#tell me your secrets sherlock!

[rain-after-thunder]

How… do you know that?

Attention!! Anyone who identifies with acespec and/or arospec I need your advice once again.

I know “love is love” as quote to represent the queer community can be a bit icky for you(completely understandable)but what quote would you like to hear or see that would make you feel safe and validated.

I’m asking because I want to put said quote in my bio and just say/type in support.

Acephobes/terfs/bigots will get their kneecaps snatched.

I didn’t have enough space left in the tags but happy pride!!

Free Palestine 🇵🇸

Liberation for all.

Have the day you deserve.

[koldefingre]

Hes so silly (could make me tell him all my secrets by simply asking)

19 yr old Jon (ily late teen aus)

But he got his powers earlier, and is more feral.

(Tma teen edition but the vibe is like Buffy the vampire slayer merged w supernatural)

[lestatslestits]

Good Omens S2 is giving me a weird nostalgia that makes me miss my most toxic situationship from college and like. Bestie do NOT message him.

[fruithoughts]

PRINCESS TREATMENT

‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤh. joshua x fem!reader  ⪩⪨

01.ㅤۗㅤ𝙼ember .  ⎯⎯⎯  joshua.

02.ㅤۗㅤ𝙲𝚆 .  ⎯⎯⎯ multiple pet names, possessive thoughts, mentions of blowjobs(m.) and sex, just a very gentle guy who loves his girl more than anything.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua whose instagram is filled to the brim with pictures of his beautiful girl, sometimes he forgets to tag you but it’s okay because it takes no sherlock holmes to figure out your username since he only follows your account and a naruto fanpage. 

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who wants you to meet his parents in less than a month into the relationship, it’s extremely important to him to make it as clear as possible that he is serious about you, leaves no room for overthinking at all, always a step ahead of you in the “would you still love me if i was a worm?” department, the best boy indeed. 

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who would rather take a bullet than let you pay for literally anything, because how dare you even suggest paying for your own things? as if you don’t know the only reason he works so hard it’s exactly so he can pamper you endlessly? the absolute nerve of you, better get on your knees and start apologizing.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who is the sassiest and most dramatic guy you’ve ever been with, but can not for the life of him handle the thought of you doing any work at all, in every aspect, which, ironically, sometimes makes you work even harder to get what you want.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who makes it the world’s most difficult challenge to accept receiving head from you for the first time, he enjoys being the one doing all of the work to make you feel good, he just couldn’t see how blowing him off would please you at all so he kept denying(while completely ignoring the tent forming rapidly in his grey sweatpants) until you begged too sweetly, so softly, looking at him with so much adoration and love, like you wanted nothing more than to please him, he could have finished right there but instead he shook his head and sat down in the bed, ready to give his princess anything she could ever want, just like he promised he would! even if what she wanted was to kneel in front of him and try to fit his thick cock into her little mouth for a while.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who uses every opportunity that stumbles across his way to show off his huge arms, it’s a win-win scenario, he gets to feel all hot and manly and you get to hold onto your boyfriend’s strong biceps everywhere you go and get carried on bride style after a night out that, honestly, didn’t even leave you that drunk, but since he offered to carry you, who would ever say no?

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who adores your nails and is always super excited to see the results of your nail appointments, asks for pictures during the whole process, sends you food when it’s taking too long, and finally when the nails are done, he’s there to pick you up in his shiny car, more than ready to do the last step of your nail day, which is putting them to the test, the scratch test. 

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who just can’t help but adore when you leave him all marked up, he loves it, and how can you blame him? was he supposed to be normal about having proof straight on his body of just how good he made you feel last night? how could you even consider he'd do such a thing? this man is not normal about you in general. 

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who knows your entire wardrobe like the back of his hand, half of it because he bought it, the other half because of how often he’s watching you, definitely a “i look at you more often than you think” kinda guy. he’s very proud of just how well he knows his baby.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who remembers all of your food preferences and orders, knows all of your allergies, all of your icks and all of your friend’s gossips because he’s just so well behaved! he won't tell anyone, he never would! he's your joshy! you can trust him to keep all of your secrets, forever.

⪩⪨ boyfriend!joshua who’s very open about the fact that he wants to marry you, live the rest of your lives together, maybe with a kid if you’re into that, maybe just dogs if that’s better for you, he got his own wishes when it comes to creating a family, but at the end of the day; this man has one priority, and she has a name. whatever is best for you, it’s the best for him.

⪩⪨ husband!joshua who no matter how long it has passed since you got married, has not lost even a little bit of his obsession with you. his precious flower, his cute little thing, his darling, his sweet girl, that’s all you’ll ever be to him, all his to love and protect, forever.

[ozzgin]

I really hope you continue the eldrich God story. I may or may not have become obsessed with the idea, and i think it's actually really funny and I also just love the idea of a God being in love with a human.

Also, I love your writing and art! I hope you're doing well!

Yandere! Eldritch God x Detective! Reader

Based on this prompt and this meme. You're sent to a remote island to investigate a string of murders, and end up with a horde of cultists and their Lovecraftian God who is very much obsessed with you. Don't worry, he just wants to help you with your case!

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, tentacle tomfoolery again

[More Monsters]

The island checks all the boxes for a stereotypical shady place: the grimy boat captain who talks in riddles and vague warnings, the constant fog, the tavern filled with rumors and fears, the bizarre statue of a creature with tentacles. You were expecting most of it, save for their patron God being a literal monster.

Soon after your arrival, you discover that you’re being followed by men in dark robes. Could it be related to your case? A little alcohol-aided interrogation, and the locals confess to you about the existence of a cult. The dots begin to connect.

Unfortunately for you, whatever theory is cooking up in your mind couldn’t be further from the truth. The patron Beast of the land has been watching you from the moment of your arrival. He’s rather intrigued by your nonchalant city attitude, your stubbornness, your lack of any sense of danger. Thus he demands that you’re brought to his lair.

A game of cat and mouse. You are now convinced this said cult is responsible for the murders, so you delve deeper into their secrets. At the same time, the men put all their efforts into chasing you down. The Lord's wishes are their command; for how long can you outsmart sheer numbers?

At last, they succeed. You’re dragged over, cocooned in thick rope. “My Lord, we’ve brought you the sacrifice”, one cultist proclaims victoriously. Sacrifice? The ancient creature gazes at the men with utmost confusion. He frees you from your restraints with a mere point of his tentacle appendage, and proceeds to lecture his devout following for treating his special guest with such shameful brutality. Everyone blinks in disbelief, you included.

What the hell is this, some beastly romcom? Once everything is cleared up, you dust your knees, stand up unceremoniously, and tell the cosmic deity you’ve no time for idle gossip. “There’s a criminal running free and it’s my task to stop it”, you bark. Aha, that’s the very same attitude that got his nebulous heart pumping with curious desire. He cannot explain the maddening interest he’s taken into you. The monster releases a monotonous hum, causing you to jolt in surprise. The cult leader gasps. “He…he wants to help you solve the case”, the man concludes, defeat in his voice.

“Does it have to be all of you?” You whine, clicking your tongue at the sight. It’s the morning after the godly encounter, and you’re greeted outside your room by the cult leaders and their monster. “I can’t be discreet with a dozen monks after me. Not to mention…” your eyebrows furrow. “What on Earth is he wearing? Is that a detective hat and a mustache? Are you mocking my job?” You demand, glaring at the eldritch beast and his ridiculous disguise.

“Excuse me, I’ll have to ask you to quiet down”, an employee suddenly interrupts. “You and the gentlemen over there.” You stare at him incredulously. Can he really not see he’s facing an enormous, tentacle monstrosity? You swear you can discern a grin forming across the creature’s amorphous, unholy features. Alright, you’ve been convinced. What now?

As a child, Sherlock Holmes was one of your favorite books. You'd flip through the pages and daydream about your own future as a detective, though your little fantasies never included Watson as a cursed entity of a thousand tentacles. The eldritch creature seems to be more interested in you than the case itself. Eyes always fixated on your movements, tendrils creeping around you, never leaving your proximity.

Why would he need to look elsewhere? He can already tell how things will unfold. He is, after all, the God of this land. He knew your wanted culprit had been hiding in a sealed room right under your nose, as you dusted for footprints and scribbled hurried notes. He knew the underground tunnel had deadly traps, which would have normally put your investigation to a swift end. "Kind of suspicious to leave his trail unguarded like this", you mumble in deep thought. The cosmic God smiles.

He wouldn't dare ruin your fun. Consequently, he only interferes when your safety is involved. As annoyed as he is by the criminal's persistent attempts to kill you, he doesn't want to steal your grand capture. Besides, he is very much content with the current circumstances.

As the two of you follow along the dark passageway, you clear your throat, lips pursed awkwardly. "Uh...Thank you for dealing with the obstacles", you finally say. The monster pretends to ponder your words. "Hey now, don't play dumb with me. The conveniently deactivated bombs? The mutilated guards clumsily stuffed behind the door? I am a detective, after all."

You feel a thick tendril wrapping around your arm, and you turn to glance at the creature. His eyes of spiraling depths regard you intensely. A voice suddenly echoes in your head; is he trying to communicate with you? Deep, resounding, and imposing. "I am looking forward to our next case."

"Next case? Sorry pal, I work alone-" your throat clenches involuntarily. Somehow, your innards are flooded with a particular kind of certainty, dictating an ironclad truth: you do not have the option to refuse. You sigh, exasperated. "Fine! Have it your way. At least skip the fake mustache", you beg, then pause. You slap a second tentacle that has made its way under your shirt. "And avoid groping me when I'm thinking. You interrupt the little gray cells at work." You tap your temple to prove your point, and the eldritch God bows lightly. Of course.

He'll refrain himself until you're off work, Detective.

[balteredsworld]

wilson’s hypothesis. gregory house

🥼🩺 | according to wilson, house likes you and you like him. so, house confronts you with wilson’s hyposthesis.

masterlist: greg house n all

warnings/tags! fluff of sorts, angst if you squint, talks of self-sabotage, idiots in love, sherlocked reference!!! (just watched 8x18—house self-sabotages so bad my lord)

author's note: lowkey hate this but it's idk what're we thinking fellow ducklings???

"wilson thinks i like you," house airs.

you throw him a strange glance.

"crazy, right?"

"yeah? and you think i like cameron," you mimic, matching his dismissive detachment to comedic effect.

only, house is serious.

“no, wilson thinks i like you.” house ignores your joke, repeating wilson’s solemn hypothesis.

when you pause to look at his face, your mind goes off into complete nonsense like's just tipped you over and left you with internal bleeding in your brain, upon the realization that he does, in fact, mean those words he's telling you.

"what makes him say that?"

"i'm apparently connecting with you,” house indulges, relaxing into the cold bit of wall behind him. the moonlight hits him in a more subtle way, half hidden in the shadows. the blue of his wrinkled shirt melts into the glow it radiates.

you're not particularly sure what to say. thankfully, he elaborates.

“you share your food with me, i take your food, ergo it means something in wilson's romantic world,” house offers, before quickly dismissing the thought of his supposed feelings for you. "but you know wilson, he's always been a romantic. thinks he can diagnose emotions as easily as diseases."

you consider the argument, "well couldn't that just mean i can't finish my food and you don't wanna get your own?"

he squints at you, as if with drills for eyes. you're playing dumb, unless you really believe that. but you don't.

you clear your throat, "well, do you believe that?"

"well it's either that or i must obviously like you."

you gawk. "well, do you?"

"do i have to spell it out for you?"

"wilson had to," you snark back. "so, do you?"

"no," he says with a flat face.

something in your chest drops, just as your brows shoot up. "no?"

"no," he reaffirms.

you don't know if you manage to catch your frown. house doesn't say anything if you didn't. you're more than a little embarrassed, surely flushed. you're thankful that the two of you are under the dim veil of night.

"well good thing," you grumble.

house looks at you with a curious look, as if he was almost offended you would say that. "good thing?"

“we’re both lonely. lonely means self-sabotage,” you explain, fiddling with one of the main trinkets that line the ledge. you were sure you proving your point, coming up with an off-putting rationale to cover up your embarrassment. "two self-saboteurs, well, that's an equation with proven unresolved issues... so yeah, good thing."

you were internally cringing at the words you were spitting out, but you were trying to play it cool. it's something that's never worked in your favour though when you were near an attractive guy, and you always swore this was to make them repulse the inkling of interest. and you swore off doing this years ago, but the blunt rejection, if you could call it that, sprung the teenager out of you.

then again, house affects you like that. blue eyes and blue shirt and all.

he makes it no secret that he's a ladies' man, often hitching hookers into the hospital despite cuddy's gentle parenting to make him stop. but house does whatever he wants in the hospital, hence all the lawsuits you've had to deal with.

when you look at him again, he's somehow uncharacteristically quiet. you're unsure if his speculative eyes are because of a lightbulb moment, but one thing's for sure: he was thinking.

"you're thinking, aren't you?" you glean in a tilt.

house doesn't say anything, but turns away from you. when he does, you're unsure if you see his lip curl in disappointment—he hides it too well. some part of you hopes, but you know you're not his type. a bit too much like him in the overanalyzing and overthinking.

and maybe you're convincing yourself, but realistically speaking, your happy arrangement of sharing food in the middle of a hospital shift may work for lonely and misery, but not for anything else. two people who like self-sabotage is like a dumpster fire.

you'd rather have house like this, happy and alarmingly blue.

"aaand you've stopped listening. i shall take that as my cue to leave," you announce, hopping off the ledge in the same ginger fashion you had waltzing in.

when you land your feet, house airs his deduction, nodding along as if he was finally making sense of you and wilson’s hypothesis. 

“maybe he’s onto something.”

you turn to him with a tinge of a worrisome brow. 

“who knows? maybe i’ve been sending subtle signals that even i’m not aware of. so what do you think?” he croons his head, all ominous, arriving to a conclusion. you can practically see the cogs turn in his brain. “you like me.”

"i never said that.”

house looks at you, rising in a smooth motion, as if to showcase his towering height, forcing you to look up at him. sitting down, he's not so large, but now, all you can think is that he's tall.

"you might not, but your body does," he croons, dangerous smirk playing about his face. his eyes probe your face, confidently with a proven theory. "pupils dilated..."

house grabs your wrist, eyes practically lighting up in delight at his impending diagnosis.

"…and pulse elevated. i understand that wilson thinks that love's a mystery to me, but the chemistry's incredibly simple," he says, softening his grip on you.

house doesn't let go, lingering in this proximity, leaning closer like some ghost and spirit you'll always look for. your breath hitches, but house doesn't afford you time to quite think, capturing your lips in a kiss that you reciprocate, clutching onto his arms for balance.

you feel one of his hand snake to the nook of your back, pushing you flush against him. house keeps his other hand cupping your cheek and jaw, large enough to cover that expanse of your face. it's a little dry and rough, but you don't mind, all too preoccupied with his lips.

house makes good work on you. his lips are even better than you'd imagine, but you finally register his words and what you were doing, so you pull away. the furrow of your brows returning, apprehensive about his next words.

you whisper, “i thought you didn't like me.”

"i was lying," he shrugs. "i needed to see if i was right, and i was."

"so you figured me out?"

"you like me,” house concludes, triumphant. “i was right.”

“i thought this was wilson’s hypothesis?” you cock a brow.

“hypothesis,” he nods before flicking your head. “but i can’t give him the credit for my diagnosis.”

you let out an airy laugh, relieved that he didn't make you spell it out for him. "you're an ass, you know?"

his eyes are proudly heralding trumpets. you could practically hear the victory going off them.

"it comes with the sitting arrangement."

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Hangovers and Hickeys

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: no idea rn lmao probably like 700

A/N: some Spence content before the new year (on the western calendar). Hope you all get to enjoy the day!

“Good morning sunshine.”

You winced at the sheer volume of his voice. “If I could, id shove you off of the roof Derek Morgan.”

“Fun night?”

You snorted and finally lifted your head off of the desk. “You should be a profiler.”

That caused Derek to laugh, which made you wince and close your eyes. The sunglasses perched on your nose were supposed to be helping. They weren’t.

“That’s a nice hickey you got there.”

You grunted in response and tried to adjust your sweater collar so it would cover the hickey you missed this morning when you didn’t look in the mirror. You had basically rolled out of bed, and into your car to make sure you got to work on time.

“Who gave it to you?” “Why don’t you use your super duper profiling skills to deduce it or whatever Sherlock shit you wanna do.”

Derek snorted and shook his head. ”or you could just….tell me.”

“Don’t worry about it Derek.” You grumbled.

When Derek realized he wasn’t going to get any answers out of you about it, he decided he was going to change tactics.

