#and then the fact he was brought back and thrown in the pit

[songbiirdss]

Jason Todd HCs

Jason is a space heater, he never gets cold and everyone goes to him for warmth and cuddles

He obviously hates this at first bc touch was never a nice thing in The League and his skin crawls with the idea of somebody touching him

Only once after a long winter night out he returns to the cave and Cass just gravitates towards him, hes wary but trusts her enough that he doesnt care that she’s lingering near him

He figured she was watching him or something and mostly forgets she’s basically his shadow until he notices that she’s shivering slightly

Big Brother mode kicks in immediately and he throws his warm leather jacket around her shoulders, added bonus, he pulls her in for a side hug

She’s grinning like a maniac and sticks her tongue out to anyone giving her dirty looks, (bc how come she gets to be warm and we dont)

Jason thinks theyre mad at him and gets upset bc??? What now!?!? But Cass signs out a brief explanation and he grins knowing that he has a new power to hold over his family

After that night he visits the others on patrol frequently, asking for favors in return for a cuddle session, the cuddles help him reestablish touch as a positive thing and he gets favors from his siblings

Of course they fall for his schemes and soon Alfred is back to seeing his grandchildren all cuddled up in one of the living rooms with Jason right in the center

[throneofsapphics]

brush away the dust part 2

Batboys x f!Reader

(part one)

summary: after returning from Under the Mountain, you found things weren't quite the same between you and your partners. years later, painful memories are brought back up.

warnings: angst

word count: 2010

a/n: I'll admit I did write the original version of this back in October 2023, so its been hiding for a while. thank you to @whisperingmidnights for helping me give it a face lift

original song Inspo: Cocaine Jesus by Rainbow Kitten Surprise

What happened to your friend, y/n? Feyre asked innocently. Rhys’s entire body stiffened, and she frowned. The female had popped into her mind recently, an offhand comment by Mor about visiting Vivian and her. She knows they were introduced once, as Rhys’s friend but she hadn’t heard a word of her since. 

“She moved,” he said curtly.

“Where?” Feyre pressed. There was something else about her, and she was determined to figure out what. 

“Winter.” His fingers clenched around the pen, white knuckling as he tried to write, the ink ripping through the paper instead. She reached out to try and take it from him, to hold his hand, but he held onto it with a death grip.

“Tell me what it is,” Feyre sighed. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Bullshit.” Feyre knew she was pushing, and treaded carefully. “You said no secrets between us.” That seemed to flip something in him, because he dropped the pen and leaned back. Grief flooded his features - and surprised her. 

“We were in a relationship,” he said curtly. Her mouth parted, she’d never expected … “She was with Azriel, Cassian, and I. For centuries.” 

Feyre blinked several times. Surprisingly, no jealousy flooded through her. She knew he’d had lovers before but hadn’t thought all three of them would have the same one. 

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

“I found my mate.” He didn’t meet her gaze, and it wasn’t out of shame for them being together. Feyre easily but the pieces together. 

“Rhys,” she hissed, “tell me you didn’t toss her aside.” 

He didn’t meet her eyes. “She was there, Under the Mountain. Healing. We couldn’t risk being seen together, or speaking much.” She hadn’t known, she’d known nothing of this. “When I came back,” shame - she scented shame and a tiny pit of anger growing in him, “I knew you were my mate, and it wasn’t fair to her.” 

“What about Cassian or Azriel?” 

“It wouldn’t have … it wouldn’t have been the same without the three of us. Cassian has Nesta, and Az was fine.” 

His mental walls were wide open, and she didn’t try to invade, but the strength of his memories sucked her in. The joy of the four of them together … ‘we can keep a spot for her for now.’ 

She reached out and called for Cassian and Azriel, and her tone left no room for bullshit. They were there within minutes. 

Feyre slammed her palms against the desk, rising to her feet. “Look at me. All three of you.” They did, and she spoke to them as their High Lady. “You threw her out, after centuries of love - of her giving every fucking thing to you.” The two of them didn’t need to question who she was speaking of. In fact, they didn’t look too surprised. She wouldn’t be surprised if Rhys warned them. 

“I didn’t throw-” Rhys began. 

“You offered her a spot,” Feyre spat, “in the home she just returned to - after half a century ripped away from her home, from her family, and everything she loved. None of you,” she made sure to meet each of their eyes, “even tried to make things right.” 

“Feyre,” Cassian said carefully, holding his hands up in a placating gesture, “it was complicated. She,” he glanced at Rhys, “they had been gone for so long - she came back different.” 

“Mother above. You’re all idiots. She came back traumatized, and I guarantee she thought the three males she loved would help, and you may as well have thrown her back Under the Mountain.” 

Silence radiated throughout the room, and she went to find Mor. She’d seen a glimpse of their friendship, and needed some way to apologize for the three bastards, if they wouldn’t do it themselves. 

-

The High Lady of the Night Court showed up at her door, and she couldn’t refuse her. So, she did what she’s always done - and offered her a cup of tea and some pastries she’d baked that morning. Feyre took them all with a gentle smile and thanks, but she could feel the anxiety roll from her. 

“I know why you’re here,” y/n sighed, gripping the warm mug as if she might get some strength from it. 

“Please,” Feyre said gently, “I need to explain.” 

“You’re not responsible for them,” she assured her. Feyre’s lips pressed into a tight line, obviously she disagreed. “I know it wasn’t your fault,” she continued when she didn’t interrupt, “I hold no ill will towards you or them- ”

“That makes you a better female than me,” Feyre huffed and she let out a laugh. The High Lady smiled at her. She could see how she matched with Rhys, could sense how they would fit together. “I did lecture them.” Y/n’s returning smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m sorry to open old wounds, but I … I want you to know they were wrong. How they treated you was unacceptable, and I’m ashamed you were driven from your home.” 

She blinked back tears. Feyre had said the things she didn’t dare even think anymore. The feelings she’d worked through and discarded, trying to replace them with gratitude for the learning opportunity. “After what you went through, how you still came back to help all of us in the war, not expecting a thing out of it.” Feyre paused, as if trying to gather her thoughts. Somehow, she’d learned about the healing. Did Madja tell her? She let her continue, mostly because she had no idea what to say to her. “You still have a home, in the Night Court if you ever-”

She held up a hand, interrupting her words. “I appreciate the sentiment, and your kind words and understanding. But, the Night Court is not my home. It hasn’t been for years and I’m happy with my life here.” Then, it was too much - having her here, digging up things that were better left buried, even if it came from a good place. She stood, turned to the kitchen and a petty part of her flared. Quickly, she put together a small basket of all of the things she knew the three of them had loved, that she would usually make. Some pastries, preserves, and honeycomb jelly. She knew Feyre was watching her every move. 

Y/n glanced at the clock. She had agreed to pick up a shift tonight. “I have to leave for work soon,” she said apologetically. Feyre rose with her. “Here,” she handed the basket. “Some gifts for friends.” Feyre’s eyes flashed as if she recalled a memory, and a mischievous look danced in them. A look that told her she’d make sure they encountered her little gift. She could picture Feyre leaving it in a common area, knowing all too well her scent would be all over it for them to see. 

“Thank you for coming,” she added - and Feyre took the dismissal. There wasn’t an invitation for more, for a return, and she left gracefully, thanking her for inviting her in and listening. 

-

The three of them showed up at her house. She should’ve slammed the door in their faces, but she knew they would wait outside until they opened again. Their High Lady was likely behind this. 

Her hands moved in familiar patterns, throwing a kettle on for tea - warming up a few things she’d baked this morning. Maybe she slammed the cups down a bit harder on the counter than normal. Or sliced the bread with something else in mind. She didn’t need to look to know at least one of them, probably Cassian, had winced. 

“I hope you find your mate one day,” Rhys said as they’d finally settled down. The Illyrians looked vaguely uncomfortable, chairs not designed with wings in mind. Good. 

“I don’t.” she snapped back at him. The bit of leftover anger - the part she never let herself feel - started bubbling inside of her as soon as she spotted them. It was ready to boil over. “I hope I never toss someone to the side without so much as an explanation. We went through …” Her throat restricted, and tears started falling - but she refused to be ashamed of them. It had taken her this long to be comfortable showing outward emotion again, and she wouldn’t apologize for it. “Fifty years of hell and you left me. Left me by myself. If Mor wasn’t there …” 

She didn’t let herself finish the sentence, thinking about what it would have been like if her friend hadn’t dragged her out of the pit of misery. 

“I’m sorry,” Cassian said weakly. 

“We’re sorry,” Rhys added and Azriel gave a nod. 

She scoffed. Too damn late for any apologies.

“We thought it would be easier for you that way.” Azriel said quietly, his expression contemplative.  

“It wasn’t easy for us,” Cassian added. Rhys shifted. It was easier for him, that much she could tell. If things had been different, if they’d at least been more direct … Maybe in an alternate timeline they’d still be friends. She would still be in the City of Starlight, working under Madja and growing in her role. 

“Well,” she let her expression morph into a cruel smile. “Thank you for clearing that up. You never really knew me at all,” and strode of the door, swinging it open and motioning for them to leave. 

None of them moved. “We still need to talk.” Rhys almost sounded like he was pleading. 

“Get out of my house.” She hissed at them, throwing as much venom as possible. They still didn’t move. Maybe the years made her forget how gods damned stubborn they are. Pigheaded males. She slammed the door shut instead. “Say your piece, and get out.” 

-

Azriel didn’t know what to expect coming here, but it certainly wasn't pure anger and resentment. The absolute venom and distaste she looked at them with. It made him uncomfortable. 

”It’s been a decade, why can’t we-” Cassian started. 

”And we had centuries together. It might take a few more for me to look at you without wanting to break something.” 

A lie, he could almost taste the lie spilling from her lips. Still, he didn’t verbally call her out, but when she met his gaze, he could tell she knew. Her eyes rolled and she stood again. 

“Sit down,” Azriel said, the first thing he’d said to her after so many years.

She didn’t listen. He resisted the urge to send a shadow to tug you back into her seat. That, he knew, would only piss y/n off. 

“Please,” he added with a touch of strain.

It had the effect he desired, and she sat back down - still watching him cautiously. Almost like something was wrong with him. He frowned. Had he never said that one word to her? Something ugly like shame blossomed in him. 

He had centuries of training in patience, but he could tell the others were frustrated by how the rest of the conversation seemed to spin in circles without ever going anywhere. In another universe, he might have laughed to himself about it later. In this one, their own emotions seemed to leak into his own, infecting him. 

“This is going nowhere. This went nowhere. It won’t ever go anywhere,” you finally said, words almost frenzied. 

They’d worked you into that state. Guilt brushed against him. A cat hissed from somewhere. 

“We should go,” Azriel said. Probably one of the first smart things said during this conversation. Their presence here had only grown to distress you further. 

“Just wait,” you had a look he recognized about you - one where you were about to do something you may regret. He was too curious to stop you. 

Her hand hesitated on the drawer. The room went still. It slowly slid open, and he watched you pick up a small … portrait, gently wiping away the fine layer of dust coating it. It was a shame, he thought, that he’d never be able to brush away the dust coating your relationship. 

[cupid-grl]

casual pt.2

part 1 here

18+ mdni.

the past three weeks were the same. work, get off late, shower, get picked up by a very horny simon, either fuck in his home or in his car, and get dropped back off. it was a very simple routine you'd grown used to. neither of you brought up the conversation (if you could even call it that) from a few weeks prior. the following day he seemed normal, so normal it pissed you off more than anything. why wasn't he conflicted? why didn't he spend nights up late, crying into the pillow that smelled so much like cigarettes and pinewood, wondering what to do to be loved by the person he exposed himself the most to?

you'd never felt so used before. so worthless, with only one sole purpose. where the only time you felt close to him was when he was beneath you and his arms were wrapped around your body, where the only time you felt full of his love was when he stuffed your sore cunt with his aching cock. where the only time you could cry about him was when he was reaching your sweet spot so good, you almost completely forgot why you were even in his arms in the first place.

he'd feel warm tears land on his exposed, sweaty chest. and he wouldn't even mind it, assuming you were just feeling so good because of him. or maybe he did know, but he was too pussydrunk to stop and just hold you. why couldn't he just hold you?

simon was half asleep, laying on his bed stomach first and his hand dangling over the queen sized mattress. dark grey covers sprawled out messily across his lower half, a mix of sweat and your juices drying onto the thin material.

his eyes watched as you stood up, searching for the clothes he had thrown off you. you could feel his icy blue eyes piercing through your body, and you felt so naked in this moment. aside from the fact that you were literally nude, you felt so exposed. so alone, vulnerable. it was a nasty feeling you couldn’t get rid of, as you struggled to put your stretched out underwear on, watching as the lace on it that was once neat and sewn on, now ripped with a few strings of yarn hanging off the sides. simon never cared about being delicate with you, he couldn’t even spare your clothes.

your bra was next, followed by your similarly stretched out shirt and jeans. words weren’t exchanged between either of you, there was nothing to say.

this was how it was. after you had both reached your climax (you haven’t, not since that one stupid night), he wouldn’t say anything to you. whether you were changing into your clothes to leave, or he was dropping you off at home. he said nothing, a man of no words. and you didn’t once complain.

you walked up to the small mirror placed above his dresser, fixing your smeared lipstick and trying to detangle the knots in your hair, in a desperate attempt to look clean. the aftermath of your nights together always left you looking so fucked out, and it only made the pit in your stomach grow.

“you got a li’ stain back there.” simon mumbled, his face against the cold covers of his bed. you turned around to face him, he wasn’t even looking at you.

your hand reached to your calves, to where a few droplets of his cum remained. you hadn’t even felt it, it was almost fully dried down now. you weren’t sure why, but the feeling of the cum drying down and tightening your skin made you more upset than before. maybe it was the lack of aftercare, it was probably that. you can remember the only night he ever cared enough to take care of you after sex.

“did so good f’ me, love. i got you now, get some sleep.” simon whispered, his legs tangled with yours as he held you so close to the warmth of his chest. his warm covers wrapped around your naked bodies, his big hands hugging your body so close to him like he was afraid you’d go away if he didn’t. you were clean, well fed, and you didn’t even move a muscle.

you’d sworn you’d never felt so much love before. so much intimacy, you could cry. and you did. just a bit, before simon wiped away your tears, consoling you before you could start full on sobbing.

