Requested - Blog Posts

It was Aegon’s son, King Daeron II the Good, who finally brought Dorne into the realm…not with iron and fire but with soft swords and smiles and a pair of well-considered marriages, and a solemn treaty that granted the Dornish princes their style and their privileges and guaranteed that their own laws and customs should always prevail in Dorne. Dorne continued to be closely allied with House Targaryen in the years that followed, with the Martells supporting the Targaryens against the Blackfyre Pretenders and sending spears to fight the Ninepenny Kings on the Stepstones. Their loyal service was rewarded when Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, took to wife Princess Elia Martell of Sunspear, and sired two children by her. But for the madness of Rhaegar’s father, Aerys II, a prince of Dornish blood might very well have one day ruled the realm.

Marriages between House Targaryen and House Martell (requested by @diamondsinmyhair)

pairing. jack traven x f!reader status. anon!request content. speed!au, howard payne returns for revenge words. 1,256 taglist. @nightmare-bean, @gea-chan96, @iovesia, @lucillerockwell, @cry1ngchiild, @creativestorylove, @mrsreevesblog note. cut this short due to length, unsure if we'll make a second part, but we might

You and Jack have been dating for a few years. You knew how dangerous his job could be, and it made you anxious every day while you were waiting for him to return home after a long day delivering justice to the world. However, you were still figuring out what to do with your own life, and you’ve been preparing for an upcoming interview that you’ve been psyching yourself up for over the last week, and Jack had been motivating you for. Finally, today would be the day you (hopefully) start a new chapter in your life with a new career.

“Sam! Sam, wait!” You call out to the bus driver, racing right beside the bus as it sped down the street. You have your arm stretched out, attempting desperately to get his attention.

“Bet you she’s single.” One passenger whispered to the other, causing him to snicker as he looked back out to the window, watching the blurry scenery speed past them. But, the grass and road would seem to become more clear as the bus slowed down, steadily coming to a stop at a nearby bus stop.

Without skipping a beat, you rush to the entrance doors and take a few steps up until you are in the bus. Placing a few coins in the tip box, you flash a warm smile at Sam before going to sit down in a seat that had a tourist already sat on the other side, making you let out a dreaded sigh as you secure your spot near them.

“This is my first time in L.A., it’s very busy.” The tourist began a conversation with you, unprompted.

“Yeah,” You reply, your tone dry as you attempt to look around the bus. A silent way for you to express to the tourist that you weren’t interested in talking right then, you were mentally busy trying to memorize every word and line for your interview today.

“I love public transportation. Makes it very easy.”

“Well, I love my car. I miss my car,” You say. Although the tourist was too oblivious to notice, there was a new hint of annoyance laced through your voice as you remember driving your own car, which was totaled in a speeding accident a mere few weeks ago.

Jack, meanwhile, was on his way to the Los Angeles police department, the very building he’s been going to work for the last few years of his life. He had a smile on his face, thinking of and planning what he’d do with his girlfriend after another long day working on the force. However, he would quickly be surprised by the explosion of a nearby bus, causing him to duck down and use the recently opened driver’s side car door he’d just stepped out of.

With his instincts immediately kicking in, Jack rushed over to the bus that was now being consumed by raging and brightly glowing flames. His heart was racing, every beat sounded like thunder roaring from inside his chest as his mind worked to get a hold on what was happening around him. Darting to the bus, Jack felt a mixture of relief and confusion surge through him at the sight of there being nobody inside. So, did someone rig a vacant bus for no reason? No, this was a set-up…

Ring…

Ring…

Ring…

“How was that as a light-show, Jack?” A deep, gravely voice could be heard on the other end.

“Payne! How did you—”

“Now, before you start going off like that bomb just did, I should tell you that there’s another little bus that I just so happened to get my hands on, and gave it a little…touch-up.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath.”

“Oh, I know.” Payne chuckled darkly, which was muffled by the telephone. “You fucked over my life one, two, and three times. One time too many.”

“What do you want?”

“That little girlfriend of yours, she just got on the 5050 bus a little ways away from here. You get on that bus, and make sure it doesn’t go under fifty miles an hour. What do you do?”

“I’d want to know where the bus went.”

“Ah, well then, I’ll tell you the bus is routed to Broadway Street—”

Before Payne couldn’t even finish his sentence before Jack began darting towards the direction of the street he’d just been given, his shoes hitting hard against the concrete road that was paved beneath him. He ran as fast as he could until he caught a glimpse of the bus turning down a street in a nearby intersection. With his eyes widening, Jack promptly raced towards a car that was stopped at a stop light, flashing his police badge at the driver.

“LAPD, I need to use your car.” Jack tried to say calmly despite the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins.

“Wait, wha—” The civilian started to speak up before he was promptly cut off by Jack, who began pushing him into the passenger seat to take over the driver’s side in a quick and swift motion.

“Hey, man, what are you doing?!” He shouted while holding onto the hood of his car with a tight grip as Jack sped to catch up to the bus his spouse was riding.

“LAPD, there’s a bomb on your bus!” Jack evaded the man’s question, his priority being the passengers whose lives were in danger on that very bus.

With increasing speeds, Jack drove the man’s car up close to the bus from the next lane adjacent to it, his head turning to direct his attention onto Sam, who was focused on driving the bus. However, he would soon take notice of the murmurs from the other passengers, causing him to flicker his gaze to the two doors that were beside him — and currently closed.

“Sam! That’s my boyfriend, let him on!” You speak up, the panic evident behind your tone of voice, causing Sam to reach for the lever to allow Jack inside.

“Everyone, I am Officer Jack Traven, LAPD. There is an issue with this bus. It cannot go over fifty miles an hour, no matter what.” He announced simultaneously while he got on the bus, showing the passengers and Sam his badge as a way to silently tell the people his identity as he spoke.

“Babe…what kind of an issue?” You hesitantly asked, knowing that his answer could possibly send the others into mayhem. Yet, the curiosity killed the cat, and you couldn’t stop the question from spilling loose from your lips.

“Payne’s back.” Jack answered in a low whisper, his lips brushing up against your ear as he covered his lips with the side of his hand from everyone else, not allowing the rest of them to be aware of the amount of danger they were currently in.

“Shit…” You thought to yourself with a heavy sigh before reaching one of your hands up to ruffle your fingers through the strands of your hair as the stress rapidly built up in your mind.

“It’s okay, we’ll get through this. I promise.” He reassured you quietly, followed by a quick and gentle, yet firm squeeze on your hand while your fingers intertwined with his own.

“We need to keep this bus going over 50 miles an hour, no matter what.” Jack announced to the people in the bus, his attention focusing on Sam while he drove the bus and maintained the speed to the best of his ability, even if he wasn’t exactly sure as to why.

appreciate—

written by: 🥺

genre: fluff

warnings: none

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: on some occasions, love isn't a strong enough word

thank you to @ofrosesandteacups for requesting this!! (not this kinda becoming a metaphor for army and the energy we put into loving them?? idk i see it but tell me what you think)

it feels as though you've been here before, although you are entirely certain you haven't. miles away from home in a foreign country, surrounded by speakers of a language you have yet to master - and yet it feels more like home than america ever could.

"do you miss your family?"

you do. not seeing them for five years is bound to create that feeling, equal parts longing and forgetting. but that same longing compelled you to seek out a new family, one that seems more like your flesh and blood than those who actually are.

"sometimes," you settle on. "i see them most days."

"just through a screen, though."

"are you trying to make me cry or something?"

namjoon laughs; lower and more hushed than usual. there's no reason for it, and yet you can understand why - it just fits the atmosphere.

laying between the ground and the sky, - somewhere that is also nowhere - it isn't like anyone could hear you besides the stars and the trees, and they are loyal; nature never spills the secrets that are whispered between humans when they think they are alone. secrets are too precious like that, too easily shattered. nature knows better.

but he whispers anyway, "of course not. just asking."

you turn your head to study him. his skin glows in the moonlight, eyes shining like stars reflected in a dark pond. a rush of warmth floods over you and stirs a thought that enters your head frequently: this is where i'm meant to be.

"you're my family."

a smile stretches over namjoon's lips. it's quiet, soft, and you start to wonder if that's just him, rather than an unspoken rule formulated by the setting.

"i know."

he's used to this. you tell him it frequently, tell every one of the boys that you love them as much as you possibly can, because with their busy schedules and the pressure that comes with fame, it's easy to forget that you're loved - truly, unconditionally loved - sometimes, and you want to remind them of that.

maybe that's why he doesn't act surprised when an 'i love you' slips through your lips next. that's okay, you don't need him to react, just feel the weight of your words, how much you really mean it.

"i appreciate you," he says.

you're used to this. the other boys have no qualms about returning your love, some less than others, but again, that's okay. but with namjoon, he hasn't said it once. he shows it in other ways, sure, this particular phrase being one of his favourite methods.

it was okay at first. up until the point you realised your feelings for him extended past friendship, and at the same time realised that it would, inevitably, end in a broken heart on your part.

he must sense this, as he quickly follows it up with, "and i don't say that to put you down, by the way. i just think that appreciation can be a lot stronger than love, you know?"

"no, uh, i understand that."

he doesn't stop there. "no, really. i could tell you i love you, because i do, but it wouldn't be able to express what i really feel."

he turns and locks eyes with you. his gaze is soft, soft, soft, but at the same time it burns, like gentle, slow heat on a summers day. you can't help but look away, instead focusing on the space between you two, where your fingers idly pick at individual blades of grass.

"y/n?"

you hum in response.

"i mean it," he states, now switching to english. maybe that's why you feel the most comfortable with him - you can relax in his presence, not having to worry about honorifics and conjugating verbs. "i appreciate the way you never hesitate to speak your mind; the way you treat us like you treat everyone else; the way you're always there when we need you."

you bite your lip, the confidence you usually hold dissipating into the atmosphere to join the clouds that roll overhead. "thank you," is all you can think to say. it's true, though. he's never usually like this, and you're grateful that he's finally confirmed it, even if its only in part.

a gentle hand touches your chin, prompting you to look upwards. you can't escape the warmth of his eyes now, and it's almost suffocating.

"you put your all into us. we appreciate it, we really do. but please remember to look after yourself once in a while. please?"

you nod. apparently, it isn't enough. "promise me. promise me you'll appreciate yourself as much as you appreciate us, and as much as we appreciate you."

a sigh escapes your lips. the light breeze caresses your skin, but namjoon's blanketing warmth is enough to keep the cold from settling into your bones.

"i promise."

bad idea—

written by: 🥺

genre: fluff

pairings: yoo jeongyeon x reader

warnings: mild swearing

summary: admittedly, it wasn't the best idea to go camping during one of the coldest months of the year, but with the warmth of your girlfriend jeongyeon, a mistake can be easily corrected.

thanks to @peachyeva​ for requesting this!!

“this was such a bad idea,” you whisper to yourself, except the words barely leave your numb lips, so it sounds more like a set of incomprehensible syllables. 

you’re too cold to care anyway. despite the plethora of blankets wrapped around you and multiple layers of clothing - including jeongyeon’s thick purple hoodie which she so kindly gave up to you - your teeth still chatter uncontrollably. goosebumps rise on your frigid skin, and you can barely feel your fingers as you clutch a steaming mug of tea to your chest.

the tent zips open and jeongyeon’s face pokes in, cheeks and nose flushed red. she shuts the tent behind you as a final line of defence against the unrelenting autumn wind then plops down on the end of the blow-up mattress.

you spot the bowl of marshmallows in her hand and open your mouth to speak, but she holds her hand up in dismissal before any more muffled syllables can escape your lips.

“i know what you’re going to say. don’t even bother.”

“how did you know what i was going to say?” you question whilst she shuffles across the mattress until she’s laying next to you.

she smirks. “i’m telepathic. now open up.”

you grimace, but jeongyeon picks a pink marshmallow out of the bowl and waves it in front of your lips. with a roll of your eyes, you reluctantly open your mouth and allow her to slip the treat in.

“you didn’t have to, jeongyeon,” you say, words now softened by the food rather than the lack of feeling in your lips. the marshmallow is warm and sweet, allowing a new warmth to bloom in your chest. 

jeongyeon groans, “i told you not to bother.” there’s a brief silence as she chews her own marshmallow. “what’s the point in going camping if you don’t get to eat roasted marshmallows?”

“what’s the point of going camping if it’s freezing cold?”

she shrugs, and you take it as a win. you don’t get long to revel in your victory before she stuffs another marshmallow into your mouth, perhaps to shut you up, but that’s okay. you eat and drink in silence, listening to the wind howling outside, just a thin material (and many fluffy blankets) away from battering you with its’ strength.

jeongyeon places the bowl down on the floor when you’re done. she wastes no time in wrapping herself around you, head nuzzled into your neck. her soft breaths tickle your skin, but in a calming sort of way, and you allow your eyes to flutter shut.

“okay, i’ll admit it,” she says after a brief silence, “this was not one of my better ideas.”

“yeah, because you’re notorious for your good ideas. remember when you were convinced that feeding the seagulls one french fry each would get them to leave us alone?”

“don’t remind me. i still hear squawks and flapping wings in my nightmares sometimes,” she whines.

you erupt into a fit of giggles at this. jeongyeon only pouts and exclaims, “i can’t believe you’re laughing at my misfortune!”

“i would’ve laughed when it happened if i wasn’t being chased by ravenous birds. why am i always swept up in your mistakes?”

jeongyeon pouts for real this time. you can’t help but feel bad, and quickly roll onto your side so you can caress her face. “i’m actually quite enjoying this, though.”

“really?”

“yeah, i enjoy being cold. it means i have an excuse to cuddle up to you.”

jeongyeon grins, cheeks blushing even darker than they already were. “you can cuddle up to me whenever.”

“i know, baby.” you lean forward and plant a gentle kiss on her lips. “moral of the story: don’t let jeongyeon make decisions.”

“unless they involve cuddling.”

“yeah, unless they involve cuddling.”

❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

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❤︎ summary: you wake up in an unfamiliar place—threadless, wingless, and wildly out of place in a world that forgot how to feel. the man who caught you (or spared you, or maybe neither) offers no comfort. only silence. and rules you don’t understand. but you’re built for love—even stripped of your status, even with your wings torn away—and despite everything, you hum. he watches. you talk. something shifts. and for once, the silence isn’t empty.

❤︎ contains: sfw. soft sci-fi. celestial grief. morally questionable men with capes. lonely mythologies. divine exile. cupid!reader. omni!mark. omni!invincible. slow-burn dynamics. sharp dialogue. soft power plays. emotional tension. thread metaphors. awkward domesticity. a glittery, homesick cupid in a strange house. and one emotionally repressed war criminal trying not to care.

❤︎ warnings: post-exile trauma. references to canonical war/genocide (vague). injury care. survivor’s guilt. isolation. identity confusion. mild body horror (wing loss). emotional withholding. unspoken grief. and the bone-deep ache of trying to be wanted when you were made only to serve.

‪❤︎ wc: 4868

prologue, part one

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: i’m honestly so beyond touched by the response to this fic about a wingless cupid and a cosmic war criminal. the love it’s gotten?? unreal. my whole thread-glued heart is just… full. you’ve made this story feel less like a fall and more like a landing. thank you for every comment, like, and reblog—i’m storing them in a pink sparkly jar labeled “emotional fuel.” let’s keep tugging the string—chapter one starts now.

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You wake up face-down in luxury.

Specifically: half-smushed into a couch that feels engineered for spine alignment, interstellar meditation, or a villain’s downtime—not comfort.

Definitely not comfort.

The texture is weirdly sleek—velvet-synthetic.

Expensive.

The kind of couch that exists just to say “I’m expensive”—not to be sat on. Which, of course, you are.

…Badly.

You’re tangled in a heavy blanket that definitely wasn’t there before, limbs twisted like a limp marionette. Every joint aches. Your back screams.

