that way again.”

You don’t let Namjoon answer. Instead, you turn back to Yunho, where he stands next to Yeosang, both of them watching you with hooded expressions. Bypassing Yeosang for the moment, but not ignoring the realization that he had stepped in for you, you prop yourself up on your tiptoes (and it still doesn’t make you tall enough) and throw your arms around Yunho’s neck. It’s a gesture of goodwill, a return to your conversation before Namjoon derailed it, and an act of friendship that you hadn’t thought you’d ever reach with him.

If it’s the last time you get to broach this subject with him, you want to take his burden with you. “We’re good, Yunho.”

He hugs you back, and you hear conversation start to pick up around the room again as tensions ease once more. “I’m so sorry, Sugar. I never realized how scared you must have been, so I’m…I’m just really sorry.”

You ease back on your heels, letting him go. “No more apologizing. I mean it.”

He nods, and manages a small smile. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

You roll your eyes. But you’re serious when you say, “I won’t forget what you did for Jimin. For me. Thank you, Yunho.”

He’s grinning now. “Scariest thing I’ve ever done, but there he is.”

You both turn to where Jimin is still leaning heavily against Wooyoung, laughing at something you can’t hear. “Yeah. There he is.”

Warmth has returned to the room; Hongjoong has found Namjoon’s side again, softly helping to ease his fears about the incident that had been sprung on him without warning.

In the other corner of the room, you hear San teasing Rose, still holding his axe. “Do you sit on everyone’s laps or are you just partial to Mingi’s?”

“Bite me, Choi San.”

“Is that an open invitation or just for him?”

“Shut up, Mingi.”

Yeosang draws your attention away from them, stepping in close to your side. “Are you okay?” His fingers reach for your hip, his eyes flicking up to search your face.

“He just needs a minute.” You smile shakily. “He’s not a bad guy, he just carries a lot on his shoulders.”

“Are you okay?” He asks again.

You meet his eyes, caught by the solemnity in his gaze. “I’m okay.”

He gives a nod, but he lingers. Eyes soft, lips parted, he’s looking at you like he wants to say something, his fingers lifting from your hip to brush the backs of yours with a feather-light touch before his hand drops to his side. Blinking at the floor for a second, an eternity passes before he looks up at you again with the slightest smirk. “So, you like what you see, huh?”

“God, just kill me now.”

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[thechekhov]

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts

CH.30 (Good Medicine)

I kind of assumed that things would get worse from here...

...yeah, there's no 'but' to that. Getting Falin back so quick was too good to be true.

Aren't those the ghosts Falin talked to? They could be friendly.

"ee gads! a hairless little man!" I'd be frightened too if Chillchuck was suddenly behind a door I'd just opened.

Chillchuck, buddy, less than 24 hours ago you threw a knife directly into a dragon's eye. You can take care of some worgs, right?

Senshi's a card carrying member of the smells-okay-to-me-chief club.

Orcs be like 'oh, dragon's gone? Hm. Curious' and then just carry on. Wouldn't you be worried that something took out the dragon? Could be even more dangerous than the dragon itself.

I feel like at this point Falin might be just that.

MOUTH TO MOUTH RESUSCITATION!

Marcille, I don't think you have a lot of options.

......just realized those moose antlers are holding up her rack. Talk about a pushup bra. Damn. Respect.

Wait go back to that "create monsters to do their bidding" thing again. Was that the little mini dragons or does that include larger monsters like the dragon itself?!

OR something that was IN the dragon, controlling its actions and make it act irrationally? Is that why the Sorcerer wasn't surprised to see Falin as a separate thing outside the dragon? Was the assumption that whatever THING it was had escaped and become Falin?

And for all we know... it kinda had. It had merged with her spirit....

Or maybe I'm way off.

Congrats on the larger story plot! :D You're now in even more danger! Hoorah!

Chillchuck, a normal person would just go 'I'm leaving, pay me'. You're giving yourself away, worrying for them.

I can't hate him for the reasoning here. The deeper you go, the less likely you are to be found. The only person who cares enough about Marcille and Laios and Chillchuck to find their bodies are.... each other. So if they're dead here, they're likely dead-dead.

I want to nestle into her bosom and live there as a little creature.

Moreso than when she was literally in the gullet of a red dragon?! Come on, be reasonable. At least she's alive now. And remembers who she is.

Ooooh friendly ghosts. Makes sense why Falin was so chill about them.

All the more reason to believe there's something to be done!

Love the doggo yawning behind Chillchuck.

He's a coward, but being afraid isn't necessarily a sign of weakness. It's a sign that you realize how dangerous a situation is. Cowardice isn't stupidity, no more than ignorance of danger is bravery.. I think the orc leader is maybe realizing he's not doing it for completely selfish reasons. Mad respect to her though.