“you’re okay, love. so precious.” he chuckled, his face buried in the crook of your neck while soft kisses trailed down the curve of your neck and down your arm, his hands lifting it up as his mouth traveled all the way down to your fingertips.

and that night was the first and last night you meant something to him. it was good you didn’t get used to it, but it didn’t stop you from expecting that one day, he’d offer to clean up his cum from your face, or the curve of your back. it didn’t stop you from expecting a soft kiss on your forehead after he filled you so deep with false promises, with praises telling you how good you did and how much you mean to him.

"thanks." your voice was hoarse, you tried so hard putting on this nonchalant act that seemed to get you nowhere. you mirrored him, trying so hard to give the english man a taste of his own medicine. though he swallowed without a budge, disregarding the bitter taste on his mouth. he didn't care. not a care at-fucking-all.

there were no further words exchanged between either one of them, simon remained on his bed while you grabbed the remainder of your belongings and headed out the door, body limping from the harsh fuck you endured. he was so good at making you feel like shit, physically and emotionally.

and maybe it was the change of temperature in the air, or his cum still leaking from your sore pussy, or maybe it was the way you could still feel his mouthwash on your lips. you found yourself marching back to his door, knuckles banging against it a bit harsher than you intended to.

you could hear a groan and the heavy sounds of his feet hitting the wooden floor beneath him, as he swung the door open, the gust of air lightly hitting your warm face.

"forget somethin' ?" simon looked down at you, with that same stupid unreadable expression on his face. he remained shirtless, with his black boxers having been put on in a hurry as the lining of it was a bit crooked from his hips. his neck bruised up from your earlier assault, hair still all over the place from the result of your own hands. your lipstick still smeared on his own thin lips.

"yea- no. no, i didn't." you pushed past him, catching him by surprise as he stepped aside and shut the door behind him. your breaths became more unstable, your heart beating in your ears as you could hear a million tiny voices telling you to go.

run, you dumb bitch. there's no use in talking. run.

he sighed, already aware of what was to come as you sat on the edge of his bed with that all too familiar conflicted look on your face. your brows furrowed and your teeth nibbled on the inside of your cheek. simon didn't bother saying anything as he walked over to the corner of his room, mini fridge sat in the middle of the cold floor as he kneeled down, grabbing a water bottle. the sounds of his bare feet stomping around, and the creak of the armchair that remained against the wall across from you filled the silent space. simon spread his legs out just a bit, just enough to remind you of how it felt being in between them.

"i can't keep doing this."

"doin' what, love?"

"this, simon. you know what i'm talking about, you can't dance around the subject because i won't forget. i won't ever fucking forget."

"look, you're a sweet girl. you're fun an' all, but bloody 'ell you are so fuckin' annoyin' ." he laughed dryly, almost like he was mocking you. simon's patience seemed to run thin, as he stood up, walking over to you and towering your figure. in this moment, you'd never felt so small and defenseless before in your life. it felt like all eyes were on you, when it was just him and you.

"well i am really sorry, si. i'm sorry i want to be something other than a quick fuck, i'm sorry i don't wanna stick around waiting for the day you tell me i'm not just useful for only that." angry tears pooled in your eyes, and you didn't bother wiping them as they fell.

simon looked at you in a way where you swore he almost felt pity for you, and you'd rather not feel anything from him at all if it was just out of pity. he remained silent, looking at you with blank eyes. nothing was left in those ocean blue eyes.

"and i know you made it clear that we want different things, and i thought i'd be okay with that. and i know it's my fault for sticking around despite the fact that i'm just hurting myself in the end, but you're just at fault if not more. why couldn't you do the sensible thing and stop seeing me? stop coming back to me and treating me so good for a minute then leaving me to clean myself up and leave without a fucking goodbye?"

"a man has his needs, a'ight? i'm not gonna give up an opportunity to get a quick fuck. there, is that wha' you wan'ed to hear?" his accent ran thick through his words, which were coated in venom. each word was so enunciated, so harsh. it hit you like a ton of bricks, though your gaze didn't wander off and you didn't dare walk away.

"i really don't know what else i gotta tell you, love. this," he pointed at himself, then you. "isn't happening. not today, not tomorrow, not next fuckin' week and surely not the week after. you are free to stop talkin' to me because 'm tellin' you for the last time, i don't want you. i don't need you."

you really wished he lied. just this once.

salty tears streamed down your face and you couldn't do anything but stand there as he simply watched you. your sobs echoed in the room, and simon finally sighed, wrapping his arms around you.

"no use in cryin', it won't change my mind. 'm sorry, love, 'm jus' not the man for you. please understand that." he whispered against your forehead, planting a light kiss on the warm flesh. you wondered why it took you to be a sobbing mess in his arms for him to have a heart, but you didn't question it. you knew now, it was better not to question anything.

you didn't move away as he caressed the sides of your shaking shoulders, the flat of his fingertips rubbing circles on the warmth of your skin.

"i hate you for what you're doing to me." you'd cry, while simon gently kissed your hair.

"i know." he'd reply.

and that was the last time you ever spoke to simon. he didn't text you after, not to check up on you, to make sure you got home, not even to apologize. but what was there for him to be sorry for? he didn't lead you on, this was all your doing. it was your fault for staying and expecting for him to come around, to grow to love you.

you didn't text him, either. not to go off on him, to tell him how much he meant to you and to beg him to atleast try and feel the same. you didn't text him when you'd see him out in the city, hanging out with the group of people you met him through by the pier. you didn't text him when he started hanging out with a new girl, who seemed to bring out simon's genuine smile more than you ever did. you didn't text him to ask why he always had his arm around her when you saw them, you thought he hated pda, he told you so himself. and you didn't text him when you found her social media, spending hours stalking her feed to learn that she'd been posting him from the moment you two stopped seeing eachother. and you surely didn't text him when she announced their engagement via a lengthy paragraph online, only a few months after the two of you cut all contact.

did i cry while writing this perhaps is this based off my current situation perhaps. this was a little shorter than i anticipated but i hope you all enjoy part two of this evil evil story.

@going-through-shit i hope u enjoy!!

[hanibalistic]

#6F417E | EARTH-42 MILES MORALES.

genre | fluff, faint angst / reader is gn

synopsis | miles found you fainted in an alleyway one day, except you died two years ago.

word count | 2861

warning | brief mention of bullying / mentions of death (reader from earth-42 has passed) / everything i know about e-42 miles morales is from the movie 

note | i had to write something :'( it's been on my mind!

parts | one, two, three, four

Against his better judgment, Miles felt restless, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the miraculous event of you coming back from the dead or that seeing your face again made him realize how deeply he has deluded himself into thinking he had changed.  

The truth was that he hadn't changed. He merely made the decision to completely push his identity away after your death, as it was the only way to shield his fragile mind from unraveling into a pit of suicidal doom, where all he could ever think about was to follow you wherever you go, be it heaven or hell. He put his face into a mask unseen by all, not even himself, and the mask ripped itself aggressively when he saw you fainted in the dead end of an alleyway at night. You were supposed to be six feet underground—he watched you fall off a skyscraper! He watched you get put six feet underground! How were you alive?

"Shit."

Miles cursed through a frustrated groan as he pushed the covers off his body. The clock in his room enunciated each tick of a second, reminding him how long it had been since he plopped himself on the bed and tried to get some shut-eye. The ticking noise irritated his ears like chalk scraping against a blackboard, and he would have thrown something at it if you and his mother weren't around to hear the damage. Staring at the dim ceiling, he heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes, not to get some sleep but to piece together everything that happened so far. 

First, he found you fainted in an alleyway. He brought you home and decided to hide you in his room. A person who has been dead for nearly two years coming back to life was not the easiest news to break to anybody. He managed not a whole day of concealing your existence before his mother found out when she was tidying up the dirty clothes in his room. Baffled and even a little creeped out, she helped nurse you after you woke up, which was only later that night.

Second, Miles called Uncle Aaron to help make sense of this situation, which led to him finding out that you weren't from this world at all—Miles clenched his fist as his train of thought shattered. 

He always forgot you were not the same [Name] he knew; not the childhood best friend, and not the person he harbored secret romantic feelings for. He wanted so badly for you to be them, for him to be able to turn away from the guilt of not saving you years ago. For the most part, he did. The immense joy of spending these past few days with you, albeit with a few stuttered words and clumsy movements because you were both getting used to each other, was an experience very familiar to how it used to be like with the ‘you’ he knew of. 

Miles took you everywhere upon your request, and his mother encouraged him to go out. He took you to play in the arcade, eat at the local sandwich place, and stand atop a massive neon sign advertising for a corporate brand. The only place he refused to bring you to was the skyscraper where ‘you’ died, and you didn’t push him to do so after the first time he refused. He kept himself relatively guarded these days, much like he has always been. But during the times with you, he has never felt more childish and happy. Chasing you down a crowded street and being forced to hold your hand like a leash was normalcy he forgot he deeply yearned for, and it made him happy. 

The cause of his insomnia was simple: you. More specifically, the fact that you gave him something to think about, to worry about, and to lose.

Miles exhaled with exhaustion as he got off the bed. He thought a cup of water would do him good. It could clear his head. Pushing open his room door quietly to not wake his mother, flashes of colors on the television screen greeted him immediately, accompanied by the rhythmic tilts of your head as you watched the commercials on silent. He raised a brow. You were humming a song in your head; he wondered what it sounded like. Also, you should be sleeping so you can get some rest.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Why aren’t you?” 

“Fair ‘nuff,” Miles muttered as he walked past the couch to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and poured himself some water when you sheepishly trailed into the area to watch him. Your stare made him uncomfortable, so he turned away from you and quickly chucked the whole cup of water down. He almost slammed the cup near the sink, stopping just before the glass could make a noise against the kitchen counter. “What?”

“I thought you have something to do tomorrow,” you said, ignoring his impatient tone. 

“Yeah? What of it?” He shrugged, focusing on cleaning the glass with tap water.

“You should get some rest, then.”

“Thanks, my insomnia is gone now.” He rolled his eyes and wiped his hands on the towel hung on a magnet stuck to the side of the fridge.

The sound of your pitter-patter footsteps followed him as he made his way out of the kitchen. You hovered around him, watching him with squinted eyes as if trying to access him. He ignored you; he found the only way to keep his emotional walls up and guarded was to ignore you as best as possible. He had missed ‘you’ so dearly that even bickering with you was an activity left to be desired, and he could not afford to want more of you than he already did. He set himself a limit, and he planned to stick with it.

“Insomnia!” you whispered with a beaming face as if he didn’t just straightforwardly tell you his problem was his inability to fall asleep. You clapped your hands and held them in front of your chest in an intertwined position. “Let me help you. I know a good way to fall asleep!”

“Being around you is not one of them,” Miles muttered.

"Don't be mean," you said through a huffed-out giggle before you made a beeline to his open room.

He closed his eyes to hold down the pit of quiet rage burning in his chest. Your spontaneity was challenging to handle. His body could keep up with you weaving in and out of crowds. If anything, he was much faster than you could ever be. But his heart could not keep up with having to follow you around constantly, his eyes trailing your back, his legs picking up their pace to go where you go, and his voice talking whenever you talk. He set himself a limit for how much he would let you into his life—

Miles returned to his room to find you sitting cross-legged on his bed, grinning at his arrival.

—and you punched past it with ease. 

"By the way, I'm sorry I have to keep wearing your clothes," you mentioned as you extended your arms, letting his sweater sleeve fall over your hands. "Your uncle's clothes are too big for me, and I don't like wearing sleep gowns."

He didn't mind. "I'll take you to get something when I'm free," he said. He planned to veto anything you wanted to keep you rummaging through his closet. 

"You're taking me shopping?" you pursed your lips into a playful smile before you smacked your face with your hands, your torso squirming about to make an even bigger mockery of the situation. "How sweet, Miles!" 

Too much ease—his walls crumbled like sandcastles under a gust of wind when he turned away from you to allow himself a chuckle. Then he caught himself. He rubbed the tip of his nose and fixed his jaw before returning to you; his less-than-menacing glare became dull and soft once his eyes filled with your reflection. He leisurely pointed at the bedroom door and almost laughed again when he demanded, "Go back to your room."

You pulled a face. He doesn’t get to tell you to do that. “No.”

"Get off my bed, then."

You thought about it for a little before you agreed. Scrambling off, you kept your arms on the edge of his bed, and your legs slumped onto the floor with the bed's support. Miles furrowed his brows when you tapped the empty spot on his bed twice, and he begrudgingly filled the space when he realized you didn't plan on leaving. 

"I got you. You're gonna fall asleep in no time!" you exclaimed quietly, touching his chest. "This helped me a lot when I have trouble sleeping."

"Pattin' your chest helps you fall asleep?" he questioned in disbelief. Then, a beat later, he fired a question with a bitter taste, "Who's touching you like this?" 

“Just me,” you replied, laying your cheek on your forearm. “Patting my chest helps me regulate my breathing, which is good for after I cry.”

He shifted his head slightly to eye you. “You cry a lot?”

“Hmm… no,” you mused. “Just when bad things happen.” 

“Like what?”

“Like these.” 

You lifted your head and raised your arm upward. Taking a break from the beat you rested on his chest, you pulled down the sleeve and flipped your forearm to his direction, showing him a short, bulging scar decorated just below your inner elbow. Miles lifted his body from the pillow and raised a brow curiously at the nasty scar, but he kept his opinion to himself. He watched as you pulled the sleeve down to cover it, and he deduced that there must be more of those injuries scattered across your body. Relaxing back onto his bed, he shrugged.

“One hell of a fall,” he commented.

“No, someone cut me,” you clarified as you leaned back onto your arm and pressed your hand to his chest again, “someone from school.”

It took him a moment to register your words and then another short moment to register the unfamiliar rage traveling through his body. This was unlike himself, unlike what he felt as the prowler. The signature thrill and trigger-happy sensation didn’t exist in this version of his anger. His fingers twitched with each jump of his thoughts, his hooded eyes scratching out an empty figure on the ceiling as if replaying the pain you must have gone through to receive that scar, and he recognized his anger as slow and steady, brooding and demonic. 

There was no use holding a grudge against someone from a universe away, but Miles thought he would kill whoever hurt you. With the right technology, he may even erase their existence forever. Never mind killing; dying, in some sense, was a blessing. What if those people were never even born? Their existence wiped off the face of Earth, reduced to nothingness, with no pictures, no songs, and no memories to preserve even a trace of their livelihood. 

“Hey, you can’t fall asleep like this.” Your voice snapped him out of his trance. “You’re being really tense, Miles.”