You blink, eyes crusty. Then blink again.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

No ambient hum of threads. No divine frequency. No lace-sky breathing stories into the tips of your wings—

Oh.

Right.

No wings.

Just… nothing.

You inhale shakily, trying not to flinch at the echo of absence where they used to be.

That phantom pull still flickers beneath your skin, like your whole body expects to move differently and can’t understand why it doesn’t.

You sit up slowly, the blanket tangled around your knees slipping off with a whisper-soft sigh.

It’s heavy and warm and smells like something between ozone, steel, and—

Oh.

Him.

“Okay,” you murmur, voice raspy. “Either I survived, or I’m in a very bougie version of limbo.”

Your limbs ache. Everything aches. You’re bruised in places that aren’t even supposed to bruise. Your wings? Still gone. Still phantom. Still wrong.

And the worst part?

The air feels… hollow.

No threads.

No connections.

No one’s longing.

You’re utterly alone—again.

You shuffle upright and glance around, trying not to wobble.

The room is sleek, high-tech in a sterile, vaguely militaristic way. Walls smooth and silver-dark, faintly glowing interface panels here and there.

It’s clean. Cold. Lit with soft panels that glow a sterile blue.

A strange crystalline screen suspended midair flickers with symbols you don’t recognize.

There’s a table that sits low in the center of the room—glass, probably. It looks solid, but you eye it like it might judge you.

You’re not in a prison—not quite.

But you’re not safe either.

Still—your voice comes out bright. Croaky, but bright.

“Well, at least it’s not hell.”

You wobble to your feet and immediately trip over the corner of the blanket.

Stumble, flail, barely catch yourself on what might be a countertop… or a weapons locker. Hard to say.

You don’t recognize a single object in the space.

That doesn’t stop you from touching everything.

A metallic orb hums when you poke it.

Another panel flashes red. You press it again. It turns off.

“Definitely not a prison,” you say, chewing your lip. “Probably. Hopefully. …Possibly a villain’s lair. But like… a tasteful one?”

Your legs push you toward a shelf and there’s an object shaped like a tall, elegant hourglass—except filled with something that glows faintly purple.

Naturally, you poke it.

It purrs.

You yelp.

“H-hello?! Sorry! I didn’t mean—!”

Your voice slowly fades into silence.

You pick up something else. It’s smooth. Cylindrical. Heavy for its size.

“Hmm. Mug? Weapon? Mug and weapon? A murder mug? It feels like a murder mug,” you mumble, turning it over.

“Do they drink blood tea here?”

Then—something beeps. Very softly.

Your whole body tenses.

And then you feel it.

The weight of presence.

Not a string. Not love.

Gravity.

And danger.

You turn—and there he is.

The red-caped man from the field—towering in the doorway like a bad decision carved out of stone and anger.

He’s standing there.

Silent. Immense.

In red and white and black, all sharp lines and steady breath. His cape falls behind him like a curtain of blood. The goggles don’t show his eyes—but you feel the glare through them.

His jaw is set. His arms are crossed. His black goggles glint even in the low light. He doesn’t speak right away. He doesn’t have to.

You go solid, still holding the probable mug-weapon.

Ah right—you can’t forget.

It’s still the guy who caught you. Or… confronted you. Or nearly vaporized you last night in a field of daisies.

You give a sheepish smile.

“Hi. Morning. Or, uh, whatever time it is on this… aggressively minimalist version of Earth!”

He tilts his head once. His voice is flat.

Unreadable.

“Don’t touch that.”

You freeze. “This? Oh, no, I wasn’t—I mean, I did. Technically. But only spiritually.”

He doesn’t respond.

You blink. Look at the object. Look back at him. Grin. “Okay. Cool. I won’t. Totally understand boundaries. Big believer in consent.”

He doesn’t react.

You clear your throat. Set the item down. Slowly.

“Although, in my defense, your whole interior design aesthetic is kinda yelling ‘please investigate me.’ So really, it’s—”

“Don’t touch anything,” he cuts in, firmer.

You offer him a sheepish thumbs-up. “Got it. Loud and scary clear.”

And then—because your instincts are garbage and you were literally created to poke things—you touch something else. A little blinking panel near the door.

His eyes narrow.

You drop your hand like it burned you. “Sorry!! Reflex! Very bad reflex!”

He stares.

You stare back, then give a very small, very awkward wave.

Another long pause.

He sighs—just barely. Turns away without a word and disappears down the hall.

You watch him go, blinking.

“…He seems nice.”

You sit back down with a wince, then mutter, “I should definitely touch more stuff.”

You do.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It starts with silence.

Again.

But this time it’s not lonely silence—it’s awkward. Heavy. The kind that settles between two people who don’t know if they’re enemies, housemates, or a cosmic glitch in each other’s timelines.

You linger in the hallway.

Still sore. Still threadless. Still dressed like someone who got kicked out of Heaven and landed in a tech-noir villain’s den.

And still—despite every instinct screaming don’t—you follow him.

Of course you do.

Like a sparkly little space unwanted houseguest with opinions that has zero survival instincts and a tragic affection for ominous men in capes.

He doesn’t say you can’t follow him.

He just walks briskly through his own home—long hallways, seamless doors, touch-panel everything—while you trail behind, barefoot and blinking like a freshly-kicked cherub.

He ignores you.

You ignore his ignoring.

“That’s a cool cape,” you say conversationally, trying to keep up with his strides. “Is it, like, sentimental? Symbolic? Villain-chic? Oh—wait, are you emotionally attached to it?”

No answer.

You lean forward slightly, squinting. “Do you… wear it to bed?”

Still nothing.

You hum thoughtfully. “Is it fused to your soul? Is it detachable? Do you have different ones for different moods—like, casual cape, angry cape, emotional repression cape?”

He doesn’t respond.

You try again. “Can I touch it?”

He stops.

Just like that—halts mid-stride.

You freeze behind him, nearly bumping into his back. And blink up at him.

He turns his head slightly, the cape flaring just enough to ripple past your fingertips.

“Don’t.”

One word. No bite, no growl—just a warning. Like a storm saying this isn’t rain yet, but it could be.

You raise your hands slowly. “Right. Sorry. Cape off-limits. Got it. You’re very committed to the brand.”

He walks again.

You sigh—more dramatic than necessary—but keep following.

“What about the goggles?” you ask. “Do you sleep in those too? Are they like… mood-activated? They’re very intimidating. Very Darth-Vader-meets-heartbreak. No offense.”

He says nothing.

“Okay, so you’re clearly not a big talker,” you mutter. “That’s fine. I talk enough for two. Or ten.”

So you keep going, babbling just to fill the space.

Another hallway. Another panel. Another stretch of angular, too-clean walls and whisper-quiet footsteps.

It’s like walking through a museum designed by someone who’s never smiled—even once.

And somehow—somehow—you still manage to fill the silence.

“You know, in some dimensions, silence is considered a mating ritual,” you offer cheerfully.

He pauses.

You blink. “Wait, not that I’m saying this is that. I mean—it’s not, right? Unless it is—which, um, please clarify. Because if it is, I should probably brush my hair.”

He keeps walking.

You huff, trailing further behind now. Not because you’re tired—well, okay, maybe a little—but mostly because his energy is doing that don’t-get-close thing again.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

He doesn’t respond. Again.

You glance at one of the panels you pass. It blinks red as you near it.

Curious, you step closer.

He doesn’t stop you this time—but you hear it in his voice. That shift. That thread of something darker.

“You’re not allowed outside.”

You freeze. “What?”

“That panel’s locked. Security override in place.”

You blink, confused. “So I can’t leave?”

A beat.

“No.”

Your stomach twists.

You laugh. Light. Thin. “Oh. So I am in a prison.”

“It’s not a prison,” he says flatly.

You raise an eyebrow. “You just said I can’t leave.”

“It’s for your safety.”

“Isn’t that what all supervillains say?”

He turns around then—just slightly—and for the first time, you think maybe he’s trying not to say something. His jaw tightens. Not with anger. Not exactly.

With thought.

You don’t press. Not this time.

Instead, you look out the nearest window—tinted, probably bulletproof, overlooking a skyline that feels wrong. Choked. Smoky and sharp at the edges.

It’s beautiful in the way a burnt cathedral might be. And it feels lonely.

You press your hand to the glass.

Whisper-soft.

“I don’t belong here,” you murmur. Not to him. Not really to yourself, either.

Just… to the glass.

To the world beyond it.

He doesn’t answer.

But he watches you.

And that’s enough to make your heart thud somewhere in the hollowness of your chest.

You exhale. Curl your fingers into a mock-heart on the window.

“You should really consider getting some plants,” you say softly. “This place is screaming ‘emotionally constipated bachelor pad.’”

His reflection doesn’t flinch.

You sigh and turn away.

“I’m gonna go talk to the weird murder mug again.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Later—hours, maybe—you find yourself planted at the far end of what might be the dining area.

Or the command center. It’s hard to tell.

The table looks like it could initiate a planetary strike if you breathe on it wrong.

He sits across from you.

Still.

Still suited. Still silent.

He hasn’t taken the mask off. You haven’t seen his eyes.

But he gave you a name.

Not a real one, probably. But something.

“Invincible,” he said flatly when you asked, finally cracking under the sheer power of your pestering and your best please I’m charming let me know what to call you face.

You didn’t believe him at first.

“Seriously? That’s what you go by?”

He didn’t answer.

Just turned away and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like you’re worse than the other one.

Still—you took it. Grinned. Clutched it like it meant something.

“Okay, Invincible. Cool name. Bit dramatic. But I can work with that.”

He hasn’t asked for your name in return.

You gave it anyway.

Not your designation. Not the code the Realm used.

Just what you used to call yourself, back when you believed in tenderness.

He didn’t comment on it.

He just sat like he is now—spine too straight, hands steepled on the table, as if pretending not to regret every life choice that led to you invading his vaguely dystopian bachelor pad.

You kick your feet under the table.

He says nothing.

So you talk.

Because of course you do.

“Okay, so—fun story,” you begin brightly, draping your arms across the back of your seat. “Once, I accidentally matched a soulweaver with a carnivorous star-being. Didn’t realize their threads were laced with paradox elements. Their honeymoon destroyed a moon.”

You pause.

Grin.

“But they’re still together! Super toxic. Super cute. Kind of horrifying… I’m rooting for them.”

Nothing.

You glance at him.

He’s not looking at you—but his fingers tap once. Barely audible. A twitch in the rhythm.

You keep going.

“I once worked a case where the connection was so knotted it took seven cycles, two reincarnations, and one cosmic dog to unravel it. Not a metaphor. There was literally a dog. He was a thread guide. Very fluffy.”

Still nothing.

But you notice the shift.

The way his chin angles, almost imperceptibly.

Like he’s listening without wanting to. Like he’s filing away every word and pretending he’s not.

You lean forward. Prop your chin on your hand.

“Have you ever loved anyone?” you ask, soft. Just curious.

Invincible freezes.

Just for a second.

Then moves again—barely. Shrugs one shoulder. “Not relevant.”

“Oh, it’s totally relevant,” you say with a mock gasp. “It’s my entire job.”

“You don’t have a job,” he mutters.

“Excuse you,” you sniff. “I am temporarily unemployed. There’s a difference.”

He sighs—again, just barely. But it’s the kind that says if I fly into the sun right now, will she keep talking?

You smile, a little too brightly.

“It’s just—you’re fascinating,” you say, earnest now.

“You move like someone who’s always preparing for war. But there’s something in your hands. Like… you used to hold gentler things.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react.

But his knuckles tighten—just slightly.

You catch it.

You don’t comment on it.

Instead, you hum softly, off-tune and aimless. Just enough to fill the space between your sentences.

“I used to hum like this when I was scared,” you say, staring at the ceiling. “Back when I thought being good meant being useful.”

A long beat.

Then—

“You’re not scared now?” he asks, voice flat.

You glance at him.

Smile.

“Terrified.”

And you mean it.

But it’s soft.

Like a confession wrapped in pink thread and handed over with shaking fingers.

Invincible doesn’t answer.

But he doesn’t leave.

And that’s something.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You’re sitting on the edge of the couch—the weird one that thinks it’s better than you—biting the inside of your cheek.

“I can do it myself,” you say.

Immediately lie.

“I’m very good at medical stuff. Definitely qualified. Certified in three realms, actually.”

Invincible doesn’t look convinced.

You don’t blame him.

Your last attempt at bandaging involved decorative knotting and something that suspiciously resembled a shoelace.

“You’re going to make it worse,” he says flatly.

You huff. “You say that like it’s a certainty.”

“It is.”

He crosses the room without waiting for permission, gloved hands already unsnapping some hidden compartment in the wall.

A panel folds out.

Inside: a compact but precise set of medical supplies.

Of course he has medical supplies.

Of course they’re alphabetized.

Of course the antiseptic glows ominously.

You fidget.

“I don’t like that bottle,” you murmur. “It’s judging me.”

He doesn’t respond. Just sets it down on the nearby table with quiet precision.

You swallow.

The silence stretches.

It’s heavier now. Less awkward. More… inevitable.

You wrap your arms around your knees, voice quieter.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

And still—he gestures.

“Turn around.”

Your pulse stumbles. You hesitate.

But then—you do.

Slowly.

You turn your back to him.

Pull the too-big shirt they gave you (his? something spare from the war room? it smells faintly of leather and ozone) off one shoulder. Then the other. Then lift the hem just enough for him to see.

It hurts.

Not just the movement—but the exposure.

It’s not romantic.

Because there’s nothing romantic about torn skin or lost wings.

Invincible doesn’t say anything. Not at first.

But you hear the pause.

The smallest catch in his breath.

Then—his gloved fingers at the edge of the old wrapping. Careful. Methodical.

The first touch makes you flinch.

He stops immediately.

Waits.

Doesn’t apologize—he never apologizes—but he doesn’t push either.

You exhale.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “Keep going.”

The bandages peel away slowly.

You wince.

Not because of the pain—but because you know what it must look like.

The bruising.

The way the skin puckers where the feathers once grew.

The scars trying to form over something that should have never been taken.

Invincible works in silence.

You hum.

It’s soft. Tuneless. The kind of sound you make when you don’t know what else to fill the quiet with.

“I used to help patch people up,” you say absently, voice thin. “Mostly broken hearts, but once I had to reattach a wing to a grief-angel. That was messy. Lots of glitter and wailing.”

Still, he says nothing.

But his hands move gently.

Like he’s trying not to break what’s already broken.

The antiseptic stings. You hiss.

He pauses.

You press your forehead to your knees.

“I’m okay,” you lie again.

A beat passes.

Then another.

Then—

“You’re not.”

You go still.

The words aren’t cruel. Not biting. Just… factual. Like a truth dropped onto the floor and left there.

You don’t reply.

But the humming dies in your throat.

His fingers return. Smoother now. Gliding over the worst of it. Wrapping clean gauze like it means something. Like there’s care in the motion, even if he doesn’t name it.

You close your eyes.

For a moment—you pretend it doesn’t hurt.

You pretend you’re not threadless and wrecked.

You pretend someone is holding you in a way that won’t leave more marks.

And he—this man with no real name, with a face hidden behind silence and sharpness—keeps wrapping your wounds like someone who doesn’t know why he hasn’t stopped yet.

When Invincible finishes, you don’t move right away.

Neither does he.

The air holds the shape of something unsaid.

And for the first time since you fell—

You don’t feel entirely alone.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It starts with guilt.

Not big, thunderous guilt—the kind that screams or scars.

No, this is softer. Quieter.

The kind that curls under your ribs and pokes at you when it gets too silent.

The kind that sounds like: Invincible hasn’t killed me yet. I should… do something?

You’ve been here for… two sunrises now? Three?

Time is slippery here. Threadless days always are.

But one thing’s clear: for all his sharp edges and scowls, your new… roommate? captor? interdimensional roommate with possible emotional constipation?—he’s been letting you stay.