“Moving on from Boy Wonder?” It was no secret that you had a crush on a certain nerdy doctor. And so Derek tried to use this knowledge to his advantage.

You crossed your arms and just raised your eyebrows. “I’m not dignifying that with a response,”

“Pretty sure that was my answer.” He chuckled, sitting down in his chair and swiveling to look at you.

When you decided to just ignore Derek, and face your desk, he piped up again. “Where is he anyways?” “No idea.”

It was like he was waiting for his cue from you. Spencer pushed open the doors to the bull pen and strolled in. He had his purple scarf around his neck, over his new coat that Henry (JJ) had gotten him for Christmas. It was a beautiful grey pea coat that kept him warm during these freezing winter months. Spender was carrying a tray with two coffees on it and what seemed like a bag from McDonalds, which seemed to be for you, since he was headed in your direction.

The smell of the food caused you to groan with joy and smile at the man walking towards you.

“My knight in shining armor.” You muttered as he placed the whole tray in front of you. You placed a kiss on his cheek hasilty, causing him to blush a little.

“I got hashbrowns from both McDonald’s and Dunkin’, a little smorgasbord of grease for your pallet.” He whispered before taking one of the cups out of the tray.

“I’m going to marry you Doctor Spencer Reid.” You muttered, digging into the bag and pulling out one of the McDonald’s hash browns and biting into it. The groan you let out leaned a little on the pornographic side, which made Derek raise his eyebrows at the sound you let out, and then at tinge of pink on Spencer’s cheeks.

You continued eating, clueless about the silent interrogation happening to your left, enjoying every single bite and sip of your hangover cure.

“Derek I can hear you thinking and it’s making my head throb.”

Derek’s eyes snapped back to you, as your figure swiveled in the chair to face him, casually munching on some of the fries, in a completely different mood then from two minutes ago before Spencer had walked in the room.

“Sorry your highness. I’m just curious as to why Boy Genius here is bringing you hangover cures.”

“Well it’s his fault I’m this fucked up so he owes me.” You grumbled, swiveling around in your chair to face your desk. You pulled your lap top out of your canvas bag and started to set up for your work day.

“Wha-how is it his fault.”

That’s when Spencer turned bright red and tried to change the conversation, or at least get out of it. “I—well it’s not…I….hotch is…”

Spencer basically ran across the bullpen and up the stairs to Hotch’s office, avoiding the conversation he almost just had.

“I don’t think you wanna know.” You smirked and bit into the muffin from Dunks that Spencer had got you, not looking at the man behind you.

“I’m starting to think that too.” His eyes narrowed and he looked between where Spencer had run off to, and you.

Something was going on between the two of you, and Derek Morgan was going to figure it out.

[pandapetals]

You Make Me Nervous

worst wolverine/logan x fem!reader - inspired by a quote i heard from a rom-com, fluff, cute, happy ending, wade being wade, no y/n used, no reader description

Wade gives Logan relationship advice to help win you back.

read on Ao3

Logan couldn’t believe he was sitting on the sofa, nursing a beer, and listening to Wade Wilson of all people giving him “love” advice. It was bad enough that he’d let the fact he was seeing someone slip in front of Wade a month ago—now he was stuck dealing with the consequences.

“You gotta tell her how you feel, peanut. She can’t read your mind—unless she can? Oh my God, is she a mutant?!” Wade gasped, his eyes widening as he dramatically clutched at his heart. “Please tell me she’s a mutant. Oh, is she telepathic? Does she know all your dirty little secrets already? Can she hear what I’m thinking right now?” He leaned in closer, whispering loudly, “Because I’m thinking about chimichangas and some other stuff I probably shouldn’t say in polite company.”

Logan groaned, his head falling back against the worn-out cushions of Wade’s sofa. He stared up at the ceiling, contemplating how quickly this conversation had spiraled out of control. “For the last time, Wade, she’s not a mutant.”

“Boring!” Wade shouted, throwing his hands up in the air before plopping down on the couch next to Logan. “So what’s the problem then? You messed it up, and now you’re sitting here all broody, which I gotta say—doesn’t look good on you. You’re like a sad puppy with claws. A wolv-puppy.”

Logan shot Wade a glare, though the threat was half-hearted at best. “It’s complicated,” he muttered, taking a long swig of his beer.

Wade gasped again, dramatically clutching his chest. “Complicated? No! Say it ain’t so! Two emotionally stunted, violence-prone badasses couldn’t figure out how to talk about their feelings. The horror! This is literally the plot of every rom-com I’ve ever watched, and trust me, I’ve watched all of them.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not,” Wade replied, winking and nudging Logan with his elbow. “Lemme guess—you didn’t tell her how you felt, she got tired of waiting, and now you’re here with me instead of—oh, I don’t know—being all naked and cuddly with your very hot, very human girlfriend.”

Logan growled, though there was no real anger behind it. Mostly just frustration. “Look, I don’t do the whole... talk about feelings thing. It ain’t me.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching into a smirk. “No shit, Sherlock. You’re emotionally constipated. But here’s the thing, bud—women? They like to hear how you feel. You can’t just brood in a corner and expect them to pick up on your ‘bad boy with a heart of gold’ vibe all the time. Sometimes, you actually have to say something.”

Logan took another swig of his beer, his jaw tightening. “I’m not good with words.”

“Oh, I noticed.” Wade leaned back, putting his feet up on the coffee table and crossing his arms behind his head like he had all the time in the world. “But you don’t have to be Shakespeare. Just be honest. Tell her she makes you nervous.”

Logan frowned, setting his beer down with a thud. “She doesn’t make me nervous.”

Wade gave him a look, half-amused and half-exasperated. “Okay, fine, you’re not nervous. You’re Wolverine, Mr. ‘I’ve lived a hundred lives and fought more people than I can count.’ But you wanna know why she walked out on you? Because you didn’t let her in. You didn’t tell her that maybe—just maybe—she’s the one thing in this world that doesn’t piss you off.”

Logan huffed, sinking further into the couch. He hated how Wade was actually making sense. That was the worst part of this—Wade being right.

Wade’s smirk grew, sensing Logan’s reluctance. “Look, just say what I’m telling you. Repeat after me: ‘You don’t annoy me, you make me nervous.’ Simple. Done. Boom. You’re back in her good graces and probably naked by the end of the night. Win-win.”

Logan shook his head, rubbing his temple like Wade was giving him an actual headache. “I’m not saying that.”

“Sure you are,” Wade shot back, his eyes gleaming. “You’re gonna walk up to her, all gruff and serious, give her that intense look you do, and say it. ‘You don’t annoy me, you make me nervous.’ Trust me, it’ll work like a charm. Then boom—kissy-face, maybe a little apology sex, and then you’ll be back to being all... domestic or whatever you do in your downtime.”

Logan groaned, running a hand through his already tousled hair. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of taking advice from Deadpool, but he was running out of options. It had been a month since you’d walked out, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since. The way you’d looked at him that night—hurt, disappointed—had stuck with him, gnawing at him like nothing else ever had.

“You know she left because you’re an emotional brick wall, right?” Wade added helpfully, flipping through the channels on his TV like this wasn’t the most serious conversation Logan had had in weeks.

Logan clenched his jaw. “Yeah, Wade, I got that.”

“Well, good. Acknowledging it is the first step. The second step is getting off your ass, going to her place, and saying the thing I told you. Preferably with some dramatic background music playing.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Wade. “I don’t need background music.”

“Oh, you absolutely do,” Wade replied, grinning as he finally landed on an 80s rom-com playing on TV. “Don’t worry, I’ll follow behind with a boombox if necessary. Now go get your girl back, Romeo.”

Logan stood up, finishing the rest of his beer in one gulp before tossing the empty bottle onto the coffee table. “If this backfires—”

“It won’t,” Wade interrupted, hopping up from the couch and clapping Logan on the back. “But if it does, we can always go with plan B: I woo her with my devastating charm and then hand her back to you as a peace offering. It’s the perfect plan.”

Logan shot him a warning look, and Wade held up his hands in mock surrender. “Kidding! Jeez. Relax, Wolvie. You’re way too uptight for someone with a healing factor.”

With one last exasperated sigh, Logan headed for the door, his mind already racing with what the hell he was going to say when he saw you. The thought of telling you how he felt—actually putting it into words—was harder than he cared to admit but the thought of losing you for good? That was something he couldn’t handle.

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Wade called after him, grinning as Logan disappeared into the night.

You hadn’t expected to see Logan. You weren’t sure if you expected to see him at all, to be honest. Yet, there he was, standing in your doorway, looking as rough and rugged as ever. His hair was a mess, his stubble heavier than usual, and his eyes—those deep, unreadable eyes—were locked onto you with an intensity that made your breath hitch in your throat.

“Logan,” you started, your voice softer than you intended.

“I need to talk,” he said, his voice gruff, almost hesitant. Logan was never hesitant. It caught you off guard.

You stepped aside, letting him in, the familiar scent of leather and smoke filling your space as he moved past you. He stood in the middle of your living room, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, looking like he was trying to decide where to start.

“You don’t annoy me,” he said suddenly, the words coming out fast and a little clumsy. “You... you make me nervous.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat as you processed what he’d just said. Logan shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting away from yours like he wasn’t used to being this vulnerable.

“I didn’t... I didn’t tell you that before,” he continued, his voice softer now, almost grumbling. “And that’s why you left but I don’t want you to leave. Not again.”

There it was—raw, honest, and maybe not perfectly eloquent, but it was Logan. That was all you had wanted—needed.

“You make me nervous because I... I care. More than I’ve cared about anyone in a long time. And I don’t know how to say that. So I mess it up. But I’m not... I’m not ready to lose you.”

You stood there, your heart racing, the weight of his words sinking in. He might not have been good with feelings, but in this moment, he was giving you everything he had.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer, your eyes softening as you reached for his hand. “You don’t have to be perfect, Logan,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his calloused palm. “I never expected you to be.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to where your hand met his, and for a moment, he just stood there, silent and still, like he was struggling to let himself take comfort in something so simple. You could see the storm of emotions behind those dark eyes—the anger, the frustration, the fear—but also the tenderness he tried so hard to hide.

“I know I’m not easy to be with,” Logan said, his voice rough but quieter now. “Hell, I’m barely around sometimes. And when I am, I don’t—” He paused, running a hand through his already messy hair, clearly frustrated with himself. “I don’t say things the way I should. But I’m here now. And I’m tryin’ to say it.”

His words hung in the air, raw and uncertain, but they were enough. You knew what it took for him to admit this, to let himself be vulnerable in a way he’d always fought against. For you, that effort—his trying—meant more than anything.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of him, your other hand resting on his chest. “I just need you to let me in. I don’t expect you to be someone you’re not, but I need to know that you care. That this matters to you.”

Logan’s eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, all the gruffness and bravado fell away, leaving just the man underneath. The man who, for all his rough edges and scars, cared more deeply than he ever let on.

“I do care,” Logan said, his voice a low rumble. “I just... I don’t know how to show it sometimes. But you’re not like the rest of ‘em. I don’t want you to be just another person I’ve lost.” He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “I’ve lost too many people. I don’t want you to be one of ‘em.”

Your heart squeezed at the rawness in his voice, the way he let those words hang heavy between you.

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered, stepping even closer until your body was pressed against his, your hand resting over his heart.

Logan closed his eyes for a second, as if trying to steady himself, then let out a long breath. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly ease as he let you in—finally, fully.

“I’ll try,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take care of it... take care of us. Just... don’t walk away again.”

You let out a soft sigh of relief, your forehead resting against his chest as you felt the weight of the past month lift off your shoulders. “I didn’t want to leave, Logan. But I didn’t know if you’d ever let me in. You’re so used to doing everything alone...”

He pulled you tighter against him, his grip firm but not suffocating. “I’m not alone when I’ve got you,” he murmured, his breath warm against the top of your head.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and something undeniably Logan. For a moment, you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside your door fading into the background.

“I guess Wade was right,” you said after a beat, your voice muffled against his chest.

Logan groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.”

You laughed softly, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “He told you to say all that, didn’t he?”

Logan’s face twisted into a grimace, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah... don’t remind me.”

You chuckled, rising onto your toes to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “Well, it worked. So maybe you should give Wade a little credit.”

“I’m not giving that idiot anything,” Logan muttered, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips now. “He’s probably out there right now, planning some dumb stunt just to celebrate how ‘wise’ he is.”

“You know he’s never gonna let you live this down, right?” you teased, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

Logan groaned again, his head falling back for a second as if resigning himself to the fate of dealing with Wade’s inevitable gloating. “Yeah, I know. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss him again, slow and lingering. “Well, I think it’s worth it.”

Logan’s hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he deepened the kiss. When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice low and soft. “You’re worth it.”

Wade’s grin was almost as big as the ridiculous neon sign he’d stuck outside his apartment, flashing in obnoxious pink letters: "Wade Wilson: Love Doctor."

“So, how’d it go?” Wade asked, lounging on his couch with a bowl of popcorn like he was watching some kind of live soap opera.

Logan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking like he was five seconds away from strangling Wade. “You’re an idiot.”

Wade gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “An idiot who got you back with your super-hot girlfriend? I’ll take it.”

Logan glared at him, but the usual threat behind the look was missing. “You’re lucky I don’t gut you right here.”

Wade tossed a piece of popcorn in the air and caught it in his mouth, grinning. “Please, you love me. Admit it. I saved your romantic ass.”

Logan let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t save anything.”

Wade waggled his eyebrows, leaning forward. “So... did you say the line? Huh? Did you tell her she doesn’t annoy you, she makes you nervous? Was it super romantic? Did she melt? Were there fireworks? Wait—did you guys have apology sex?!”

Logan’s eye twitched. “Wade—”

“I mean, seriously, when do I get to meet her? We could totally do a double date! I’ll wear a tux, she’ll wear that leather jacket you’re always brooding in, it’ll be super cute—"

Logan growled. “You’re pushing it.”

Wade grinned, utterly unfazed. “Admit it. I’m a love genius. I’ve got a natural gift for this relationship stuff. Really, I should be writing books.”

Logan turned on his heel, already heading for the door. “I’m leaving before I do something we’ll both regret.”

“Bye, best friend!” Wade called after him, waving dramatically. “Tell your girlfriend I said hi! And that I want her number!”

Logan didn’t dignify that with a response, but as he stepped outside, he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Wade might have been the biggest pain in the ass in the universe, but... maybe he was right about one thing.

Some things really were worth it.

[finelinevogue]

late night shenanigans

summary - you and harry are weirdos late at night

a/n : this started off as something cute and then my mind ran away with me and became … odd… so enjoy

word count : +1k

pairing : fiance!harry x reader

✨💐✨💐✨💐✨💐✨💐✨💐✨💐✨💐

“What?”

You pursed your lips together to refrain from smiling but failed miserably; your dimples popping out on either cheek.

You looked back down at your phone, staring at the new photo that had been leaked of you and Harry on the tube together.

“Whaat?” Harry chuckled. “What’s got you smiling like that?”

“No one.”

Harry scoffed, “So it’s someone?”

“Not telling.” You blushed, sinking further into bed and under the covers.

“Y/NNNN….” Harry whined, slinking his arm over your body and holding on tight.

His stubbly cheek brushed against your shoulder, making you shiver at the touch. He left his cheek sat on you shoulder, his head tilted up to look at you.

“What?” You looked down at him, forming a more-than-double chin.

“Tell me.”

And because he asked so politely.

“You.” You said softly, kissing his forehead that was slightly burnt from being out in the sun too long.

“Me?”

You positioned your phone so he could see the screen as well as you, holding it up to the recently fan-papped photo of you both.

You were sat next to Harry, your arm linked around his as you quietly conversed with each other in London’s busiest form of transport. If fans looked close enough, they’d be able to spot the engagement rings on both your fingers that you’d been keeping secret for weeks now.

“Here.”

“This was today? Of us?”

“No shit Sherlock.” You rolled your eyes.

Harry playfully bit down on your soft skin, making you thwack him with your free hand and mumbling some profanities at him underneath your breath.

He chuckled at you, “And why is this making me smile like a freak?”

“A freak?” You gasped, feigning hurt, “You can fuck off, pal.”

You pushed him away with all your force, making him roll over completely onto his side of the bed. His fault for being on your side in the first place - but he would blame that on finding it physically impossible to be apart from you.

You turned yourself onto your side, facing away from him in a huff, and leaving your phone on your bedside table.

It only took him seconds before he began his apology.

Harry started by moving behind you and curling your hair away from the side of your neck. That movement alone made you nearly give up your fake annoyance.