“That’s 'cause you’re terrible at helping people fall asleep,” he retorted as the muffling in his ears began to scatter.

You scoffed but didn’t cease the rhythmic pat on his chest. Instead, you turned your focus elsewhere. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“What was I like?” 

He sighed. “I’m not talking about it.” 

“Fresh wound. Got it,” you said with a nod. But he knew better than to let his guard down. The smacking of your teeth was an indication of your mind gears turning—unbeknownst to him, he had your habits memorized in a span of a few days. A frown increasingly widened on your face until your mind map ended, and you hummed at the distaste in your mouth. “Were you in with love them? It feels like you were.”

He glared at you pointedly, but the intimidation passed your head as you leveled him with a curious gaze. Miles choked on his thoughts. Nothing he could do here would stop you from believing in his denial. He could turn away, ignore you, or even verbally deny your question! Nothing would have gotten you to let go of your correct assumption that he was in love with ‘you,’ and by extension, him being in love with you too.

“What made you think I was?” he asked, flipping the attention to you. 

You let out a curt giggle and sheepishly shrunk into yourself. “You’re really nice to me.”

“Because we were friends.”

“Yeah,” you mused with a grimace before you smiled. “But it’s much more interesting to think you were in love, isn’t it?”

He slapped a hand over his eyes and rubbed his face in exhaustion. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course! I’m sorry, it must be tough to have the love of your life watch you while you sleep,” you snickered with a few nods of approval directed at yourself. 

You rested one side of your cheek against the bedsheet, finally deciding to heed his plea to be quiet. Miles took your silence as a chance to close his eyes and finally relax into his headspace. The consistent pat of your palm on his chest served as a hypnotic device to lure you to sleep more than it was for him. The real lure of peace for him was more from your presence in his room and the soft humming that trailed out of your shut lips. That must have been the song you were thinking of when you watched the television on silent; Miles got it memorized after a few loops of it. 

You shifted sleepily on the floor and looked at him. You thought he didn’t look so hateful asleep as he always did. He looked at everything with such coldness, distant enough to be out of reach but close enough to justify hating everything. With you, his eyes held a sense of unwilling defeat, like he was grounding himself on the spot to keep from running to you, and he hated every minute of it even though he thought it was for his own good to shut himself out. He always looked like someone refrained from holding a loved one as they stood before him with open arms.

Your suspicion that he was in love with you from this world didn’t spawn out of nowhere. You merely knew he wasn’t ready to be confronted with his feelings, so you made a humorous joke out of it instead. But you could tell. You could always tell because nobody had ever looked at you like that before, and for once, someone’s unfamiliar eyes made you feel a centuries' worth of romance rather than torture. 

“It’s nice to know a version of me is likable,” you muttered to yourself, and you laughed. "And I thought nobody would ever fall in love with me.”

Miles laid still on his bed for a little longer, listening to the clock tick by. When your humming ceased and your hand stopped patting a beat on his chest, he opened his eyes and carefully turned his body toward your direction. He took a good look at you; his eyes brushed past those identical pair of eyes, your recognizable nose, your soft lips, the curve of your jaw, and your ears made small over his hands. A shivering breath latched at the tip of his tongue, and he had to huff through his nose to remind himself to breathe.

You didn’t wake when he carefully hooked his arm under your legs and pulled you onto his bed. He made space for you on his bed, and he made space for you in his concealed heart that once only belonged to him.

Despite the illusion, his mind knew who you were, but his heart couldn’t pick apart the differences. Except it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. This wasn’t about how you both looked and sounded the same. This was about him and his feelings. This was about him having fallen in love with you before, and now, as he felt his shattered heart piecing itself together through the mere sight of your sleeping face, he was about to do it again. His heart knew you were different, and it did not care. He was ready to fall in love with you again, and he was ready to fall in love with you anywhere.

Because the moon never stops orbiting around the sun. Because Miles chose to let go of himself instead of letting go of the love he has for you. Because he would fall in love with you every time, and he would choose you over himself every time. 

“What do you even know,” he touched your cheek with the back of his knuckles, “about people falling in love with you?”

What do you even know about Miles Morales falling in love with you?

He hugged you close and shut his eyes.

You knew absolutely nothing. 

[flamingpudding]

I now have ideas for Klarion is like Robin au

Batman was caught trying to make a contingency plan for Vlad after Tim said that he was like Ra al Ghul

Something happened were Dr. Fate need the help of Vlad and Klarion but all of them right now are and they're civilian identities so they can't help all but one

Cowboy Lassie

So Vlad takes the JLD puts Red Robin he's there to help cuz they need to get Nanda Parbat

Where are the Justice Dark League get to see Lassie in her cowgirl attire I'm talking standard western shirts boots jeans cowboy hat sunglasses I'm talking country

Along with the large horse made out of Lazarus pit be the biggest hater ever to her father as she literally explains that she hates him so much that she started a cult just to hate him

Vlad was just begging for her to help the only reason she does is cuz he brought up her ma

Dan was too busy to help because of the fact he's the head of the theater committee and had about it Danny has incredibly important meeting that he couldn't leave no matter what

And the rest of his kids definitely not going to help him

I should start feeling sorry for Vlad but this AU is just to funny to do so...

Good I love your ideas!

Also sorry if this is not up to how I usually write, I am kind of stuck in a bit of a writers block again thanks to my work....

Anyway! Here we go!

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

Red Robin, aka Tim, wasn't entirely sure how to go about this at first. Dr Fate had come by saying something about a threat for which they needed the help of 'Chaos' for a change and ranting about how 'Balance' was ignoring him currently because of something that apparently had happened a little while after their last encounter. Now normally this probably wouldn't be to much of a hurdle, if he hadn't tried to be a bit of a smart ass.

Because when he had heard about it Tim in the disguise of paying Dukes school a visit hat looked for Dan Master-Nightingale. Because obviously that was Klarion or rather the current Klarion and the 'Chaos' that could help them out, right? Yeah right...

Before Tim could even approach the other boy the teen had turned around sharply and glared with red eyes at him like he had personally offended him. Which he didn't by the way. Tim was pretty sure he hadn't insulted Klarion errr Dan recently.

"Screw off I got something to do here if we want the next school festival to be a hit. Tell you precious 'Order' to F off unless he apologises to Mom."

That had thrown Tim off a while lot. Because one, that meant Klarion knew who he was behind the Mask too and two, that brat was not going to be helpful or civil with him even out of masks. Not like any of the Klarions every had been but the current one definitely was the rudest among them. But that also meant no help from this agent of 'Chaos'.

Of course Tim wasn't one of the bats and birds for nothing. Bruce had contingency plans for Vlad since he had mentioned his suspicion of the man being like Ra's, so Tim when with the next possible option. If Dr. Fate meant with 'Balance' the Ghost King then they had a way of contacting them. Well not directly them but a contact that could, so he grabbed one of the plans, or part of it at least, and paid a certain millionaire a visit, as Red Robin of course.

It had taken a bit of back and forth, slight arguing in which the man was apparently very insistent in pointing out the time. Which fair it was close to midnight but it was important! In the end Tim had gotten the man to agree to lend them some help but after a phone call that apparently ended with the one on the other side hanging up on Masters themselves the man gave him a peeved look.

"We will have to change plans. Little Badger is not available at the moment and the other kids won't take my calls."

Tim didn't like the sound of that, not because of what Masters sort said about changing plans but the way he used the term 'Little Badger'. For now he would file that back into the back of his mind as his attention went to a map Masters pulled out and spread across his table. The man pointed at a specific place and Tim wanted to face palm. Because of course that man had more connection than just that questionable one between him, the Ghost King and the Klarions.

Masters was pointing at Nanda Parbat.

Good Bruce was going to love this. NOT.

So here he was now Red Robin, dragging a civilian Millionaire and a couple of the Justice League Dark members through the halls of Nanda Parbat as the man directed him where to go while dodging Assassins. For a brief moment he wondered why he hadn't dragged one of his siblings along before he remembered that at least two of them would be grating his nerves even thinner and Batman was busy helping the rest of the JLD containing whatever threat Dr. Fate found until he got the additional help.

A part of him was cursing as he dragged Masters by the cuff of his suit, (who the hell wears a suit when going into an Assassin cult base?!?!), to pull him out of harms way of another trained killer ready to strike the man down. Funnily enough these people all ignored Red Robins presence, like their leader didn't have a sick obsession with him and focused their strikes solely on Masters. That was good and bad, mostly bad but surprisingly the man was somewhat nimble for a civilian. Or there was even more to Masters than they were aware of which Tim also filed way into the back of his mind.

In the end after more or less fighting through half the hide out Masters lead him to a room, that oh great wonder who had thought it, contain the good damn Lazarus Pits! Red Robin wanted to hit that millionaire right now. He wasn't sure how the others present were taking this but he slowly was having enough of that Man.

Red Robin was really contemplating making good on his impulsive thought as a girl in full on cowboy style rose from the Pit waters.

They all, but Masters, blinked at her sudden and dramatic appearance. Masters took a step forward apparently wanting to speak to the girl and Tim only half heartedly because of his sense as hero tried to stop the man.

"Are you done with your cult nonsense, dear little Lassie?"

Red Robin in that moment felt a shiver go down his back when he saw the glare the girl directed at Vlad Masters as well as the room becoming several degrees colder. Mentally, this too, Tim filed back for later.

"No." Red Robin blinked under his mask as the girl snapped with her fingers and the Pit waters around her swirled a green horse appearing out of no where matching her style and he gaped even more the girl unapologetically pointed at Masers who apparently for once got a hint about dodging and ran away as the horse began chasing him.

A part of Red Robin felt like he had to do something to stop this and he caught one of the JLD members with them attempting to step in but the horse completely ignored them. The girl catching his look only waved them off dismissively. "Don't bother. Let Larus have some fun with him, before I sent the entire League after him again for stepping into my turf."

"Isn't Ra's Al Ghul...." He trailed off a little unsure how to proceed here.

"Oh he is sort of the Leader of my merry band of followers of hatred." Red Robin was about to speak again but didn't get a chance as the girl started to ramble on about the logistics of hating someone so much that you raise a cult just for that and the cult just so happens to still have a goal of its own but also are brainwashed to attack on side whenever Vlad Master is involved.

No Red Robin wasn't getting worried. Some of these statements definitely weren't worrying. That the League of Assassins originally was cult to hate just one man in particular was not a shocking revelation. Nor that the Lazarus Pits apparently were alive and also had a hate for Masters. Nor that this girl, Lassie apparently also was a daughter of the Ghost King. And it was definitely not worrying that she apologised for what her cult had done to her family and asked that maybe his older brother should see Vlad Master anytime soon.

Okay everything about that was worrying.

But for now they needed help with a bigger problem. But Red Robin did make a note of breaking back in into Nanda Parbat to have a enlightening talk with Lassie at a later time.

Thankfully after having listened to her rand and mentioning the Ghost King to the girl she did agree to help them. So original goal reached... but several new questions acquired...

[captainhotch]

Labyrinth | Evan Buckley

reader x evan buckley (911)

a/n: new show, new post. i don’t make the rules.

masterlist

You hated the way your heart felt in your chest whenever Evan Buckley would look at you with those stupid, annoying Evan Buckley eyes— like it was weightless, floating around your body between where it was supposed to be, your chest, to the pit of your stomach and then all the way down to your toes.

You hated the smile that was tattooed to your face when you chatted with the man, he could make the weather report interesting you swore it.

And the fact that he looked at you the same way that you looked at him? Well you hated that more than anything.

It was easy to pretend you felt nothing when you knew there truly was nothing. But then you started to look into the man’s eyes and see your future in their soft edges and endless pools of blue— in his even softer smile that was reserved only for you. The smile that would grow against his will at the sight of your own.

You ran into burning buildings as a living. You’ve jumped off of roofs and kicked down doors and nearly died more times than you could count— and the unknown, what could happen between you and the man that you had just come to terms with being in love with, well that was the scariest thing you had ever faced.

And the fact that you knew in your soul that he loved you back— that made it scarier. Because if Evan Buckley broke your heart, you weren’t sure you would ever recover.

Your head was thrown back in laugher at whatever stupid story Buck was telling, something about him swearing that his apartment was, without a doubt, haunted. And how the ghost was moving things to taunt him. (Little did the man know that it was most definitely Eddie and everyone in the 118 had been feeding the man ideas on what to do next for the past two months.)

His hands were moving around in that animated way that made the corners of your lips quirk upwards unnaturally, that big smile that was reserved only for him. “It’s not funny.” He insisted, fighting the grin but unable to not smile back.

“It’s a little bit funny.” You shrugged, pinching your fingers together with little space in between. “Do you need me to come scare the ghosts away for you.”

“Yes, actually.” He huffed, arms now crossed over his chest, pout painted on his pretty pink lips. “But if you end up possessed, don’t come crying to me.”

“Wow,” you floundered in mock offense, “so you wouldn’t save me? That’s unbelievably fake of you I can’t lie.”

Buck was silent for a moment, eyes finding yours with a misplaced seriousness considering the conversation you were nearly an hour into,

“I’d do literally anything for you.”

You felt the words tattoo themselves to your heart. You knew he meant it.

It clicked in that moment— what it was you weren’t entirely sure, but all at once you felt nothing. Nothing aside from the hand of yours that found his across the table, not remembering reaching over in the first place, and the warmth that found its place in your chest.

Again you watched your future in those blue eyes before speaking. “You scare me.” You admit finally after a moment of just watching— understanding each other.

He nodded knowingly.

“But I’m tired of being scared, Buck. I just wanna be happy.”

He turned his hand over to grab yours, fingers interlocking as he brought them up to those impossibly distracting lips of his. “You make me so happy.” He practically whispered against the back of your hand, pressing a kiss so soft into the skin, you weren’t sure if you had imagined it.

“Let me love you. Please let me love you, I’m so tired of pretending like I don’t.” You felt the passion in his voice down to your toes. That feather light feeling in your chest returned, and for once your brain wasn’t telling you to run.

“You’re really bad at pretending.” You whisper with a soft smile. “I don’t wanna be scared anymore.” You admit in a more serious tone. “I want to be loved by you, Buck.” You affirmed with a nod, hoping you wouldn’t regret it— knowing you wouldn’t.

His hand dropped yours, moving to cradle your face instead. He was so gentle, his eyes were so soft— you brought your fingers up to lightly pinch his chin, eyes fluttering closed as you moved in close enough for his nose to brush yours.