In his space. On his furniture. Breathing his air.

Rent-free.

The least you could do is say thank you.

So you decide to clean.

Which is dumb. Because you have no idea how any of this tech works.

But that doesn’t stop you.

You start small—folding the blanket you’ve been cocooning in. You even add a little flair.

Tug the corners into soft heart-shaped knots. Totally impractical. Definitely aesthetic.

You set it in the middle of the couch like a peace offering. Or a warning.

You hum to yourself as you tidy.

Not that there’s much to tidy—everything here is spotless, sterile, like a military catalog page come to life.

Still, you try.

Straighten a few panels. Dust off some gleaming surface with the edge of your sleeve.

Eventually, you find what might be a kitchen. Or a weapons bay disguised as a kitchen. Hard to say.

It has counters. It has drawers. One of them contains what you think are utensils. One of them contains a small orb that buzzes and tries to eat your finger.

You close that one. Quickly.

Cooking it is.

You find something vaguely bread-adjacent in a sealed container.

Something that might be butter. Something that definitely isn’t sugar but looks suspiciously like cosmic sand.

You try anyway.

You find heat. A panel that flares red when you touch it.

“Perfect,” you whisper. “Totally safe. I am definitely qualified for this.”

You burn the first attempt. Instantly. Black smoke hisses upward like a judgment.

You try again.

You nearly set the panel on fire.

You keep going.

Eventually, you manage to create… something!

Not good. Not edible. But warm and round-ish and not on fire.

You plate it. Add a flower from the weird glowing vase thing on the counter for presentation. Step back. Admire it.

It’s hideous.

But you made it.

So you carry it out carefully—just as the door hisses open.

And there he is.

Cape flowing. Expression unreadable.

Invincible freezes in the doorway, black goggles flicking from your smoke-streaked face to the kitchen behind you—now full of suspicious smells and one still-smoking dish.

You hold out the plate.

“I made a thank-you loaf,” you say brightly. “It’s mostly… not poison!”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just stares.

Then—

“Did you override my weapons lock?”

You blink. “What?”

He steps past you, into the kitchen. Taps a barely-visible panel near the wall. A soft click echoes.

Then a compartment slides open to reveal: missiles.

Actual missiles.

“Oh,” you say. “That explains the ticking.”

Invincible turns around slowly.

You grin, sheepish. “In my defense, your cabinet labeling system is deeply confusing.”

He doesn’t yell.

Which is somehow worse.

He just gives you the look.

That disappointed, stone-jawed, exhausted-by-your-whole-existence look.

Your grin falters.

“…I’ll go sit down.”

You do.

And you sulk.

You curl up in the corner of the couch and re-fold the blanket. Then re-fold it again.

You mutter something about interdimensional roommates being impossible to please.

You don’t even notice when he walks back in.

Not at first.

You only notice the pause.

The soft shift of air.

You glance up.

He’s standing at the edge of the room, holding something.

The blanket.

You must’ve left it in the kitchen, half-heartedly abandoned on a counter.

Invincible doesn’t say anything.

But he doesn’t throw it away either.

He folds it once. Carefully.

Sets it back on the couch.

Exactly where it was.

Knots and all.

You don’t say anything.

But your chest feels warmer.

He leaves again.

You smile to yourself.

Next time, you’ll try the cosmic rice.

(Probably a bad idea. But you’re nothing if not persistent.)

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Mark tells himself you’re just a problem he hasn’t solved yet.

That’s all.

Another anomaly dropped into his territory—another celestial error.

Something to monitor. To contain. Not to engage with.

Definitely not to understand.

He repeats this in his head more than once.

But he still notices things.

You hum when it’s too quiet.

Not on purpose.

Not like you’re trying to fill the space with meaning.

It’s unconscious—barely there. Just a low, tuneless sound you loop under your breath like you’re afraid silence might swallow you if you let it linger too long.

He hears it through the walls sometimes.

Not enough to be irritating. Just enough to be… present.

You clutch your weapon in your sleep.

Not always.

But most nights, when the lights dim and you think he’s stopped watching.

The bow—the one you won’t explain—is usually curled tight against your chest, one hand resting lightly on the grip.

Protective. Familiar.

Like it’s the only thing left that still feels like home.

You move in your sleep too. Restless. Whimpers low, barely audible.

Once, he found you curled into the narrowest corner of the couch like you were trying to disappear inside yourself.

The blanket had fallen. You hadn’t bothered to pick it up.

He hadn’t either.

But he covered you with a new one before leaving.

You never mentioned it.

You walk wrong.

It’s not… bad. Just different.

Like someone still getting used to gravity.

You don’t always trust your footing—sometimes you skip a step, sometimes you hesitate before a turn, like you expect the ground to shift under your feet.

You never ask for help.

But when something startles you—when you nearly drop something, or a panel glitches too loud, or the power flickers just a little too long—your hand twitches toward him before you even realize it.

Like a reflex. Like an instinct you haven’t unlearned.

Like you think he might catch you.

You talk too much.

About nothing. About everything.

Stories that make no sense—about thread-realms and starlight weddings and love gods who punch each other for fun.

Mark doesn’t believe half of it.

But he listens.

Every word.

Worse, he remembers them.

You describe things with your hands—like you can’t just say what you mean, you have to shape it.

Fingers dancing through the air, painting emotion he doesn’t know how to name.

When you laugh, your shoulders always rise first.

When you lie, you bite the inside of your cheek.

You sing off-key. Barely know it.

And you always pause—just for a second—before you smile.

That’s the one that gets him.

The hesitation.

Like you’re weighing whether it’s worth it.

Whether this moment deserves it.

Whether he does.

Mark doesn’t understand you.

And that should be easy.

It’s always been easy, not understanding people. Easier to flatten them. File them into categories: threat, resource, dead.

But you don’t stay in the box.

Don’t follow the rules.

You should be scared of him—he knows you are—but you don’t flinch when he walks past. You make eye contact. You wave. You hum.

You grin.

And he…

He notices.

Even when he doesn’t want to.

Especially then.

So he tells himself it’s strategy.

Just observation.

Just a glitch with glitter in your hair and too many stories in your throat.

That’s all.

That’s all.

But when he walks past the living room, and sees you curled asleep with your bow across your chest and your hands still half-reached toward something that isn’t there—

Mark slows.

Doesn’t stop.

But he slows.

And tells himself again—you’re just a problem.

Not a person.

Not someone.

Not his.

Not yet, not never.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The apartment is unusually quiet.

Ever since you got here—there’s always something humming softly in the air. Mark doesn’t notice the silence at first.

He’s used to that. Prefers it.

But this is different.

It’s a small sound that finally breaks him out of his thoughts.

Soft. Barely there.

At first, Mark thinks the sound is static.

Just another nighttime glitch—a flicker in the power grid, maybe. A disturbance in the perimeter sensors.

Something small. Something easy.

But then he hears it again.

Soft. Fragile. Not mechanical.

Human.

He moves before thinking.

Quiet steps down the hallway. Past the control room. Around the corner where the lights are still dimmed to sleep-mode. His hand hovers over the doorframe.

You’re still asleep.

Sort of.

Your body’s curled inward on the couch—smaller than usual, shoulders tight, hands clenched in the blanket. Not the bow this time. Just the blanket.

But your face—

Your face is wet.

Tears carve tracks down your cheeks in silence.

Your lips move, but there’s no sound. Your breath catches on each inhale like it doesn’t know how to settle in your chest.

You don’t sob. Don’t cry out.

You just tremble.

Mark doesn’t move.

He should. He knows he should. Turn away. Walk off. Let you have your grief like you always have—alone, unspeaking, full of bright little lies and off-key humming.

But you’re not humming now.

You’re breaking.

And he—

He watches.

Not with judgment.

Not even with curiosity.

Just… quietly.

Like something in him knows this is sacred. Or familiar. Or both.

He takes a breath. Slow. Controlled.

Then turns away long enough to return with a glass of water.

He sets it down on the table near you. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t touch you.

Doesn’t ask.

When he glances back—

You’re still asleep.

But your hand moves. Barely.

Reaches toward the glass.

Or maybe toward something else.

Mark doesn’t stay to see if you find it.

But as he walks away, the sound of your breath steadying follows him.

Not whole.

Not healed.

But enough.

And for reasons he doesn’t name—

That’s worse than a scream.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room.

Surrounded by scraps of thread you found in one of the deep storage drawers Invincible didn’t think you’d find.

(He was wrong.)

One’s gold.

One’s red.

One’s a tangled mess of fraying blue that might actually be a shoelace.

You’re holding them all up like evidence.

Invincible’s standing over you. Arms crossed. Eyebrow raised. Entire posture radiating why are you like this.

You grin up at him.

“Okay,” you begin, voice bright, “so this one represents soul-tied destinies—deep, ancient, violently passionate.” You wiggle the red one.

“This one is light-thread—super soft, fluttery, usually forms during meet-cutes or emotionally charged hand-touching.” The gold.

You hold up the blue.

“This one is chaos. I don’t know where it came from. Possibly cursed. Could be your vibe.”

He squints. “Are you seriously playing with string right now?”

“It’s not playing,” you gasp. “It’s education. I’m trying to teach you how threads work.”

“I don’t care how threads work.”

“You should! Not that you have one—rude—but if you did, yours would definitely be fire-forged, probably double-knotted, tangled six times over, emotionally scorched and fraying at the edges—oh, and extremely defensive.”

He blinks.

Then—“What does that even mean.”

You pause. Smile softly.

“It means you’re very repressed, babe.”

A beat.

He doesn’t respond. Just stares at you like you’ve grown another head. (Honestly, that would explain a lot, probably.)

You shrug. Flick the red string toward him. It hits his chest.

Invincible doesn’t catch it.

“Here. Pretend that’s your thread.”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

He turns to leave.

You call after him, “You’d definitely be a reluctant soulmate.”

He freezes in the doorway.

Very quietly, without turning around, he says.

“There’s no such thing.”

You smile to yourself. Pick up the gold thread again. Loop it gently around your fingers.

“Not yet,” you murmur. “But they don’t always start that way.”

He doesn’t respond.

But he doesn’t walk away either.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ᯓ❤︎ requested by: @lycheee-jelly

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

❤︎ summary: after defying a divine directive and choosing mercy over order, you—a cupid built not to feel—fall from the realm and crash into a world you don’t belong to. wingless and exiled, you land on a planet bruised by war, grief, and something worse: apathy. but one figure watches your descent. he’s not a hero. not a god. just a man turned monster, carrying the weight of a planet he helped destroy. you were made to spark love. he was made to conquer. so why can’t he walk away?

❤︎ contains: sfw. celestial mythology. lonely immortals. slow-burn dynamics. post-war emotional fallout. deconstruction of love as a weapon/tool. and a wingless cupid with a cracked heart and a crooked smile.

❤︎ warnings: emotional manipulation (brief). themes of exile and identity loss. canon-typical violence references (omni-mark’s past). light blood/injury mentions. quiet existential grief. soft heartbreak. and the inconvenient ache of wanting to be wanted.

‪❤︎ wc: 4454

prologue, part one

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: i wanted to write something aching. something soft and sharp and too pink in all the wrong places. this is my love letter to the ones who were built to help others but never expected to be helped. to the hopeless romantics. to the heartsworn. if you’ve ever looked for your own thread and found nothing but empty space—i see you. let’s fall together.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Before time had a name, there was love.

And before love had rules, there were those who enforced them.

You were one of them.

Cupids were never born in the way humans or any other beings are.

There was no crying, no clutching warmth, no heartbeat against heartbeat. You weren’t given to anyone—because in your world, nothing is ever truly given. It’s assigned.

And you were assigned to love.

Long before your first breath—or what could even be counted as a breath—your existence was stitched together with rose-gold thread and spun into something soft.

Something radiant. Something shaped to serve.

The Realm of Threads didn’t believe in accidents. It believed in connection.

Harmony. Devotion.

These were your first lessons—woven not from stories, but from structure. From a place built not to feel love, but to uphold it.

Cupids, as humans might call them, are not gods. They are not angels. They are not the chubby, winged caricatures drawn on glossy cards each February.

They are constructs.

Beings built from emotion itself, shaped by the pulse of the universe and tasked with one divine, inescapable truth: make them fall in love.

All of them.

Every soul in every world is marked by a thread—red, golden, soft, or shining. Invisible to most. Tangible only to your kind. And where those threads exist, your kind follows.

Weaving. Binding. Mending.

You never asked why. You were taught never to ask why.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

In your realm, the sky is made of lace.

Not literal lace—but that’s what it looks like, with its rippling tapestry of lights and longing.

You drifted through it as a child, surrounded by other Cupids—silent, graceful, unwavering. They didn’t speak unless they had to. Words wasted time. Emotion was observed, not expressed.

You were the odd one out almost immediately.

You giggled when you shouldn’t have. You sang with no rhythm. You watched humans too closely, too curiously. You wondered what it felt like to be kissed—not as a target, not as a mission—but as something wanted.

The Supervisors said your strings were too tight.

They meant your emotions.

You cared too much. Thought too hard. Dreamed in colors that didn’t belong to you.

But you were a prodigy, so they didn’t clip your wings. Not then. They praised your precision, your instincts. You’d never missed a target. Not once.

But love, you would learn, is only beautiful when it behaves.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You were trained before you ever knew what training meant.

In the Realm of Threads, there is no childhood. Not in the way humans define it. There are no lullabies, no scraped knees, no tumbling laughter in the grass. There is structure. There is schooling.

There is silence.

You were given a pod—not a room, not a bed. A pod. Sterile and softly lit, humming faintly with emotional frequency.

It pulsed with the echoes of distant connections: engagements, kisses, heartbreak, soulmates colliding on foreign soil.

It was meant to teach you. Not to feel—but to understand what feeling looks like.

Your first lessons weren’t in numbers or words. They were in observation.

Screens stretched across your wall like windows into other realms. Every second of every day, you watched humans love each other. Fumble and flourish. Make mistakes. Fix them. You learned the cadence of confession, the stillness before a first kiss, the ache of waiting by a phone that wouldn’t ring.

You took notes.

You practiced on simulations. Shadow versions of real people, constructed for training. They were emotion puppets—coded to respond, to mimic the human condition, but never feel it.

You pulled their strings like a composer, conducting the perfect crescendo of a meet-cute or a second chance.

And you were so good at it.

Even the elder Cupids, old as planetary rotations, took notice.

They called you “Silken.”

They called you “True-Handed.”

They said your instincts were woven with clarity few possessed.

But even then—you knew something was wrong.

Because love wasn’t clean. It wasn’t predictable. It wasn’t math.

You saw it in the gaps between the simulations—in the real footage, in the stolen glances and unsent letters.

Love was messy.

And you weren’t allowed to say that.

So instead, you smiled. You bowed your head. You aced your assignments. And when it was finally time to receive your bow—the instrument that would mark you as a field Cupid, ready to enter the human realm—you let them place it in your hands like a crown.

Ceremonial. Divine. Cold.

Your wings fluttered for the first time that day. Not from pride. From something else.

Restlessness.

Because you weren’t sure you wanted to be part of this system.

But you’d been shaped for it. And in the Realm of Threads, shape is everything.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

They say Cupids don’t feel the way humans do. But if that were true—why did it ache?

You never had a red string.

That was the first thing you noticed.

You saw them everywhere—thread-thin, glowing like veins of fire across the fabric of reality. Around wrists, through hearts, tied in impossible loops from continent to continent, galaxy to galaxy. Red. Gold. Silver.

Some pulsed softly. Some burned bright. Some frayed at the ends—doomed to break.

But you?

You had none.

You looked. Every year. Every cycle. Every mirror.

And there was never one waiting for you.

The instructors said it was proof of your purpose.

You were meant to love, not to be loved.

Cupids didn’t need soulmates. You were the threads—not what they tied together.