He moved his head to hover over your neck, giving you a moment to shove him off - which you didn’t - before leaning down and leaving his first kiss on your neck.

The kiss was only short, but as he moved his way along your neck and up to your jaw his kisses became longer. You closed your eyes and let a breath escape your mouth unintentionally.

“Never said freak was a bad thing.” He kissed your jaw again.

“Grovel alll you like. You’re still an ass.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I will grovel all I like, thank you.” He kissed your cheek. “After, you tell me why you’re so smiley.”

You turned around then and Harry took the opportunity to slide his arm back around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest. You were nose to nose, eye to eye.

“Because….”

You blushed. You tried to look away from Harry’s gaze but his eyes followed yours, making it impossible.

“Mm.”

“Because you’re mine.” You said quietly, but he heard.

Harry couldn’t help but smile then, leaning in to sloppily kiss his lips against yours. You pushed yourself into the kiss, wanting so desperately to feel all of him.

You cupped the back of his neck and kissed him with all your love, feeling him do the exact same thing.

He pulled back first, with red lips and cheeks.

“I love you.” He started off by saying.

“‘Course you do.”

He kissed you again for your quick comment, making you dizzy with emotions.

“And I smile like a fool in love every day knowing you’re damn well mine.”

You stuck your face into his neck then, giggling against his skin because you couldn’t hold back your excitement of falling in love all over again.

“I love you.” You mumbled into his neck.

“‘Course you do.”

You came out from the safe hiding spot of Harry’s neck then.

“Can’t wait to use that line at the end of the aisle.” You switched to mocking a deep man’s voice then. “Do you Harry Styles take Y/N L/N to be your wife? I do. And then i’ll say ‘course you do.”

Harry stared at you with a raised brow, “You’re so weird.”

“Yeah? Well you’re marrying me. Makes you weird too.” You kissed him again.

“My weird freak.” Harry kissed you.

“When did you stop calling me lovie or sweetheart? When did I become weird freak?”

“You’re always my lovie and sweetheart, but only sometimes my weird freak.”

“You’re weird too.” You pointed out that having this conversation was in fact weird. “But you’re mine.”

“Yeah? That’s why I called you my weird freak.” Harry smirked, thinking he’d won you over with his charm.

“You need to stop.”

Turning around you laid on your other side and Harry stayed tucked against you, spooning you tightly from behind like he did every night.

“Night, weirdo.” You said into the dark quiet of the night, to your fiancé. Harry kissed the back of your head.

“Night, sweetheart.”

[sidekick-hero]

Cheesy

steddie | 1.2k | rated: teen | tags: modern AU, Eddie works at Surfer Boy Pizza, inappropriate humor, cheesy lines and bad puns, fluff and humor | AO3

"Steeeeeeve! Steven! I’m starving! You have to save me from the cruel clutches of death by buying us a pizza. But you must hurry—I don’t have much time left."

"Oh no, what would I ever do without you?" Steve deadpans, barely suppressing a grin.

Robin dramatically flings herself onto him, knocking the wind out of him with a loud 'oumph.'

She jabs a finger into his ribs—surprisingly painful. "Crash and burn, Dingus. Crash. And. Burn."

Steve swats her poking fingers away, scowling at his platonic soulmate. "At least I’d have fewer bruises and a better bank account. This is the third time this week I’m buying you pizza, Buckley. How is that fair?"

He tries to sound stern, but as Robin squirms in his lap, looking up at him with big, pleading blue eyes, his resolve crumbles to dust.

"Because I’ve been your best friend since we both lost all dignity in those sailor outfits. It’s us against the world, oh platonic love of my life. Or... don’t you love me anymore?"

There it is—the killing blow. Game, set, match.

God, he’s so fucking easy, isn’t he?

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Gimme my phone, jeez. You’re eating me out of house and home, I hope you know that."

Steve gets a sharp elbow in the stomach as Robin scrambles to grab his phone from the table.

"Ouch! God, why are your elbows so pointy?"

"They’re my secret weapon against the patriarchy," Robin says distractedly, shoving the phone in his face. "Pizza. Please. Hungry."

Robin’s monosyllables mean the situation is dire. Steve quickly dials their favorite pizza place. “Veggie?” he mouths, earning a thumbs-up from Robin.

“Surfer Boy Pizza, this is Eddie speaking. What’s your poison of choice?”

Huh. The deep, smooth voice on the other end of the line is new, throwing Steve off momentarily.

“Uhhhm… You’re not Argyle,” he blurts out, immediately wanting to slap himself. How pathetic does he sound right now?

An amused chuckle echoes through the tiny speaker.

“Keen observation skills, Sherlock. Argyle’s off today, so you’ve got the pleasure of my company. How can I make your day better, sweetheart?”

The flirty tone throws Steve further, but he can’t deny he’s enjoying it. So, he decides to match Eddie’s energy.

“I could think of a few things, but I’m not sure they’re on the menu,” Steve flirts back, relishing the chance to flex his long-dormant charm.

“Is that so?” Eddie’s smile is practically audible. “Who says they aren’t? Or that I wouldn’t make an exception if you ask real nice?”

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Robin’s elbow digs into his side, knocking the breath out of him. She’s glaring at him, mouthing, ‘What the fuck?’

The sound must have been loud enough for Eddie to hear because he clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, was that… I mean, sorry if that was too forward, man. Please don’t tell my manager, I just got the job and—”

“No! No, no, no, don’t worry. My best friend’s just starving and shared her pain with me… via elbow to the ribs. It wasn’t too forward, I promise.”

A relieved sigh reaches his ear. “Okay, good. So, what kind of pizza can I get you two before your best friend starves to death? I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”

A heavy weight settles in Steve’s stomach. He didn’t realize how much he missed being flirted with, even casually. Nancy was right—their relationship had been over long before they ended it. It’s been ages since he felt this kind of excitement.

“Yeah, no, we don’t want that,” Steve agrees, smiling despite himself. “One veggie, and one with meatballs—yes, I know how that sounds.”

Eddie’s flirtatious tone returns. “Wouldn’t dream of going for such an easy opening, big boy. I’m easy, not cheesy.”

“Oh. My. God.” Steve laughs. “That was terrible.”

“But you liked it.”

Steve grins. Yeah, he did. He’s a sucker for bad puns and dad jokes. But Eddie didn’t need to know that. “Pleading the fifth.”

Eddie hums, asking for his name and address before promising the pizza will be there in 20 minutes.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve says, his voice softer than it should be.

“Anytime, Stevie. Enjoy your pizza!”

“Bye. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Deafening silence. Then, in a surprisingly calm voice, Eddie says, “I hope you’re not expecting a discount on the pizza now that we’ve confessed our undying love to each other. Because I’d do anything for love, but I won’t do that.”

And then he hangs up, leaving Steve to spiral in peace.

Love you.

Love you, too.

Fuck. Oh my God. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. What was he thinking? Nothing, apparently. It’s just… with Nancy on his mind, his brain switched to autopilot, saying the words he ended every call with her. Three years of habit.

“Steve? Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The worried look on Robin’s face lasts just long enough for Steve to explain what happened before she breaks into ringing laughter.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, barely able to catch her breath. “That’s… hahaha… I can’t… What is your life, Dingus?”

By then, Steve’s laughing too, Robin’s reaction helping him see the humor instead of drowning in embarrassment.

As promised, there’s a ring at the door about 20 minutes later, announcing the arrival of their pizza. The sound sends butterflies fluttering in his stomach, even though he knows the delivery guy won’t be Eddie.

Knowing that and seeing it for himself are two different things, though. He can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment when he opens the door to find a blonde, pimply teenager staring at him doubtfully.

“So, you’re the guy trying to lure Eddie into your sex dungeon?”

Steve sputters, completely thrown. “Uh… what?”

“Why else would you tell a total stranger—who’s also working for you, by the way, hence creating an imbalance of power—that you love him? Freak.”

The teenager shoves the pizza boxes into Steve’s hands, snatches the bills from his other hand, and walks away without another word.

Steve stands there, staring into the void, deeply regretting all his life choices. He’s snapped out of it only when Robin’s voice pierces through his thoughts, yelling for her pizza.

“Coming!” he shouts back, closing the door with his foot and carrying the boxes over to where Robin’s already making grabby hands.

He hands hers over before settling down next to her with his own.

“What took you so long?” she asks, mouth full of pizza.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he begins but stops when he notices the note stuck to the top of his pizza box.

Hey Stevie, I lied, because this is cheesy, but you are one supreme slice, and I’d love to give you meatballs for as long as you’d like. Yours truly, The guy you confessed your undying love to (aka Eddie) P.S. Please don’t mind Sam. He’s just jealous because no customer ever confesses their love to him.

Beneath the note, Steve finds a phone number.

Without thinking, he grabs his phone and quickly types out a message before finally digging into his pizza, suddenly starving.

‘Hey Eddie, if you put a sausage on top of the meatballs, we have a deal. xxx the guy you confessed your undying love to right back.’

Inspired by this ancient post I can no longer find:

[pelova4president]

Secreta

Salma Paralluelo x Barca!Reader

summary~ You’ve been dating your girlfriend Salma for a while now but never really told the team. Will they find out?

Hiding something from your teammates was difficult, especially when you’re part of the Barca squad. One big family. Well, a unique family but one nonetheless.

And it got even more complicated when the secret is between two teammates. Being in a relationship with a teammates was something itself, sharing it with the team meant endless teasing and god knows what else.

Salma was a flirtatious type so it wasn’t uncommon for her to hug you, pick you up and sometimes even slap your ass. Most of the team is Spanish anyway, they’re all more into pda than the English. Whenever someone would comment on it you had a good excuse, she does it to everyone. But it was hard to cover up the red that invaded the apples of your cheeks.

Mapi was the worst of them all, you may or may not have told her about your little crush on the striker before anything actually happened between the two of you, and she wouldn’t let it go. She might have her suspicions but she never really told you them out loud and luckily for you that saved you some embarrassment and unnecessary lying.

“Los tortolitos no pueden quitarse las manos de encima” (Lovebirds can’t keep their hands off eachother) Mapi yelled from across the pitch. Salma had swung you over her shoulder, having spurted water all over her earlier and now she wanted payback. Vicky, her partner in crime helped her with that. The younger girl had stolen a bucket full of ice cold water from the recovery room and was waiting for Salma to run towards her. Once she arrived with you over her wet shoulder Vicky drowned you in the freezing water.

Gasping for air you scolded the Spanish girls. “Joder! I’m gonna get you both for that, little shits!” and when you began kicking yourself free from the strong grip Salma had on you, they sprinted away.

“Jesus Christ..” you sighed, happy to be on your own two feet again. Alexia and Frido laughed at your wet state, “Kind of deserved it, don’t you think.” the Swede said. You rolled your eyes at her, receiving a disapproving look from the other woman.

After training Salma drove you home. You shared the appartement, deciding to move in together rather quickly, u-hauling. It seemed like the obvious choice, you needed to be at the same location at the same time almost every single day and you got to be the passenger princess. You would cook some actual food for the both of you, seems like a win win situation right?

That was until some teammates started to get suspicious of your whole living situation. Alexia thought she knew everything about you and when she discovered you lived with Salma she was a little surprised, you would’ve told her right, why didn’t you tell her. That was the base of her little Sherlock Holmes case.

Vicky was just noisy and like a little sister. Salma adored her and so, you did too. She was around almost every day so you couldn’t hide that you had moved in with your girlfriend. It was around the second week of living together that Vicky came around and walked into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. Obviously there were two bedrooms in the apartment but only one in use. With some garbage on the left side of the room and actual books on the right she knew that Salma had company.

“Salma, ¿tienes compañía?” (Salma, do you have company?) the noisy teenager asked. Salma walked towards the girl and kept herself cool. “La cama de y/n aún no ha llegado así que duerme en la mía.” (Y/n’s bed hasn’t arrived yet so she sleeps in mine) Salma replied. “You’d tell me if you liked someone, sí?” Vicky winked.

Apart from La Reina and the annoying teenager nobody suspected a thing.

salmaparalleulo

liked by lucybronze and 281.828 others

a pleasure to have been there last night and end 3rd. thank you ❤️

comments

vickyylopezz._ mi 🐐

keirawalsh 💫

aitanabonmati mi hermana

y/n_y/l/n 🤤

commenting that might not have been the best thing since it only raised suspicions, especially with Vicky. But honestly, how could she look that good. And Salma is your girlfriend so you had all the right to drool over her.

When she finally came back from her little ballon d’or trip you almost had no time since you were expected for training the next day. Your schedule was full, scarily so. You could be in Italy, playing against Ireland one day and the next you’d be expected at Barca to play a full 90 minutes against Atletico Madrid.

This also meant that you had little time with your girlfriend whenever one of you were off for some event or sponsorship.

But even once in a while you needed to let go and go out with your girls, even if that meant you had to Uber home since your personal driver wasn’t there to drive you.

y/n_y/l/n

liked by leahwilliamsonn and 186.725 others

🫶🏽🥂

comments

ellatoone take me with you next time xx

alexiaputellas what’s this?

vickyylopezz._ who’s that?

salmaparalluelo 🫶🏾

lucybronze barca’s doing you good

Stealing one last kiss you got out of Salma’s car. Hand in hand you walked towards the changing rooms. You were surprised there wasn’t anyone yet. Alexia would’ve already been here by this time. Tying your shoelaces up, not wanting to wear those football boots without them since they seem to be falling off players foots. Well, clumsy Alessia’s but a player nonetheless.

Salma had been done ages ago but decided to wait for you before heading into the canteen. “Ready, mi amor?” she took your hand, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Not quite yet..” you kissed her on her lips. Without meaning to really deepen the kiss it got heated.

“Hmm, need you Sal..” you hummed against her swollen lips. She kissed you even harder at that statement. “Haven’t had you in so long.” your grip getting tighter around her shoulders, almost like a koala clinging around a branch. Your girlfriends hands traveled lower and squeezed your ass before letting them rest there.

And before you could remove yourself from the striker, the changing room door swung open, revealing a complete Barca team. Vicky’s face was one with disgust, hearing your words from earlier. Alexia’s captaining face had taken over and disapproval was to be seen on some of your older teammate’s faces.

Mapi and Lucy burst out laughing. “Fucking told you so Mapi, give me my money!” ofcourse they had a fucking bet going on. Mapi and Vicky groaned at the same time but for different reasons. “My ears! I have to amputate them now! And my innocent eyes!” she screamed dramatically.

“Oh shut up Vicky, you’ve seen enough with those innocent eyes of yours!” your rolled your eyes at the teenager. “And you two had a fucking bet going on? How many of you had your suspicions?” It was your turn to be annoyed. Everyone seemed to find the walls, floor or even the ceiling more interesting than the questions you’ve just asked. “Joder..” Salma groaned, you really thought they had no clue.

“Well, dog’s out of the bagage. Everyone knows now.” Aitana says in broken English. “It’s cat’s out of the bag but yeah, good job with trying Aita” Keira praises her.

salmaparalluelo, y/n_y/l/n

liked by jillroord and 261.738 others

dog’s out of the bagage

comments

leahwilliamsonn what does that even mean?

alessia cute 💕

ellatoone love youse

janafernandez3 guapaaasss

alexiaputellas still mad.

vickyylopezz._ ew gross 🤢

[thechekhov]

Chekhov Reads Dungeon Meshi: CH49

Mmmmmbig chicken.

It's not non-sense, it's common-sense. But dang, orcs really have that toxic adventuring gender stuff down, huh.

Dwarves are comprised of many basic shapes, such as...... cube....and.......two circle.....

.....It's..........TURNING into a dungeon.

Like an architectural structure has a natural evolutionary progression, including, apparently, becoming a dungeon if enough magic leaks into it? This is fascinating. Like magical radiation that poisons the natural architecture and creates monsters. That's fucked up.

But I need to know more immediately.

Though wait, I think Marcille's flashback chapters talked about creating and maintaining dungeons so it MUST be a well understood phenomenon.

It's a small detail, but the group having a horse (pony?) with them and Senshi later getting attached to a horse-like monster feels extremely intentional. I wonder if it'll be explicitly mentioned or if I'm just reading too much into things.

......Anne was the name of the Kelpie. :( That's 100% of purpose. Oh no. Why do you do this to me.

....aaaand that's where Senshi's strong parental instincts kick in.

................................ damn, poor kid.

Dwarves are tough. A part of me wonders if that guy was hanging on to whatever life he had left, just barely making it through to feed Senshi........ A walking corpse, by all other names, hanging on for the sake of it.

It's really cool to see Senshi grow so much in the span of a few panels. And the orcs softening up is such a common theme it's not even surprising.

Oh.

OH.

Oh no.