“I love you.” You finally admitted, the words that once held heavy in your tongue being set free.

He was quick to pull you in closer, lips meeting yours in the slowest, softest kiss of your life. One you weren’t sure you’d ever admit to having dreamt about.

It was still so so scary— loving Buck, letting him love you.

But even more worth it

[silhouetteonpaper]

MISSING

Summary: When another average day of work leaves you with piles and piles of casework, you’re surprised to see the missing persons report amidst the stack of papers. Jumping headfirst into solving the case, who could have ever predicted where it would leave you? Natasha Romanoff x Reader WC: 2,343 Warnings: Talks of experimentation, mentions of gruesome events

MISSING

Another stack of word-heavy papers are thrown onto your desk with a thud. You sigh, glaring at the agent who dropped them off, now leaving quickly in an effort to avoid any protest. Learning forward, you pick up the papers and start skimming through their contents.

New case file… missing persons… the same type of case work that usually fills your time, nothing about it catches your eye—that is, until you flip to the missing person’s profile. A blurry, black-and-white photo of a little girl is stapled to the page, the black text containing very little information.

It’s not the fact she’s a young girl that catches your eye—most missing persons’ cases these days have something to do with finding a child or family member now that the blip is over. But this file had nothing to do with that, instead a different kind of anomaly you weren’t expecting.

Missing Person: Super-human Abilities - RED LEVEL THREAT. The text leaves your mouth dry, thumbs frantically searching through the file to find any helpful information. Last seen in 2003… that’s far from helpful. It’s hard to tell what age the young girl is in the photo, but if you had to guess, you’d say around eight years old.

You’re no stranger to unknown super-humans on the loose, but a red level threat is never anything to take lightly. Still, something about her expression makes your heart ache, though it’s hard to make out small details from the pixelated image. You can tell she’s scared, and the only thing you hope is that she’s somehow safe. Because looking at the lackluster file, you have no clue how you’re going to solve this.

Hoping to get some added guidance, you take the troublesome case to the smartest people you know. Sitting around the conference table while discussing something definitely not related to work, you have no trouble interrupting by placing the papers in front of Tony Stark.

“I need your guys’ help on this case.” You voice, watching Natasha and Tony look up with a confused curiosity. They take turns looking over the file, glancing back and forth between each other and its pages.

“A red level threat, huh? Since when are they giving you big cases?” Tony teases nonchalantly, earning an eye roll from you. Grabbing back the papers after Natasha finishes skimming them, you watch as Tony types away on his computer.

“There’s barely anything on her, this is seriously all we know?” Nat questions, eyeing both you and Tony for confirmation. You only nod, taking another peek at the file yourself. Maybe if you read it enough times, some hidden information would reveal itself. 

Your focused research is interrupted when Tony lights up. “We’re in business! I matched the image to the location it was taken…” he pulls up a hologram screen, displaying the digital files he somehow accessed. Immediately relieved you came to these two for help, you watch as a map appears before your eyes.

Suddenly, pit of dread forms in your stomach, the building marked clearly with an all too familiar logo. “HYDRA.” You state, seeing the same skull and tentacle logo that haunts your past. It’s no secret you were experimented on all those years ago, but it’s not something you talk about often.

Now finding solace in helping the Avengers, you’ve found a way to make light of your dark past. But right now, all that matters is making sure whoever this girl is has that same chance. You blink away tears that seemed to form as you’re brought back to the present. “Do you think they still have her? After all this time?” Natasha questions, taking in every detail of the map.

“Well, who filed her as missing?” Tony asks you. You can only shrug, knowing that information is usually classified. The only information you had wasn’t as helpful to the matter.

“All I know is she was filed missing back in 2003, and now they’re re-opening the case. I’m assuming it’s because they’ve figured out she’s got HYDRA level enhancements.” I explain, thinking out loud. Tony nods, turning the hologram off as he continues his own research.

“You can’t go missing unless someone is looking for you in the first place. Do you think she had a family? Or do you think HYDRA is behind this?” Natasha continues to think. You ponder her idea for a moment.

Would HYDRA really be smart enough to do what Nat is insinuating? “Like if she escaped, and HYDRA’s using this as a way to sniff her out?” You hypothesize, the nerves inside your chest growing.

Natasha nods. “Bingo.” It’s not that you don’t believe it could be true, it’s that you hope it isn’t. You know more than anyone just how scary it is to be HYDRA’s secret weapon one minute and target the next.

“I’ll see if I can find who filed the report back in 2003,” Tony offers. “In the meantime, try to find anything helpful. If we knew her abilities, we could track them.”

You take a deep breath, nodding before exiting his office to find any scraps of information possible. It’s hard to deny you’re unsettled by this case, the missing girl’s story quite similar to yours. While you think you’re in a healthy mindset to solve this mystery, a part of you still hasn’t fully processed what happened.

HYDRA is known for their experimentation on kids, and you’re not surprised that yet another victim is on the loose. But the feeling of an innocent girl now corrupted by their malice actions makes your heart ache. After all, you were once that girl.

Brushing aside your past to the best of your ability, you decide to search through the HYDRA manifest SHIELD acquired long ago. It was a record of all experiments they performed, one of the only copies as HYDRA wanted to keep it on the down low.

The boxes of browned paper seemed endless, barely any organization to the multitude of files; heaps of innocent lives all written onto paper like objects. Each sheet of paper included one subject, occasionally a photo, and everything done to them. You can't help but skim some of the text, your stomach flipping at the cruel procedures.

After three hours of sifting through novels worth of paper, you decide to take a break. Tony probably has more information at this point, or at least you hope. You’re in need of some good news after seeing the terrifying reality of so many of those HYDRA victims.

“Hey, any updates?” You ask Tony as you stroll into his office. He nods, pulling his attention from whatever he was working on.

“The report was called in by a married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson,” He shrugs. “There’s not much else on them in my system, they seem to be an average suburban family.”

Sighing, you rub your forehead in deep thought. “Of course they have one of the most common last names… damn it.”

“How’s your research going?” Tony asks, genuinely curious. You laugh in a slightly manic demeanor, all those hours of looking through files making you delirious.

“Not great. I’ve been searching through the HYDRA manifest all day, and so far nothing. I’ve barely made a dent.” You explain. Tony stands, making you raise a brow.

“I’ll help, we all will. C’mon, let’s find this missing kid.”

It doesn’t take long for Tony to gather the entire team in the storage room, everyone pulling out profiles to identify your missing girl. You can feel each Avenger hesitate as more and more gruesome content appears on the pages, some of the heroes unaware of how terrible HYDRA really could be.

You’re about to give up, another few hours having passed. It’s a seemingly endless flood of victims, and if anything it’s making you more depressed. As you shift in your seat, about to stand, Natasha gets your attention.

“Uh, guys…” Her weary voice makes your heart stop beating. The entire team keeps their eyes glued to her while silence fills the space.

“What is it Nat?” You finally ask. It’s like the redhead's eyes are stuck on the paper, her mouth open but no words seem to come out.

“I…” Natasha starts, but the words catch in her throat. You’re about to rip the paper from her hands when she finally speaks. “The girl… it’s you.” Her eyes land directly on you in fear, the air inside your lungs disappearing as she flips the paper toward you.

There’s no way, you tell yourself. You’ve made amends with the past you’d never be able to recover; it isn’t possible that now, all these years later it’s suddenly appearing out of thin air. But Natasha’s right, the photo clipped to paper is a clear image of a younger looking you, there’s no denying it.

Everyone is in shock, your ears ringing as you take the paper from her hands. It wouldn’t have mattered though, the entire room was engulfed in silence as the team waited for your reaction.

Sure enough, on the page read your full name, the detailed list of everything you went through now flashing before your eyes. The storm that once gripped your entire life was all coming back, and you couldn’t stop it.

“I have to go-“ You manage to voice before dropping the paper and fleeing the room, your fear carrying you faster than your body as you end up locked away in your bedroom. The little girl caught in your past finds her way back inside you; the dread fills your chest as you sink to the floor.

Tears begin to cascade down your cheeks, the young girl with terrified beady eyes burned into your mind now staring straight at you. You can’t get rid of her even if you tried, no matter how many years pass or how far you run.

This job was supposed to save you, the girl who was fleeing in search of hope. And it did, for a while, each day filled with saving the world in one way or another. But now, in your overwhelmed state, you’re not sure if you can ever truly be saved.

A soft knock on the door makes you jump, the fervent anxiety increasing as you turn to see who’s brave enough to check on you.

Of course, it’s exactly who you expected. “Hey,” Natasha steps into the room, her concerned expression showing as she bends down next to you. “I know this is all a lot, but there’s something you need to see.”

You feel like you’re glued to the floor, but something about Nat’s soothing voice convinces you to wipe your tears and follow her all the way into Tony’s lab.

The entire team is already there, everyone looking up with worried faces as soon as you step inside. It makes you want to crawl back to your room, but a part of you can’t deny you’re curious as to what Nat needs you to see.

“Remember how I said an average married couple filed the missing persons report?” Tony reminds you as you approach him. You nod, sniffing back stray tears. “Well, I looked at your HYDRA file a little closer. Your birth name is at the bottom… Johnson. It looks like HYDRA changed it to avoid any suspicion.”

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to widen. You easily understand the connection between you and whoever filed the report. They are family, and they’re looking for you. Seeing your unsure expression, Tony motions for you to look at his computer screen. In the time it took you to have your meltdown, he’s already scanned your HYDRA file.

“Here, see? Birth name, Johnson. And over here… missing persons report filed by Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. That can’t be a coincidence.” He explains. You look over the screen, a new kind of anxiety filling you.

You don’t remember your parents, all those years of torture at HYDRA blocked out too many memories; you eventually just tried to forget everything about your past, unable to sort through what was good or bad. Even though you’re more than content here with the Avengers, there’s a part of you that longs for true family.

“I want to talk to them.” You state blankly. The group of heroes all exchange an unsure look.

Natasha puts a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure? There’s a chance they aren’t-“

“I want to talk to them, please.” You repeat, nodding at Tony. He takes a deep breath, looking the pair up on his computer like last time. It takes only a moment for him to get an address for their workplace, a bakery a few miles away.

The idea of having family that works at a bakery makes you smile, but a part of you feels a sense of anger. It could have been part of your childhood, but it wasn’t. You didn’t grow up amongst the fresh loaves of bread and pastries, you were raised by criminals who used you.

Swallowing whatever overwhelming emotion swirled inside, you took a deep breath and mustered up any spare courage. “Thank you, I’ll be back later,” You manage to tell the group. You can see the look on Natasha’s face, like she’s about to offer to join you on your venture. 

Cutting her short before she can speak, you reassure her. “I need to do this alone, I think. I’ll call you if I need anything.” She only nods as you walk toward the door.

“Wait,” Nat finally speaks up, her familiar concerned expression unwavered. “Whatever you learn, know that you’ll always have a place here. I think I speak for everyone when I say we have so much love for you.” Her words make the entire team nod in agreement, and you feel your eyes water once again.

Holding the tears off for now, you give Natasha one last hug before swiftly exiting the building, your feet carrying you with a new hope toward the bakery that holds your future.

[serenaoffaerun]

The Proust Effect

Screenshot and fiction by me, SerenaOfFaerun - please do not use for your own purposes.

Written for @bekilybi for the @bloodweavesanctuary's Fall Flash Exchange.

Prompt word: Sweaters

Relationships: Astarion/Gale (Bloodweave)

Tags: Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Domestic Fluff. Fluffity Fluff Fluff Flufferson. Established Relationship. One teensy mention of Cazador. Blink and you'll miss it. Sweet Astarion. Sweet Gale.

Words: 1.8K

Summary: Post-Netherbrain Astarion is reminiscing about times with Gale brought on by the scent in the wizard's sweater. The sweater that the vampire stole before his husband went out of town. After accepting the fact that he's going to just be sad and lonely until Gale returns, a mysterious portal appears in their kitchen...

Read it on AO3 here, or keep reading below the fold.

The Proust Effect

Sandalwood, lavender, and campfire.

Astarion breathed deeply, the purple fabric of Gale's favorite sweater bunched up around his neck and face, that scented blend filling his senses. He sighed as he gazed out of the sitting room window into the back yard. His rose bushes had finished blooming, the last of their petals littering the ground below. The handful of trees they had on their property were at their peak fall colors.

In the distance, the horizon was a swath of oranges, yellows, and reds, highlighted by the golden rays of the setting sun (which was fortunately on the other side of the tower). It reminded Astarion of a campfire. He closed his eyes and took another slow, deep breath as images flashed behind his eyes.

A campfire, surrounded by scared, tadpoled adventurers. Companions. Friends. His lover sitting next to him, hands on each others’ knees. Little moments where he’d bring Gale’s hand up to his lips to place a kiss on those battle-weary palms before holding it to the side of his chilled face. Even though he didn’t technically need breath, he’d take a deep inhale anyway, the lavender of his soap and the sandalwood that Gale used mingling together with the woody smoke and calming his nerves like his own personal aromatherapy. In those fireside evenings, fears were temporarily washed away by the wine, laughter, and love. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept them all going.

Another inhale conjured visions of fireballs thrown and enemies defeated. The side glances and smirks exchanged between lovers protecting each other on the battlefield. Checking on each other at the end of a skirmish, sweat and musk and relief filling the air as they’d embrace, grabbing stolen kisses to remind each other that they’d lived to fight another day.

Yet another memory caused his undead heart to ache. As Astarion breathed in again, he recalled sitting on a wooden bench, the same one that still sits in front of the rose bushes. He had watched Gale light the fire pit they'd built shortly after Astarion moved in. Due to his…condition…most of their outdoor time together was spent in the evenings. Putting in a fire pit barely required discussion. It was the perfect romantic addition to their yard.

They spent many nights around that campfire, but Astarion’s favorite ones involved snuggling up against each other, glasses of wine in hand, warming each other against the chill of the autumn evenings. They had bought each other the coziest of knit sweaters that first fall season. Astarion's was a deep, rich red with white embroidery around the neck, wrists, and waist, much resembling Gale's camp shirt from their adventures. Gale's sweater was a deep purple with golden stars scattered about in a streak across the front, winding around the bottom on the back. Many, many evenings in the fall and spring were spent out back wrapped in those gifts of warmth and love.