But still, when you were alone in your pod—your crown-glass screen humming with soft simulations—you sometimes wrapped a ribbon around your own finger and pretended.

Just for a moment. Just to feel what it might be like to belong to someone.

To be chosen.

To be someone’s reason.

You told no one.

Cupids weren’t supposed to pretend.

Not about that.

You always grinned too brightly. Talked too much. Got too close to the humans you helped.

You asked too many questions.

Why this couple? Why that connection? Why did heartbreak sometimes look so much like love?

You weren’t supposed to wonder. You were supposed to execute. Deliver arrows. Create outcomes. Adjust the threads.

But you liked watching after the mission was done.

You stayed longer than you should have. Saw the way people clung to one another. Fought. Forgave. Grieved. Moved on. Sometimes, even when the threads said they wouldn’t.

And worse—you started to feel happy for them.

Genuinely.

Not in the approved, detached sense of “mission accomplished,” but like… something warm bloomed in your chest just watching two people choose each other.

One day you told another Cupid—casually, as if it was no big thing—that it must feel nice to be loved like that.

She looked at you like you were malfunctioning. Reported you. Quietly.

You were summoned for evaluation.

They used soft words. Nothing cruel—just… firm.

“Attachment undermines your clarity.”

“You’ve been too immersed in lower realms.”

“Emotional mimicry is a known side effect. You’ll adjust.”

You didn’t adjust.

You just learned how to lie better.

You laughed louder. You perfected your posture. You earned the nickname Heartsworn, and everyone said it with admiration.

But you felt empty most days.

Like a thread that had never been tied.

And it gnawed at you, that emptiness—because you were built to help others find connection.

So why did it feel like you’d never have your own?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It happened on a world not so different from Earth.

Small. Blue. Quiet in the way only dying stars can make a planet feel.

The threads there were thin. Brittle. Nearly broken.

It needed love desperately. That’s why they sent you.

Because you never missed. Because your aim was perfect. Because you were the shining example—the “Heartsworn,” the favorite, the infallible.

And at first, it was routine.

Two beings. Two threads. One frayed at the end, knotted tight around grief. The other hesitant, flickering. Their paths crossed in a way that felt almost poetic—a shared umbrella. An open bookstore. A laugh like recognition.

You hovered above them, bow pulsing in your palm.

A clean shot. Two arrows. One for each.

But then something shifted.

The woman—your target—she looked up at the man, eyes tired but tender. And the way he looked back… like he was remembering how to breathe.

And you saw it.

She had already loved him.

It hadn’t been forced. It hadn’t been orchestrated. No divine architecture. No thread pulling them forward.

Just… choice.

Human, messy, miraculous choice.

You hesitated.

And that’s all it took.

Your bow trembled in your hands. Not from error—but from resistance.

Because for the first time—you didn’t want to interfere. You didn’t want to force it.

You wanted to let them be.

You lowered your weapon.

And then—because you were soft, and reckless, and maybe stupid in the eyes of the Supervisors—you spoke to her.

She didn’t see you. Not clearly. Just a shimmer in the corner of her eye. But you whispered anyway.

“You don’t need help. You already chose him.”

The words weren’t authorized. Your presence was meant to be undetectable. You were not allowed to alter the script.

But you did.

And for a moment—nothing happened.

Then the red thread between them sparked. Bright. Violent. Uncontrolled.

It burned itself into existence. Without your arrow. Without divine sanction.

And they kissed.

Not because you told them to.

Because they wanted to.

Your lips curled into a soft smile.

You didn’t regret it.

But the moment you returned to the Realm of Threads, you knew something was wrong.

The lights were dimmed.

The supervisors were waiting.

No lectures. No trials.

Just one sentence.

“You interfered.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself—but the guards were already reaching for your wings.

You’d heard what it sounded like.

The sound of ripping. The way it cuts deeper than bone.

But you’d never imagined it would hurt like this.

Your knees hit the lace-floor. Your mouth stayed silent.

You didn’t scream.

Not because it didn’t hurt—but because they wanted you to.

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to take that from them.

Dignity, you told yourself.

Dignity is all I have left.

You were told you would not be recycled. You were too “contaminated.” Too unstable. A bad example.

So instead—they exiled you.

You didn’t get to ask where.

Just a flash of cold light—

And then the sound of wind.

Falling.

Alone.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You hit the ground hard.

Not like a leaf drifting. Not with grace. Not with poise. Not like the Cupids in the stories.

Like a comet.

A streak of light through an unfamiliar sky, dragging heat and ache in your wake.

You didn’t black out right away—but you almost wished you had.

Because the first thing you felt wasn’t the crash. Wasn’t the way your ribs seized or the way your shoulder twisted beneath your fall.

It was the space between your wings.

The hollow.

The absence.

You gasped.

Air—not laced with threadlight, not humming with frequency, just air—rushed into your lungs like punishment.

You curled onto your side, dirt grinding into the soft parts of you. Wet grass clung to your skin. The sky above was wrong—blue, yes, but so still. No shimmering frequencies. No glowing red filaments. Just clouds, soft and slow.

You were somewhere real.

Somewhere unmarked.

Somewhere alone.

It wasn’t the pain that made you want to cry.

It was the quiet.

Because back home—even when you were alone in your pod, even when no one looked at you—there was always something.

The buzz of love blooming. The echo of longing. The soft, constant pull of other people’s threads, humming just outside your senses.

But now?

Nothing.

It was gone.

You sat up slowly.

And then immediately flopped back down with a tiny, theatrical groan.

“Ouchie,” you mumbled to no one, voice breathy and soft and definitely not pained—because no, you were totally fine. Just a bit… stunned. And mildly bleeding. And definitely wingless.

But you were smiling. Kind of. Maybe.

Okay, so it trembled a little at the edges.

“I’ve had worse landings,” you said aloud—which was a lie. You’d never landed before. You’d always floated.

You tried again, slowly, every nerve screaming. Your knees trembled. Your arms buckled. You caught yourself on the soft slope of a hill, hands sinking into wildflowers and moss.

You blinked down at them.

Yellow, pink, violet. Stubbornly bright.

They looked like something out of a simulation.

They weren’t.

They were real.

Your mouth twisted.

Of course you landed in a field of flowers. Of course.

You laughed.

It came out cracked and hoarse. Almost a sob.

Because everything hurt, and everything was still spinning, and you had no idea where you were, and no one was coming for you, and—

No.

No, you weren’t going to cry. You weren’t.

Cupids didn’t cry.

Even clipped ones.

Even broken ones.

Even ones bleeding into someone else’s sky.

Still, you tried to push yourself up, wobbling on legs that hadn’t had to support you since your designation. It felt wrong. Heavy. Like gravity had teeth and it didn’t trust you. You teetered. Fell to your knees again.

And giggled.

Which also trembled a little.

“I meant to do that.”

You dusted imaginary dirt from your imaginary uniform and gave an exaggerated little curtsy to the empty air.

No one clapped. Rude.

You dragged yourself to your feet.

Shaky. Awkward. Wobbly in a way you hadn’t felt in cycles. The Realm of Threads taught you to float everywhere. Gliding was cleaner. More efficient. Less emotional.

You hadn’t really walked since childhood simulations.

The ground felt weird under your feet. Solid. Gritty.

Your bow was still intact. Miraculously. You hugged it close like a stuffed toy, curling in on yourself for a moment, letting the quiet press into your bones.

You could still feel it.

That place between your shoulders—where your wings had been. Like a ghost limb. Like something sacred had been carved out of you and left a silence behind.

You hated it.

But you kept moving.

Maybe—if you helped someone on this world—someone would come back for you. Maybe if you just kept doing your job, proved you were still useful, still good, they’d rewind the exile.

Reattach what they’d taken.

Please.

You stumbled once. Then again. Then face-planted into a patch of daisies with a grunt so undignified you groaned into the soil.

“Get it together,” you mumbled into the grass.

You pushed yourself back up. Sat on your knees for a second. Took a breath.

You didn’t know how long you wandered after that.

Minutes? Hours? You lost time in the way only the heartbroken can.

It got dark fast.

The sky burned gold, then violet, then black. Stars blinked overhead—foreign constellations, wrong patterns.

You were still limping through the field when the noise came.

A whoosh.

Sharp. Cutting. Like something splitting the air in half.

You froze.

Turned slowly.

And then—saw him.

Not a blur. A shape. Coming toward you like a storm with legs.

You only had a second to register what was coming at you: tall, fast, red and white—a storm in the shape of a man. And a scowl, carved from thunderclouds.

Flying.

He was flying.

You squinted.

Not a Cupid. Definitely not a Cupid.

A human?

No.

No, he felt… too much.

You didn’t have your thread-sight anymore, but you could still feel.

Emotions. Echoes.

He felt like gravity.

Like something that had no business coming closer—and was doing it anyway.

He landed hard. Just a few feet away.

Harder than you had. The ground splintered beneath his feet, shockwaves rippling out in a perfect ring. Dust and wildflowers burst upward like a gasp. He stood there for a beat—motionless.

And you… just stared.

Red suit. White accents. Red cape. Black goggles like midnight slicing across his face. He didn’t glow. He didn’t shine. He loomed.

His presence felt like gravity doubled—like the world bowed to his weight and dared not rise again.

You blinked at him slowly. Then offered a tiny wave.

“Hi.”

Silence.

He didn’t move.

You glanced behind you like maybe he was staring at someone else, but no—those mirrored goggles were fixed on you.

“Hiii,” you tried again, voice cheerier. “Okay, so I know this looks weird. But I promise I’m not here to hurt anyone! Unless, um. You count your planet’s gravitational field. Which did kinda kick my butt—ow.”

No reaction. His posture didn’t shift. You had a sudden, vivid mental image of being vaporized.

“I’m just passing through!” you rushed, hands up. “A… a tourist! On a very involuntary vacation!”

Still nothing.

Well, maybe not nothing—he was breathing.

Barley.

His voice, when it came, was sharp enough to slice open a planet.

“You’re not human.”

Your grin faltered for a second before rebounding, like a rubber band that’s been snapped too many times.

“Nope. Not even a little bit! But I’m very human adjacent in a lot of ways! I’ve watched a lot of rom-coms and I know how to do a proper hug—although full disclosure, I might fall over during it because of the whole… clipped wings situation.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes—hidden though they were—felt like twin drills boring into the softest parts of you.

“Why are you here?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then plastered on a sheepish smile.

“That’s kind of a long story,” you admitted, voice dipping softer now. “The short version is… I got kicked out of my hom—my realm. For caring too much.”

Something flickered across his face. Brief. Gone before you could catch it.

“And now,” you continued, tone brightening again as you gestured to the wildflower field like a very proud but slightly concussed game show host, “I’m here! In… wherever here is. Honestly, it’s pretty. Good flowers. Ten out of ten. Bit of a rough welcome, but I’ve had worse.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Your hand drifted unconsciously to your back, fingertips brushing the jagged place where wings used to rise.

You shrugged. “It’s mostly cosmetic.”

He said nothing. Just stared.

You took a step forward—then immediately lost your balance and fell face-first into a patch of daisies.

There was a beat of silence. Then two. Then three.

And then—so faint you thought you imagined it—you heard the faintest exhale of breath from the man in red and white.

Not a laugh.

But maybe the ghost of one.

You rolled onto your back and grinned up at the stars.

“See?” you said, voice light. “I’m great at making first impressions.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The second he saw you, he didn’t trust you.

Not because you looked dangerous. No—you didn’t. You were crumpled in a bed of wildflowers, wobbling like a broken marionette and smiling like someone had painted joy over grief and hoped no one would notice the cracks.

But that was exactly why he didn’t trust you.

People didn’t fall from the sky and grin. Not here. Not anywhere. Not anymore.

So he hovered, silent, watching you crawl upright like you didn’t know how to use your own legs. Like the planet was something foreign. Like gravity was something new.

That wasn’t normal.

He’d seen a lot of things in a lot of universes—false gods, black holes, men split into fractions of themselves—but this? A girl with stardust on her skin and nothing in her hands but a bow? That was new.

He landed hard. On purpose. Let the ground feel him.

You flinched. Not at the sound—at the silence that followed it.

And then you looked up.

Big eyes. Bare feet. Mouth bleeding at the corner, but curved like you hadn’t noticed. Or didn’t care.

And then—

“Hi.”

Like you hadn’t just fallen from orbit.

He didn’t speak.

“Hiii,” you tried again, softer. “Okay, so I know this looks weird. But I promise I’m not here to hurt anyone! Unless, um. You count your planet’s gravitational field. Which did kinda kick my butt—ow.”

Still he said nothing.

He didn’t move.

He watched.

Measured.

Assessed.

You were glowing at the edges—not visibly—but in some low, stubborn frequency. Like the kind of candle you couldn’t blow out even after you’d shattered the holder.

It irritated him.

He spoke without meaning to.

“You’re not human.”

You beamed, wounded and bright. “Nope! Not even a little bit!”

You kept talking. Rambling. Fumbling your way through some patchwork lie about tourism and rom-coms and wings—clipped, apparently.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t need to.

He was looking for something. A tell. A crack.

“Why are you here?”

That stopped you.

Just a second. Barely.

But it was enough.

Your grin shrank. Eyes dipped. Voice turned soft.

“That’s kind of a long story. The short version is… I got kicked out of my hom—my realm. For caring too much.”

That flickered something inside him.

He crushed it before it could breathe.

He didn’t do soft. He didn’t do “caring.” That was the problem with the others. They hesitated. Thought. He didn’t. That’s why he survived.

So why was he still here?

Why wasn’t he flying away?

Why hadn’t he broken you in half the moment you lied?

You stepped forward. Tripped. Fell face-first into a clump of flowers like a deer learning how to walk for the first time.

He didn’t flinch, but he exhaled—just once. Quiet. Almost amused.

You rolled onto your back and smiled at the stars.

“See? I’m great at making first impressions.”

He hated how you said it.

Like it mattered.

Like someone out here was still capable of being good.

He walked toward you.

You didn’t run. You didn’t crawl away. You sat there, hands splayed out behind you, watching him like you weren’t sure if he was going to help you up or crush your skull.

Smart.

He stopped in front of you.

Tilted his head.

“I should kill you.”

Your eyes widened, but you didn’t move. “You could. You really could. But I’d prefer we didn’t start there?”

“Then give me one reason not to.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked up at him like you were weighing the clouds.

“I don’t have one.”

He stared.

You continued.

“I mean—I don’t know if I’m important. I don’t have a secret code or an army or even a sandwich right now. But…”

You reached up, touching your back—where the blood had dried, sticky and shimmering.

“But I used to be someone. I used to help people fall in love. And maybe that doesn’t matter to you—but it mattered to them.”

There was a silence.

He wasn’t sure what he expected you to say.

But it wasn’t that.

He should leave.

He should fly away and chalk you up to another anomaly.

Instead, he said:

“Can you still do it?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“Make people love.”

Your lips curled up. Slowly. Sadly. “I don’t know.”

Another pause.

You were watching him too closely now. Like you were trying to read a string that wasn’t there.

“You’re not really from here either,” you said softly. “Are you?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

You already knew.

“Are you gonna hurt me?” you asked.

He looked at you, at the way your voice didn’t tremble, even though your body did.

And for once—he told the truth.

“I don’t know.”

You nodded.

“Fair.”

Then you reached up and offered your hand.

Not in fear. Not in desperation.

Just… like someone who was used to offering something and not getting it taken.

He didn’t take it.

But he didn’t crush it either.

He looked past you—at the dark hills, the useless stars, the broken silence.

After conquering this place and killing his father—he didn’t know what this planet was anymore.

Didn’t care.

But he had nowhere else to be. Not anymore.

He turned.

Walked.

And when he didn’t tell you to stay—

You followed.

Not too close.

Just… close enough.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

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Once, you were small. Once, you believed everything they told you.

Your first robe was the color of a peach blossom.