He's a fucking idiot but it's like. Healing? How stupid he is.

It's a level of not giving a fuck that you can aspire to.

Marcille like "let me see if I can get you an itemized list....."

Laios pls.

This boy is Sherlocking the fuck out of SOMETHING but I can't tell what.

Laios is an unstoppable force. He does not give a fuck.

But also. Hippogriff?

You're telling me a shroom mushed this Hippogriffin?

Okay, but seriously. "Step into the magic mushroom circle to clip through the floor and break your model by downloading a new unapproved mod" sounds JUST like something the dungeon would have.

well hey! The kick had a reasoning behind it!

humans: we wanna unlock the secrets of genome editing!

Mushroom CRISPR:

okay why is this genuinely getting to me.

(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

Bro. I love them.

AAAAA NOT THROUGH THE GENE EDITING CIRCLE

[liliacamethyst]

Okay okay, theory,

So I’ve always though Miguel had wolf spider like powers, so claws, fangs, heightened senses that include smelling and hearing mainly

I feel like after a certain point in the pregnancy Miguel might be able to smell the hormones (hormones rise in the first trimester drastically) and dogs can smell pregnancy. So like maybe the main character tries to avoid him if they know OOP🙏

Love the story btw I’m obsessed 😭😭✌️

-🌙

THIS is so good and I can totally see it.

Unfortunately it doesn’t fit to my storyline as I have already went in a slightly different direction but here is a altenative Drabble to how Miguel finds out spider sun is pregnant with your theory (I really hope you enjoy it 🌙, and it is what you were looking for)

The tension in the Spider Society headquarters was almost tangible as you stepped into the main hall. Ever since your encounter with Miguel, you've been avoiding him as much as possible, doing everything in your power to remain out of his radar.

But the Spider Society is not a large place and despite your best efforts you were bound to cross paths with Miguel eventually. It was simply inevitable.

The moment you caught sight of Miguel, your heart thumped wildly in your chest. You took a step back, ready to leave the area. But then he turned and your paths locked. He squints as if he’s trying to read your mind or something. Your palms get sweaty, and you look around to see if anyone else is watching this very intense staring contest you didn't sign up for.

“Hey,” you stammer.

“Hey,” he replies. His nostrils do this little twitchy thing and you wonder if he’s about to sneeze or something.

“Uh, you good? You look like you’re sniffing out a bomb or something,” you joke.

Miguel goes silent for a second and then, his eyes widen. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. This is the moment you’ve been dreading. Damn his heightened senses! Miguel had always been able to pick up on the smallest changes in his environment.

“Wait a second,” he says, almost whispering. His voice cracks a little.

“Wait a second, what?” you retort, really wanting to just sprint out of the room. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re pretty sure everyone in the room can hear it.

“You... are you...” he doesn’t finish the sentence.

You let out a dramatic sigh.

“You’re pregnant!” he exclaims, louder than you'd like.

The room goes quiet for a second and you can feel all eyes on you. You're red as a tomato. Way to keep a secret.

You lean in and whisper sharply, “Could you say it louder? I don’t think the whole multiverse heard you.”

He looks flabbergasted and steps back, rubbing his face. You can see his brain is working overtime.

“Is it...?” He doesn't finish his question, but you know what he means.

“Wow, Sherlock, your senses are really on point today” you reply, sarcasm dripping from each word.

Miguel's face softens, his fierce demeanor crumbling. He looks almost vulnerable. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he says ever so softly.

You shrug. “You didn’t let me.”

[desi2go]

First little crush

pairing: Felix x reader

warning: just pure fluff!

authour's note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIXIEEEE! Y'all don't know but he was the one that brought me into kpop and Stray Kids with his deep as fuck voice. He was also my first bias before Chan stole my heart <3 So he owns a very special place in my heart <3<3<3<3

Even if Felix wouldn't want to accept it at first, he must admit that during the time in college, he somehow got feelings for you, one of his closest friends since he stepped into the classroom for the first time. It happened unintentional but here he was. But he was way too shy to ask you out, fearing that you might not feel the same and cut down your friendship at all.

Instead, Felix puts little notes on your desk in your next class during lunch when you were with your other friends, always leaving you something to come back to. Just a little writing to remind you that he likes the way your hair looks today or how nice your new earrings are. Even if you just smiled so pretty for a second, he would put it on the note.

It was not the only thing he did secretly. After watching some sappy romantic movies with Changbin, he copied some methods to show you how much he liked you, even if you didn't know who it was.

From time to time, you found flowers, your favourite ones, left outside of your dorm room, between some flowers was a note with sweet nothings, making your heart warm and fluffy. Chocolates were placed gently in your locker, a red ribbon tied securely around it. They were always your favourite and you wondered every time you got some, who sended them to you and exactly knew what kind you liked.

You would lie when you say that you knew who it was. In fact, you had absolutely NO idea who it is, not even in the slightest. There was nobody that looked at you different or seemed to have feelings for you. The idea of your secret admirer being Felix never crossed your mind. Even when you silently hoped that it was him but you weren't gonna to say that out loud. It didn't seem like he had any interest so you definitely aren't going to bring that up.

Seungmin and Yeongin teased you relentlessly, making fun of who your secret lover could be. And they were just as unknowing.

After some time, they had enough. It took them all too long for your lover to reveal his identity and they decided to find out on their own. They observed your locker like a treasure, always keeping an eye on it and they even wrangled Minho and Hyunjin into helping them finding the culprit.

They took shifts in watching your locker, observing the environment if someone looked suspicious. The only time, they left the locker alone was at night and when you all had class. These were the only opportunities for Felix to put you some treats into it in secret. He felt like a ninja on a special mission, fearing that someone could see him.

Even though Hyunjin commented that everytime they left the classroom it was always Felix who was the last one to leave. But you just laughed it off - not paying any attention to his suggestion since there was no way that he could be your Romeo.

Felix felt increasingly anxious and freaking out as he watches you and his friends attempting to work out who is leaving you all these little gifts. He even compared you to Sherlock Holmes but he must admit that Holmes was more successful. Silently, smug with himself.

But all the work was worth it as soon as he saw your eyes light up each time you received something new from him. Mindlessly, he scribbles in his notes images of you, drawing your beautiful face and that angelic smile that slowed down his whole world. They never looked good enough compared to the real version. Plus, he wasn't as talented as Hyunjin but at least you could tell who he pictured. He never showed his friends his drawings, immediatly grabbing his notes and hiding it when someone tried to sneek a glance over his shoulder.

One time, he gifted you a box and when he saw a little red ribbon in your hair the next day, he nearly lost it. He was on cloud nine - seeing you wearing something that he had gifted to you. Of course, you were doing it unknowingly but it has happened none the less.

From that moment, he decided that wants - no needs - to buy everything for you. He wanted everything you would wear to come from him. Every piece of food you eat he needed to buy.

However, Hyunjin grew even more suspicious and one day, he claimed that he would get proof of her suspicion. One thing that Felix learned while being friends with him was that as soon as he had a goal, he was going to achieve it. No matter what. And Felix knows it is just a matter of time, the clock was ticking.

So, he was left with only two options - confess or get caught red handed.

Hours were spended on the internet - searching for the right answer without success. Heck, he even watched more of the romantic movies with Changbin but he is still having trouble.

He couldn't go to Chan - his friend was even more helpless than he is with approaching his crush. So there was only one choice when he didn't want to get caught from Hyunjin. Confessing.

He held his breath as he knocked on your dorm room door, hands sweaty and shaking. A beautiful bouquet in his hands as he waited for you to open.

He had his words worked out, after hours of thinking. He had practised in front of his mirror before coming to you. Every word from his planned out confession got lost in head when he sees the door opening and you peeked outside. Nervously, he swallowed, opening his mouth to start confessing but not one sound came out, not one word.

He catched the small smirk on your face when you examined the bouquet.

"Are these for me?" The slight teasing was obvious in your voice - but not uncomfortable. However, it still made him blush harder.

Felix still couldn't find his words, in his head was only a turmoil, so, he nodded shortly and pushed the flowers towards your arms. He avoided your gaze with burying his head in his own shoulder.

You smiled and let out a small chuckle as you observed the sweet smelling flowers in your hands. You noticed that this one was much bigger than the normal ones he usually laid in front of your door - he had really outdone himself with that.

Silently, he watched you glide back into your dorm room - setting up the vase for the flowers he had just gifted you. It never left its place since you got so many bouquets over the months. In the meantime, he stood ridged in your doorway, fiddling with his fingers.

Again, your head poked out with a smile and a sweet blush on your cheeks. "Are you going to come in?" you asked and he completely froze for a moment. He definitely never thought about you accepting his mixed up and embarissing confession. But when he processed your words, he was quick to follow you with fast steps in case you changed your opinion. He had never moved faster in all his life.

Hyunjin stood with Seungmin in a dark corner of the corridor, neither Felix or you had noticed them. Only their head peaked around the corner so that they could watch the scene unfold in front of their own eyes. Seungmin's eyes had doubled, blown wide, and his jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

"No way. He was the secret lover?!" Never in one million years he would have guessed that one of his friends was the admirer. He thought that Felix would be too shy to approach you, even gifting you something never crossed his mind.

Hyunjin just smirked in triumph. "I fucking knew it" he exclaimed laughing at Seungmin's expression.

"Well, give me my well earned money. A bet is a bet!" he added and Seungmin grumpily pulled his wallet out after rolling his eyes and handed his friend the money. He will never bet against Hyunjin, that was clear.

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Fifteen

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

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

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

The amount of mental gymnastics I did trying to figure out where hands and legs went while trying to write this...

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Fifteen - Heaven's Worst Kept Secret

Content Warning: MINORS DNI!!!!! Mentions of abuse, Smut, Bondage, Obsession, (let me know if I missed any!)

“Fuck!” Velvette landed face-first on the floor, Vox next to her. 

The media demon was silent as he picked himself up, his body bruised and broken. He limped over to the couch, his head hanging low as he leaned against the back of it for support. 

Velvette went straight for Vox’s new desk and began furiously typing as the computers reloaded. You had triggered a system reset when you sent Vox’s mind buffering, but the Vees had a failsafe set in place after the last time Alastor cut the wires. With cracked fingernails, she pulled up footage of the fight on the numerous monitors Vox had stitched together into one giant screen. 

“She used me,” Vox mumbled to himself in disbelief. 

Velvette didn’t even dignify his groveling with a response. The brat demon continued to swipe through the footage, desperately searching for a particular frame. 

“She used me for him?” Vox was still trying to put the pieces together as if his brain itself was also reloading.

“Oh, shut it!” Velvette snapped. Her nose continued to drip down her face, leaving red dots scattered across the keyboard. 

There! Velvette froze the two frames she was looking for and blew them up on the computer. The brat stomped over to Vox, grabbed him by an antennae, and dragged him to the screen.   

“Look at this and tell me what you see,” she demanded. 

Vox shook his head. “Wait.” He jumped back from her grip, wincing when he stepped on his bad ankle. “Are you making another plan? We lost, Velvette! We fucking lost!” 

“No shit, Sherlock, but if you…”

“No ‘but’s, Velv! It’s over! Don’t you get that!?” 

Velvette choked, tears in her eyes, “Vox-!” 

Vox cupped her face rather harshly, forcing her to look and understand the words that escaped his speakers, “He’s dead. Val is dead and isn’t coming back.” 

She shook him off. “And you’re just gonna let him die, are you? Let it all be for fuckin’ nothing!?” Velvette shoved him. Vox fell into the back of the couch, wincing on his bad leg. 

“We lost, Velvette! There isn’t anything to do!” 

“You’re just saying that because your ex picked her over you. Well, newsflash, you bloody idiot, there’s a reason Alastor turned you down! Because you’re a fuckin’ pussy!” 

Vox gave up. The two of them have been fighting since Valentino’s death - Velvette in particular. She had done nothing but push him away, ordering him around as her master plan slowly fell into place. Vox had put up with it because it was rational, wasn’t it? No one processes grief the same, and everyone needs time to process. Vox had chosen to isolate himself, barely getting up off the couch, using Val’s old Fizz bots to bring him snacks and junk food, which he had gorged himself on for days. He spent days in the same suit until Velvette forced him to change by dumping a bucket of water on his head. 

Yeah, it wasn’t nice, but she still managed to get him up and moving, and for that, he was grateful. Until his patience ran out, and he found himself snapping back at her. Meeting her anger with his own growing irritation. It was only a matter of time before they were at each other’s throats. It's the reason they split up the party to take down the Radio Demon and the Shadow separately - it was not a strategy at first. The rest of the plan was built from there. 

That is probably why they lost. The Vees were always stronger together, but they weren’t “The Vees” anymore. They hadn’t been since you murdered Valentino. Velvette liked to claim that she was the backbone of their trio, but when it came down to it, she wasn’t. 

 “Fine.” Vox spat, but his words lacked anger. “You want to go after Alastor and that damn Angel, be my guest, but I’m done.” 

“Pussy!” She screamed after him as he disappeared behind the door. 

Velvette turned back to the screen. Damn, Angel… 

The demon tutted, an idea forming in her brain. “I wonder if Heaven knows it’s missing an Angel?” She clacked her broken nails against the screen, a wicked smile forming on her face. She had pulled up a still image of you and a separate one of Lucifer. While you and Vox had your pissing contest regarding your lack of relationship, Velvette was focusing on other matters. Most notably, trying to figure out why Hell’s King was beneath your robe and not you. He hadn’t been seen around Hell since Lilith left him. So why show up now?  

Velvette spun as she laughed, “Especially one who looks so much like a Morningstar...”  

Oh, but how to tell Heaven?

An idea sprang forth, a memory of an ad she had seen hundreds of times while flipping through her phone. Velvette pulled out her phone and dialed. 

There was a musical jingle before someone answered: “Hello, thank you for calling, C.H.E.R.U.B., how may we bless you today?”

____________________________________________

You woke to sunlight beaming through the curtains and soft jazz playing through Alastor’s radio. It was early - morning - you had slept through the late afternoon into the next day. The world smelled of rain as you turned over in Alastor’s silk sheets. They were cool to the touch, which would be nice if you were someone who ran hot - like Alastor - but you were forever cursed to be cold. Instinctively, you reached out, searching for that well of warmth, and jumped when your hand came into contact with nothing but fur. 

Alastor lay next to you, his arms folded beneath a pillow, his face propped up next to yours. The demon’s red irises sparkled in the morning light, his gaze wholly fixated on your sleeping form. He lay shirtless on his belly, the red sheets hooked around his waist. His hair was a tangled mess atop his head - a serious case of bedhead that made you smile. 

Alastor beamed when he finally realized you were awake. His tail beneath the sheets wagged, tossing the blankets aside to reveal the red and black tuft at the crest of his hips. It was adorable, and it only made you grin wider when you realized Alastor was completely naked in bed with you. 

Your gaze drifted across his broad shoulders and down his back to his slim waist. Who knew a back could be sculpted? Who knew men even had hard ridges that moved with their very breath? So many Angels you’ve trained who grew muscles on top of muscles until they were disgustingly large, but not Alastor. He was slim but carried with him a defined tone as if chiseled by Heaven itself - an image worthy of the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling.   

God, if only the sheets would fall a little lower. 

“Bonjour, mon cœur. Comment as-tu dormi? Good morning, my heart. How did you sleep?” Alastor ran a hand down the side of your cheek, his fingers playing with your wild hair. 

Normally, you hated mornings - you were a total grump before that first cup of coffee. Had anyone tried to speak to you in French this early, you’d have turned over and groveled, but today you were beaming. All too eager to please the Overlord, all too excited to impress him with your French as well. 

“Commes le morts, Like the dead,” you giggled, hiding your face behind the sheets.   

Alastor’s eyes sparked. The demon snaked his arms under the sheets and yanked you by your waist beneath him. The sheets came with you, separating your skin from his - a God-forsaken barrier. His arms framed your face as he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “Tu parles avec un accent du sud-ouest. You speak with a Southwestern accent.” 

“Oui,” you smiled, tilting your chin up. The wisp ends of the demon’s hair tickled your cheeks as you leaned in, but Alastor playfully pulled away, a claw pulling on your lower lip. 

“Et où as-tu appris ça? And where did you learn that?” The demon whispered, his eyes wholly on your lips. 

The Southwestern accent, associated with the city of Toulouse, is considered to be “sexy.” While some Parisians find it provincial, others think it exotic. That may or may not have been a contributing factor to why you chose that particular accent. As an Angel, you could switch languages at will, but switching accents… Well, now you were just showing off. 

“Je... Qu'est-ce que c'est? I… What is that?” Something behind Alastor’s head caught your attention. 