Astarion opened his eyes, still wrapped in the feel and the scent of that purple sweater that he'd snatched from Gale's wardrobe this morning. Between the fiery sunset and the smell of the sandalwood mingling with lavender and leftover campfire smoke from a week prior, the memories were so strong that he felt the ache in his chest rise into his throat. Unshed tears blurred his vision.

He missed his husband.

He missed Gale's strong, defined arms wrapped around his cold, undead chest, warming him with the force of his love alone. He missed the scratch of Gale's beard on his neck, especially over his long-worn bite scars from Cazador that Gale loved to cover up with kisses and nips and licks.

Astarion longed to hear the hums of contentment that he’d get from Gale when he let the wizard lay on his chest and snuggle. After a long day of teaching at the academy, Gale’s favorite place to be was curled up like a cat on top of Astarion on the couch, the vampire’s long, pale fingers carding through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp. If Astarion were being honest, it was his favorite place too.

Breathing in again, he curled tighter into himself and swallowed down the lump in his throat as he pictured Gale’s puppy dog eyes and charming smile. That smile was the fastest way to bring life to his dead, vampiric heart. It made Astarion feel safe. Comforted. Protected. But as his love was off at an educator's conference for a few more days, he'd have to make do with the coziness and warmth of the purple sweater.

He sighed and thought to himself, ‘Might as well get a glass of wine and settle in with a book for the evening.’ Taking one final inhale of that heartbreakingly familiar scent, Astarion stood up, smoothed the sweater out, and walked towards the kitchen.

The sound of magic fizzling in the air made his head snap towards the door. Small, glittering plumes of purple smoke came together and swirled into the shape of a portal, growing in size until a silhouette started stepping through. Thinking quickly, Astarion reached over to the kitchen counter, just steps away, and grabbed a large chopping knife. Wielding it like a dagger, something he had rarely done since the fight with the Netherbrain, he whipped back around in a fighting stance.

As the smoky magic cleared, however, the silhouette took on a very familiar frame. A human, long hair pulled back halfway in a bun, in teaching robes…

Gale froze mid-swipe as he was brushing off said robes. Looking up at the shocked face of his lover, he raised his eyebrows, sheepishly grinned, and said, “…H-hi Honey, I’m home?”

Without looking away, eyes as big as saucers, Astarion reached over and dropped the knife on the counter. “You idiot,” he breathed. “You almost gave me a heart attack! And I’m dead!!” The vampire clutched his chest dramatically, earning a hearty laugh from Gale.

“I’m so sorry, my love, I wanted to surprise you!” He opened his arms and started walking towards the kitchen. “Come here.”

As it dawned on him that Gale was actually home, mere feet from him, the lump in his throat came surging back. Tears once again welled up in his eyes as he laughed and threw his arms around his husband’s neck. Astarion held on for dear life, his emotions still raw from his scent-induced trip down memory lane. He leaned into the crook of his partner’s neck, nuzzled his nose into the brown and silver locks, and softly said “I missed you so much, darling.” It took everything he had not to let his voice break.

Gale wrapped his arms around Astarion’s back with equal ferocity, breathed in deeply, and sighed contentedly. “I missed you too, my star.”

He stood and rocked his vampire love gently from side to side for a moment before he heard a sniffle and a shaky breath. Pulling back and gently holding the sides of Astarion’s face, Gale saw the tears that streaked his cheeks. Wiping them away with his thumbs, brows knitted together, he asked, “Why the tears, my love?”

Astarion looked down, chuckled, shook his head and said, “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just an emotional sap today.” He sniffled again and fidgeted with the cuffs of the purple sweater, baggy around his slender wrists. “I had just been sitting here thinking of how much I missed you. I was remembering our…wait a minute.” His voice dropped for the last bit. He looked back up and cocked his head like a curious dog. “Why are you home? I thought your conference lasted all week!”

Gale shrugged and answered, “The presenter for the remaining lectures unfortunately had a death in the family and had to return home. While any one of us in attendance could have easily talked the others under the table with theories on educational practices, we all decided we valued some extra time off even more.” He pulled Astarion’s face in and kissed him gently before walking back over to the door to hang up his robes. “I almost forgot to go back to the inn to grab my things before rushing back here,” he added with a laugh.

Crossing his arms in front of him, Astarion leaned back against the counter, restraining himself from tackling his husband and taking him right there on the kitchen floor. Gale’s aching knees wouldn’t appreciate that, and the only thing on his mind right now was reacquainting his lover with their bed for what would have otherwise been the remainder of his time away.

He realized that Gale had looked up at him and was chuckling again. Astarion asked, “What’s so funny?”

“You’re wearing my sweater,” Gale answered as he worked at the buckles of his teaching robes.

“Like I said,” Astarion replied, “I missed you. Terribly. We haven’t been apart for longer than a day or two before and I needed to feel like you were close.”

Gale’s shoulders dropped and lip pouted slightly as he looked at his dear, sweet husband like he’d just said the most adorable thing in the world. The endearing vampire continued, “When I start to miss you, I grab this sweater and throw it on for a bit so I can breathe you in and it feels like you’re here. Besides, it keeps me warm, and I couldn’t find my sweater. You know, the red one you’d bought me at the same time. Did you send it to be laundered before you left? Why are you still laughing? What’s so funny about me wearing your sw…”

Astarion was once again at a loss for words. His slacked jaw slowly curved up into the biggest smile as he realized why his husband was so amused. After Gale hung up his robes, he turned back around, grinning so widely as he straightened his sweater. Rather, Astarion’s sweater. The deep red sweater with the white embroidery around the neck, wrists, and waist.

Chuckling and shaking his head, eyes glistening, Astarion walked towards him and said, “We are a couple of sentimental fools, aren’t we?”

Gale pulled his love in close by the waist and kissed him, deeply. Astarion let a few more thankful tears fall as he not only returned the kiss, but added an element of urgency. Their lips never left each other as they stumbled down the hall towards the comfort of their bed.

They would spend the rest of the week in that room, making love and snuggling in each others’ arms. Similarly, the arms of their sweaters would lay entangled with each other in a pile on the floor, the essences of their owners once again mingling into their own personal blend of scented comfort.

Thank you so much for reading!!

This is also baby's first AO3 post! I have a few more things to put up, but I'm waiting until I get a big project off my list so I can focus on them properly. Then, I have a SPREADSHEET full of writing prompts I've been challenged to write - all from BG3!

I plan on coming back and adding a drawing to this piece, as I intend to for MOST of my pieces. I just unfortunately ran out of time this week. Soon though!

You can follow progress of my other works and art pieces on Tumblr and on AO3 under SerenaOfFaerun.

If this fuzzy lil' comfort story made you smile, please leave a kudos (AO3), a like/reblog (Tumblr), and maybe even a comment! I hope it brought you joy 💜❤️

[vicsy]

Many people won't care about me writing about this but I must get this out.

I got into Formula 1 at the beginning of 2022. It coincided with the world as I knew it collapsing in on itself with record speed. I don't hide the fact that I am from Russia and I know most people would know what my country started in February that year. You watch your entire life plans getting crumpled like a piece of paper and thrown into the trash; the borders closing, companies leaving, the world turning back on you for the sole fact that you were born here. You watch yourself slowly inched into isolation.

And at the worst time in my entire life I managed to find this little gateway. It started with Lando, funnily enough, because I didn't know my way around the F1, so I picked someone with a Star Wars name. Irony is not dead. It wasn't long before I imprinted on Daniel like a fucking baby duckling.

Even through the mess that was his career in 2022, he brought me (and many others) so much joy. I was slowly navigating the world of racing and trying to make sense of it all. Daniel was there. The narratives were there. He is the reason I discovered the fanbase, the fandom, the reason I met so many people I get to call lifelong friends now. And I can't imagine my life without them anymore. At my lowest I found a community that made my life bearable and fun and bright; a community that made me want to create and write again. Daniel was the reason I broadened my horizons and became a Fernando fan, Lance fan, a fan of so many other drivers that I still have the joy to support even when Daniel won't be there, behind the wheel or barking in the garage.

You'd think that it's stupid to hang your entire life balance on one millionaire who drives cars in circles and won't ever know you exist. But to me Daniel became that balance when everything else was just plainly uncertain. I watched the news of the world events unfolding and that pit of dread was never ending. It was like having a rug pulled from underneath your feet every single day. Those first 2-3 months of the war felt the worst. Not like it changed but you get the idea. But I still had this little F1 world and this smiling weirdo to brighten my day.

The friends that I found, the happiness that I managed to scrap in the times of great uncertainty, all of this was tied to Daniel. He was, in a way, a lifeline that led me to a hobby that I've grown to love. It hurt me back, multiple times, but it also saved my sanity on so many occasions.

I know, in my heart, Daniel will bounce back. Who knows, maybe he'll be back one day, in 2026, or doing something related to F1. Or maybe he chooses to stay away forever. Me, personally? Of course I'd like to see him race. And I hate change. The change of it all hurts as much as the fact that Daniel never got a proper goodbye. I do hope he knows, somehow, how much he is loved.

And I'll forever cherish the fact that I got to see him live in Baku, that I stood in front row an listened to him explain his terrible pizza choices. I heard him say well done, Baku first hand. I'm glad I got there in time to get a signed card. I'll always have the warmest feelings towards Daniel. If not for him, my life would be emptier today.

oh, and, never forget – fuck 'em all.

[trashogram]

Charlie Kills Valentino One-Shot

Warning: Rated M for Mature. Descriptions of graphic violence, dismemberment, blood, the insanity of staring evil in the face, etc., OOC Charlie (I guess 😒)

Charlie grimaced as she brushed ash from her pants. Valentino’s bluster had thrown a surprising amount of debris in her direction. She couldn’t help but think, somewhere in the very back of her brain, that that had been on purpose.

Then again, she was still mortified by the electrical fire she’d set accidentally, so perhaps she couldn’t fault Valentino for that. 

Still, Charlie looked around the remains of the set, at the cast and crew that had not yet left post-disruption. The lot of them were huddled in the furthest corners of the room, or loitering away from the damage… and from the door that Angel Dust and Valentino had disappeared into.

It made the princess pause, to see some of these demons, even ones that towered over her in black latex and leather masks, trembling about the shoulders and hands. Not the most obvious thing, but Charlie’s enhanced sight could pick out the inconsistencies. 

With black lips pursed, Charlie sidled up to the demon who’d not yet withdrawn his boom mic. “Does this happen a lot?”

“What you mean? Do bitches come in here and burn down the place all the time?” Beady eyes glared at her as the horned devil gave her a sharp smirk. “Nuh-uh, just you.” 

A flare up of guilt and indignance caught up with Charlie’s already rosy cheeks, and she tried not to pout. 

“No, no, I mean -” Charlie took a breath. “I mean does Mr. Valentino frighten you all the time?”

Her counterpart’s eyes popped open wide as her simple question seemed to completely catch him off-guard. It was answer enough, and Charlie felt the pit in her stomach grow as the mic guy’s gaze turned shifty. 

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about lady.” He was shuffling away from her now, trying to put as much distance between them as he could. 

Charlie swallowed past the growing lump in her throat, before turning to the dressing room door at a loud crash. 

The sound of clattering glass and snapping wood brought Hell’s princess forward until she was right in front of the door. Heart racing, she listened as something reasonably heavy was yanked through the space and slammed into furniture. 

“- think she can get you out of work?” Valentino asked amidst the sound of gagging and gurgling. 

Charlie’s eyes widened. She turned her head, ear to the door as she heard what could only be Angel Dust struggling against the moth lord’s grip. 

“No! Th-that’s not what I’m tryin’ to do, I- No!” Angel pleaded before being thrown again, this time far closer to the door. 

Charlie’s hand instinctively went to her mouth, eyes beginning to well up with tears as the reality set in. 

“You know she can’t do anything. I own you.” Val continued. “Or did you forget that?” 

“… No.” Angel stared at the golden scroll before him, his own name flashing callously before him. He couldn’t work up the energy to struggle against the magenta chains wrapped around his neck.

Behind him, Valentino opened up his maw, ready to spew more - smoke or commands, Angel Dust didn’t know. 

He’d never know, in fact. The dressing room door had slammed open before Val could continue, and in the doorway a seething blonde princess huffed and puffed. 

Charlie’s naturally yellow scelera had changed to a crimson hue. Two sharp masses parallel with those murderous eyes began to grow from the crown of her head. Her black nails now resembled claws, long and sharp enough to dig into the dressing room door until she was clutching a handful of splinters. 

Her pinpoint pupils were scanning the room so quickly it was as if they weren’t even visible before they locked in on the image of Angel Dust on his knees. 

Her sharp intake of breath seemed to somehow steal all the air from Angel’s own lungs. 

She saw it. She saw the black eye, the chain around his throat that Valentino hadn’t yet had time to dissipate. Charlie could see his battered body forced into submission in a way he’d never wanted.

“What. The. Fuck.” The naturally perky voice that he’d grown so accustomed had lowered to an almost unrecognizable register. It seemed to double until her voice was layered in both high and low pitch, unnatural and ominous. 

Angel Dust stared up at her, fur standing on end. 

“Princesa!” Valentino greeted, chains slackening as he once again put on an act. “What seems to be the problem -”

In an instant, Val was robbed of words as he was thrown back into the wall. Various objects went flying with him, including Angel’s wardrobe rack and various pink and purple gift boxes. The vanity’s mirror cracked down the center, bulbs in its heart-shaped frame exploding with the force of the princess’s rage while the drawers shot out and knick-knacks tumbled to the shag carpet below. 

Angel reacted instinctively, ducking from the glass with his arms curled protectively over his face. He felt more than saw Charlie stomping past him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” Charlie’s voice had switched from low to shrill fast enough to give one whiplash. “Who are you to treat him like this?!”

Valentino slumped over and out of the Val-shaped hole in the wall, disoriented to where he couldn’t keep the stunned expression off his face. 

It was replaced by one of outrage and vitriol a second later as pink slime dribbled from his bare fangs. “Aieeee, who the fuck do you think you are to come in here and tell me how to run my business? Pequeña perra… ” 

Angel Dust flinched at the harsh sound of a slap, horror causing a tingle in his legs and fuzziness in his head. The rush of blood as he snapped up to look behind him hurt, but the image of Charlie being struck to the ground propelled him in a way little else could.

“Charlie!” Angel’s voice cracked in his panic, pushing himself to stand despite the numbness in his arms. 