It shimmered when you turned, sleeves brushing the floor, too big for your arms and still perfect in every way. You’d never worn something so soft.

You twirled three times in front of the mirror, arms out like wings, giggling because everything felt light.

“You look very neat,” said one of the elder Cupids, gliding past with a clipboard. “Remember to keep your posture upright when you’re selected for observation.”

“I will!” you promised, standing taller.

The robe swished when you walked. You liked that. It made you feel important. Like you were finally what they said you would be—purposeful.

Part of something big.

You didn’t understand everything yet, but that didn’t matter.

You were going to be a Cupid.

And Cupids were good.

“Today,” said another instructor, voice warm and practiced, “you’ll learn about threads.”

You beamed. Sat up straighter. Listened with all your heart.

“Every being has a thread,” they explained, conjuring a floating hologram that flickered softly through the training chamber. “They wrap around us, tie us to our people. See?”

The threads shimmered—red, gold, silver, glowing like starlight.

You gasped. It was so pretty. It made your chest feel warm.

“You’ll help people find each other,” the instructor went on. “You’ll guide their steps. Fix what’s frayed. Strengthen what’s fragile.”

“I can do that!” you blurted.

A few other young Cupids turned to look at you, but you didn’t care. Your legs were swinging off the floating bench and your hands were already up.

“I wanna do the red ones,” you said proudly. “Those are the soulmate ones, right?”

The instructor smiled. So gently. Like they were talking to someone a little slow, but very sweet.

“Oh, darling,” they said. “You don’t get one.”

You blinked.

“Huh?”

“You won’t have a red thread,” they said again, same caring voice, same soft smile. “Cupids don’t get them.”

You frowned. “But… we’re people too?”

“No,” they said kindly. “You’re not.”

Another Cupid, older, came to kneel beside you. Their hair was smooth. Their smile too perfect.

“You’re something better,” they told you. “You were made for love. You don’t need to be in it.”

“But—” you started.

“We give it,” the first instructor interrupted gently. “That’s your gift.”

You hesitated.

“But doesn’t anyone ever want us back?” you asked in a small voice.

The instructor’s smile didn’t change.

“No one has ever asked that before.”

You blinked. Sat very still.

They stood again.

“Alright, little hearts,” the elder said, clapping once. “Time for simulation prep. Let’s learn how to listen when a thread hums.”

Everyone got up.

You did too.

You smiled. Because they smiled. Because everyone around you looked so sure, so peaceful, so right.

You didn’t want to be the wrong one.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ᯓ❤︎ requested by: @lycheee-jelly

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

FULL MASTERLIST + PLAYLIST

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❤︎ summary: cupids never miss. you never have. until now. exiled from the threads-of-fate realm for getting too involved in a love you weren’t meant to touch—you end up stranded on a version of earth you don’t belong to—and in the care of someone who doesn’t believe in fate. this universe’s mark grayson has zero patience for cosmic nonsense, but when he finds you bloodied, wing-clipped, and somehow still too bubbly for someone with abandonment issues… he brings you home anyway. he tells himself it’s temporary. he tells himself he doesn’t care. he’s very, very wrong. especially when you accidentally shoot yourself in the chest with one of your own arrows mid-battle—and fall devastatingly in love with him. now he has a problem. because maybe… the arrow hit him too.

❤︎ contains: nsfw (18+). slow burn. yearning. banished divine being with a red string complex. mythology reimagined. omni!mark. omni!invincible. cupid!reader. emotional repression. forbidden love. heavy topics. enemies-to-reluctant-roommates-to-oh-no. accidental domesticity. self-shot with a love arrow. sudden clinginess. lots of touching. mutual pining (like, soul-aching). plot. steamy tension. eventual smut. softness earned in blood.

❤︎ warnings: emotional repression. abandonment themes. divine exile. unrequited love (at first). injury/battle scenes. mentions of blood (light). intense pining. identity crisis. self-worth themes. vulnerability handled with tenderness. cosmic displacement. one self-inflicted love arrow situation. and a very grumpy demi-god trying very hard not to fall in love with the stray romantic chaos entity nesting on his couch.

‪❤︎ wc: TBD (multi-part).ᐟ.ᐟ

ᯓ❤︎ requested by: @lycheee-jelly (thank you for your patience, angel—turns out crafting a wingless cupid with a bruised heart takes more than a few missed shots. but your request never left my string. hope it hits you right in the feels (in the best way). thanks for letting me aim this story your way!)

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a/n: listen. i didn’t mean to fall this hard for cupid!reader. but she shot me too, okay?? also yes. there will be flirting. there will be emotionally repressed omni!mark being very bad at not falling in love with stray cosmic girls who talk too much. it’s fine. i’m fine.

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˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

ʚ💘ɞ

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prologue 𓊆ྀིread here𓊇ྀི

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 1 𓊆ྀིread here𓊇ྀི

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 2 ✍︎

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 3 ✍︎

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 4 ✍︎

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 5 ✍︎

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 6 ✍︎

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 7 ✍︎

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 8 ✍︎

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 9 ✍︎

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter 10 ✍︎

ʚ💘ɞ

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chapter ???

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˗ˏˋ 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝒆 ˎˊ˗

🎧ྀི prologue song ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| |

જ⁀➴ 𓊆ྀི”A New Kind Of Love - Demo” —Frou Frou𓊇ྀི

🎧ྀི chapter 1 song ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| |

જ⁀➴ 𓊆ྀི”The Thrill Of Loneliness” —Honey Stretton𓊇ྀི

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

hi!! so for request, what about a vox x fem!reader but they got separated because he died first and now she's in hell looking for him?? sorry if that's too much 😭😭 that flat-screen tv has been consuming all of my thoughts

Oh My Goodness! That’s So Cute! Now. Here’s The Video Demon We All Adore~

⚠️ Warning ⚠️ Canon-Typical Violence, Yandere?Vox, Vox Being Protective Of Reader, Mostly Vox POV, Canon-Typical Power Abuse, OOC, First Attempt At A “x Reader”

(1/2)

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» You Two Were Alive You Were Very Close!

» Childhood Friends!

» When Vox Dead You Were Devastated By It.

» You Knew He Wasn’t A Good Person, Yet You Still Messed Him.

» When YOU Dead You Expected To End Up In Hell- And You Did. Congrats! 🎉

» Finding Him Wasn’t Exactly Hard. I Mean, COME ON!

» He Has A TV On His Head!

» Figuring Out Who He Was Wasn’t Exactly Hard Either.

» Not To Mention, You Knew What He Sounded Like, And How Bad His Obsession With Technology Was.

» Getting Close To Him Was The Hard Part.

» He Was An Overlord. You? Are Not.

(AndYouProbablyDon’tWantToGoDownTHATRoute)

» For Him Seeing You Again, Was Hard On Him…

» He Has So Many Questions!

» But, His First Priority Is YOU!

» Getting To You, PERSONALLY Seeing You, Protecting YOU.

» YOU Are Important To Him, And Damnit! He’s Not Losing You.

» So, Using His Power/Influence, HE Was The One Who Confronted YOU.

» It Was Quite Suspicious, But Hey, What Can Ya Do?

» After The Reunion, There Was SO MUCH Drama Surrounding You Two!

» It’s How Alastor Found Out About You~

» Vox Ended Up Not Only, Forcing Peppermint To Deal With It, But Also Do One Of His Usual Interviews To Clear Things Up.

» “I Was Just Offering A Exclusive Deal To One Of My Old Friends!”

» The Term “Old Friend” Made Velvette Suspicious.

» Valentino Was Excited Though!

Okay, cool! (I nay or may not have read both of your Deuce books in one night) I wanted to request something along the lines of Deuce with a reader who loves pda and is kind of clingy. Maybe it takes place at the beginning of the second movie where they're in the clawditorium. The rest of the group turns around, and they're just kissing yet again. Or you can make up the plot however you like <3

A/n: Sorry this took so long and is also kinda short, i wasnt quite sure where it should go

This might be bad, Idk.

Btw, since you mentioned my deuce books, the next part to my deuce book comes out Friday/Saturday (depending on your timezone)

POV: Y/n and Deuce are clingy.

Y/n wouldn’t say she had attachment issues, per say, she wouldn’t say she’s clingy either, especially not when it comes to her boyfriend, Deuce, like her friends seem to suggest. Of course, she can spend time without him around (she does that- reluctantly- every summer), and she can be around him without touching him, and she can go five minutes without kissing him, but, her boyfriend is so ridiculously attractive, so insanely ethereal, so perfectly perfect, so why would she want to?

And no, Draculaura, she’s not addicted to him, she can stop anytime she wants. But why should she? It’s a two-way street after all, and Deuce seems perfectly content with enabling her.

Besides, after an entire summer with only seeing her most perfectest boyfriend a handful of times, rather than the almost-daily hangouts she’d become accustomed to during the past year of school, one couldn’t possibly blame her for being ‘clingy’… Though her friends seemed to try to.

Take, for example, Draculaura’s end of summer party.

Y/n and Deuce had been sat on Draculaura’s couch, Y/n curled up against him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, Deuce’s arm wrapped gently against her shoulder whilst he spoke calmly to Heath, every so often he’d look down and place a soft kiss on Y/n’s forehead, and Y/n would adjust herself so she could place a small kiss on his cheek.

Y/n had yet to leave Deuce’s side to talk to any friends, and Deuce, though he was having a conversation with Heath, hadn’t actually made any attempt to leave his ghoulfriend’s side since she’d arrived at the party.

“Are you two going to move from that spot… at all?” Draculaura asked, approaching the two after realising they hadn’t moved.

“Maybe… if a song we like plays.” Y/n murmured.

“You two have the entire school year to be together, we go to a boarding school.”

“Yeah, but during the school year we have to study, there’s not much time to do this.” Y/n pointed out tightening her grip around Deuce out of spite.

“You spent most of last year together.” Draculaura countered, crossing her arms.

“And that was wrong of us, we should’ve been studying.” Y/n hummed, though her voice had no true seriousness to it “Besides, you and I spent most of the summer together.”

Draculaura gave up on trying to convince Y/n of anything for the rest of the party.

At the start of school assembly, Y/n and Deuce weren’t clinging to each other for once, they were sitting calmly side-by-side, listening to the Headmistress speak…

Or, at least that’s what their friends had thought.

The two were sitting behind the rest of their friends, meaning, until they turned around, the two could do pretty much whatever they wanted, throughout the assembly, Y/n made sure at least one part of her body was touching Deuce at all times, which really just meant she had her head on his shoulder and was sitting as close as she possibly could, whilst Deuce was making sure to keep his arm around her shoulder or waist, unless of course one of their friends turned around, in which case they’d quickly separate to prevent hearing their friends complaints or teasing.

Then, when the assembly was almost over, Draculaura turned around to talk to them.

“Y’know I am so proud of you both for not-”

She cut herself off at the sight of Y/n and Deuce kissing, both of whom seemed very happy with themselves.

“-never mind.” Draculaura sighed, turning back around.

After that, the group had collectively decided to just leave Y/n and Deuce alone when it came to the situation of them being clingy with each other.

BOO I HAS SUGGESTION/REQUEST

Cedric (deadric) Diggory x slytherin reader

she overheard another student gossiping about something that pissed her off and she storms into the great hall to confront the asshole gossiper student but Cedric stops her and takes her away to attemp to calm her down (ced and y/n are a couple)

That Ravenclaw Girl

Cedric Diggory x Slytherin!Granger!Reader

POV: Cedric helps calm his girlfriend down

A/n: I'm baaackkkkkkkkk, ik this isn't normally the char i write for but, oh well. I apologise for how short this is (considering it took me like a month to write). The ravenclaw mentioned can be implied to be Cho, but it's never actually mentioned (I think). Send me more requests besties :)! Please note: I was messaging the person who requested this for a lil bit to get specific details for this oneshot done, hence why theres major details in the fic thats not mentioned in the request

Y/n Granger was a fan of many things her friends, her boyfriend, her pet snake, (some of) her classes and of course, her younger cousin Hermione. The two weren’t close by blood, in fact they were only second cousins and, before Hermione had been accepted to Hogwarts, they’d only really hung out at family events. Friendship wise however, they were practically best friends, Y/n had confided in Hermione about her crush on a boy in her year before Hermione had even been accepted to Hogwarts (of course Y/n never told Hermione where she went to school), then, during Y/n’s 5th year, had very happily told her younger cousin about said boy asking her out.

There were very few things Y/n didn’t like, very trivial things, like, Dark Wizards, her head of house, a certain Ravenclaw girl who had seemed to make it her mission to get as close as possible to Y/n’s boyfriend and most of all, gossip… or rather negative gossip, specifically when it was about her, her friends, her family, or her boyfriend.

Then, Y/n would find herself becoming awfully defensive. That’s how, just a few days before the Christmas holidays, the 6th year witch found herself storming into the great hall after overhearing a group of Ravenclaws gossiping about her.

“That Granger girl- no not Potters friend, the Slytherin one- she’s so… weird. I don’t know what Diggory sees in her.”

“I know right? Y’know, I heard a rumour, that Diggory and… y’know who were dating just before 5th year, but… secretly, and Granger got jealous and went all psycho, and put Diggory under a love potion!”

“I wouldn’t put it past her, you’ve seen her in potions, right? I doubt she’s ever actually made anything Professor Snapes told us to make, always hunched over her cauldron giggling to herself.”

“I always thought she was so creepy, and so mean too- you see the way she treats-”

The group had then moved down the hall, until it was impossible for any ordinary person to hear them without the help of magic, though Y/n didn’t need to hear much more, she’d already heard enough to be pissed, she was, of course, no stranger to rumours being spread about her, she’d been dealing with them since she was a first year, and, as she was most certain was true for this, they’d always been spread by the same Ravenclaw girl. From the moment they’d met, this Ravenclaw girl had had it out for Y/n, whether it be because the girl liked Cedric and even before they’d started dating Y/n had always been far closer to him than this Ravenclaw girl would ever be to him, or because Y/n was just the better witch, Y/n had no clue, the only thing Y/n knew for certain was that this girl despised her, and so in turn, Y/n despised the girl.

So, all other, more reasonable senses blurred, Y/n turned on her heel, whipping her wand out of her pocket and marching her way down to the Great Hall. Her grip on her wand was so tight she’d felt her knuckles grow pale, she pushed past various students who’d been either entering or exiting the Great Hall and standing at the entrance for a moment, scanning the area, until, her eyes landed on that specific Ravenclaw girl, sat on the other side of the room, surrounded by other girls in their year, very likely she was fabricating some other story to further mar Y/n’s reputation.

Not sparing a moment to think, she continued to storm her way through the Great Hall, she wasn’t quite sure what exactly she was going to do, only that she wanted to make this witch suffer. When she was only a few paces away from this girl, she felt someone suddenly grip her arm, it was gentle, but tight enough so she couldn’t force her arm free if she wanted to.

“Let go of me!” She hissed, trying to wrangle her arm out of this persons grip as they gently pulled her in the opposite direction “I will hex you!” “Oh will you now sunshine?” The person spoke, still guiding her out of the Great Hall.

She almost instantly relaxed in the persons grip once she heard their voice, allowing them to bring her outside the hall.

“I could.” She stated, voice less aggressive as they came to a stop a few feet away from the entrance to the Hall.

“Well, I don’t doubt that.” Cedric said gently as they now stood facing each other, Cedric grabbing her hand and giving it a slight squeeze “Are you okay?” “Fine.” “Really? Because you were storming over to the Ravenclaw table with a look in your eyes that screamed ‘murder’.” Cedric stated, quirking a brow “Not to mention your knuckles have gone white from how tightly you were holding your wand.” “Okay. Maybe I’m not completely fine.” Y/n admitted with a sigh “It’s just… her again.”