It WAS Falin, wasn't it? It wasn't as if it was a thing pretending to be her. She was there, and she was revived successfully, and then the soul confusion thing happened.

......damn. What a small holiday they got, before the next horrible thing happened...

hey, Marcille is not dumb! She's got loads of braincells! they're just all focused on doing evil stuff and being gay.

🎯

That's right! It's just like you, Chillchuck!

Was that... there before?

Oh, okay, no, it was. Hm.......

This stupid man is about to full a Falin and jump out a window to go look for her, isn't he.

Gods, this sucks for him so much. For all of them. Because they.... they WERE successful! They rescued Falin! They brought her back from the head! They DID that!

But now, instead of getting the reward of it, she's just gone. Is it better, because she's alive?

Or worse, because the threat is even more nebulous?

If they all died, would it be worth it?

who's the coward...? he's ready to go back.

For Falin, they went down there. They risked themselves.

For them, after talking to him only a bit, the orc leader went from 'hey, nice snack for my dog' to 'we're helping you get that girl back'.

It's about the CONNECTION!!! IT'S ABOUT HELPING EACH OTHER AFTER LEARNING TO UNDERSTAND ONE ANOTHER!!!

[lovelytsunoda]

kill of the night // lando norris

summary: she hates parties. especially quadrant parties hosted in large creepy mansions. at least the hot pirate hosting the party is into her, or she would have left ages ago.

pairing: lando norris x female reader

warnings: consumption of alcohol, lando cannot take anything seriously to save his life, the eerie feeling of being watched (anxiety or haunted house, you decide), pirate themed sexual innuendos, mention of spiders (arachnophobia warning!) reader has mild autism

the lights were low and the music loud as she pushed her way through the crowd, desperate for a drink and a moment of peace. the music was bad (some club mix of the rocky horror picture soundtrack) and all she wanted was for her massive headache to go away.

too bad she didn’t drink often. maybe something stronger than a hard lemonade would make this evening bearable.

she sat at the bar, feeling the eerie sensation of all eyes on her as she scanned the sea of bodies for the slew of other glittery fairy wings she had arrived with. she didn't even know some of the girls that well. all of the girls from her program had been invited, and she was trying to be a team player.

one girl was making out with a stranger, two others playing beer pong. the rest were lost to the crowd, dancing in ways that would definitely have disappointed their parents.

when the tuxedoed bartender came back with the crystal tumbler that had her vodka lemonade in it, she frowned at the tiny plastic sword, a gummy worm speared through it.

she just wanted a normal fucking drink.

sighing, she grabbed the glass and got to her feet, sending one last glance to the other girls before she started making her way towards the exit, mindful of the massive plastic wings strapped to her back. she had half a mind to just rip them off and throw them into the nearest trash can.

the outside hallway wasn't much better, and she found herself reaching into her purse for her airpods, less for music and more to just to cancel out the noise. she extracted the green plastic sword, taking the gummy worm off the plastic and dropping it into her mouth. the dj was playing ghostbusters, and she wanted nothing more than to be back home in her small, peaceful dorm, wrapped in her fleece blanket and reading 'love in the time of serial killers', or in the warm movie theatre watching 'a haunting in venice'.

instead she was here.

folding the small sword over in her hands, she grabbed her drink from the side table and made her way down the dreary hallway to get some fresh air.

the outside of the mansion was peaceful, if not a little disused. the hedges were neatly trimmed, the flowers well tended to as she sat down on a stone bench, the cold from the surface seeping in through the fabric of her dress as she took a sip of her drink.

truth be told, the peaceful atmosphere of the large, creepy mansion had been one of the few reasons she had agreed to come, living out her 'haunted mansion' fantasy: ghost who's been pining after her for centuries, the promise of eternal love. all but the evil ghost butler trying to kill her.

"the party's inside, you know!" a shout carried over the breeze, bristol accent sharp.

she yelped, dropping her drink and watching the glass shatter against flagstone.

"jesus! you can't just sneak up on people like that!" she shouted, yanking out her earbuds. "what is wrong with you, you fucking wanker!"

she got to her feet, spinning around to see who had spoken. he was tall enough (taller than her at least), dressed in a billowy white shirt and leather vest, leather breeches hugging his impressive thighs, a mane of curly brunette hair on the top of his head, and a fake sword strapped to his thigh.

at least, she hoped it was fake.

"woah, hang on." he frowned, coming closer to her. he looked like a prince, straight out of a disney movie. "i didn't mean to scare you."

could this be him? the ghost lover from her haunted mansion fantasy?