The unmistakable sound of tearing flesh made Angel want to throw up, to run as fast he could out of that room and never look back. He couldn’t bear it, the very thought of Charlie - sweet, well-meaning, pain-in-the-ass Charlie - with eyes that watched him so softly and fondly - Charlie, being hurt by Val. 

Angel wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he just cowered in the corner and left her to be mauled. When he finally stood up on shaking legs, the spider demon took a step in their direction. 

He took another step, and another, trying to find his way blindly as red and black distorted his vision. A searing-hot hand stopped him in his tracks, laid against his chest in warning and jarring his senses back into place. 

Angel Dust blinked rapidly until he realized what he was actually seeing. 

On the ground in front of him, Valentino was splayed haphazardly. The overlong coat that covered his torso was stained with red and frayed all over, as if a swarm had moth-eaten his finest frills. His hat was gone, antennae crushed and matted to the floor. The shades he’d usually don on his smarmy face were broken into several pieces and stuck out of his unnaturally bright eyes.

Val’s fangs were still visible, but now cut down and cracked as he gasped for air. His mouth was round into an ‘o’ shape, not from pleasure but instead a silent scream as he convulsed on the ground. 

Heart still racing, Angel felt as if he’d left his own body with the dazed realization that the overlord was missing limbs. Two of his arms had been torn clean off and thrown, leaving streaks of blood against the ground 

Charlie surveyed the damage with Angel, breathing heavy. Her aura was still pulsing with rage and malice so potent that Angel felt both repulsed and compelled by it, as if he were being sucked into a black hole while kicking and screaming. 

Charlie bent at the waist, reaching out to pluck Valentino by the antenna. The pimp seized and his mouth worked, contorting into words he couldn’t vocalize as he was pulled eye to eye with the princess of Hell. 

The hate in her blood-red gaze was mesmerizing, the only thing Valentino could focus on as his senses began failing him. To look into Charlie’s eyes was to look into the face of madness in that moment. The overlord felt as if his insides were being slowly pulled apart, flesh splitting at unknown seems that made the pain of having his limbs ripped off pale in comparison. 

He couldn’t look away. 

“If I ever see you again, this - ” Charlotte yanked until the skin and tendons of the moth’s throat began to rip open, “is going to be the rest of your eternity.”

Valentino’s head popped off with a wet snap.

[jhilsara]

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Chapter 3

She’s standing outside the pub waiting for Hobie to pick her up. She’s bouncing on her feet in excitement as she looks down the street seeing his silhouette.

His hands are shoved in his vest pockets as a crooked smile crosses his face when he sees her.

“I take it you're ready then?” He asks looking her over with an amused expression. She's practically vibrating with joy. 

“Absolutely! I love this group, I didn’t even know they were in town.” She says smiling brightly at him.

Hobie’s eyes lazily look over her and she raises a brow. “What, is it there something on me?” She asks cocking her head.

“Nah, you just look good is all.” He says flicking a golden star on her dangling belt that’s attached to her skirt.  "Color compliments your skin." 

She gives a quick spin in her outfit, showing off her skirt and some glitter flies off of her. “Thanks, wanted an excuse to wear some fun colors!” She snickers and starts walking down the street. “C’mon I don’t wanna be late.”

Hobie just gives a chuckle as he shakes his head and walks beside her comfortably.

The small rock show is playing inside one of the shitty abandoned buildings on the streets of Old York. The place is practically falling apart but that’s half the charm of it. Many bands have played shows there for years and it’s mostly safe. Occasionally a brick will fall but it’s usually not around people. It's in a warehouse that's in some old industrial district, MJ's been there for a few other shows and has always had a great time. This show is probably the biggest crowd she's seen at this venue.

The two of them make their way in and shove through the sea of people. MJ is practically vibrating in excitement and Hobie’s just watching her joy. She can feel his stare but when she turns to look he's just giving her the softest smile. It blossoms a warmth in her chest.

When the band walks out and starts playing the crowd roars to life. The building may be cramped but it’s fun and has electricity in the air. The band had brought a fog machine and the lights were bold colors of flashing pinks, yellows, and purples and it flood her senses. It's hot and sweaty as she dances and pulls Hobie along. He’s more than happy to join her, meeting her beat for beat.

The tight crowd makes it a little muggy but she doesn't care. Her olive tan skin is coating in a thin layer of sweat and she's scream singing along to the lyrics. Her hands are on Hobie's shoulders as she jumps to the beat just enjoying the night. Hobie's hands are on her waist as he holds her in place. Making sure she doesn't slam into anyone.

The ground shakes from the crowd dancing and singing together, but that’s normal. MJ has her head thrown back in laughter and joy, just enjoying her night. The people, noises, and lights over stimulating her in the best way.

Then the building starts to wobble. In a way that’s not a part of the music. It makes MJ trip over her own feet, Hobie catches her easily and they both look at each other in concern. She turns to look around and other people seemed to be stumbling as well. Even the band had stuttered in their music. Hobie’s hands move to graze her arm when another quake shakes them. The band keeps going and the rest of the crowd seems unphased at the second tremor.

MJ’s about to suggest they leave, feeling a pit in the bottom of her stomach. She's suddenly on edge and feels a shiver run down her spine when something crashes into the old building, shaking its structure causing parts to collapse. Hobie pushes MJ away from him and before she can yell to warn him. She narrowly misses the pillar that falls between them. Screams of panic disorient her and she can’t see past the smoke and dust kicking up. More tremors shake the ground and the building comes falling down in chunks.

“Hobie!” She screams, coughing and trying to find a way around the rubble separating them.

“I’m alright! Get out of here, I can’t climb over this. I’ll find you!” He shouts back.

Her body is telling her to run but she feels dread fill her at the idea of running off, “I’m not leaving without you!” She yells back, looking up over the fallen architecture.

The loud atmosphere of screams and falling debris almost deafens her. She can hear that there’s something flying around above them. She briefly wonders if it’s Spider-Man.

“I’m not asking you Mariana, I’m telling you to get out!” He shouts back, his tone leaving no room for an argument.

MJ freezes at him using her full name and she finds herself nodding even if he can’t see it. “Fine! But if you’re not outside in less than ten minutes, I’m coming back for you!” she yells her voice firm and determined.

She can almost see him shaking his head at her, “Got it.” He shouts back.

MJ turns to find an exit, she tries to follow the small amount of people who are left scattering. There had been a few more tremors and something exploding to cause a fire to start on the edge of the building. The fire licks at the feet of the brick walls tempting to trap the remaining people inside.

She’s trying to follow the crowd but upon turning the corner she’s come face to face with the culprit of the damage. She almost trips over her own feet as she back peddles to hide behind a piece of fallen wall.

The Vulture stands before her, hunching in on himself as he looks around. His movements are shaky and sporadic. He looks like a creature from a horror film with the way he moves his body. Her heart is racing as she realizes she’s stuck where she is until he moves. His body blocking the only exit she can make out, the fire blazing behind her.

“Arson I can handle, ruining a good show, that’s a real criminal offense.” She hears jokingly from above.

She looks up to see Spider-Man landing behind the Vulture, shooting his webs out and pulls the massive bird closer to him for a punch. She looks on in awe for a moment. She’s never been so close to an actual event like this and she’s frozen just watching him.

“Ugh, course it’s you.” The Vulture groans swatting his claws and cutting the webs.  He flies up and shouts, “That wasn’t music, that was a public nuisance! Like you.”

The Vulture shakes his metal wings, shooting some of the sharp fake feathers at Spider-Man. Spider-Man easily dodges them, dancing around the projectiles. “Trying to kill people for the sake of your own personal music tastes feels a little…bitter? Petty? Dontcha think.” He says in a mocking tone. 

MJ sees Spider-Man look down at her. She knows she needs to move, but she’s just watching the two of them fight. Her eyes watch them and she looks to the exit, it’s still dangerous if she tries to run for it. The Vulture is blocking the only good exit near her and the last thing she wants to do is get caught and used as a hostage against Spider-Man. 

Spider-Man had been staring at her, he even nudges his head to the exit, but she shakes her head no. While he’s distracted the Vulture is able to attack knocking the spider down and rolling into the rubble.

Her eyes widen and she tries to not gasp. She knows he was begging her to run but she couldn’t. Now he’s laying on a broken wall unmoving.

She shuffles, trying to run so she can just find Hobie and get out. The Vulture encroaching on Spider-Man.

His body doesn’t move and it worries her. She sighs and curses under her breath, she doesn't debate for long before she’s looking for a heavy piece of debris. She tosses a few in her hand before she lands on one she’s comfortable with and looks over at the Vulture. His arm is raised toward the spider on the ground and she doesn’t think twice about chucking the heavy brick in her hand hitting the metal bird man directly in the head.

She ducks quickly and hides, holding her breath.

“Who’s there?!” the voice roars and echoes around her.

A shiver runs down her back but she tries to silently escape, hoping the smoke and dust will hide her. She just needs to give Spider-Man enough time. He had to be fine. He’s handled worse before.

“Who are you calling for, falling rocks? It’s almost like you knocked down a whole building.” A voice chuckles lightly from the distance.

She lets out a breath of relief and watches Spider-Man shoot webs and flinging the Vulture across the building. She uses her chance to escape sprinting toward the open air.

Once she’s outside, she’s panting and hacking up a lung. She looks around the street seeing everyone from the show has either scattered or stayed to watch what they can only hope to see through the layers of smoke. She’s covered in dust and she tries to take deep breathes, not realizing how much smoke she had inhaled.

MJ is frantically looking around, trying to find Hobie. She can’t see him in the sparse crowd, and he was someone who stood out. If it wasn't his height as a dead give away it would be his wicks. She knows Hobie wouldn’t have left without her and she whips back around looking at the collapsing building in fear.  She bites her tongue making a collective decision to go back into the fire.

She takes a step forward but stops when she sees a silhouette walking toward her. She hopes and prays that it’s Hobie, but she just sees Spider-Man. She starts to feel her breathe quicken as panic sets in. Her body moves on its own as she rushes to go back into the thick smoke.

Spider-Man’s masked eyes widen and he reaches out quickly and grabs her shoulders stopping her from going back. “Hey, hey! It’s dangerous in there! Ya bonkers or what?” He shouts like she’s insane, which she probably is.

Her eyes are wild as she looks at him, tears brimming her eyes, “Please, I think my friend is still in there! I- I can’t find him.” She tells him, her voice is hitching and she starts to hyperventilate.

His grip tightens on her and he ducks his head to look her in the eyes. “I’ll find him if he’s in there okay? Promise.” He says softly.

Her eyes are trying to search for the truth but all she finds is the stark white of his masked eyes and she has to chose to trust him. It’s her only option.

“Please," her voice breaks  "you have to find him.” She whispers, begging him.

He releases her and gently pushes her back toward the edge of the street where it’s safe. She just watches his back as he goes back into the destroyed building. She watches until she physically can't see him past the smoke and fire.

She’s clenching her hands tightly, leaving marks in her palm as all she can do is wait.

She sees another silhouette make its way towards her and the outline of his wicks has her releasing a shaky breath from her lips.

She sprints towards him and wraps her arms tightly around, hugging him close. She shoves her face into his shoulder, “I thought you fucking died in there!” She chokes out gripping onto him.

She feels him tense up for a moment, but it lasts for a split second before he’s exhaling and holding her too.

“Sorry, sorry, I got trapped for a moment.” He says, voice hoarse from the smoke.

She finally let’s go and pulls away and squints looking back toward the building. “Where did Spider-Man go?” She asks.

“He’s looking for others, in case they’re stuck.” He quickly tells her, moving himself to stand in front of her line of sight. His own face is concerned as he looks her over, “Are you okay?” he asks.

“I, uh,” She blinks for a moment trying to collect her thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just smoke in my lungs, but that’s nothing new.” She jokes with a light laugh.

He nods giving her a smile, “C’mon let’s get out of here. Place is falling apart.” He says as a joke and plants his hand firmly on her lower back guiding her away from the wreckage.

[drgngutz]

2 - Coast - Luffy x f!soulmate!reader

Chapter Two

Taglist: @mystic60 , @louisechec , @pinksh1t

(I took the liberty of tagging those who commented their interest on the first post, if you'd like to be removed in future postings, lmk!)

Here's the next part! I'm gonna try and zoom to post all the chapters I've made so far from wattpad to here.

Happy reading!

With an arm thrown across my eyes, I sighed deeply through my nose and listened to the ship creak as it rocked back and forth in the waves. I was hoping desperately that I wouldn't get seasick, having never actually been on a boat before, and the nerves probably weren't helping with the queasiness.

The cute little creature, Chopper, had condemned me to what was the women's quarters for the time being. He claimed I needed the rest, some time to adjust on my own after being thrown into the situation so suddenly. No wonder he was the ship's doctor; he was right. It took a long while, several hours in fact, before the shock finally wore off and I could somewhat come to terms with things. It was nearly sundown at this point.

To summarize, I wasn't home anymore and instead found myself in a world I am entirely unfamiliar with, which wasn't great. The positive was that I found Luffy, my soulmate; who was the Captain of his crew, who had expressed that they would help me get acclimated and I was free to stay with them and join the crew myself. A part of me wondered if the reason they were so friendly was because I was their Captain's soulmate; maybe, in truth, they were annoyed at the sudden strangers appearance but didn't have another choice but to accept her... Even if it did seem like Luffy didn't even want me in the first place.

I frowned, feeling the pit in my stomach drop deeper. Out of all the things I'd imagined I would feel when we met, being disappointed wasn't one of them.

Maybe I had just hyped it up for myself too much; held too many expectations. I mean, he did... technically call me cute, right? I felt my face warm at the memory, even if it was a brief one. The whiplash of emotions made my stomach twirl uncomfortably. 

Right. Trying not to get queasy - Don't think about that now.

Okay; So there were negatives, and there were positives, just like in every situation. Maybe I could just make the most out of the positives.

I kept repeating that like a mantra as I decidedly reached for the doorknob, trying to steel my nerves; hopefully I wouldn't be thrown around by the waves again, it was embarrassing enough the first time.

Creeping through the hammocks and trying to be careful to not trip over the floorboards, I found the same ladder that Chopper had led me down before, and began my ascension to the deck. The cool breeze caused a rush of goosebumps to flee down my back, much different from the heat from earlier; more refreshing, in a way. Taking a deep inhale of the fresh, salty air, I brought myself fully out onto the lower deck, looking for a familiar face. Robin and Nami were the quickest to notice me, and waved me over to them as they leaned over the white railing of the second deck. I obliged, keeping a wary eye out for a certain straw hat while I climbed the stairs.