“I thought we talked about this after the last time Y/n.” Cedric muttered gently, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

“I know, I can’t let her affect me so much, but- she’s just constantly going out of her way to mess with me, to try and ruin my life, so why shouldn’t I get to ruin her face a little?” Y/n complained, glancing down at their intertwined hands.

“Well for starters you’d very likely be expelled, and as much as I love you, I don’t really fancy spending hundreds of Galleons on parchment paper every few weeks so I can send you a daily owl instead of just getting to talk to you face to face.” Cedric spoke, a small smile on his face as he heard Y/n release a soft laugh.

“If you win the Triwizard tournament you’ll have plenty of funds to do that.” She murmured, a small grin on her lips.

“That’s a big if sunshine.” Cedric smiled, gently kissing her cheek, causing her to playfully scrunch her nose up “And secondly, getting all mad at her like this, as attractive as I find it, won’t help now, will it? It’ll just be giving her what she wants.” “I suppose.” Y/n muttered, slightly bitterly. “Hey, remember, I’m dating you, not her, no matter what stories she tries to fabricate.” Cedric spoke, carefully tilting her head up so she was looking at him.

“You’ve heard that story too then, have you?” Y/n spoke, a small frown playing on her lips.

“Couple of times, my friends seem to enjoy teasing me with it.” Cedric answered, gently stroking her cheek “You can’t let her get to you Y/n, just ignore her, okay? She’ll get bored eventually.”

“It’s been six years and she’s yet to become bored.” Y/n pointed out.

“Well, if she doesn’t, we can always laugh at her and her stories in private.” Cedric commented, leaning slightly closer “Okay?” “Okay.” Y/n murmured, a soft smile on her lips as she too leaned closer, until their lips met.

In that moment, all of Y/n’s grievances and irritations with this girl melted away, as she realised, that no matter what story this Ravenclaw girl crafted, or however else this spiteful girl attempted to damage Y/ns reputation, she knew that as long as Cedric was in her corner, she’d be perfectly fine.

Hey!! Sorry if I’m bothering you and I know this is the second time I asked this but could you please do a deuce x fem!human! Reader ? Where deuce finds himself in our world and ends up meeting a human realizing humans aren’t as bad as he thought and ends up falling for her. An she has a rough home life.

Ice cream and Hot chocolate

A/n: Uh so I'm sorry this took so long since you sent this to me agggeeesss ago, but i was focusing on my book on wattpad so i hope you forgive me. This ones kinda long and I'm like not sure how good it is but i hope you enjoy anyways :). (P.s I wasnt sure what you meant by 'rough' home life so i kinda went with a mix of suggestions my friends gave me so- yeah... if you are going through something at home my dms are always open if you need to vent, i might not be able to give good responses but atleast you can get it out somewhere :)

POV: Y/n talks about her homelife with Deuce

Warnings: Mentions of arguing, brief mentions of cheating, mentions of abuse (brief), mention of divorce, Y/n is the eldest child, pRe-MaRiTaL hAnD-hOlDiNg (How scandalous), PrE-mArItAl KiSsInG (SOMEONE CALL THE CHURCH), pRe-MaRiTaL bReAtHiNg (MY EYES, MY EYES :O)

Monsters are real. That is something Y/n L/n has undoubtedly, unequivocally, and unquestionably known since she was a small child. Except monsters didn’t come in the shape of a pale creature with fangs or a woman with snakes for hair. No, monsters came in all shapes and sizes, almost always looking like your everyday human. The only thing that ever truly set them apart from regular humans was that monsters are cruel.

Monsters were cruel to everyone, even those they were supposed to care for and protect.

At least, that’s how she saw it.

Monsters are real. That is something Deuce Gorgon has undoubtedly, unequivocally, and unquestionably known since the day he was born. He didn’t really have much of a choice, given he was one.  Except monsters weren’t always evil, cruel beings. No, monsters were merely, beings. Sometimes they could be cruel but most of the time, they were kind beings just living their lives- or deaths- and navigating through their freaky flaws.

Monsters were just ordinary beings.

At least, that’s how he saw it.

Until he found himself in the human world. Whilst he’d never truly felt at home in the monster world- being a gorgon and all- yet, at least he knew he belonged in the monster world, here? He didn’t belong among humans. Not one bit. Or at least he didn’t.

Not before he met Y/n.

She was a human, that’s true. But even without knowing he was a monster she had shown him nothing but kindness since the day they’d met. The girl didn’t trust easy, he knew that. She was naturally quiet, seldom speaking unless spoken to and even then, it was only ever a few words… except when she was with him.

The moment the two had met they were instantly drawn to each other like magnets, they were each other’s rock, neither of them truly belonged in the human world (despite Y/n being a human) and yet with each other, they were home.

The two of them had met on accident, he hadn’t intended to appear in the human world, hadn’t intended to walk into a random middle school, he didn’t mean to lie and say he was a new student so he could stay in the human world just until he could figure out where he was and how to return to his own world.

He'd never intended to enter the library and lock eyes with a pretty H/c ghoul, her nose in a book and yet the moment she saw him she lowered it, tilting her head in curiosity.

He’d never wanted to enter his new math class, only to find it was a shared class with the ghoul, never intended for the only spare seat to be in the back of the class, next to her. Never thought that the two would bond almost instantly. He didn’t mean for their schedules for the rest of the day to happen to collide (Sitting next to her in every one of those classes however was no mistake).

He never intended to walk down the right hallway at the right time to find the ghoul sobbing in a corner, he wasn’t thinking when he rushed over to comfort her. Didn’t have to think to pull the ghoul into his arms, gently rubbing her back as he asked her what had happened. He had acted on instinct as he listened to her talk about a group of ghouls in her class who had been teasing her, still acting on instinct when he gave her words of reassurance, ignoring the feelings deep down, telling him that she wasn’t telling him the full truth.

Those first interactions had been a complete accident, the work of the gods themselves. And he couldn’t be more thankful for that.

One accidental trip into the human world turned to two, two to four, four to eight and soon enough he found himself visiting the human world whenever he got the opportunity, just to see the pretty H/c ghoul who sat at the back of the class, each visit resulting in him falling more and more impossibly infatuated with her.

He had been 13 when they’d met, had been 14 when he’d finally realised his feelings for her, it took him half a year to finally confess to her, now the two were 15, sitting together on a rooftop in New Jersey, watching cars drive by as they held each other’s hand, chatting mindlessly.

“-And then you wanna know what she said?”

“What?” Deuce hummed.

Y/n paused.

“…I forgot.”

Deuce chuckled and gently removed his hand from hers, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“What?” She asked, looking at him.

He smiled softly, looking down at the human.

“Nothing, you’re just cute is all.” He hummed, gently rubbing his hand up and down her arm.

“Oh, so me forgetting stuff is cute now, is it?” Y/n snarked, smirking.

Deuce snorted. “You know what I meant.” He stated.

“Do I?”

“Do you?”

“I do.” She admitted quietly, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek before leaning her head against his side.

“Good.” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

The two lovers sat there for a while, watching as the sun slowly set, the sky turning shades of pink and orange.

However, as a dark blue began to overtake the orange and pink Y/n suddenly straightened up, panic setting in as she saw the time on her watch.

“Crap!” She exclaimed “It’s getting late, I should be going.”

“Did you want me to walk you home?” Deuce offered, watching as the girl moved to gather her stuff.

“Uh- no, no it’s fine.” She stammered, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“Are you sure? You seem stressed out.”

“I’m fine.” She stated, moving to climb down the roof, Deuce quickly following after.

“Y/n… What’s going on? Why are you so worried?” Deuce interrogated, gently grabbing her wrist.

“It’s nothing okay!” She snapped, pulling her arm away, before her eyes widened and she quickly softened “I-I just have to go… now.”

Deuce paused, narrowing his eyes as he thought of something before, he suddenly moved forward, interlinking their arms.

“Then I’ll join you.” He stated.

“Deuce- I said-”

“I know what you said Y/n, but I also worry about you so it’s either you tell me what’s going on, or I walk with you and figure it out myself.” Deuce interrupted.

“Fine.” She groaned “I hate you sometimes you know.” “You love me.” Deuce hummed “Now talk.”

She hesitated.

“My parents… they don’t really get on. They yell… a lot, pretty much all the time… sometimes it gets violent.” Y/n began her voice wavering “They yell about everything, money, us, cheating… my sisters and I have been hoping for years they’d get a divorce… it would be better for everyone that way.”

“Do they ever… do anything to you and your sisters?” Deuce asked quietly.

Y/n shook her head.

“Only when its really bad… and when they do I make sure that everything’s directed at me… Older sister things y’know?” Y/n said as the two walked down the dark street “I tend to make sure they don’t have to experience that.”

“You’re a good older sister.” Deuce murmured.

“I know.” Y/n hummed, glancing at the dark street names.

“Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?” Deuce asked.

“Why would I? All it would do is worry you.” She stated.

“I could’ve helped, you could’ve talked to me about how you were feeling, I could’ve stayed over when it got bad.” Deuce said.

Y/n snorted.

“Ah yes wonderful idea, ‘Hey mother, father, here’s my boyfriend of six months that I’m not supposed to have, who has dyed his hair bright green which you definitely do not approve of, but it’s okay because he’s constantly wearing a beanie no matter the weather so you can’t even see it and don’t worry, he’s just here to interfere with our personal family business.’ Great idea Deuce, that’ll go down swimmingly.” Y/n spoke sarcastically before pausing “Sorry that was mean.”

“It was just a suggestion.” “I know, I know and it’s sweet you care, shows you love me but… this is family stuff, I shouldn’t drag you into it.” She spoke “It’s not fair on you.”

“Fine.” Deuce spoke “But just promise me, you’ll call me when things get bad, so I can help you, we’re in this together okay?”

“I promise.” Y/n smiled, glancing up at him before stopping in front of a house “Uh- this is me.” “You want me to walk you in?” He offered.

She shook her head, glancing at the house, sounds of yelling echoing out.

“I’ll be fine.” She murmured “I’m used to it by now.” Y/n moved towards the door, Deuce watching from the driveway, however just as she’d reached it, two little girls ran out in tears.

“How bad is it?” Was all Y/n asked, wrapping her arms around the girls.

“Really bad.” The taller of the girls mumbled into Y/ns waist. Y/n paused, glancing at Deuce. “How about we get some ice cream and hot chocolate… I’m sure there’s a place that’s open.” Y/n suggested.

The girls nodded and Y/n gently grabbed their hands, bringing them over to Deuce.

“Deuce, we’re going to get ice cream and hot chocolate, did you want to come?” Y/n offered.

“I thought this was ‘family stuff’.” Deuce smirked.

“I know but you’re paying so you have to come.” Y/n retorted.

“Oh, am I now?” “Yup!” Y/n stuck her tongue out at him and rushed ahead, her sisters tailing behind.

Deuce shook his head before following after the human girl.

Bro Like- just write the smut it's not that hard. Your honestly making it a bigger deal than it needs to be.

DID YOU NOT READ MADDYS POST? AHH

but you know what? fine. If you really want it then sure ill fucking write it. Warnings: Idk just smut Ig

POV: Smut

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible

.Cut to Barry's room, where he's picking out what to wear.

Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow! Yeah, let's shake it up a little.

Barry uses honey from a dispenser to style his hair, rinse his mouth, and then applies it to his armpits.

Mom (Janet Benson)(calling from downstairs:) Barry! Breakfast is ready!

Coming! (phone rings) Oh, hang on a second. (adjusts his antennas into a headset) Hello?

Adam Flayman(on the phone) Barry?

Barry:Adam?

Adam:Can you believe this is happening?

Barry:I can't believe it. I'll pick you up.

 (hangs up, sharpens his stinger)

 Lookin' sharp.

 (flies downstairs)

Mom:Barry, why don't you use the stairs? Your father paid good money for those.

Barry:Sorry. I'm excited.

Dad (Martin Benson):Here's the graduate. We're very proud of you, son. And a perfect report card, all B's.

Mom:Very proud. (touches Barry's hair)

Barry:Ma! I got a thing going here.

Mom:Ah, you got some lint on your fuzz.

Barry:Ow! That's me

!Dad:Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000

.Barry:Bye! (flies off)

Mom:Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house!

(Barry drives his car to pick up his classmate. Adam's outside his house, reading the Hive Today newspaper. The front page headline reads "FRISBEE HITS HIVE ! Internet Down. Bee: 'I heard sound, then Wham-o!'")

Anyways pls dont send anything else please and thank you :)

Deuce gorgon smut.

Uh- Miss gurl he is like 15.

I- Idk what to even say.

Hey could you please do a fem!human reader x deuce an them meeting? Like She was chasing around her baby cousin in a store, deuce for some reason was in the human world or something else is fine too

A/n: TY SM FOR THE REQUEST ANON, sorry for the lack of oneshots as of late, I've just been busy with exams and more focused on my wattpad book. I don't know if this is exactly what you had in mind or how good this is but oh well. Hope you enjoy!

Pov: Deuce meeting Human!reader in the shops when she's babysitting her cousin

“Get back here!” A voice rang out as a group of hooded people entered the store.

“Should we really all be going in here together? I feel like this may be suspicious.” Draculaura whispered.

“No, we’ll be fine,” Clawdeen reassured “Just… maybe we should split up to get the stuff we need.”

The group nodded, everyone splitting up, Deuce and Heath as one group and Clawdeen, Draculaura and Frankie as another.

“So, what exactly are we getting?” Heath asked Deuce, looking down the aisles.

“Human snacks or something.” Deuce shrugged; he’d already forgotten what had been hastily scribbled down on the paper Clawdeen had taken with them.

The two monsters walked through an aisle; Deuce however paused when he heard the same voice yell once again.

“Cockroach I swear if you don’t get back here right this minute, I’ll-”

The voice faded out as a child's giggle replaced it.

“Gotcha!” The voice exclaimed “Ow you little-”

A child rushed past Heath and Deuce, running through the aisle until a girl with H/c hair and s/c skin, appeared at the other side, blocking the child from running out of the aisle.

“Haha! Caught you!” The girl grinned, lifting the child up.

The child grumbled as the girl brought them back to their trolley, sitting them inside with their shopping, gently adjusting a scarf around the child’s neck and the jacket on the childs back.

Deuce hadn’t even realised he had been staring at the human until Heath nudged him.

“Dude, you’re staring,” Heath whispered.

“I am?” Deuce asked. “Yeah, and you still are.” Heath responded, “You know you could just be… less creepy and talk to her.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… just try not to turn her to stone… or let her know you’re a, y’know, gorgon.” Heath whispered.

Deuce rolled his eyes before slowly making his way towards the girl.

“Okay Onyx, if I buy one of these for five dollars, and one of these for six dollars, how much will that cost me?” The girl asked the child, holding up two packets.

“Ten dollars!” The child exclaimed.

“Close, now add one.” She corrected.

“Eleven!”

“Yes! Good job.” She smiled, putting the packets into the trolley “And- if I hand the cashier a twenty dollar note how much change can I expect?” The child counted on their fingers.

“Nine!”

“Good job kid!” She grinned.

Just as the girl was about to move the trolley, Deuce tapped her on the shoulder.

“Uh- excuse me… miss?” He said.

She turned around.

“Oh! Hello! Did I drop something?” She asked, taking a quick glance at the trolley.

“Uh no-”

“Did you drop something?” She asked.

“No-”

“Did Onyx steal something of yours? Because I swear, I told them to stop… it’s just kind of in their nature.”

“No- uh- Onyx didn’t steal anything.” “Oh- is there some weird monster thing I should know about?” She asked.

“No- wait what?” “You’re a monster, aren’t you? I saw you walk in with the others.” She said simply, moving her trolley, Deuce quickly following behind.

“Yes, but how-”

“My cousin here is one too, half one but still a monster.” The girl shrugged.

“Oh.”

“So let me guess, the purple haired one is a half-wolf, the pink one is a vampire, the blueish one is a… mix of something, the guy you were with is uh- something related to fire, and you… judging by the hat, the small amount of hair I can see and the glasses… are a gorgon.” The girl stated, calmly continuing with her shopping.