On the underbelly of the canopy was a large figure drawn in green. `

“That,” Alastor ran his lips along your cheek and across your jawline, not even bothering to look up, “is the reason why you didn’t burn down my apartment last night.” 

Your face heated. Last night… Last night, when you and Alastor… got into it, there was no fire, no static, no magic of any kind destroying the world around you. At the time, you knew it was because of Alastor, but you didn’t know exactly how he did it. 

“It’s a vèvè,” you sat up to get a better look, holding the satin sheets from slipping below your breasts. 

“Hmm,” Alastor sat behind you, his eyes on your hair as he answered, “Papa Loko’s vèvè.” 

“When…” You turn to find Alastor lying on his back, his chest and abs in full view. You’ve seen his muscles before, and although the sight of them still made heat pool in your belly, you were woefully caught off guard by the happy trail of red that started just below his belly button and disappeared beneath the sheets, most likely ending at the base of his -.

Oh, my God. You turned away, forcing your mind to focus on the symbol above.

You could hear Alastor audibly smirk. 

A vèvè is a kind of symbol, a cosmogram, a visual representation of the spirits and deities honored in Voodoo. In Haitian Voodoo, Papa Loko is known for his healing powers and association with the wind. His role is that of protector, and his vèvè depicts a snake coiled around a vertical axis. It was a symbol of protection, the source of magic that had allowed the two of you to indulge but not destroy.  

You breathed, your body tingling with anticipation, “When did you draw that up there?” 

The demon ran a hand through your hair, collecting the silver locks and brushing them over your opposite shoulder. The demon had an unobstructed view of your neck, of the bruises and little nicks in your skin, and, more importantly, of the bite mark. The bite mark Alastor left on your skin, claiming you, marking you as his. 

“Before or after the Vees fake kidnapped you?” You asked, trying your best to ignore his hands on you. 

Alastor wasn’t listening. His mind was on the teeth marks in your skin, trailing his claw amongst them, replaying each one in his memory. 

“Before or after Mardi Gras?” 

The demon didn’t answer, pulling away, he organized the pillows so he could rest comfortably against the headboard. 

Suddenly, the answer hit you. “Our meeting.”

You gasped when Alastor easily picked you up by your hips and seated you between his legs. The demon pulled you against him. Your back flushed with his chest. 

“You thought I was going to return and try to…”

Alastor pressed a kiss to your shoulder, a soft peck. Your mind went blank with the feel of his lips on your skin. 

“Yes, mon couer?” You could hear the sideways grin in his voice as his hands fell to your hips. They roamed the skin of your waist, the curve of your silhouette, relishing in the feel of you between his legs.

The way Alastor wiped your mind with just a touch… 

“You thought I was a threat,” your head lolled back, resting in the fluff of his chest. “I’m honored.” 

Alastor smiled as he kissed you again, slowly working his way to the crook of your neck… The demon smelled of rain, of musk, of vanilla. 

“Why am I just now noticing this?” You breathed, your heart rate spiking as Alastor ran his tongue over a particularly sore bruise. He was making it so hard to think. 

“Because I allow you,” Alastor’s voice was deep. His words filter across your senses with a smoky edge. The radio static fizzed out, leaving behind nothing but his own natural, raw vocals. 

Allow you? Oh… That’s why you couldn’t smell him… Well, not at first, but slowly, you’ve been able to pick up more and more. You wondered if he knows that you can feel his static before he enters a room, if he had conscious control over that? 

The demon pressed his lips to the mark at the crook of your neck, to the wound in the shape of his teeth, and licked. 

“Oh, Heaven,” you choked. 

Alastor’s hands ran up your sides to cup your breasts. You let the sheet fall then, the cold air leaving goosebumps across your skin. Your fingers went straight to his hair, to his ears. 

You tugged. 

Alastor’s hips bucked as he growled, his dick hardening against your backside perfectly in line with your ass. The demon squeezed your breasts, pinching your nipples between forefinger and thumb.

“Alastor,” you moaned his name, the heat pooling between your legs.

You whine when his hands leave your breasts, The demon bent his legs, his hooves flat on the bed. You gasped when he grabbed your knees and hooked them around his, opening your legs, and baring you to the world. 

Alastor nipped at your ear lobe, eliciting his favorite noise, the yelp between your teeth. 

Pressing his lips to your ear, he whispers, “Be a good girl and lift up.”

The demon slips his cock from beneath you, slick with precum. You can feel the heat of him between your legs as you settle back down, his shaft nuzzled against your center. Alastor gripped his shaft and slowly stroked. You watched, not only in awe - Jesus, that thing was inside of you !? - but because you wanted to learn. 

You’ve been in God’s realm for thousands of years and never had you touched a man. Eve bedded everything and everyone, but you didn’t stay and watch. She’d talk of her sexual conquests, but you never really listened, too busy trying to sort out why others were so interested in sex, let alone why they’d want to partake with a complete stranger. 

Here. Now. You wanted to learn because you wanted to make Alastor feel as good as he made you feel. You wanted to feel the demon squirm under your touch, to bring him the satisfaction of completion all on your own. 

Alastor released his hold, and his cock sprang back, smacking your clit and making you jump. 

The demon laughed as he trailed a line of searing kisses up your neck, his other hand tracing your silhouette. He paused at your breast to squeeze. You tried to rub your knees together, wishing for some sort of friction between your legs, but Alastor held your legs open firmly. You whined when his hand dropped lower, drawing little circles with his fingers across your skin. 

It didn’t feel possessive so much as it seemed like he was contemplating clever ways to torture you. He brought his mouth to your neck again and nipped. All the while, his hand drifted lower and lower, finding the inside of your thigh. You tried to scoot lower, to feel his shaft grind against your center, but Alastor’s hand on your thigh stopped you. 

“Alastor, this is torture,” you pouted, your hands going behind you to find his hair. You searched for his ears, hoping to find a way to force his hand, but the demon lifted his head back, leaving you just out of reach. 

“I made you a promise, mon couer, to spend hours drawing orgasm after orgasm until you beg me to stop, until you’re screaming my name in agony, until your dying for my cock.”

For the love of Christ, this man and his words!

“You want me to beg?” You whined, your fingers gripping his hair. 

The demon smiled. With his free hand, Alastor ran two fingers up his shaft, collecting a drop of cum on the pads of his fingers. “Oh, no, darling.” He rubbed the white fluid between his two fingers and thumb. “I want you screaming.”

And then plunged those two fingers inside of you. 

You gasped as he sank to the first knuckle, his thumb finding your clit. The demon stroked, his fingers wet with his cum as he circled your center. With each pump of his fingers, Alastor matched it by stroking his cock, chasing his own pleasure as you gasped atop of him. 

With the demon at your back, his fingers naturally curled upward, immediately hitting your g-spot with every pump of his hand. The feeling was already too much, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a pace you knew would leave you sore afterward. Alastor wanted you to cum, and he wanted it fast. Instinctively, your hips rolled, eliciting a growl from the demon. He thrusted hard, your breasts bouncing with every stroke of your core. 

Jesus Christ, he was finger fucking you with his cum. 

The demon dropped his dick, his hand coming to your breast and pinching your nipple - hard. A scream stopped in your throat as you arched off of him, your only leverage, the fingers you had wrapped in his hair. It wasn’t enough; with the force Alastor’s hand was fucking you with, he was going to knock you right off him. 

You dropped his locks, forgoing his hair for his antlers. The demon growled as you wrapped your hands around the base of his rack, the bone thicker, sprouting a few extra prongs than normal. Alastor’s strokes turned demanding as you writhed on top of him, your breath coming in shallow bursts, your pulse pounding through every glorious inch of your body. 

Fuck, you were close already, and you had just begun. 

And then Alastor adds a third finger, and not once but twice, and you’re over the edge, your body shaking as the orgasm rides through your body. His fingers continue to pump, riding you through your high until you slump back down into him. 

The demon doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. 

Alastor shadows you. Suddenly, you’re on your feet, your chest pressed into the mattress, you’re ass high in the air. The juices from your orgasm trickle down your inner thigh as he hooks an arm around your legs, squeezing them together to create the perfect amount of friction as he seats his cock between your legs. He pumps forward and backward a few times, his head hitting your overly sensitive clit. 

It’s too soon after your orgasm. Your body hasn’t had a chance to fully come back down yet. So every stroke of his cock against your center is sensory overload. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” Alastor moans. The demon presses down on the back of your neck, his fingers wrapped around your throat, forcing you into the mattress. 

“Yes,” you pant, squeezing your thighs harder, driving him against your clit. Jesus, you don’t know if you can do this. You’re nerves are on fire, it’s too much, too overwhelming.

“Cum on my cock,” he commands, his voice labored with his thrusts. You barely register the command, your mind going numb yet overloaded at the same time. 

The pressure builds, and your body tenses, but Alastor holds fast to you, keeping up the pace and rhythm. He grows harder by the second, and you can feel every ridge of him against your slickness. 

“Cum for me,” Alastor commands again. 

“I… I can’t,” you pant. 

Suddenly, Alastor wraps his arms under yours. With one hand, he palms your breast, and the other wraps around your throat. He pulls you up, flush against him, and squeezes hard, cutting off your air supply and surely bruising your nipple. 

And it's enough. You cry out, orgasming for the second time in a row, muscles and nerves blinking. Your knees buckle beneath you, but Alastor holds you up as wave after wave crashes through you, a guttural groan escaping your lips. 

The demon slows his strokes, his cock grinding between your legs with a slick wet sound. God, you had made a mess. 

“Good girl,” he kisses your throat before slowly allowing you to collapse onto the bed once more. 

You have but a moment to breathe before something slithers around your wrists. You jerk away to find one of Alastor’s tentacles knotting around itself. 

Fuck, this isn’t over. 

The black tendrils pull you back on your feet, your toes barely scraping the floor. You spin, coming face-to-face with Alastor. The demon has a fire in his eyes akin to that of the look he gets just before he murders someone. 

Holy shit, this seriously isn’t over. 

Alastor closes the distance between the two of you and presses a soft kiss to your lips. Sweat beads down your forehead and his as the demon strokes his cock, a dark, devious fire burning in his aura. “One more,” Alastor whispers against your mouth. 

You groan, but don’t deny him. 

Something soft slithers up your leg, you look down to see a tendril winding its way up your calf. You gasp when Alastor cups your chin and forces your gaze up again, forcing you to look into his eyes as the tendril makes its way up your thigh and between your legs. A sharp gasp escapes your throat when it finds your center and flicks your clit. 

Oh, God. 

“One more,” you moan, your eyelashes heavy, fluttering against your cheeks.

You can do this. One more. 

The demon smiles, kissing you softly. He hooks your legs over his elbows as another tendril snakes its way around your middle before slithering north, teasing your nipple, squeezing your breast. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan loudly as Alastor seats the head of his cock at your entrance. He pushes in but an inch and stops. 

You pout, ready to open your mouth in protest, but find Alastor’s eyes gleaming. His smile goes sideways, as it normally does when he’s up to something clever. 

He wants you to beg. 

“Please,” you moan, feeling your walls twitch around nothing, your body feeling empty, the memory of how much he filled you last night playing over and over again in your head. His tendrils continued to flick and pinch, building your need but not giving your body what it truly demanded. 

“Please, Alastor,” you begged. You, the almighty Archangel, were begging a Human Sinner to fuck you. 

“Please, what?” Alastor purred. The narcissist in him was eating this up, only heightening his sexual arousal. 

“Please, fuck me,” you twitch as the tendril flicks your clit. “I need you in me.” You were on the edge of pain with the caress of pleasure at this point. 

Alastor leans in close, his dick hard as stone but still barely inside of you, “As you command, mon couer.”  

And then he slams into you, his cock fully seated to the hilt, his head brushing the entrance to your cervix. Alastor fucks you so hard your teeth clack together, the squelching of your slickness with every thrust. If it weren’t for the tendrils, he would have launched you. 

The build of pleasure is slow this time, your nerves still trying to reload from the last round, but Alastor is relentless. He was going to forcibly pull this orgasm from you if it's the last thing he does. The demon’s claws dig into the fat of your hips, drawing little pebbles of golden liquid to the surface as he pulls you down into him with every thrust. 

It’s a mercy that Alastor doesn’t last long. He’s been edging even before you came the second time. He’s been holding himself back, forcing his own orgasm away until he was seated inside of you. 

“Oh, fuck,” Alastor chokes before he slams into you, unloading into you, filling you with cum. 

With a flick of Alastor’s tendril, the growing wetness between your legs, you fall over the edge with him. This orgasm is both pain and pleasure, the sense of free falling but also crash landing as Alastor continues to pump, your walls twitching around every hard ridge of him. 

You stay locked together for what feels like forever, sticky, sweaty, and spent. Alastor’s forehead finds yours as he slumps into you, his cock throbbing out the last of his pleasure. 

Jesus - fucking - Christ, he wasn’t kidding when he made those promises. 

With the help of his magic, Alastor lowers the both of you onto his bed. “Tu seras ma perte, mon couer, You will be my undoing, my heart,” the demon breathes into your hair as he cuddles up to your side. The two of you lay there and breathe, waiting for your minds to return your bodies. 

You get it now. All those nights Eve spent chasing sex, all those morning walks of shame, all those people sneaking out in the early hours of the day… If any of it them half as good as Alastor was, it would have been worth it. 

You laugh at the thought. 

“What is so funny?” Alastor breathes. 

“I finally understand the carnal appeal of sex,” you laugh, your body spent. “From a demon, no less…”

Alastor smirks, “You are in Hell, dear.” Sitting up, he quickly kisses your forehead before pushing off the bed and heading to the bathroom. “Not to change the subject, you might want to cover yourself.” The demon helps you into a plush bathroom robe. 

“What?” He’s moving too fast for your mind to register the situation. 

“Rolf made coffee, and he is all too eager to share it,” Alastor climbs into the bed next to you. “Immediately.”

Oh, Jesus. 

Your mind sobers fast as you pull the robe on and cinch it around your waist. You’re barely under the covers before Alastor’s shadow opens the door. With a tray in hand and a big goofy smile on his face, Rolf presents two cups of coffee before you. 

It takes you a moment to register that Rolf didn’t just make coffee; he created two concoctions: a jasmine latte and a black chai. 

You smile, pretending the room isn’t filled with the scent of sex. Could shadows smell? “You’ve been watching me?” 

Rolf smiles, nodding his head like a proud toddler running home from school with his first art project. 

Your chest warms, “Thank you.” You reach for the mug and - .

The jasmine latte is in Alastor’s “Oh Deer!” mug - his mug. No one touches Alastor’s mug. You hesitate, unsure of how to tackle this situation, but you don’t have to think long before the demon snatches the cup and thrusts it into your hands. 

“Thank you, Rolf. That will be all.” Alastor takes the other cup, bringing it into his lap as the shadow bows and leaves the room. 

Holy shit. You were holding Alastor’s cup. Nifty gave you an entire fucking lecture about not touching Alastor’s stuff. Fuck, you didn’t even touch it to move it around to reach other cups in the cabinet. And Alastor just gave it to you. 

“It’s going to taste terrible,” Alastor kisses your temple before setting his own on the bedside table. 

Wait. Your brain still wasn’t computing. Was he okay with sharing his things with you? This felt like a step, like a relationship step, and you were surprisingly taken off guard by it. Yet, it wasn’t a bad thing. It was a scary thing, sure, but you were excited about it. You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face, the absolute beam of joy radiating off of you. 

You had earned more privileges with Alastor, something no one else was privy to. 

And then you took a sip. “Ugh!” You choked. 

The demon laughed, “I told you.” 

It tasted like a mouthful of powder, as if Rolf had poured the entire container of jasmine matcha into the cup, with barely any milk to dilute it. 

Alastor took the cup from your hand, placing it next to his, before kissing the top of your head. “Come, let us wash.” 

____________________________________________

You stood before the bathroom mirror wrapped in nothing but a towel. The glass had fogged over, but you ran a hand through it, revealing just enough to inspect the trail of bruises Alastor had left on your neck. God, and only the left side, too. 

Alastor had taken you to the shower this time, allowing you to do nothing but stand there as he washed you. There wasn’t anything sexual about it - thank the Lord. You didn’t have the strength to withstand another round with the demon. His sexual appetite was profound. Instead, he doted on you, scrubbing you with the soap that smelled of him, massaging your scalp, rubbing the knots from your lower tummy. 

After that session, you would be sore for days to come. The thought brought a smile to your face. 

Alastor wrapped you in a warm cotton towel as you exited. Wrapping another around his waist, he kissed your forehead and headed for the kitchen. The demon sent Rolf on an errand to secure you more clothes - a distraction so Alastor could prepare you a cup of real coffee. He knew you hated waking up without one. 