"Hey, you're finally out!" Nami greeted me with a kind smile, and I felt my own smile reciprocate, though it felt a bit awkward.

"Are you feeling any better?" She continued.

"Yeah, a bit." I nodded, still feeling stiff and glancing between the two women who stared at me expectantly, realizing they wanted me to continue. 

"I-I think that maybe I just need some more time to adjust..." I gestured to the ocean and the boat around us, pausing to let my gaze linger distantly, before coming back to the real world. 

"A lot more time, actually. But, I got most of the thinking out of the way, at least. Come to terms with everything, I mean..." I finished. Robin hummed, affirming that she understood what I meant, and Nami nodded with a thoughtful, upturned look.

"Right, we didn't expect you to get used to things so quickly, anyways." The red head shrugged once she was finished with her inner debate, a bright grin flashing on her face.

"Still, you should let us know if we can help in any way! You're gonna' be one of us now, after all!" She seemed really excited about the idea, and my heart warmed a little at the thought; beginning to shrug away the earlier thoughts of them disliking me. Belonging somewhere was something I was always missing, and this group was seemingly welcoming me with open arms.

Only because you're their captain's soulmate.

I deflated a bit. Best not to get my hopes too high. It always ends the same way, anyways.

Speaking of the Captain, he came reeling around the corner on the lower deck with an energy that could only match that of the little ones back at the orphanage; he was closely followed by Usopp and Chopper, who looked pissed as he cackled and fled from them.

Watching their interaction, I couldn't help but watch Luffy like a hawk. He was cute, definitely. There was no doubt in my mind about that part, watching the apple of his cheek raise the crescent scar as his eyes crinkled, running circles around the sails post as the other two wildly gave chase. He just seemed like an all-around, fun person. Cheerful and bright. I wondered why I felt so opposite in that respect; gloomy and bland. Maybe that's why he didn't seem to like me at first? Was I too different?

"Don't be so down." Robin's smooth voice comforted me, matching my gaze with a knowing tease in her blue eyes, followed by a comforting grin. I sighed through my nose, shoulders drooping as I turned to glance at Nami who's smile I could see from the corner of my eyes. Nervous at the attention, I looked back at Luffy.

"...I guess I can't help it." I furrowed my eyebrows, feeling frustrated and confused. Robin nods, and Nami stays silent, choosing to listen before she could advise, I assumed. But, I didn't say anything after that. 

"I'm guessing where you come from soulmates are considered normalized, frequent even. I can see it on your face and in your reactions." I blinked in surprise, looking at her from the side, and she shot me another smile.

"Besides," I turned to listen to Nami's knowing tone, "Even if soulmates were common here, Luffy is a bit of an oddball. Try not to mind him too much." She finished, shaking her head with a huff. Something told me that she had put up with him being such an 'oddball' for a while now.

"...Are soulmates uncommon here?" I asked, albeit hesitantly, feeling like I already knew the answer anyway.

"Very." Said Nami.

"She's correct. Soulmates are known to only appear once every few years, and are more commonly found on highly populated islands," I listened intently, trying to wrap my head around how the world worked here.

"In fact, it's so rare that people don't often choose to dedicate themselves to look for their soulmates. Most commonly they just don't have the time or resources to do it. Many can go without finding their soulmates for their whole lives; but when they do, it's a very celebrated and special occasion, and the government even has a few laws implemented for soulmates." I listened intently as Robin recited the facts like she was reading straight out of a book, awed that she was so knowledgeable and fluent.

"However, I do agree that the Captain is an odd one." That last sentence was like a slap to the face, "You're definitely going to have your hands full with him!" She teased, laughing as Nami snickered in the background. 

"Oh," I uttered dumbly, finding myself trailing my disheartened gaze back to the boy as he taunted Chopper on being so short, "Um, okay. I'll take your word for it."

It's not like the two of them seemed wrong, anyway. He was behaving very strangely... and it still bothered me that he wasn't as attentive to me as I was to him, so far. He hadn't even noticed that I had been staring at him for the majority of this little chat. 

"What about you?" Nami said, tilting her head curiously, "Where you came from, I mean. I'm curious how soulmates work there." 

I tilted my head back at her, pursing my lips before looking back over the ledge and wondering where would be best to start. 

"Back where I come from," I finally began, in order to ease the growing silence, "Practically everyone has a soulmate; it's hard to find somebody without one."

I paused before continuing, turning to gauge their reactions. They were both still listening with a neutral gaze, blinking ardently for me to continue.

"The people born without one are labeled unlucky, and those who do have soulmates have varying methods of finding them. Names, initials, first words, a red string, a patch of their soulmates favorite color on their skin, timers, writing on the skin, same tattoos--" I cut myself off, realizing I was rambling as Nami laughed and told me to 'slow down a second, will ya?' Turning pink, I apologized and continued. 

"Y-You get the picture. There were a lot of people with soulmates, and a lot of ways to find them. For me, I did everything I could to find mine; searched the internet, attended conventions, you name it. Nobody had something that matched me..." They looked at me quizzically from some of the things I said, and I had to wonder if they had the internet in this world. I hadn't seen a single phone anywhere. 

"Almost everyone I knew had already found their soulmates, and, I guess I got desperate to have someone like that. The pressure was really high for me, since I was already over the average age where people met their soulmate and... I just... thought that maybe he would be a little more excited to see me." I ended softly, picking at the white paint with my fingernails as I watched Luffy flick Chopper in the forehead, who launched at the boy in retaliation. Usopp was shouting for Chopper to win the scuffle in the background. 

Both Robin and Nami were still looking at me, I could see them from the corner of my eye; but I felt instant regret, not wanting to look back at them and see any pity on their faces. I hadn't meant to make them feel bad, but I guess I shouldn't have told them so much if I didn't want  pity.

I didn't know it at the time, but the both of them had a moment of understanding with each other in our shared silence. Not one of pity, but of hilarity. Slowly, Nami started laughing, and Robin grinned.

"Is that what you're so worried about?" The red head giggled, and I turned in disbelief, a little upset that they were laughing at me; I didn't get to put in my two cents, she was interrupting me before I could speak. 

"Um, yeah he's excited to see you?" She stated like I was crazy, "He nearly busted down the door to our room after Chopper told him he couldn't go in, you dummy!" Nami hadn't stopped laughing, still cheery in her words.

"That's correct. Didn't you see him peeking through the window? He was trying for around an hour before he finally gave up." Robin agreed wholeheartedly, and I felt elated. Not too much though, I don't want to get my hopes up.

"So... He might actually like me?"

Nami wheezed out another laugh, and Robin shook her head fondly. For some reason, it felt like I was so familiar with these people already. We were chatting like a couple of siblings; the two older trying to teach the younger.

"Of course he likes you! That much is obvious, come on." The redhead's words had me blushing a light pink, huffing through my lips and turning to face the boy again for some sort of distraction.

To my shock, he was already looking at me. His facial expression matched my own; looking as if he had stopped dead in the games he was playing, mouth hung open with widened eyes as he blinked in confusion. We held eye contact for a moment, and I watched him trail his eyes over my face just slightly, before they snapped back to my own. The minor movement sent a trail of pleasant shivers up my spine; such a small action had such a big impact, now. 

When the moment caught up to him, a wild grin popped onto his face.

The sound of rubber interrupts the otherwise simmering moment as he whips his arms forward and attaches them to the handrail before me. Backing up, I can only intercept a small 'what' in response to seeing his arms stretch so far, confusion and horror overtaking whatever else I was feeling in the moment before. I heard Nami snicker as the two girls walked away, and I wanted to curse at her for not warning me of whatever this was. Although... maybe they had.

When he finally pulled himself up to the second level, he had landed crouched with his feet on the railing like a monkey (fitting, for his name), and leaned in close to me. My breath stuttered at the feeling of his breath on my cheeks, head tilted up to look at him in his position. 

"Hey! You left the room!" He giggled excitedly, "You feel better, right? That means we can talk now!"

"U-Um. Hi." I stuttered out stupidly, suddenly feeling shy against his sparkling personality as my face flushes pink once again.

"Hi!" He mimics, coming down from the railing, now standing and having to look down at me from his taller height. I hadn't noticed that before. The fact made my stomach buzz, for some reason.

"Oh, uh. I feel a little better. S-So, we can talk, yeah."

"Awesome!" He puts his hands on his hips, grinning triumphantly, "My brother told me that when I met my soulmate we should talk, and do some other stuff, too; I can't remember what it was, though. What should we talk about?"

I was still buffering from the previous event of seeing his body being warped like it was; that, combined with his sudden closeness, seemed to make me short circuit and I said the first thought that popped into my head.

"You... Y-You're... Stretchy?" The confusion was obvious in my reluctance to ask the question, trying not to sound dumb in front of my soulmate, but not sure how else to get an answer for something like that. At this point, I was accepting everything and anything under the sun in this place after being teleported here. He was... certainly an oddball, in the wise Robin's words. Could people normally move like that here?

"Well, yeah. I'm a rubber man." He answered like it was the simplest, most known thing in the world. Like it was weird for me to ask in the first place, which I was trying to avoid. 

"...Oh." I bit my lip, looking away from him for a second, before trying to find a proper answer.

"How... Does it work?" Shuffling my feet so I could create some space between the two of us, finding it hard to look him in the eyes, "I don't understand what you mean, sorry."

"You're really weird!" He laughs so hard, like I had said the funniest joke in the world, and my face is probably the color of a beet from the embarrassment. He thinks I'm weird.

"I ate a devil-fruit, the Gum-Gum fruit!"

"D-Devil fruit?" I begin to feel myself deflate, but try to stay positive as I want the heat to leave my face, "What's a devil fruit?"

He cocks his head with his eyebrows furrowed, no longer smiling. It's a little intimidating, and I shrink back into myself on instinct. I'm not sure if he picks up on it but he crosses his arms.

"You don't know what a devil fruit is?" He asks, a bit judgmentally. Or at least, that's how it sounds to me. 

"U-Um, no. I'm sorry. I don't think I've ever heard of it before." I shake my head, a little too desperately maybe, and he frowns harder. 

"That's weird. Where are you from, anyways?" His brows furrow, and he crinkles his nose with a thinking face. A genuine question, probably, but I couldn't help but feel he was disapproving of me or something. Maybe he was hoping I would have one of these 'devil fruit' things, and I definitely didn't have one. 

It was at this point I just wanted to run away from him, go back to the girls room, and lay in bed until I passed out. If I could even sleep after this. I had forgotten momentarily that he hadn't listened to a word about how I got here in the first place, and simultaneously reminded that he also probably didn't care much about it either.

Before I can say anything else, feeling myself gape like a fish as the words won't form properly, he comes closer and grabs the hand that I was subconsciously fiddling with in my nervousness. In reflex, I snap my hand back to myself and take a step back, feeling the warmth that emanated from his hand disappear as soon as it was there. 

He blinks, as if surprised at my actions, before speaking.

"Why'd you pull away?" A beat of silence when I can't respond, frozen by my own reaction, "You don't look like a pirate or a marine, you're too small and skinny. You don't have any scars or tattoos or anything."

He closes his eyes, seemingly thinking to himself; it sounded like he was pointing out all of my flaws, for some reason. What was this? Was he trying to be mean? Saying that I wasn't good enough? I wanted to throw up.

"N-No, I'm sorry, I'm not any of those. I was a student before I came here." He perks up with a surprised grunt at my words, and I have to lean back as he gets close again, feeling my stomach flutter at the devious smile laid on his face.

"School? You must be rich, then!" Shaking my head at the words, I quickly wave my hands in front of me to deny his claim so he doesn't get the wrong idea. 

"N-No, I'm not. Everyone goes to school where I'm from." The disappointment on his face probably reflects in my own, and he stands up straight again. Shit, I should've just lied and said I was rich. He wouldn't have known either way, right? 

"Aw, man. That's weird. Everyone I know who goes to school is rich." Silence ensues. 

Weird. The word is bumping around in my head like the DVD screen. I make a last ditch effort to change the subject and maybe find some semblance of relief for myself in this conversation. 

"So... You're a pirate, right?" I twist my fingers, looking up at him from under my lashes, too scared to give him my full attention.

"You bet!" He exclaims, leaning back down toward me after meeting my gaze, and I can't find a way out this time when I feel my back brush against the wall behind me. Now, I'm beginning to get flustered all over again. 

Damn this whirlwind of a conversation.

"I'm the Captain of the crew, the Straw Hat Pirates, and the Going Merry! That's our boat." He chuckles, before tilting his head endearingly, scanning my face again as if he's searching for something. I feel my heart stop, the pitch black coals feel like they're searing into my skin. The seconds are drawn into minutes, analyzing every part of those pretty obsidian hues. 

And those pretty hues are looking at me; analyzing me, too.

"And when I find The One Piece, I'm gonna be the The King of the Pirates!" He's leaning back, nose upturned in what seems like satisfaction, and I let the breath I was holding out of my nose in relief. Then, he's pointing at me.

"I guess that means you're gonna' be The Queen of the Pirates, right?"

I feel my face burning for the umpteenth time since the start of this five minute conversation, not sure where to look as the grin on his face grows to an exuberant smile, and I panic and stutter.

"I knew it. You do like me!" He cackles. 

Chapter Three

[notf1obsessed]

A Little Flirting Hurt No One (Charlos): you can find the full fic on here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55395409

Chapter 13: butterflies

Charles tried to avoid Carlos as much as possible in the upcoming weeks, too embarrassed of what he had done in Canada to face him. It didn't help though considering they were teammates and had to act like it. It also didn't help that they were also meant to be dating.

Not a very good way to keep it up.

He thought about playing it cool and just saying it was for the plan, and the fact he was drunk. But he just couldn't come to terms with that.

Carlos on the other hand, seemed totally fine. He made talk with Charles whenever he could, sat near him on the plane, talked with him during the debriefs. Charles envied how he could move on from things so easily. But the truth was, Carlos was burning on the inside. Every time he saw Charles, his stomach did backflips. Everything about Charles just suddenly seemed so..

Attractive.

The way he smiled. The way he laughed. The way his hair looked as he arrived in the paddock. The way his eyes would glow under the sun. The was his dimples curved into his face. The way he spoke. The way he-

"Right and Carlos you'll be starting first," Silvia's voice brought him out of his trance. They had to film a media video here in Silverstone- though they weren't sure why the UK would be an interesting place to film media for. It was a c2 challenge - which they had gotten quite used to - with the game never have I ever.