“That is surprisingly accurate.” Deuce said in surprise.

“I know.”

“So, what about you?” Deuce asked.

“What about me?” She asked.

“What kind of monster are you? Siren? Nymph? Fairy?”

The girl gave a dry laugh.

“Uh I’m flattered but no, I am not a monster, I’m from the half of the family without monster blood.”

“Huh, really? Because I was going to guess goddess next.”

“Is this your way of flirting?” She asked.

“Depends. Is it working?”

“No. But that could change.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, you flatter me enough, it might just start to work.” The girl smirked.

“Hm, well if you’re not a goddess, perhaps a demi-goddess.”

“Ha!” The girl laughed “You’re funny. Although as likely as it is, and as much I wish it were true, no, just an ordinary human.”

Deuce’s brows furrowed for a moment.

“Well then, Aphrodite must’ve been kind to you.”

“Why thank you.”

“So, what do you mean by ‘It’s likely you’re a demi-god’?” Deuce asked.

“Uh, never met my dad, mother died when I was little, grew up with Onyx’s mother, plenty of room there for godliness.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” The gorgon said.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m over it.” The girl shrugged “The only downside is now I’m stuck babysitting this little cockroach.”

Deuce smiled, watching the girl ruffle her cousin’s hair causing smoke to blow from their nose.

“So, you gonna tell me your name?” He asked.

“Not unless you give me yours.”

“I’m Deuce.”

“Y/n.” The girl smiled holding her hand out.

Deuce shook her hand.

When they pulled their hands away, Y/n opened her mouth to say something but was disrupted when Onyx started to whine.

“Y/nnn I’m hungry.” The child whined.

Y/n rolled her eyes, pulling a chocolate bar out of her pocket.

“Y/nnn I’m bored.” The child whined; mouth full of chocolate.

“Here’s my phone now shut up cockroach.” Y/n hissed, shoving her phone into her cousin’s hands.

Deuce had to stifle a laugh at the interaction.

“Don’t you start.” She groaned before holding her palm out “Give me your phone.” Deuce complied, giving the girl his phone, she quickly typed something in it, before handing it back.

“I should be going, but uh- text me sometime.” She smiled before walking off.

He looked down at his phone with a soft smile at the contact name.

‘The best siren/nymph/fairy/goddess’

“Nice going dude.” Heath said, coming up behind him and looking at the gorgons phone.

Hey could you do a Deuce x human!reader and him meeting her and finding out humans aren’t as bad as he thought?

A/n: TY SM FOR THE REQUEST ANON! This may not be the best but nyways, this was requested 2 times but with a kinda seperate plot point so I'm going to make another version of this. Sorry this ones super long lol.

POV: Deuce discovering humans aren't as bad as he thought

Humans are horrible, evil creatures. That is something that had been drilled into Deuce Gorgon's brain since the day he could talk. He was taught that humans were vicious, smelly, weak creatures who targeted defenceless monsters. The only thing protecting monsters from them was their smarts or lack thereof.

Y/n L/n had lived the vast majority of her life believing Monsters were fictional, fake creatures used to scare small children into listening to their parents. Creatures that only ever truly exist in the minds of children, keeping them up at night as they peer through the cracks of open closets, or hiding under their beds, waiting to strike, she was half right.

You may be wondering, how Deuce Gorgon had found himself in the human world, how these two beings could ever possibly meet, well- as with all things, it began with chaos.

Deuce and his best friend Heath strutted down the streets of a human city, heads down until they reached a busy Café, deciding this was the perfect place to terrorize humans.

Heath threw a ball of flame towards one of the café parasols, effectively turning it to ash. Deuce removed his beanie, allowing his snakes to be free.

They continued causing chaos like that, laughing cruelly as humans ran around in a panic, just as they were about to leave, however… Deuce saw someone.

A girl around his age, evidently unbothered by the chaos- or perhaps she simply hadn’t noticed it, cleaning a table, earphones in her ears. She looked as though she was the embodiment of Aphrodite herself, her appearance almost ethereal. Surely, she was some form of Siren, perhaps a demi-goddess… but why would she be working at a café in the human world if she were either of those things?

He considered walking over to her, making himself known but stopped himself, why should he? She was a human; they were evil and bad. But this girl was far too beautiful to be some ordinary human.

Just then he saw a small child, around the age of three running over to her in tears, gently pulling on her apron.

She turned around, removing her earphones to see the small child, she knelt down to their level, looking at them in concern.

“What’s the matter hon?” She asked gently, Deuce thought her voice was hypnotic.

The child, unable to speak from their sobs, showed her a badly burnt teddy bear.

“Oh dear! Poor thing, would you like me to fix it up for you?” She offered, slowly taking the bear in her hands.

The child nodded.

“Okay, I’ll fix it.” She smiled kindly.

“P-please be quick, Mr Bear protects me from the monsters.” The child sobbed.

“Hey, don’t worry, I won’t let any monsters harm you, okay kid? Just until Mr Bear is back in action.” She said softly.

“O-okay.” The child stammered.

She paused, glancing down at her apron pocket before slowly smiling. “Okay, now… close your eyes.” She whispered, the child quickly doing as told “I’m going to do a magic trick.”

She quickly shoved the burnt bear into her pocket, pulling out an almost exact replica of the bear, this one looking brand new.

“Okay… now, open them!” She exclaimed, holding the bear out.

The child gasped, practically snatching the bear from her, clutching it tightly to their chest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The child exclaimed engulfing the girl into a tight hug before rushing off.

The girl smiled at the child before turning back to the table to continue cleaning the table, before finally, very calmly, pouring water over the burning parasol, taking the charred remains over to a bin and throwing it in.

Deuce wondered whether she was used to this.

“Y’know it’s rude to stare right?” He heard the girl muse, her attention on cleaning a table.

He glanced around, realising that the only people on this once busy street were him, Heath (who was busy causing chaos across the road) and her.

She turned around to face him, one hand resting on her hip, giving him a pointed look.

“Nice hair, by the way, but uh- not sure if you heard but, Halloween was last week.” She said sarcastically, glaring.

“Oh- it’s not a-” He began, suddenly feeling remarkably nervous- what was she doing to him?

“Bup, bup, bup. I don’t care.” She hissed walking forward, crossing her arms “What I do care about is that you and your little friend keep coming to my place of work, dressed in costumes, setting shit on fire- causing me to lose pay so the company can pay for replacements- freaking people out, which nice touch on the mechanical hairs- very realistic- but you're making my job harder because I’m the one who has to clean up after your little ‘pranks’ so you better cut it out.”

At that, she moved to turn around before pausing.

“And by the way, sunglasses, really? Kinda makes you look like a douche- well more of a douche.”

He watched her walk away, contemplating whether or not to call out.

“Wait!” He exclaimed, glancing around to ensure Heath wasn’t looking.

She turned around, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh- I’m sorry… how can I- can I make it up to you?” He asked.

She stayed silent, crossing her arms and giving him a sceptical look, examining his body language before sighing.

“Look, I have my break in five minutes, I’ll probably have to spend it cleaning anyways, you really want to make it up to me, come help.” She said before adding “And uh- don’t bring your friend, I’d rather not talk to someone who by the looks of things has fewer brain cells than a sponge.”

Deuce gave her a slight smile and a nod.

And five minutes later he did exactly that, he helped the human girl clean up the mess he and Heath had made, getting to know her as they did so.

“So, uh- if you don’t mind me asking, what was that with the kid? Y’know the one you gave the bear to.” Deuce asked.

“Oh, uh- they’re my friend's younger sibling… an orphan, been looking after them when I can since my friend can’t anymore.” She spoke, looking down at the table she was cleaning.

“You mean your friend is-”

“Dead, yes.”

“Oh. I’m sorry… do they live with you?” He asked.

“No… they live in the city orphanage; I help out there when I can but when I’m 18 I’ll adopt them officially.”

Deuce stayed silent, looking at the girl who’d suddenly seemed to find a spot on the table more interesting than anything else.

“You, okay?” He asked cautiously.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m uh- I’m fine… just don’t really want to talk about this…” She said looking up at him “Uh- y’know I think you’ve helped enough; I forgive you and stuff; this is my job anyway so I’ll… I’ll finish cleaning it.”

“No- I wanna help.” He said quickly.

She gave him a soft smile.

“Thanks.” She smiled “Y’know, you’re a good person, perhaps I’ve judged you too harshly.” “Yeah… I’m uh really sorry about uh… the damage and stuff by the way… truly.” He spoke.

“It’s alright, I didn’t really care as much as I let on, I actually found it quite funny most times… whilst it was happening at least.” She grinned “I’m Y/n by the way.”

“Deuce.” He said, grinning.

She looked at him for a moment before quickly pulling her notepad out of one of her pockets and writing something down.

“Here, uh- text me some time, you seem cool and I’d like to get to know you better.” She said, tearing the paper out of her notepad, folding it in half and handing it to him.

“Thanks, I uh- will.” He smiled, taking it.

“I’ve gotta get back to work now but uh- good meeting you… officially that is.”

She walked away, returning back into the café, Deuce remained standing there, staring at the phone number in his hands, a wide smile on his face.

Perhaps humans weren’t as bad as he thought.

Heyyyyy Could I maybe ask for a Deuce Gorgon x Reader (established relationship) where Deuce thinks Y/n is a human and tries to hide the fact he's a gorgon from her only to find out she is immune to his gaze thing, sorry if this is confusing

AHHH TY SM FOR THE REQUEST ANON, sorry this took so long, nyways hope you enjoy I tried my best :)

POV: Deuce x Human!Reader

‘I shouldn’t have fallen for a human.’ Deuce thought as he walked down the street, holding his girlfriend’s hand as she rambled excitedly about her day, he however, wasn’t listening, instead, he was zoned out, admiring her features through his blacked-out glasses.

“-And then Raven said- Deuce are you alright?” She asked in concern, stopping in her tracks.

“Huh? Oh, yeah sorry, I just got distracted.”

“Oh.” She hummed before continuing her rambling.

Deuce gave a smile as he watched her ramble, continuing their walk down the street, it slightly dropping as thoughts overcame him.

He knew it wasn’t right- he knew he shouldn’t be keeping this secret from her; knew he could be putting her in danger by not telling her about what he was but- how did he know she wouldn’t immediately break up with him once she discovered what he actually was? He had fallen too hard to risk that.

So instead, here he was, walking alongside his girlfriend, on a hot early summer day a beanie covering his hair, a scarf wrapped around his neck and his thick blacked-out glasses covering his eyes- all to protect his secret from both the world and his girlfriend.

“-I mean, I don’t really get the whole stigma around not wanting to follow in your parent's footsteps, like- I don’t want to be a carbon copy of my mother y’know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” He smiled, adjusting his glasses to ensure they didn’t fall off.

“Y’know, in our months of dating, you’ve never once removed your beanie or sunglasses, even indoors.” She mentioned causing him to stop in his tracks.

“Well- I uh- just-” He stammered trying to think of a reasonable excuse. “I mean don’t get me wrong, it's cute, but I mean- it’s getting to Summer now, surely the beanies making you overheat.” She rambled.

“Well-”

“I mean, I like thought about it for ages, I mean I was worried about you and stuff, then I figured it out.”

“Y-you did?” Deuce stammered, eyes widening as a panic rushed over him.

“Mhmm.” His brain was working a mile a minute; how could he get out of this? She had managed to figure out he was a gorgon! Does he just laugh it off? Apologise for not telling her?

“You’re insecure.” She said softly.

He froze, feeling her gently wrap her arms around him, and a wave of relief washed over him.

“What?”

“You’re insecure… I get it! Most people are.” She repeated.

“Right… yes, I am very insecure about my eyes and hair.” He said slowly.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay! I understand.” She spoke.

He gave her a soft smile, what had he done to deserve a girl like her?

He slowly wrapped his arms around the girl, giving her a light squeeze before pulling away as they returned to their walk, Y/n gently holding his hand.

However, as they walked, Deuce turned his head to say something to her, when a passerby bumped him, causing his glasses to fall off his face. Deuce quickly closed his eyes to avoid turning his girlfriend to stone. He knew however, he’d looked her in the eyes. Pained, he slowly opens his eyes, to find her- still breathing and made of flesh, gently pushing his glasses back over his eyes.

“There you go.” She smiled, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek before adding “You have very lovely eyes by the way.”

Deuce remained frozen in place as she walked ahead, remarkably confused.

hello again booteeful

i was wondering if you could do a part 2 to this part 2? well technically its a part 3

ok im confusing myself now XD DX

could you do another part to the Shapeshifter!Reader finally serving her detentions because deuce asked her to.

im in love with this and i feel like i might annoy you into making it a mini series???

AS ALWAYS NO RUSH/PREASSURE

LUV YA

THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST! This probably isnt the best and is kinda short but i tried. Some of the chars may be a bit out of character but oh well anyways- hope you enjoy! (Also if you want a mini series of this i will absolutely make one)

POV: Shapeshifter!reader complaining about her detentions

Part 3ish to this

Y/n sat in her dorm room, her head on her desk, groaning as her friend group entered the room, she was in.

“What’s up with her?” Draculaura asked Deuce who was sitting calmly on her bed.

“She got another detention for attacking Heath and swearing at Mr Komos.” Deuce explained.

“Mr Komos hates me!” Y/n groaned hitting her head against the desk as Deuce quickly moved his hand on the desk to stop her from doing so.

“Well, he wouldn’t if you’d stop getting in trouble.” Clawdeen reasoned.

“That is impossible.” Y/n hissed, her head now resting in Deuce's hand.

“It’s… really not.” Clawdeen stated.

“It is for me!” Y/n exclaimed, finally standing up to sit next to Deuce and bury her face in his shoulder.

“Y/n- Just stop breaking the rules and you know- mocking teachers.” Clawdeen instructed.

Y/n lifted her head off Deuce's shoulder to give the werewolf a deadpan look.

“See- see that is where you lose me.” She stated, “I mean- What’s the point of being able to shapeshift if I never use it to mock my teachers?”

“In her defence, we do encourage her.” Frankie pointed out.

“Well-”

“Clawdeen, don’t you dare act like you guys have never asked me to make fun of a teacher… or pretend to be a parent so you can get out of classes for a few days which- we go to a boarding school I don’t know how any of you thought that would work… Heath… or how it somehow manages to keep working even though we’ve done it like fifty times.”

“I mean- I guess that’s true.” Clawdeen gave in “But Y/n you can’t keep getting detentions.”

“I know but- where’s the fun in that?” Y/n said before pausing “And I’m about to get another one.” “How do you know that?” Deuce asked, glancing down at her.

“Mr Komos is coming.” She answered before adding “I’m technically skipping a detention.”

“Y/n!” Clawdeen scolded.

“How do you even know he’s coming?” Draculaura asked.

“I memorised his footsteps.” The shapeshifter responds, standing up to sit by her window.

“Y/n! Are you in here? You’re supposed to be in detention!” Mr Komos yelled, knocking on her door.

Y/n stayed silent.

“Did she run off again?” “No, I’ve decided to be mature and wait for you to call campus security on me this time.” She responded.

“What do you mean-” Mr Komos questioned, opening the door and seeing her by the window “Don’t you dare.”

“Bye guys, bye Deuce love you!” She exclaimed, waving and opening her window, jumping out of it.

Mr Komos rushed over to the window, peering downwards, Deuce doing the same, only to find her gone.

“How does she keep doing that?” Mr Komos groaned.

“She’s amazing.” Deuce smiled continuing to look out the window.

hello there you amazing hooman

could you do a part 2 of the Shapshifter!reader and the group watching Deuce play sport?

i loved it so much and somehow you know me/y/n is very chaotic. but in this part 2 its the next day and y/n FINALLY sat through her whole detention because Deuce asked her too. then they are all hanging out in the common room area and heath is teasing y/n for only doing detention for Deuce.