You promised to join him in a moment, but the sight in the mirror held you captive. The bruises… You felt your throat tighten, the anxiety bubbling in your core. Alastor had left bruises on your neck before, yes, but things were different now. These marks meant something different than the usual bruises ringing your neck - not from Alastor, but from Heaven. These… Well… These came from a place of… Well, affection. Not from a place of hate. 

You were used to covering up bruises of hate. 

Running a finger over your neck, you connected the spots as if they were dots, leading to the bite mark at the crook of your neck. You smiled, remembering how you had earned that one, hoping the mark would never fade. 

“Coffee is on the balcony,” Alastor appeared in the mirror, leaning against the doorframe. 

His wet hair stuck to his head which made him seem so much younger than he appeared. The demon was technically over a hundred years old but remained youthful-looking as a demon. Perhaps “younger” wasn’t the best adjective. “More innocent” was a better descriptor. 

Alastor frowned, sensing the worry building in your chest. God, he could read you like a book - connection or no connection. “What’s wrong?” 

You watched the muscles ripple in his abdomen as he stalked towards you, his hands cupping either side of your cheeks. At some point, he had thrown on a pair of lounge pants, a rich man’s sweatpants, that sat low enough on his hips for you to make out the “V” in his pelvis. Curse this man for always looking attractive no matter what he wore. Your mind flashed to Alastor in a nun’s outfit - yup, attractive in fucking EVERYTHING. 

Taking a deep breath, you let your anxiety melt away, feeling instantly more calm by his touch alone. 

“My neck,” you begin. “I have a history of… trying to hide my injuries. I…” Fuck, words weren’t coming to you. “I’m just not used to… this.” You motioned to your neck, resisting the urge to rub it. 

Alastor liked seeing your neck, liked reminiscing about each one. It was weird; it didn’t sit right. Your instincts were screaming at the sight of them.

Understanding clicked in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain, mon couer. Would you prefer if I did not…”

“No!” You interrupt him. “God, no.” You would never deny Alastor wringing an ounce of pleasure from your body. It would be torture for you both. “I just need some time to get used to it. You won’t be mad if I cover them, will you?” 

“Hmm,” Alastor collected your hair in his hands, throwing it over your left shoulder. “I never want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. That being said, I would like to reserve the right to admire your body…” His meets your gaze. “...with your permission, of course?” 

A smile tugged at your lips, “Of course.” 

Alastor led you to the balcony, seating you on the side you had always sat in - it was practically reserved for you at this point. Two cups of coffee sat on the table between you, but it was the newspaper your fingers went for first. 

“Shadow Unmasked!” The title read. The front page has a picture of you, standing on the roof of V Tower, moments before Velvette delivered a shock. You looked absolutely pissed. You read through the article as fast as you could, trying to garner how much Pentagram City had learned about your identity. 

They named you as Thestral

They identified you as an Angel

They called you Vox’s ex-girlfriend (Not his girlfriend!!!)

Alastor’s lover!?

You choked. “Is the piano player sleeping her way through Hell’s topmost Overlords to gain power?” You read. “Witnesses report Ms. Thestral, the piano player at Mimzy’s and Hell’s infamous masked Overlord, ran off with Alastor, the Radio Demon, moments after sharing a kiss on the battlefield. Has the infamous assassin traded in for a more powerful model? Will she sleep her way through the Overlords till she reaches Zestial himself?” You abruptly stood from your chair. “You have got to be kidding me!?” 

“Read who the editor is, mon couer.” 

“Velvette!” You crushed the newspaper between your fingers and set V Star News to ash with your flame. 

“She destroys by reputation,” Alastor once said to you. And he was right. 

You collapsed back into the seat, running your hands down your face. Great. Now all of Pentagram City thinks you’re a whore. Better they go after that than going after the whole Angel thing. 

Alastor pulled another newspaper from the Void, this one being 666 New’s very own. This title read, “Vees Humiliated in Overlord Fight!” Below that, there was a subtitle, “Shadow Identity Brought to Light.” Huh, that was actually kind of clever. You skimmed through the article, noting the same things V Star News had written but without all the biases. 

“Hours after the fight in the Entertainment District, the Radio Demon and the Shadow were spotted duking it out in the Magne District. Sources say they quickly disappeared mid-fight and haven’t been spotted since. Was it a quarrel over power or a fight between lovers? The result and reason for the battle is still unknown.” 

Great…

You flipped the page to find a special interview with Mimzy. Of course, they already found her, and of course, she had already offered an exclusive interview. News travels fast in Hell. 

Most of it was filled with lies, saying you were close, basically calling you an adopted daughter - absolutely not - her most prized possession. Okay, basically, she was kissing ass to the media to gain more foot traffic to her club. She even gives out the password to Bob’s Barber in the article! Ugh, whatever.

Wait, what does this mean for the Hotel? 

Oh God, hopefully, the gang isn’t being stalked by the media… 

There’s a smaller section on you in the Opinion column, the topic “Who is the Angel?” 

“Oh, my God.” You scoff. “There’s literally people making shit up! One of these guys is theorizing that I’m Lilith - which I look nothing like her - with a makeover. There’s another in here that says I’m actually a gender-swapped Lucifer.” 

Okay, that one you get. Some religious texts literally claim the two of you as twins - you did look a lot alike. 

“Another is saying I’m a bloodthirsty Exorcist Angel who snuck past Heaven’s gates so I could kill year-round. This one just says I’m actually Charlie, and the news media is just reporting it wrong. I mean, ugh!” 

Jesus, these people had some wild theories but now you had an entire City trying to figure out your identity. Fuck! 

Great, your to do list was getting longer and longer now. 

Find cloak

Apologize to Lulu 

Kill Crim

And now

4. Protect your identity

Shit.

You dropped the newspaper, your head in your hands. Getting Alastor back was worth everything you had to go through. So long as Heaven didn’t find out…

Alastor suddenly appeared before you, down on one knee. He collected your hands in his and kissed your palms, “Everything will work out, mon couer.”

Alastor didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by this news… Why was that?

Hesitantly, you ask. “What did you do?” 

The demon’s smile went cockeyed. God, you loved that smile. 

There was a mischievous gleam in his eye as he said, “Utilizing your army.”

You tried not to let the shock show. “How did you…?”

“The Vees have more enemies than allies at this point. Their bridges have been burned. They have no one to turn to. Their fate has been one of their own making, even before Valentino’s death. Which did not garner sympathy as they expected it to.”

“Rosie, Mimzy, and Carmella would back you no matter what, but you already know that. Zestial has already expressed interest in allying with you...”

“What!?” You gasped, but Alastor continued. 

“...although the man is more gossip than fighter nowadays. Then there is the Goetia, although it is unclear how many you have in your pocket, seeing as Stolas is considered the black sheep of his kind. I’m sure your influence has reached far beyond Wrath and Pride: Asmodeus, Leviathan, Belphegor, and perhaps even Satan himself? Allies, I can guarantee, will not change their mind regardless of your heritage. If anything, they’d be more inclined to ally with you. Well, save for Asmodeus, but he has far more concerning things on his plate at the moment, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

You blinked, trying to process the words coming out of his mouth. How the fuck did he know all this? Wait, how did he know they wouldn’t drop your alliance after this development? Not unless Alastor… Fuck did he meddle in your plans!?

“Your Heaven contacts surely won’t hear of this - especially considering, as far as Heaven is concerned, you disappeared around the same time God did. Rumor has it the two of you are on some sort of top-secret mission only known to the Seraphim and other higher authorities. Besides, Lilith is up there taking care of anything anyway.”  

“What…?”

“I haven’t even touched Charlie and the Hotel. Your influence over your niece and her gang of misfits is extraordinary. You made quite the impression, securing emotional ties via my rescue. I couldn’t have planned it better myself. To have little Ms. Morningstar in your back pocket, oh! How I envy you.” Alastor laughed, but it was Radio Demon's laugh that echoed through his radio. 

“I assure you, while the two of us were… preoccupied with other matters, your army had already been hard at work cleaning up the damage.”

You let all the information sink in, trying to process how Alastor could have possibly known you were raising an army. I mean, that was step two of your plan with Lilith, wasn’t it? While she played her part in Heaven, you were down here, garnering influence amongst the most powerful. 

“Darling, while you were busy running around town and playing house the past few weeks, I made some social calls.”

Alastor was checking up on you while Rolf stalked your every move…

“I know for a fact you didn’t only become Overlord to collect souls - after all, someone like you, with such a well of power in her back pocket, doesn’t require the measly drop of power with which a soul contributes.” Alastor laughed again, his tone turning more cynical. “No, you have all the power you need. You’re garnering souls to feed your army.” 

Fuck. 

Alastor’s green aura lowly emits from his form, his smile stitched over with green threading, his eyes flashing with black sclera. “The question now is, why does Heaven’s famous Golden Girl require an army?” 

You once said dealing with Alastor was like a dance - a dance you both pretended not to be leading but also refused to be the follower in. It was a game of power, you see. Yes, dancing had its steps and rules - a waltz is a waltz, after all - but the direction it was going, the added flare to the spins, the story the choreography told - that was where you battled. Thus, you needed to be a half-step ahead of Alastor at all times - without him knowing, of course - until either the dance ended or you found a way to end him. 

Little did you know, he has been hard at work behind the scenes attempting to unravel your little plan. Alastor was one step ahead of you in a way you didn’t see coming. 

And he was hitting awfully close to your ultimate endgame plan… 

But the fact that Alastor was asking rather than stating meant -.

“Lilith didn’t tell you everything, did she?”

Alastor’s eye twitches, his fingers around yours stiff and unmoving. His tail went ramrod straight, his radio screeching as if a record had been scratched. 

Note to self: Tread lightly when it comes to bringing up Lilith. 

The demon stood, pretending to wipe dirt off the knees of his pants. “Rolf is here with your clothes.”

Great… 

You had thought, after connecting Alastor and Lilith together, that he was her little backup plan in case things went south: a protector for her family. Regardless of the fact that, in your contract, you swore not to hurt them. After all, why return and run straight to the Hotel if not for Charlie’s sake? 

But maybe you were wrong…

You stood, cautiously approaching the demon who refused to make eye contact with you. God, you hated seeing him without his smile, hated when that spark fizzled out in his eyes. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your fingers play with the short scruff at the base of his head. Instantly, the stress melted from his shoulders. 

His gaze was still on the floor when you said, “And what if I’m perfectly fine in nothing but a bathrobe?” 

The demon smirked, his demeanor changing in an instant. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you flush against him. “And if I prefer you in nothing at all?” He whispered against your lips. 

“I’d say you’d have to earn it,” you stayed just out of reach of his kiss, teasing the demon in the same way he did you earlier.  

“And how exactly would I do that, mon couer?” 

You bit your lip, instantly catching Alastor’s eye. God, were you ready for the next round? You’ve barely had time to recover, your lower belly sore from Alastor’s… lack of gentleness… “Perhaps we should start with the smaller stuff before unraveling each other’s master plans?”   

Alastor pressed a kiss to your forehead before walking the two of you towards his chair. “Where would you like to start?” He brought you into his lap, seating you atop his thighs. You tried hard not to think about the thin layer of clothing separating your center from his cock - which you couldn’t feel at the moment. The demon seated you closer to his knees, most likely on purpose. 

“Well, for one, you used my card.” After finally taking out the three projectiles Crim had shot at you, you landed on the edge of Cannibal Town. While zapping Vox’s bracelet from your wrist, you felt a pull behind your navel - Alastor had used his blood on your obsidian calling card. 

Which meant Alastor had inadvertently entered himself into one of your infamous hidden contracts. 

The demon pulled the card from the Void, flashing the white lettering spelling out his real name. “You mean this one?” A drop of scarlet remained crusted at its center. 

“Don’t lose that; it comes with conditions,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and continuing to play with the scruff of his hair. “Those who lose my card forget their memories of me.” 

“Noted,” he smiled, slipping the card back into the Void and running his hands over your hips. You gasped when his claws scraped across the flesh of your waist. Alastor had dipped beneath the robe…

Goddamn, it was getting too hard to think. The demon gave a look that said he knew exactly what he was doing to you. 

“Next matter of business,” he continued. “Show me.”

You knew exactly what he was talking about. 

You hesitated, the bubbles of anxiety in your chest beginning to surface as you remembered last night. Was this smart to do? He was knocked out of the bloodthirsty trance once, would he be again? Would he even need to again?

Then a thought hit you, a lesson you learned in Louisiana: trust means everything to Alastor. So, did you trust him not to try and kill you again? If you didn’t show him, what would that say?

Dipping into that well of power, you broke the seal on the rune, allowing the Book of Knowledge to be unleashed. Alastor was completely captivated by the text flying across your skin, but he remained contained. No ounce of his demonic power slipped out. He remained calm, his irises solid round pupils. 

The demon grabbed your hand in his, tracing the words as they floated past. Your heart felt like it was going to thump right out of your chest as you waited for him to say something, anything. 

You concentrated the power into the palm of your hand that he held, the ink bleeding into your appendage until your entire arm was black. The liquid seemed to seep out of your skin, shielding your arm in a black tendril. The power flowed over your skin as if it were both solid and liquid, a Newtonian fluid that could cut bone. 

Something clicked within the demon’s aura, his awe abating as he closed your fist. You called the magic back into the rune, the aroma of roses dissipating as the Book of Knowledge was once again hidden from the world. 

Alastor pressed a kiss to your closed knuckles. “Hmm,” he hummed into your skin. 

“Are you okay?” You breathed, still waiting for a reply, something to tell you what he was thinking. 

He met your gaze, his eyes still round, irises rimmed in red. “I do not crave it the way I did yesterday. The thought of losing you, of losing my heart,” he cupped your cheek. “Is a greater pain than the allure of power could ever have over me.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch to deepen the feeling. And then suddenly, your own heart grew heavy, a truth you had always wanted to share but never had with another soul. Eve had simply inferred it, but you never really talked about it, never really addressed that aspect of trauma that had haunted your entire existence. 

Why you wanted this power in the first place. 

“Did your sleuthing uncover other things about Heaven’s Golden Girl?” You braced the subject, hoping Alastor understood the weight of the topic you were about to unleash upon him. 

But you could trust him, and he trusted you. Fuck, you had a fail-safe if anything ever went wrong - take your obsidian calling card away from him - but your chest twisted at the thought. You couldn’t help it. You were a General through and through, strategizing was instinct at this point. You never, ever wanted to have a Plan B when it came to Alastor. Which is why you decided to broach this topic with him. Something you’ve never truly spoken of with anyone else.

“Hmm,” he hummed, running his thumb across your cheek. “I know.”

He knows. Of course, he knows. It’s Heaven’s worst-kept secret: God was wildly abusive towards his “favorite” child.

“The day Eve tried to leave Eden, is a day I saw true fear on my father’s face. He smelled of orange and mint. It was… unsettling.” You cleared your throat. “I never really understood why until Eve was brought in and locked away. When she told him she merged herself with the Book - Father wasn’t mad. He was… afraid. He had us lock her up. Hidden away where no one would find her. Fuck, Heaven didn’t have cells. No one ever committed any crimes. If they were the type, they’d have been sent to Hell long before St. Paul let them through the Gates.”

You huffed, continuing, “For weeks after, Father shut himself in his office. He wouldn’t have Sera or me in. After a while things did go back to normal, but he was never the same. I mean, he was violent before, but after… There was this rage in his eyes when he’d…” Your voice breaks. “My father knew hunting down Eve a second time was going to take time, and he was not a patient man, but the longer I took, the worse it got. I’d go back for check-ins, and as one year became two, three, five, ten, fifty… He grew more and more desperate. His desperation manifested as violence, and he took it out on me.”

Alastor rubbed your arms in comfort.

“I didn’t get it until that day in Lilith’s office when I killed Eve and accepted the power for myself. The magic is the rawest form of dark magic I have ever seen - and I spent nearly a century with the Leviathans…”

He planted a kiss on your forehead, infusing you with the will to continue on.

“Father made me do terrible, terrible things: spread disease amongst the pharaohs, wipe out an entire planet of innocent, living beings in a flood, start wars resulting in the deaths of millions of innocent people across the Middle East… I was no Golden Girl. I was the harbinger of death, whether I liked it or not… Regardless of the evils he made me commit, it paled in comparison to the pure evil that is the Book of Knowledge.”

“It took me until the power was in my possession to figure it out. I know why he was so afraid of it. It’s the Yin to his Yang, the dark to his supposed light. The opposite, but equal in every possible way. A power that can kill a god.”