"it's fine. i guess i'm just jumpy. mansions that are almost certainly haunted will do that to a girl." she took a step back, trying to avoid the smashed glass as she turned, intending to go back to the stone bench before her wing got caught on a hedge. she cursed, resisting the urge to yank at the iridescent plastic.

"let me help." the stranger encouraged, coming closer to the hedge.

she shook her head. "it's fine, just let me take it off my back."

she gently eased out of the elastic straps securing the wings to her body, attempting to make it happen as gracefully as possible. one wing snapped back and smacked her in the face, and she tried to shake it off as she moved away, allowing them to dangle dejectedly from the hedge.

the prince came to stand beside her, his cologne overloading her senses as her reached over her to help disentangle the wings, his body heat against her back making her skin flush.

"here you go." his voice was soft as her passed her back her costume.

she could have left the wings there, she'd only paid three dollars to make them. she folded them up, placing the scratchy plastic on the stone bench before looking down at the shattered crystal.

“sorry about the glass. you’ll probably have to pay for it, being the host and all.”

“how did you know I was the host?”

her face blushed pink “havw you ever seen the haunted mansion? the original one with eddie murphy and wallace shawn?”

she gave him an opening, ready to hide her face behind her hands if it didn’t work out. there was a slight pause, and then he burst out laughing.

“you think that I’m some dead ghostly prince searching for his lost love?” he sputtered. “hate to break it to ya, tinker bell, but I’m not a prince, and I am very much alive.”

“I never said you were dead!” she crossed her arms indignantly, stomping one sneaker-clad foot against the flagstones.

chuckling, the suitor extended his hand. “I’m lando.”

“y/n.” she sighed, reaching to shake his hand. “sorry about the hostility, I just felt overstimulated in there. it’s the ‘tism in me.”

lando gestured for her to sit on one of the benches, looking out at the algae-caked fountain. it smelled earthly, yet his cologne was still all she could comprehend.

“have you had a chance to explore the house? based solely on your haunted mansion statement, I feel like that would be something you were in to.”

“it’s the only reason I came, truth be told. I hate parties, but some of the girls o study with thought it would be a good idea. what i didn’t realize was that we’d all be packed into the ballroom and pretty much the rest of the house would be off limits.”

lando laughed, straddling the bench next to her, one leg on either side. not very prince-like, if you had asked y/n. “well, I didn’t pick the venue. you can thank max and steve for that.”

“I don’t know who either of those people are.”

“I work with them in quadrant, they’re hosting this thing. I’d stepped out for a minute to take a business call.”

she snorted. “you? a business call?”

“what’s so hard to believe about that?” lando feigned offence, smacking his chest with his palm. “and why did your mind immediately go to the haunted mansion when you saw me? I was going for less master gracey and more will turner.”

“please, you’re jack sparrow at best. I can tell you bought your little pirate outfit at spirit halloween. and if my first instinct was that you were dressed as a prince, something is missing.”

she propped one leg lengthwise on the bench, tucking one sneaker-clad foot under the other, smoothing her dress over as to not give the man in front of her a glaring look at her dusty pink panties (although an intrusive thought did prompt her to wonder what would happen if she did).

“have you had a chance to explore the mansion yet?” she asked the man. well, the boy. he couldn’t have been too much older than she was.

lando shook his head, a few errant curls falling from his shaggy hair and over his eyebrows, and something about the way he shook his head to clear the curls from his eyes had her mouth watering. she wondered briefly what it would be like to kiss him.

“i saw a bit of it when we were bringing everything in. it’s a maze of service tunnels and secret doors. i actually got myself locked in a cellar.” lando laughed, and the butterflies erupted in her stomach, a giddy feeling spreading through her bones. “and that’s why ria thought it would be a good idea to cordon off most of the house. so that idiots like me didn’t get themselves locked in anywhere they couldn’t get out of.”

she raised an eyebrow, almost questioning exaclty how th man in front of her got himself locked in a cellar before she thought better of it. “so you know where all these secret passageways are?”

lando wagged his eyebrows. “is that something you’re into?”

“why do you have to say it like that?” she giggled, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth when she remembered how she usually looked when she laughed. “you make it sound weird. like a sex thing.”

“well, it’s not a sex thing,” lando reassured, stepping off the bench like he was dismounting a noble steed. “unless you want it to be? I’d be down to, uh, shiver your timbers in a secret hidden alcove.”

“not if you make bad pirate puns.” she rolled her eyes, taking landos extended hand in hers and allowing him to help her up. “but we can see where the night takes us.”

she shouldn’t have said that. why did she say that? would he think she was propositioning him?

the wind was breezy on her bare legs as lando led her across the moonlit backyard, pushing open the same door they had just come through. the family photos on the wall were old and faded, frames of orange gold around them. lando ushered her up the stairs, clouds of dust flying off the carpet as they ascended. the further up the stairs they moved, the mustier it smelled.

lando stopped her on the landing, hardwood covered in a threadbare oriental carpet, everything covered in a fine layer of dust, save for the cracked mirror.