Part 2 to this

THANKS SM FOR THE REQUEST! So like warning: Heath is kinda an ass because I wasn't sure how exactly to write it nyways hope you enjoy!

POV: Shapeshifter!Reader finally serving her detentions because deuce asked her to.

The gang- minus Y/n- sat in the common room, chatting amongst themselves.

“So, uh- where’s Y/n?” Clawdeen asked, glancing around the common room.

“Oh, she’s uh- in detention.” Deuce shrugged glancing down at his phone.

“Wait- What? Why? She hates detention.” Draculaura questioned.

“Yeah- she would never willingly do a detention if she could get out of it.” Clawdeen added.

“It’s true, she once tried to fake a drowning to get Headmistress Bloodgood to feel pity for her and remove her detention- that landed her extra detentions.” Frankie pointed out.

“Oh- well, I asked her to.” Deuce shrugged.

“Why?” Heath asked.

“So, she doesn’t get another one, she’s racked up about seventeen already,” Deuce said, looking down at his phone as it vibrated.

“How?” Draculaura asked.

“By skipping them,” Deuce said.

“Detentions should’ve ended an hour ago though, why isn’t she here yet?” Frankie asked.

As if summoned, a very exhausted-looking Y/n walked through the common room door.

“I just did- seventeen hours’ worth of detentions.” She gasped, wiping soot off of her cheek.

“Are you okay?” Draculaura asked.

“No! They made me do hard labour!” She exclaimed, moving to sit between Heath and Deuce, moving to lay her head on his lap “Did you know this school has a dragon? Cause I didn’t, not even like just a student, an actual fire breathing dragon and I had to bloody take care of it!”

Deuce moved his hands to play with her very messy hair as she ranted about how making students do hard labour should be illegal.

“I hate you for making me do that.” She hissed, crossing her arms.

“Would you rather get more detentions?” He asked.

“Yes, I would simply just… not serve them.” She said, “I only did it because you asked me to.”

“Aww, would you do anything because Deuce asked?” Heath teased.

“Heath, I am not too tired to extinguish you.” She threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Heath said.             

“Believe me, I would.” She hissed.

“But Deuce wouldn’t like that.” “Heath stop talking.” Deuce said as Y/n slowly sat up.

“That’s it.” She hissed, turning herself into a lion.

Heath screamed, running out of the common room, Y/n chasing after him.

“Miss L/n! No trying to murder your classmates!” Mr Komos yelled.

“Ugh! Fuck off!” She yelled.

“Do you want another detention?” “Sure, you can’t make me take it!”                         

Could you do a deuce x human reader where her family is kinda chaotic. It can go anyway you want ily

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THANK-YOU FOR THE REQUEST ANON!!!! So like idk how good this one is but it's like kinda long and uh I may do a part 2 because omg this request gave me sm ideas. Also the only reason I gave reader 8 siblings is because big families are usually the most chaotic. Anyways I hope you enjoy! Ly! (Also i did a dif thing here where I made the tense 2nd person to try it out cus thats what a lot of people on here use, tell me what you guys think!)

POV: Deuce meeting his Human!girlfriends family.

“Before you meet my family, you should probably know that they’re a bit… chaotic…”

That is what you had warned him of before he came to have dinner with your family, while he wasn’t completely sure what you had meant by that he was sure he could handle whatever it was (Like- what could possibly be more chaotic than the fact he was a gorgon that literally went to a boarding school for monsters). Besides- he was determined to make a good impression on your parents, while you knew and were… mostly, okay with the… scaled situation, your family didn’t. He had to make this good impression now because he knew he couldn’t exactly hide it forever and he’d rather your family liked him when they do find out.

You didn’t talk much about your family, the only thing he really knew was the fact you had eight siblings, most of them twins and that you were the middle child and the only one who wasn’t a twin (hence why you were the only one with your own room). Deuce knocked on the door and after hearing what sounded like arguing was greeted by your smiling face.

“Hey, Deuce!” You greet, gently reaching up to adjust his beanie to ensure the snakes were covered “Come in!” You grab his hand and guide him inside. “You’re a bit early but we can just like- hang out in my room for a bit until dinn-” You began before being cut off by your younger brother running in front of you.

“Who’s this?” He asked “Is he your boyfriend”

“No, he’s my long-lost twin brother.” You said sarcastically trying to move past him.

“No, he’s not! You don’t have a twin! And besides his hair is green, you don’t have green hair!” Your brother exclaimed, “Wait, why is his hair green?”

“Because he’s secretly the Joker.” You stated, finally managing to move past your younger brother “Now, leave us alone you little brat.”

“I’m telling mom you said that!” He exclaimed.

“Go ahead! I’ll just tell her that you got suspended for a week for punching a kid and didn’t even tell her.” You retort pulling Deuce up the stairs before being stopped again by two of your younger sisters Valentina and Valeria.

“Y/n have you seen Jinx?” Valentina asked.

“No, and if Mom finds out you let that snake out of its terrarium again, you’re going to be in huge trouble.” You warned.

“What about Cookie? Have you seen Cookie?” Valeria asked teary-eyed.

“No, I haven’t but if I see it in my room again, I swear- I’m going to squish it.” You threatened.

“But Y/nnn-” Valeria whined before apparently finally noticing Deuce “Does Mom know you have your boyfriend over?”

“Yes, she does actually, now leave us alone please.” You hissed, trying to manoeuvre past them.

“His hair is weird,” Valentina commented.

“So is yours and you don’t see him commenting on it.” You snapped, pushing past them and finally entering your room.

You sigh as both you and Deuce sit on your bed.

“Your siblings seem nice,” Deuce commented as you scoffed.

“You don’t have to lie Deuce, they’re annoying.” You spoke.

“No, they uh- seem, sweet.” He said as you moved your head to lay it in his lap.

“Awe, aren’t you naïve.” You said, lifting your head to press a kiss on his lips.

HIIIYYAAA!!! its me again i bloody L O V E D the messing around b4 class one you did.

(for this one Deuce and Y/N are already together and she is a shapeshifter) if you arent busy or anything like that a cute thing I thought of was Deuce, Y/N, Heath, Clawdeen, Drac, Frankie, etc all chilling in a chill room or common room during free period or on a weekend messing around and having fun and just laughing about dumb crap. Then Komos walks past and Y/N uses her piers to turn into him and yells out something funny to him just to mess with him but he knows its her which causes everyone to laugh again.

Just another weird thought/concept I thought of!!!

Luv ya💚🖤

A/n: Thank you for the request! Idk how I did but I tried to fulfil it, hope you enjoy, love ya!

POV: Shapeshifter!Y/n and the group messing around in their free period.

Y/n rested her head on Deuces shoulder, his hand wrapped around her shoulders, happily joking around with their friends as the group threw a small rubber ball around the room.

“Okay, okay, do Headmistress Bloodgood.” Clawdeen said as Y/n playfully rolled her eyes and straightened herself up.

She closed her eyes, focusing on Headmistress Bloodgood’s basic appearance and features, turning herself into an exact replica of her.

“My goodness children, have you been breaking rules?” She says her voice almost exactly matching Headmistress Bloodgood’s.

“Draculaura!” She yelled suddenly causing Draculaura to jump “Have you been doing witchcraft? That is so horrible, how dare you be doing something so humanlike in our school. Witchcraft is an abomination!”

The group laughed as she turned to Deuce.

“Mr Gorgon!” She yelled causing Deuce to raise an eyebrow at her, flinching slightly “Are you causing trouble?”

Deuce shook his head.

“Don’t lie Mr Gorgon, I see you just sitting there with your green snake hair and glasses, very clearly breaking rules. Detention for two months due to all your rule breaking.” She says, making a mock angry face at Deuce before turning back to her normal self and moving herself closer to Deuce.

“You should get used to saying my last name, it’ll be yours someday.” He whispered in her ears making her cheeks heat up as she lightly slapped his chest.

“I dunno, I think it should be L/n-Gorgon but whatever.” She whispered to him.

“Ooh Y/n! Do the music teacher.”  Frankie requested.

This time instead of standing up she merely transformed into their music teacher and did an ungodly impression of their teachers singing (causing most of the group to cover their ears and laugh, except Deuce of whom was too busy wincing in pain).

Just then Mr Komos walked past causing Y/n to crane her head around with an evil smile on her face.

She closed her eyes and turned herself into him before yelling out.

“I’m Mr Komos, Here’s a musical number on True Monster Hearts instead of a lesson! I have a massive crush on Headmistress Bloodgood, hence why I keep sucking up to her!"

The group snickered.

“Y/n! We’ve talked about this! What did Headmistress Bloodgood say about imitating teachers?” He scolded walking over to the group causing them to laugh harder.

She transformed herself into Headmistress Bloodgood again before mimicking her.

“Never under any circumstances should you ever imitate a teacher! If you are caught doing it again I will give you a detention. Blah blah blah, this is a very serious offence- oh hello Dracula, are you here to donate some money to the school? You are looking wonderful by the way, very dead. Now where was I? Ah yes! No more transforming into teachers or else, blah blah blah blah blah.” Y/n mimicked.

“You just did it again.” Komos scolded.

“Headmistress Bloodgood isn’t technically a teacher though, she’s a Headmistress, she didn’t say anything about that.” Y/n said matter-of-factly, the group laughing even harder.

Unfortunately for Y/n, the look on Mr Komos’s face indicated no matter her excuse she’d be getting detention.

“Uh- You can’t give detention to what you can’t catch!” Y/n yelled turning herself into a rabbit and running off.

Part 2 please

Stars (pt 2 to flowers)

A/n: Heyy, heres part two to flowers, Hope you enjoy! (sorry this took so long!) I might make a part 3.

Pt 1 Here

POV: Y/n rethinking her decision to not follow her heart.

It had been three months since Deuce had his realization of his feelings and unfortunately for him, Y/n and Porter had begun dating but his feelings were still going strong. Often he’d wind up hanging out with both Y/n and Porter at the same time rather then the duo’s usual hanging out just the two of them, of course that was to be expected, she was dating someone, he should expect her boyfriend to join them in their hangouts and he’d simply just have to become accoustomed to it. No matter how much his chest hurts when he see’s them together, no matter how much his snakes bite him for not doing anything and tell him ‘just turn him to stone’, no matter how much he wishes he could take Porters place.

However, this new arrangement did mean he could make some observations, he noticed that Porter didn’t have the same habit of removing flowers from her hair to discover the meanings from Y/n, he’d noticed that her hair had been littered with Pink Camellia’s and a yellow flower of which, after some study, he learned was known as a Carnation. Whilst he didn’t know the meanings of Carnations, flower meanings were Y/ns thing, he knew that whatever it meant, most likely reflected on Y/n.

On a sunny Saturday morning, Deuce decided to go on a walk in the forest, unaware that this may alter the course of his relationship with the girl he’d been crushing on.

A familiar voice could be heard talking quietly to herself.

“He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me… not.” The voice sighed, plucking petals off of a daffodil “Well I dunno what to do! I mean, what if he’s not the one, what if I’m just making things up? I thought I was reading the flowers right but.. they changed the moment I acted on them… what if I was wrong? Perhaps I should’ve just listened to my heart.”

The separate sounds of three birds sounded, squawking loudly as if arguing. Deuce inched closer to the sound and saw Y/n sitting on a log, talking to a group of three birds, one dove, one eagle and an owl.

“Okay well no offense owl, but I’d rather take the romance advice from the dove and the eagle.” Y/n spoke causing the owl to hoot offendedly.

The dove and the eagle continued squawking. “Yes I understand that if I don’t love him I should but… it was in the flowers wasn’t it? Written in the stars, if- if I follow what my heart is saying… would the gods get mad?” She wondered as Deuce emerged from the trees.

“Hey.” He spoke, a light smile on his face, the birds quickly flying off as he walks closer.

“Hey.” She smiled glancing at him.

“Uh, may I?” He asked, gesturing to the spot next to her on the log.

“Sure.” She responded, moving over slightly.

He sat down next to her, gently removing the overgrown flowers from her hair, handing her a bouquet of flowers that came from her hair. She blushed, gently taking the flowers.

“Hey could I get your advice on something?” He requested.

“Sure.” She confirmed glancing at him.

“Okay so, I fell in love with someone… I fell in love with someone who I can’t have and may never be able to have because she’s with someone else and every time I see her with the person she’s with… a little part of me dies. It hurts so much; what would you recommend I do?” He asked.

She paused, thinking.

“Well, normally I’d say, ‘let it go’, but I can see from your expression, that may not be possible... So, I’m going to say it never hurts to try, tell this girl and if she doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, so be it.” She advised.

“Okay…” He took a deep breath before continuing “Y/n, the girl is you.”

Pt 3

hello fellow gorgon lover!!! i was wondering if you could do a little imagine/short or headcanon about deuce and the reader (who has nature powers a bit like Venus) messing around a bit during Komos class before it starts and heath is teasing them for being cute while clawdeen, draculaura and Frankie playfully argue over who loves who more.

A/N: Hi! Thanks so much for the request! Sorry it took so long! (and that its so bad) Hope you enjoy it! (Btw, this one doesn't have a gif because I generally use the gifs when I myself can't picture the scenario since i struggle with making images in my mind, or when I want to come up with idea's and I want to show where I got the idea from) Anyway happy reading!

POV: Deuce and Y/n messing around in class before it starts

The Monster Hisstory classroom spoke loudly, patiently awaiting their teacher’s arrival. Y/n L/n and Deuce Gorgon, being best friends, had decided to sit together for this class, bringing snacks to share… or rather, throw at each other.

“Okay that is cheating, you can’t just use vines to guide the food to your mouth.” Deuce laughed when Y/n had summoned a vine to place one of the snacks into her mouth.

“You used your snakes, it’s perfectly fair.” She argued, a smile on her face.

“It is not fair; my snakes are way shorter than those vines of yours Y/n.” Deuce defended.

“Mmm, nope I think it’s very much fair I can use my vines.” Y/n said, placing a snack in her mouth then throwing one at Deuce, of which he dropped.

“Well, that was definitely not fair, I was distracted.” Deuce joked, crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah? By what?” She interrogated, raising an eyebrow and mimicking his action of crossing his arms.

“By your pretty face, it’s very distracting.” He smirked leaning closer.

Y/n felt her face heating up as she perked a brow.

“Oh? Well, I must say, your handsome face is also rather distracting, good sir.” She retorted, also leaning closer.

Just then Heath walked by and placed himself in his spot on the table next to the duo’s.

“Aw, you’re a cute couple.” Heath commented, looking at the two of whom both blushed and immediately moved away from each other.

“We’re not a couple.” Y/n said now suddenly refusing to look in the general direction of Deuce.

“Oh. You sure? You seem like you’d be a very cute couple.” Heath spoke.

“We’re sure.” The two said in unison.

Heath refused to take this answer however and decided to tease the two about being a ‘cute couple’ resulting in Y/n and Deuce both covering their ears to tune him out. “No, no, no Draculaura you have it all wrong look at her face when she looks at him, she’s obviously more in love with him!” Y/n heard Clawdeen exclaiming.

“Uh, hello, blood expert here, his cheeks got two shades redder than Y/n’s which evidentially shows that he loves her more!” Draculaura argued.

“Guys, what if- they love each other equally?” Frankie suggested causing Draculaura and Clawdeen to deadpan them.

“Frankie, I love you but that is literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Clawdeen stated.

“Yes, please take this seriously.” Draculaura said before turning back to Clawdeen “Where were we? Oh right, Two whole shades redder Clawdeen! Two!”

Y/n glanced at Heath (of whom was still teasing them) and the trio before coming to a decision.

“Wanna skip this class?” She asked grabbing her bag. “Yep.” Deuce said grabbing his own bag and standing up.

PT 2 here