Alastor’s eyes snapped to yours, and instantly, he understood. “You’re raising an army to kill God.”

You smiled wildly, shaking your head. “Oh, no. I am raising an army to end everything, and then afterward, ~I~ will kill God.”

Alastor furrowed his brow. 

“You see, Eve merely wanted to taint my father’s creation. To punish him by ruining his greatest work, but she was thinking too small. I wanted more. I needed more. I didn’t just want to make Heaven’s head spin; I wanted to utterly destroy everything they had worked for." You leaned over him, your nose tickling his. "But - oh, no, I couldn’t simply burn Earth to the ground. Heaven would be upset, sure, but they’d get over it and just make another. No. I needed Heaven to destroy Earth with their own hand. They hate Hell. They hate it so much they’d go to war - if provoked - and when the dust settled, they’d have to face the consequences.” 

Father would be utterly destroyed. 

And then you’d burn him from the inside out. Fuck, even the thought of it had your blood singing.

“The End. Armageddon. The Apocalypse.” Your hands fisted in his hair. You could feel the demon growing hard beneath you, the excitement of chaos and destruction just as erotically intoxicating for him as it was for you. “Whatever you wish to call it. A war between Heaven and Hell, a war that would destroy Earth.”

“Oh, mon couer,” Alastor’s lips slowly twisted into a wicked grin. He looked at you with eyes screaming possession, screaming pride, screaming hunger. The demon cupped your face in his hands, utterly beaming at you, the highest form of praise he could offer. “You are absolutely beautiful.”

And then he kissed you. 

And in that kiss, you realized one terrifying truth. No matter what Hell was coming your way, it wouldn’t be the same without Alastor. You would choose power and chaos with Alastor over everything else because, with him, you didn’t need an army, you didn’t need the Book of Knowledge, you were already unstoppable. 

He is yours, and you are his. 

The demon quickly undoes the ties of your robe, exposing your bare breasts to the world. Your nipples instantly harden in the cool air. Alastor quickly pulls down his pants, a giant wet mark forming directly below where you sat. God, you were soaked already, high on the ecstasy of power flowing through your veins. 

You pray Papa Loko's vèvè had coverage this far away. You hadn't checked to see if you were sparking, but fuck it, you weren't stopping.

Alastor doesn’t even have to bother with foreplay. The two of you could scent each other's arousal, thick in the air. You were ready, and you wanted him - NOW. 

You gasp when Alastor shoves inside you, filling you up, his balls sitting snuggly against you. 

There was something so satisfying in sitting on Alastor’s cock in the shadow of V Tower. 

“Mine,” Alastor growled as he lifted your hips up and slammed into you. “You’re fucking mine.”

And he spends the rest of the day reminding you exactly why… 

The amount of smut I read trying to figure out how to write this...

-> Chapter Sixteen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages

[jaystardust]

‎ ☆ 🖇️ 𖥻 ˚.ᵎ UNVEIL

Pairing: Park Jay x reader

Genre: bad boy, strangers to lovers, angst, blackmailing, suggestive, kind of Gossip Girl universe themed, apparition of Yeonjun (txt)

Warnings: blackmailing, making out, angst, betrayal (tell me if I forget something)

Summary: Enigma, Hybe High's anonymous gossip queen, finds her carefully crafted world threatened by the arrival of Park Jay, a rebellious kind of bad boy. a web of blackmail and stolen glances leads them down a thrilling path of forbidden desire, risking Enigma's online persona and a chance at real love.

Word count: 6.5K

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

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and Prada perfume mingled in the air, a potent signature of your mornings at Hybe High. You weren't royalty, but reputation was everything at this elite private school, and yours was meticulously crafted. 

You were Enigma, the mastermind behind the anonymous blog, Unveil. A digital oracle dispensing juicy gossip about the student body with a scathing wit that left its targets squirming. 

This year, however, the tea had gone cold. The usual suspects – the president's son's gambling problem, the head cheerleader's secret nose job – held no allure. You craved a real scandal, something to reignite the blog's fire and solidify your position as the school's unseen puppeteer.

Then came Park Jay, the new transfer student who arrived shrouded in a veil of mystery. He wasn't your typical Hybe High royalty. Clad in a worn leather jacket and ripped jeans, his indifference to the school's social hierarchy was as refreshing as it was infuriating.

However, digging up dirt on Jay proved impossible. He was a ghost, his past shrouded in mystery as thick as the expensive perfume that clung to you. Frustration gnawed at you, a familiar itch that Unveil usually scratched. But this time, it was different. This time, the frustration was laced with a strange fascination for the boy who didn't seem to care about the social games everyone else played.

One gloomy afternoon, as you hunched over your laptop in the library, a shadow fell over your screen. You looked up to find Jay, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Enigma, I presume?" His voice was a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine.

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. How? How did he know? You scrambled to mask your surprise, forcing a nonchalant shrug.

"And who might you be, Sherlock Holmes?" you retorted, trying to sound flippant.

"Just someone who appreciates a good secret," he said, his gaze unwavering. "And who wouldn't want to leverage it?"

The blood drained from your face. Leverage? This couldn't be happening. Your mind raced, desperately searching for an escape route. He leaned closer, his voice a husky whisper.

"How about you do a few little things for me, Enigma," he purred, "and I keep your little blog a secret?"

The world tilted on its axis. This wasn't how the game was supposed to be played. You were the puppet master, not the marionette. Yet, there you were, trapped in his gaze, the weight of your secret a suffocating burden.

"What kind of things?" you managed to croak.

A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "Homework, errands, maybe even something a little… humiliating." His eyes glinted with a challenge, daring you to defy him.

You hated him. You hated the way he made your carefully constructed world crumble around you. But more than that, you hated the strange thrill that danced along your nerve endings. This was a game you didn't know the rules of, a game that was both terrifying and strangely exhilarating.

In the end, you agreed. You couldn't risk exposure. Unveil was your lifeblood, your shield, and the thought of losing it was unbearable.

The weight of Park Jay settled on your shoulders like a leaden cloak. You, Enigma, the queen of gossip on Unveil, were now a prisoner of your own creation.  The evidence he held was a leash that kept you tethered to his whims. You weren't a captive in the physical sense, but your freedom of speech, your very identity as Enigma, was held, hostage.

Becoming Jay's shadow began subtly. A whispered request for a double-shot espresso from the overpriced cafe across the street during your first-period break. A casual mention of "forgotten" notes in trigonometry class, with a knowing smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. You complied, your stomach churning with a mix of apprehension and a strange sense of obligation.

The whispers started then, too. Furtive glances followed you as you delivered the steaming coffee cup to Park Jay's table, a tableau that felt staged, and surreal.  "Y/n, errand girl for Park Jay?" the hallway echoed with unspoken questions. The indignity of it all fueled a simmering anger within you.

But the tasks escalated. One afternoon, you found yourself hunched over his desk during your lunch break, surrounded by textbooks and loose-leaf papers spilling like a chaotic waterfall. 

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting your workspace in a harsh spotlight. You were translating a French poem for his literature class, lines blurring before your eyes as the indignity of the situation gnawed at you. This wasn't just running errands anymore; it was academic servitude.

"This," you finally muttered, slamming the textbook shut with a force that sent papers scattering across the floor, "is getting ridiculous."

Jay, sprawled lazily in his chair, finally looked up.  A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, a challenge that ignited a spark within you. "Is it?" he drawled, his voice laced with a hint of something you couldn't quite decipher. "Or are you secretly enjoying the attention, Enigma?"

You straightened in your chair, glaring at him with defiance. "Attention?" you scoffed, the word laced with venom. "I'd rather clean the toilets with a toothbrush than be seen cavorting with you in public."

His amusement morphed into a full-blown laugh, rich and intoxicating. The sound filled the room, washing over you like a wave, and for a moment, you forgot the anger simmering beneath the surface. He stopped abruptly, his gaze locking with yours, the laughter fading to a smoldering intensity. "Don't lie, Enigma," he said, his voice a husky whisper. "You find me fascinating."

The heat that rose to your cheeks was a betrayal. You scoffed again, but this time, it lacked conviction. He was right, of course. Park Jay was an enigma wrapped in a mystery, a puzzle you couldn't resist solving. His disregard for the social hierarchy, and his rebellious streak – it was a stark contrast to the entitled drones who populated Hybe High. 

He was a constant thorn in your side, a danger that sparked a rebellious fire within you. You hated being under his thumb, yet there was an undeniable allure to the challenge he presented. Jay was a storm brewing beneath the surface, and you, once the master of information, were now caught in its eye.

--

Days bled into weeks, the initial awkward tension between you and Jay morphing into a strange, symbiotic dance. Resentment, once a simmering ember, cooled into a begrudging respect fueled by your growing realization that his intellect mirrored your own.

Witty remarks became heated debates that spilled over lunches, dissecting the intricacies of literature, or anything that threatened to break the charged silence simmering between you. 

Discussions that began in hushed tones over hastily consumed sandwiches would morph into stolen moments after school, the library your refuge from the watchful eyes and gossiping tongues of Hybe High.

One particularly dreary afternoon, rain lashed against the library windows, a relentless drumbeat mirroring the disquiet in your heart. You found yourselves huddled under the awning, a shared haven from the downpour.

The library lights cast a warm, honeyed glow on Jay's face, highlighting the sharp angles and the unexpected vulnerability that flickered in his eyes.

"You know," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a tremor through you, "blackmailing someone isn't exactly how I envisioned my first semester at Hybe High."

You snorted, a humorless sound escaping your lips. "Being someone's secret errand girl wasn't exactly on my top ten either."

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. "So, Enigma," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "is there anything you crave from me besides the assurance of keeping your little blog a secret?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. This wasn't part of the bargain. You hadn't signed up for emotional entanglements, for the way your heart would stutter a frantic rhythm in his presence, or the jolt that shot through you when his fingers brushed against yours while passing a textbook.

Yet, here you were, caught in the captivating pull of his gaze, a prisoner of your own traitorous emotions.

"I, uh…" you stammered, cheeks burning under the harsh glare of his scrutiny.  "What makes you think I want anything from you?"

His smile was a knowing one, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "The way your eyes linger on me a beat too long when you think I'm not looking. The way your cheeks bloom a charming shade of pink whenever I unleash a particularly witty remark."

He was right, of course. You had tried, oh how you had tried, to maintain the facade of the detached blogger, the anonymous voice of truth. But the walls you'd so meticulously constructed around your heart were crumbling under the relentless assault of his undeniable charm.

Suddenly, the air crackled with a tension that transcended words. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as his lips hovered tantalizingly close to yours. "Unless," his voice dipped to a husky whisper, "you'd prefer I ensure your secret's safety… in another way."

Before you could even register the audacity of his suggestion, his lips were on yours. The kiss was an electrifying collision, a tangle of pent-up emotions and unspoken desires. He tasted of rain and peppermint, a heady mix that sent a jolt through your system.  

Your initial resistance crumbled like sandcastles under a tidal wave, and you melted into his touch, a desperate need washing over you.

His hand snaked around your waist, pulling you closer, his touch igniting a fire deep within you. The kiss deepened, a desperate exploration that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was a whirlwind of stolen breaths and tangled limbs, a moment of raw passion that felt forbidden and exhilarating all at once.

Just as abruptly as it started, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. His eyes held a dark intensity you hadn't seen before.

"This changes things, Enigma," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

"Changes what?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He stared at you for a long moment, a battle of emotions playing out in his gaze. A beat of silence followed, and then, with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine, he added, "See you tomorrow, Enigma. Don't forget – French poem, due first thing."

He turned and walked away, leaving you reeling in the wake of his touch. Your heart thumped against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You had just crossed a line, a line you never thought you'd even consider.

The guilt gnawed at you like a persistent pest. Here you were, the anonymous blogger who reveled in wielding information and controlling the narrative, now entangled with the boy who held your secret hostage. 

But amidst the turmoil, a flicker of something else bloomed – a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, this forced partnership could lead to something more. 

Something exhilarating, something terrifying, and something that felt like a story far more captivating than anything you'd ever written for Unveil. This wasn't just a stolen kiss under a library awning; it was a turning point, a page ripped from a yet-to-be-written chapter.

The following day, French class was a blur. You sat there, the poem forgotten on your desk, replaying the kiss over and over again in your mind. Each stolen glance from Jay across the room sent a jolt through you, a secret language only the two of you could understand. 

The power dynamic had shifted. The fear of exposure was still there, a cold serpent coiling in your gut, but it was overshadowed by a burgeoning sense of… possibility.

After class, you lingered by your locker, pretending to rummage through your bag. His voice, nonchalant yet laced with a hint of amusement, broke the silence. "Ready for round two, Enigma?"

You met his gaze, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Just call me Juliet, yearning for her forbidden Romeo."

He chuckled a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Careful, Enigma," he drawled, leaning closer so only you could hear. "This game we're playing could have unforeseen consequences."

His words sent a thrill of excitement through you. This wasn't just about blackmail anymore; it was about a secret shared, a line crossed, and the exhilarating uncertainty of what came next.

"Consequences?" you echoed, feigning innocence. "What consequences could there be, besides detention and disapproving stares?"

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, a hint of something dangerous glinting in his eyes. 

"Let's just say, Enigma," he said, his voice a low murmur, "the consequences could be very interesting indeed."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you breathless and a little bit scared. But more than fear, you felt a surge of excitement, a sense of being swept up in a whirlwind of your creation. 

You, the anonymous blogger, were now a player in the game, and the lines between truth and deception, love and hate, were about to become beautifully blurred.

The story you were living was far more captivating than anything you could have ever written, and you couldn't wait to see where the next chapter took you and Park Jay.

--

The next few hours were a whirlwind of stolen glances, cryptic messages disguised as homework assignments and a constant battle within yourself.

You should have been furious, plotting elaborate revenge schemes against the infuriating boy who had manipulated you into his web. But as you watched him across the crowded hallways, a strange warmth bloomed in your chest, a flicker of affection that defied logic.

You were drawn to his sharp wit, his rebellious spirit – qualities that felt like a refreshing splash of color in the beige monotony of Hybe High. Yet, the memory of the stolen kiss lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the precariousness of your situation.

Then, it happened. On this exact same day you discovered that your secret wasn't so safe anymore.

Lunch break buzzed with the usual pre-weekend chatter as you sequestered yourself in a corner booth, laptop humming with the final touches of a particularly scathing post for Unveil. The target? A particularly arrogant senior named Yeonjun, whose inflated ego needed a good public deflation.

Just as you were about to unleash your literary vitriol, a shadow fell over your keyboard. Your blood ran cold. Park Jay stood beside you, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. He didn't have to say a word. The look in his eyes, a mix of amusement and something you couldn't quite decipher, was a dead giveaway.

Panic clawed at your throat. You scrambled to shut down your laptop, fingers fumbling like a startled cat. But a gaggle of students, including the aforementioned Yeonjun, had already gathered around you, lured in by the commotion.

"What's going on here?" the senior demanded, his voice dripping with entitlement, his gaze flitting between you and the now-ex-blackmailer.

Jay's smile widened, devoid of any warmth. "Just enjoying a little private reading session, wouldn't you say, Enigma?" His voice echoed in the cafeteria, each syllable dripping with calculated malice.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The air crackled with shock and disbelief. You felt exposed, raw, like a butterfly pinned beneath a collector's gaze.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the cruel grin spreading across Yeonjun's face. You wanted to lash out, to scream at Jay for his betrayal, but the words wouldn't come. Shame and humiliation choked them back.

Yeonjun, his relief barely concealed beneath a mask of fury, snatched your laptop before you could react. He flipped it open, revealing the unfinished blog post – a glaring accusation aimed squarely at him. A cruel laugh erupted from his lips, echoing cruelly in the stunned silence.

"So, this is Enigma”, he sneered, brandishing the laptop like a trophy. "The anonymous coward who's been making a fool of everyone."

He turned his gaze back to you, eyes filled with malicious glee. "Well, Enigma," he said, his voice dripping with venom, "it looks like your reign of terror is over."

The whispers started as a low hum, growing into a cacophony of accusations and judgments. You felt like a hunted animal, cornered and exposed. The world you'd so meticulously built around yourself crumbled to dust.

Jay, however, remained strangely detached. He watched the spectacle unfold with a blank expression, a hint of something akin to amusement lurking in his eyes.

It was that amusement that stung the most, a final betrayal that ignited a spark of defiance within you. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "You said everything changes," you whispered, your voice surprisingly steady. "Seems like you were right."

Without another word, you snatched your bag and pushed past the crowd, the weight of everyone's stares heavy on your back. You fled the cafeteria, tears finally spilling down your cheeks, a mixture of anger, hurt, and a strange sense of liberation.