"press on the edges of the fame, but stand back." lando suggested. "max brushed up against it earlier and almost got flung off the landing. it's a service entrance door."

"sick." she mumbled, pressing her slender fingers along the filigree gold frame. "just like this? do you remember where the latch was?"

"if i did, i'd have opened the door myself." he shrugged.

all at once, she felt the mirror give way under her hand, a clicking sound barely audible as the door began to move. lando reached for her hand, gently pulling her out of the line of fire.

"that was fucking awesome." she giggled, pulling her phone out of her purse and switching on the flashlight. "you know we need to go in there now, right?"

"just as long as you can get us back out." lando pleaded. "i don't want to die in a service tunnel."

she lead the way up the stone staircase, her flashlight illuminating the pounds of dust and cobwebs (as well as the occasional lump that might have been a dead rat, but she actually didn't want to know).

"if i see any big ass spiders in here, killing them is your job." she tried to keep her voice steady, but the thought of a massive spider crawling up her leg was not her idea of a good time. in fact, it would likely send her into hysterics.

they reached the top of the winding staircase, coming to rest in front of a large wooden door with a wrought iron knocker shaped like medusa's head. the hinges were slightly rusted, and it was clear that nobody had come up here for a while.

until them, of course, their footsteps clearly imprinted in the dusty stairs below.

"well, it would be a shame to turn back now." lando remarked, reaching for the door handle. it was stiff, but the room was unlocked.

she followed lando inside, reaching blindly for the old dial lightswitch on the wall. the room flickered to life, lit by two dull bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

a large bookshelf took up one wall, a dust and dirt caked window overlooking the grounds on another, equipped with a window seat for reading. a small crosley record player sat on a teak stand, pressed up against a wall painted an off cinnamon color. she walked to the milk crates stacked neatly next to the the player, flipping through well-worn vinyls.

"whoever was last up here was really into seventies disco. we've got abba, donna summer, elton john, blondie, hot chocolate, earth wind and fire." she mused, pulling a blondie album out of the basket. "although i always considered blondie to be more new wave than anything."

lando reached over her, his chest just faintly burshing up against her arm, body heat causing her skin to flush as he grabbed an elton john record from the basket.

"elton john? now this guy wrote some great stuff."

"nothing in this basket is organized in any way! they've got wild cherry at the front with earth, wind and fire, but blondie is pushed way to the back with chaka khan and ike and tina. no rhyme or reason! i have half a mind to rearrange it myself."

the record player crackled to life, the sound coming out of two old wooden marley speakers, a sound system that hadn't been updated in a while but still came through crisp as they day it was put together. elton john and kiki dee's duetting voices began to fill the room, and lando extended a hand.

"can i have this dance, my fair maiden?"

she smiled, leaning against the stack of milk crates. "i dunno. ladies like me don't dance with scoundrels like you."

"but a scoundrel like me will show you a damn good time. if you let me, of course."

giggling, she grabbed his hand, allowing the young man to twirl her in a circle before dipping her towards the floor, her hair dusting the shag carpet. soon, their laughter was louder than the stereo itself.

out of breath, their gleeful dance began to slow. they stood in the middle of the dimly lit room, 'don't go breaking my heart' playing lowly in the background, the thumping bass from the ballroom travelling upstairs as lando leaned in.

the craned her face up, pressing on to her tip toes to meet him halfway, brushing her lips against his before her pulled her in for more, his strong arms like a safety net around her body, ready to catch her if her knees buckled (which she was almost sure they would).

"i've gotta hand it to ya, captain. you're one smooth operator." she giggled, kissing him again. "i wonder what else you can do with that tongue?"

"come dock in my port, and you'll find out."

she burst out laughing, dropping her arms to playfully smack him in the chest. "that was your worst pick up line yet!"

"really? i've got a ton more, read up for this very occasion. what else have i got? there's 'i sure would like to pillage your booty', but that one sounds a little sleazy, 'not only do i have a ship, but it's a long one."

"oh my god, you need to stop. they're all as bad as the one that came before." she was laughing so hard there were tears in the corners of her eye. he thought he was so suave, rattling off stupid pickup lines while he leaned against milk crates of vinyl pressings.

and the stupid thing was, it was working.

tired of listening to him ramble, she stalked over to him, grabbing his leather vest and pulling him in for another kiss.

TAGS: @userlando @magnummagnussen @diorleclerc @scuderiamh @lorarri @cartierre @clemswrld @httpiastri @love4lando @silversainz @silverstonesainz @scuderiasundays