Jay's betrayal had shattered your carefully crafted facade, but it had also freed you from the prison you'd built around yourself. The journey ahead would be far from easy, facing the school's judgment as your true identity was revealed.

But as you walked away from the cafeteria, a newfound determination hardened your resolve.

You wouldn't let Park Jay, or anyone else, control your narrative anymore. You would weather this storm, pick up the pieces of your shattered reputation, and emerge stronger, a different person, perhaps, but a person nonetheless.

And who knew, maybe in the process, you'd even find a way to turn the tables on Jay. After all, the story was far from over.

--

As the days passed monstrously slowly, the fallout from the cafeteria incident was immense. You became the subject of relentless gossip, your once-admired anonymity a distant memory. 

Yeonjun, fueled by his newfound power, used your blog posts to turn the tables on his rivals, creating a wave of chaos within the school's social hierarchy. The whispers followed you like a swarm of angry bees, stinging at your ears and filling you with a bitter mix of shame and anger.

You mostly kept to yourself, seeking refuge in the library and the solace of fictional worlds. Yet, despite the isolation, you noticed a shift within yourself. You weren't consumed by self-pity or anger. Instead, a quiet strength bloomed within you. It was a resilience born of necessity, a determination to rise above the ashes of your shattered reputation.

One day, while browsing the library stacks, you stumbled upon Jay. He was sitting at a corner table, meticulously reading a book on philosophy. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a strange mix of anger and a lingering curiosity. He shouldn't be here, not after what he'd done. He should be basking in his victory, reveling in the chaos he'd unleashed.

He looked up as you approached, his expression unreadable. No trace of regret seemed to flicker in his eyes, only a cool indifference that ignited a fresh wave of anger within you.

"Shouldn't you be writing your next scathing article, Enigma?" he said, his voice devoid of warmth. The mockery in his tone cut like a knife, a reminder of the manipulative boy who had used you for his own gain.

"I'm done with that life," you said, your voice firm, laced with a newfound steel. "And with you." You met his gaze head-on, no longer the scared, cornered girl from the cafeteria.

"Oh?" An eyebrow shot up. "Then why are you here?" His voice held a hint of amusement, a cruel edge that grated on your nerves.

You hesitated for a moment, then squared your shoulders. "Because," you said, holding his gaze, "I want to understand why you did it." You needed to know, not out of forgiveness, but out of a desperate need for closure.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a cocky smile that did little to mask the tension building in his jaw. "Is this where we confess our undying love, stripped bare by the power of truth?"

You rolled your eyes, refusing to be drawn into his games. "Hardly. I just want an explanation. What was the point of all this?" The betrayal burned in your gut, a constant ache that demanded answers.

He sighed, a hint of weariness creeping into his voice. "Let's just say," he began, leaning back in his chair, "my situation at Hybe High is a bit more complicated than it appears." He didn't elaborate, but in his guarded eyes, you saw a flicker of something akin to vulnerability. 

Perhaps, there was more to his story, more to his motives, than you initially thought.

"Fine," you said after a beat of silence. "But don't expect my forgiveness just yet." You wouldn't let him manipulate you again, not without a fight.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine despite yourself. "Fair enough," he conceded. "But perhaps we can start with a truce? No more manipulations, no more secrets. Just… two people trying to navigate the wreckage of this whole mess."

A truce. The word hung in the air, a flimsy offering in the face of his betrayal. There was a raw honesty in his gaze, but trust wouldn't come easy, not after the way he'd thrown you under the bus. He'd used you, exposed you, and left you to pick up the pieces of your shattered reputation.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "A truce?" you repeated, the word tasting like ash in your mouth. "You think after everything, a simple truce is enough? You get to walk away unscathed, while I face the consequences of your actions?"

"No," he countered, his voice firm. "I messed up. Big time. But I'm not the only one who can fix this." His words hung in the air, a plea for some kind of partnership, but the betrayal still stung too raw.

"Then fix it," you spat, your voice shaking with barely contained anger. "Fix the mess you created. Pick up the pieces of my reputation that you so carelessly shattered. Then, maybe, we can talk about a truce."

The challenge hung in the air, a gauntlet thrown at his feet. His face hardened, a flicker of frustration crossing his features

A tense silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of his betrayal and the defiance simmering in your eyes. Jay clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the worn armrest of the chair.

"You want me to fix it?" he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. "You want me to navigate the school's social minefield, clean up the mess you made stirring the pot anonymously?"

"Isn't that what you wanted all along?" you countered, your voice sharp. "To control the narrative, to use me as your puppet master? Well, now you can face the consequences of pulling the strings."

He scoffed, a sound devoid of humor. "Easy for you to say. You can walk away from this, disappear back into the shadows. But me? I can't just vanish."

The vulnerability in his voice, a stark contrast to his usual arrogance, gave you pause. Perhaps there was more to his story, a secret that held him captive at Hybe High. But the hurt and anger were still fresh, a wall you weren't ready to tear down just yet.

"Then figure it out," you said, your voice softening slightly. "That's the price you pay for playing with fire, Park Jay. You get burned." 

Turning away from him, you started to walk away, leaving him sitting at the table, his face a mask of conflicting emotions.

"Wait," he called out after you, his voice laced with desperation. You stopped, but didn't turn around.

"What?" you asked, your voice flat.

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "There's more to this," he confessed. "More to my situation than I can explain right now. But trust me, it's not what you think."

You considered his words, the weight of his secret hanging heavy in the air. Part of you wanted to believe him, a flicker of curiosity igniting within you. But the other part, the part that still ached from his betrayal, remained wary.

"Then prove it," you said finally, turning back to face him. "Show me that you're not just another manipulative player. Show me there's a way out of this mess, for both of us."

A flicker of hope sparked in his eyes. "Okay," he said, his voice steady. "But it won't be easy. It'll require… a different kind of partnership."

Intrigued despite yourself, you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow. "A different kind of partnership?"

He leaned forward, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "One where we use your words, my information, and maybe a little bit of chaos to rewrite the narrative, together." 

The challenge in his voice was laced with a hint of something else, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to turn the tables on their betrayers, to reclaim your voice and expose the truth, all while forging an alliance as unexpected as it was thrilling.

"Alright, Park," you said, a slow smile creeping across your face. "Let's see what kind of trouble we can get into."

The truce might be off the table, but a new game had just begun. A game where revenge and redemption intertwined, and the lines between enemy and ally blurred. And as you locked eyes with Park Jay, a sense of anticipation buzzed in the air.

The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but one thing was certain: the story of Enigma was far from over.

--

Weeks bled into months, the dust of the exposé settling over Hybe High like a shroud. You weren't the untouchable gossip queen anymore, the fear and thrill of anonymous takedowns a distant memory. But a different kind of power simmered beneath the surface. 

People saw you, the face behind the Voice of the Unheard, and that honesty felt far more liberating than fleeting popularity. It was a power borne of vulnerability, a shared connection with the students who finally saw themselves reflected in your words.

Your relationship with Jay remained a complex puzzle, a Rubik's Cube of guarded glances and unspoken truths. The initial distrust still lingered a guarded tension that crackled between you whenever you brushed shoulders in the crowded hallways. Yet, beneath it, a hesitant camaraderie had begun to take root. 

Shared late nights fueled by brainstorming sessions revealed a surprising depth to him. You discovered a mutual love for the way words could paint vivid landscapes and ignite emotions, a passion for literature that transcended the walls of the stuffy library.

But most unexpectedly, you found a fierce passion for social justice burning just as brightly within him.

One afternoon, hunched over worn library texts researching the history of student activism, you found yourselves locked in a heated debate. The topic? The ethics of anonymity.

"People deserve the truth, unfiltered," you argued, your voice ringing with conviction, the memory of Yeonjun's smug face fueling your passion. "Anonymity shields those in power, leaving the vulnerable even more exposed."

"But at what cost?" Jay countered, his gaze sharp, challenging you to see the other side. "Sometimes, anonymity is the only shield for the vulnerable. It allows them to speak their truth without fear of reprisal."

His words struck a chord. Maybe Unveil wouldn't be a platform for petty gossip anymore. Maybe it could be a weapon wielded in the name of justice, a voice for those too afraid to speak, those silenced by fear or social hierarchy.

A slow smile played on your lips, a hint of a plan forming in your mind. "So, Park," you said, testing the waters, "partners in truth?"

He returned the smile, a hint of mischief flickering in his eyes, the playful glint that sometimes replaced the guarded facade. "Partners in truth it is, Enigma."

"But with one condition," you added, leaning closer, your voice a low murmur, the scent of old paper and forgotten knowledge filling the air.

He raised an eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the air.

"No more blackmail," you stated firmly, the sting of betrayal still a fresh memory. "This time, we fight together, on equal footing. Collaboration, not manipulation."

"Deal," he replied, a thrill coursing through you as your hands brushed for a fleeting moment. The spark of shared purpose ignited something deep within you, a sense of hope you hadn't dared to feel in a long time.

This new chapter, this partnership with Jay, felt exhilarating. It was a chance to rewrite the narrative, not just for yourselves, but for every unheard voice within Hybe High's walls.

The school, once a symbol of conformity and stifling authority, now held the potential for change.

The first salvo of the revamped Unveil targeted the archaic dress code, a system that blatantly favored students of wealth. Armed with interviews from disgruntled students who felt ostracized for not fitting the mold, and research on the psychological impact of such regulations, you crafted a compelling piece that ignited the student body.

The response was electric. Comments flooded the forum, sparking debates that reached the ears of the administration. Buoyed by this success, you and Jay tackled a series of issues – the exorbitant cost of textbooks that burdened families, the lack of mental health resources leaving students drowning in silent struggles, and the rampant cheating culture fostered by the relentless pressure to succeed.

Each meticulously researched and written piece ignited a firestorm of student activism, forcing the school to acknowledge and address the long-ignored problems. Through it all, your partnership with Jay deepened. 

The initial spark of curiosity had blossomed into a genuine friendship, one built on mutual respect, shared ideals, and a healthy dose of playful banter.

You discovered a side of him you hadn't expected – a fierce loyalty that extended beyond his carefully constructed persona, and a genuine desire to use his privilege to help those less fortunate, to dismantle the very system that had once benefited him.

Together, you were the Voice of the Unheard wielding the power of words to rewrite the narrative of Hybe High, one story at a time. The road ahead wouldn't be easy.

Powerful forces still held sway, determined to maintain the status quo. But for the first time, you felt a flicker of hope. You weren't alone. You had him, and with him, the unwavering belief that change, however gradual, was possible.

–

One crisp autumn morning, as you sat huddled over your laptops in your usual library corner, a charged silence crackled between you. You glanced up from your screen, catching Jay's gaze linger on you a beat too long. A slow smile tugged at his lips, sending a familiar warmth fluttering through your chest.

"Being a partner in truth with Enigma isn't exactly how I envisioned spending my senior year," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. 

It wasn't just the words, but the way he said them, a hint of something deeper, something unspoken, lingering beneath the surface.

You mirrored his smile, a playful glint in your eyes that masked the tangled mess of emotions churning inside you. "And getting blackmailed by Park Jay wasn't exactly on my bucket list either," you countered, the memory of his betrayal still a fresh wound.

He chuckled a rich sound that sent a jolt through you. "But somehow," he continued, his eyes locking with yours, "it all worked out in the end… maybe."

The last word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Before you could decipher the meaning, the library door swung open with a bang, shattering the fragile peace.

Yeonjun stood there, a smug smirk plastered on his face, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

"There you two are!" he boomed, his voice dripping with mock surprise. "Skipping class again? Looks like someone's got a lot of explaining to do."

A surge of defiance coursed through you. "Actually," you said, your voice firm, "we're working on something rather important. Something that might actually benefit the school, unlike your… extracurricular activities."

Yeonjun's smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of unease crossing his features. Jay leaned closer, his voice a dangerous murmur that sent chills down your spine. "And if I were you, Yeonjun," he said, "I wouldn't push your luck. We have a few stories about you that might be of interest to the student body."

The threat hung heavy in the air. Yeonjun's face flushed red, and he stammered a few incoherent words before retreating with a defeated slump. You watched him go, a sense of satisfaction washing over you. 

The tables had truly turned. Unveil wasn't just a blog anymore; it was a force for positive change, all thanks to your unlikely partnership with the boy who had once held your secret hostage.

As you turned back to your laptop, Jay raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "So," he said, a hint of something more flickering in his gaze, "ready to tackle the next injustice, y/n?"

You swallowed, the sudden shift in the atmosphere making your heart pound a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "Always, Jay," you managed, a secret thrill dancing in your chest. "Always."

The future stretched before you, an open book waiting to be written. But in that electric moment, the words on the screen seemed insignificant compared to the unspoken tension simmering between you and the boy who had become your unlikely ally.

The silence returned, thick and heavy with unspoken desires. Jay's gaze held yours, a storm brewing beneath the surface. You felt the warmth creep up your neck, a blush mirroring his. The air crackled with an energy you couldn't explain.

"Maybe Unveil isn't the only thing that needs a revamp," he murmured, his voice husky and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden stillness. He leaned closer, his breath warm on your cheek. The familiar scent of peppermint mingled with something new – a musk that sent shivers down your spine.

"There's something I've wanted to do ever since that stolen kiss in the library," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

You inhaled sharply, the memory of that electrifying moment flooding back. The defiance, the spark, the raw emotion – that stolen kiss had ignited a flicker within you that you hadn't dared to acknowledge.

He didn't wait for your answer. His hand cupped your face, his touch sending a jolt through you. The library, once a refuge, now felt charged with a dangerous tension. He tilted your head up, his eyes searching yours.

Despair battled desire in his gaze. "This might be crazy," he admitted, his voice a rough rumble, "but I can't keep pretending anymore."

His confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken longing. The dam within you broke. You closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss.

This was different from the one fueled by defiance and adrenaline. This kiss was desperate, raw, and filled with a yearning that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. 

His lips were firm, and demanding, yet held a tenderness that surprised you. You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair, the scent of his cologne a heady mix.

The world dissolved around you. There was only the frantic press of his body against yours, the frantic beat of your hearts, the intoxicating taste of him. You explored each other with a hungry urgency, the pent-up emotions of weeks finally finding release.

He pulled away abruptly, his breath ragged. His eyes were dark with desire, his gaze roaming your face like a famished man surveying a feast.

"We should stop," he muttered, his voice thick with restraint. "This isn't the time, not here."

You traced a finger across his lips, a silent plea mirroring the turmoil in your own heart. "Don't stop," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "Not yet."

He surrendered to your unspoken request, pulling you closer once more. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, an exploration filled with tenderness.

His hands roamed your back, sending shivers down your spine. You melted into his touch, a delicious sense of surrender washing over you.

Just as you were about to get lost entirely, the library door creaked open again, shattering the spell. A young couple, oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded, snuck in, searching for a quiet corner.

Jay cleared his throat, a sheepish grin on his face. "Looks like we have an audience."

You blushed furiously, burying your face in your hands. Despite the interruption, the tension remained an unspoken promise hanging heavy in the air.

"We should probably get back to work," you mumbled, gathering your scattered laptop and papers.

Jay helped you up, his hand lingering on yours a moment too long. A silent promise flickered in his eyes. The rest of the afternoon flew by in a blur. You barely registered the words on the screen, your mind replaying the kiss over and over again.

As you packed your bag to leave, he approached you. "So," he said, his voice a low rumble, "about that revamped Unveil…"

You met his gaze, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Thinking of a more… hands-on approach to exposing injustice?"

He winked, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Maybe. But perhaps there are other kinds of stories we could write together as well. Ones that don't involve the student body."

Your heart skipped a beat. The thrill of the forbidden, the intensity of his touch – it was intoxicating, and you knew the risks. But the memory of his kiss, the vulnerability in his eyes, whispered a different story.

"Maybe we can," you whispered, the thrill of the unknown dancing in your chest. "Maybe we can write a story no one will see coming, not even us."

You walked out of the library together, not just partners in truth, but partners in a different kind of adventure, one fueled by desire and the promise of something new, something exhilarating, something that felt like the start of a story even more exciting than the one you were writing for Unveil. 

The crisp autumn air felt electric as you walked side-by-side, the weight of unspoken desires and a shared secret creating a bond as powerful as any exposé.

The road ahead was uncertain, filled with potential consequences, but you weren't facing it alone. And with him, the exhilarating certainty that the most captivating story of all was just beginning.

A/N: hope that you liked it! i really like to associate enhypen members with that kind of Gossip Girl universe. should i do it for future work for other members? don’t hesitate to give me some feedback 🌷