Carlos thought for a moment about his options before speaking. He decided if he was going to be tortured with media, might as well have some fun with it, "Never have I ever blacked out at a party before."

Charles felt a flush creep up his neck at the mention of the party, but he fought it back and put a finger down.

"Never have I ever..," Charles thought as well, he decided to return the same energy, "Kissed one of my friends sober."

Carlos's eyes widened for a brief second, the memories of Charles's lips on his. They felt so soft, so warm, so- he put a finger down and began with the next question, "Never have I ever had to carry someone home from a club."

Charles raised an eyebrow. His eyes grew wide as he saw Carlos put a finger down. Wait- had Carlos really carried Charles home. No- it must of been someone else, surely.

Right?

"Right I think we have enough content for this one, thank you everyone!" Silvia's words broke Charles's train of thought. Probably for the better.

They part their ways, both (mainly Charles) a bit too flushed to speak to each other now.

————————————————————

There it is. Half a lap away from winning. Carlos's feet press harder on the throttle, gloves dripping with sweat. Instead of the car speeding up, it slowed down. His eyes widened in panic as he saw the cars pass in front.

"what's happening," his voice came panicking through the radio.

"Mechanical issue sainz, we need to retire."

His grip around the steering wheel hardened, parking the car in the pit lane near him. His eyes stung but he fought back the tears. He got out of the car, not daring to face anyone. He didn't even take his helmet off before making his way to his driver's room. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat, shutting the door behind him.

He wasn't even able to make it to the massage table before he collapsed, tears streaming down his face.

Why was everything like this.

Why did every win have to be thrown away by some issue.

Why was everyone around him so perfect and him rubbish at everything.

He finally pulled off the helmet, allowing him to breathe properly. He let his head fall back on the door, using as support.

"Carlos?" A soft voice interrupted his quiet sobbing.

Charles.

Carlos didnt respond.

"Can you let me in?"

No response.

Charles sighed, sliding his back down the door to be sat opposite Carlos. They stayed quiet for a couple of minutes, Carlos's hyperventilating the only sound in the air.

"Why am I like this," he blurted out.

Charles's brows furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"Why can't anything ever go my way," he broke into sobs, "Why is every win always out of my reach. Why is everyone around me so perfect. Why am I so rubbish. Why does every person I love never love me back."

Charles felt himself break at hearing his teammate in this condition, "Carlos you are not rubbish," he tried to offer the little comfort that he could, "and you are not to blame for what the team fucks up."

Carlos's sobs stopped for a moment, his shoulders relaxing slightly against the door frame. Charles thought he had managed to break the wall between them, but no longer did Carlos relax did he tense up again.

"Can you go?" Asked Carlos, head buried between his knees.

Charles sighed, not being able to comfort his friend. Alas, he did as he was told, leaving Carlos a mess in his driver's room.

So much for opening up.

_________________________

The next time Charles would see him would be in Maranello a week later. Charles had arrived to the factory in a much better shape than last time. Glancing around the factory to find Carlos, he caught his eye and he seemed to be fine. He was chatting with one of the engineers and he seemed.. perfectly normal? While Charles did envy Carlos's ability to move on from things quickly, it didn't seem like this was moving on.

It was bottling up.

He didn't want to ask Carlos as he made it clear at the track that he's not quite trustful of Charles yet.

Or at least isn't ready to open up yet.

It was 2 weeks until the summer break, which meant 2 weeks until the cruise. Something Charles and Carlos were not very keen on going to.    

Debrief ended and they were on another (this time shorter) flight over to Hungary.

________________________

The race went okay for Ferrari, ending with Charles coming P4 and Carlos coming P5. Carlos played with the radio wires for the majority of the video, Charles doing most of the talking. They finished filming their video for the fans and went back to the motorhomes to pack up and go home.

On Carlos's return, he felt a ring in his pocket. Opening it to see who texted him, he groaned at the message from Lando.

Lando: k remember the cruise

Lando: well i bought the tickets and its from the 6th to the 9th in Monaco.

Lando: cya there

Carlos: thx ill be sure to tell Charles

He in-fact was not looking forward to telling Charles they were going to be stuck together on a ship for 2 nights.

But he did, and Charles's reaction was not very better than his, tensing up at the mention of it.

"So how do we meet, if we want t0 keep up the couple illusion," asked Carlos, taking a seat in Charles's drivers room (knowing it was the only time they were going to be able to talk about it).

"You can come back with me to Monaco if you want, I have a guest room," suggested Charles, fidgeting with his fingers.

"It's okay I can take a flight over the night before, I'll just sleep when we get there," responded Carlos, "I'll just meet you at your apartment."

"Okay sounds good," said Charles, desperately wanting to end the conversation.

A bad idea since both of them had very limited knowledge of what they were actually going to do.

And that was very clear when Carlos arrived like a shit-wreck at Charles's apartment.

[vacantgodling]

sjaak facts? *rattles tin* spare sjaak facts?

EEEE SJAAK FACTS YIPPEE!!!!!!!

tw: slavery jumpscare

-i haven’t said it formally yet but sjaak is 23 as of the events of btaf (1811) ; he was born in 1788, was turned into a werewolf in 1808 so he’s been a werewolf for 3 years — probably 2 and some change, cuz idk what actual Month he was born in (i have yet to make an actual timeline wanna feel everything out first before i start REALLY hammering the dates down, but i do know the gist). honestly when i think back to myself at 23, this explains most of his nonsensical behavior HFJFJF

-he is black & dutch. i may have mentioned it before but to fully explain tl;dr his mother was born a slave and was subsequently freed when her former master brought her to the netherlands and during this time period slavery had been abolished so she was good. she still lived as a laborer and worked at a rich man’s estate for poor money. sjaak’s father was actually the master of that estate his mother worked in and his Actual Wife worked sjaak’s mother to death out of jealousy p much. she died when he was 13 and Also explains many of his fucking issues 🤷🏽‍♂️

-first description i have of sjaak in draft 2 bc fuck it he handsome:

the person sitting astride her is hard to make out in the moonlight, but the moonlight reflects like a mirror off of his darkened, wet skin. his eyes are dark but its deep like the pits of an unseen hole, with no sheen in them other than the tears perhaps left unshed. his hands are gripping his pants leg so tightly that they’re near ripped. his hair tumbles out his face in wild, kinky waves, the wetter ends slimming out into stringy strands, that are immune to the frizz that takes root of the middle. his lips are plush and full and his nose wide and strong, and his lashes dark and beautiful almost feminine in their fullness. he wears a simple uniform, reminiscent of the french militia, but it looks somewhat tight on him, as though it is these mere threads of fabric that are holding him back from bursting at the seams entirely. some parts of it appear to be caked in blood.

-when his hair is dry it has looser but still kinky curls and since it’s been a few years since he’s had a haircut it falls into his eyes. like this probably (sorry the quality is ass i just wanted yall to see the hair texture)

-in the first 26 pages of draft 2 he has thrown himself to the ground sobbing twice LMAOOO there will be more :)

-sjaak has killed three people up until the beginning of the book but it’s the fourth one at the end of the book that’s REALLY gonna make him feel a way :DDD

-sjaak is left handed but right pawed in his werewolf form lol

-azelie was his first time. the only nut he’s ever had as a human lmao 💀 (i rotate this scene in my head a LOOOOT tbh…. i should write it at some point fbdjfjdj)

-even though biscella doesn’t know how to read or write, sjaak has known from a young age, his mother taught him :3c

that’s all the ones i can think of right this second—i’m tired bc of being on the bus + it’s rainy and i just pretty much reread all of btaf’s draft 1 again LOL 💀💀 i just ugHhh i need this to be written already. but thank you for asking!!

[dudecreature]

His Observation

Ghost x GN! Reader

Synopsis: During a quiet moment on base, Ghost has an opportunity to observe the group after a late-night movie. and he definitely doesn't show favorites Word Count: ~600 Proof Read: yes

The soft light of the television illuminated the room and the soft chatter of the end of some movie playing brought the otherwise silent room to life. To the untrained eye the stillness of the room, along with the soft snores that came from the group in the room, one would presume that no one was awake. A figure leaned in the doorway with a mug in hand, wearing a plush hoodie and the oldest sweatpants someone could probably ever have, but hey they were comfy. The gruff man in the doorway shook his head at the sight, three piled onto the couch and one in his own chair.

“Of course Price gets a spot to himself”

The man shook his mask-clad head and looked towards the couch once more. The poor lighting only barely allowed him to see the figures' faces, he had to squint though. Soap on the middle cushion of the couch, arms crossed over his chest with his head leaned back at an uncomfortable angle. His legs propped up onto the coffee table crossed at the ankle. Ghost knew he would hear a complaint from the Scottsman in the morning, already rolling his eyes at the idea of having to hear him whine and bitch about how sore his neck was.

He looked to Soap’s left and saw Gaz with his legs thrown over the arm of the sofa. Gaz’s head lay on Soap’s lap, a forgotten blanket half slid off the lower half of his body, and his cap fell onto the floor under the latter's legs. One of Gaz’s arms was on his stomach, under his shirt looking to be mid-scratch while the other arm was hanging off the edge of the couch. Ghost seemed to zone out for a second before blinking himself back into the present, he looked at his teammates' faces, ensuring no one had woken up amid his eerie observation of them. 

A shuffle to the right of Soap snapped Ghost’s head in the direction of the disturbance. A figure curled into Soap’s side, attempting to get as close to the warmth he radiated as it could. He knew that it was you, the huff you let out was distinctly yours. He had heard it many times, when you got frustrated at something you were doing, when he would make an incredibly bad joke, hell even when you were just sitting. You had told him that it wasn’t a huff of annoyance but your body simply remembering that you needed to breathe. He saw your huddled figure shiver ever so slightly and waited to see if you would wake. He did his best to ignore the slowly dropping pit in his stomach at the scene, it made him silently curse at the fact that he didn’t join the group for the movie.

He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off with a quick click. As he headed back to his own room with his not-so-hot tea he smiled to himself as he thought back to the image of his friends. He shut the door to his room with a soft click and readied himself for bed, finally feeling tired after seeing the group's comfort. 

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Once Ghost had left the room you were able to smile to yourself. Somehow you had sensed his presence at the doorway and it had roused you. You pull the newly laid blanket a little closer fully shutting your eyes and let yourself be lulled to sleep at the idea that he really did have a soft side.

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Thank you for reading! If you have a request send them my way and I will do my best

(=´ﻌ｀=)

[queenofbaws]

Mm a 9 and 17 from that great ol list for my fav angsty couple jossam mayhaps? 👀👀👀

Later, when all the lights were out and he lay awake listening to the wind screaming outside the windows, her body hunched and shivering beside his beneath every last one of the blankets, Josh would convince himself he hadn't been ignoring her when she'd first stumbled into the guest cabin.

Eventually, he'd even believe it. He was, after all, nothing if not a consummate mindgame professional...even when the mind in question was his own. But believing was one thing; knowing was another.

He had ignored Sam when she'd shown up. Not because he was heartless, not because he couldn't be troubled to find out why she was breathing so hard, not even because he'd finally managed to find a spot on the couch where sleeping might've been possible. No. No, no, no, friends and fans, it wasn't any of that. He'd ignored her because, in that moment, he'd hated her. Hated her more than he could explain.

So the door opened. And the door shut. And a second later he was buffeted by a blast of icy air that should've sent him reeling.

The keyword there, of course, was 'should've,' a word doing a lot of heavy lifting, in fact, because there was too much spite in him to shiver. He'd sworn from the moment he'd hidden himself away that no one and nothing would get him to move (not unless it was one of his sisters, anyway), and by God, he'd meant it.

Josh didn't react. Didn't move. Didn't so much as shift under the ratty little lap-blanket he'd thrown over himself back when he'd first stretched out on the couch. He just laid there, arms under his head, and listened to the ragged in-and-out of her breathing. For someone who prided themselves on being so athletic, she sounded awfully winded.

Not his problem. If she'd been stupid enough to set off running through the ice and snow, that was her prerogative. She sure as shit hadn't thought to do it last night. Maybe if she had, they wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe if she had, Hannah and Beth wouldn't...

The pit of anger in his chest tore open afresh, and he sucked the already raw flesh of his inner cheek between his teeth, grinding it there until he tasted blood.

Not his problem. Whatever had brought Sam out all the way over the river and through the woods to the guest cabin was not. His. Problem.

So he continued to ignore her...until he couldn't.

He didn't know how much time passed like that, him lying in front of the fire and her standing by the door, breathing in strange, rasping whoops, but it was long enough for doubt (maybe even worry) to begin wheedling its way through the mess of indignation and hurt clotting out the rest of his thoughts.

If she'd come to find him, why wasn't she saying anything?

If she hadn't come to find him, why was she there?

If she was trying to avoid him, why wasn't she at least moving away from the door and its awful fucking draft?

If she wasn't trying to avoid him, why was she...well...avoiding him?

And why was she still breathing like that?

Eventually, when the mystery of it all became too much, he propped himself up on his elbows, twisting around to get a better look at her. "You know, when a guy says something to the tune of 'leave me the fuck alone,' usually what he means is - " But then he did.

Get a better look at her, that is.

"Jesus fuck, Sam," and just like that he was on his feet, skirting the couch to kneel beside her where she'd fallen, an awkward lump on the cold, swollen hardwood. The sight of her there, pale and shivering, weak and exhausted, didn't erase his anger so much as push it to the side for the time being, making room for its good friend fear. Would this nightmare ever fucking end?!

He reached for the hood of her jacket and she moved as if to swat him away. Her arm didn't even come close. It was like she couldn't figure out where he was, couldn't decide whether he was above her or beside her, and after a second she simply gave up, collapsing into herself once more.

"Fine," she muttered in a voice that only sort of sounded like her own. "Five minutes."

"Five minutes? For what? You don't have a goddamn bio lab to get to up here in the middle of the woods, so who's rushing you?"

Sam swallowed hard. So hard, in fact, she had to open her mouth after to catch her breath, making him think of a little kid with the flu. "Need to...get back. Just...had to...sit."

Realization started creeping in, shouldering fear and anger both to the sidelines. He did manage to get at her hood that time, pulling it back just enough to see - fuck - how grey her lips had gone. Now he understood why she was breathing like that. Now her confused mumbling made sense.

"Dammit," he breathed, his mouth running on its own, entirely detached from the rest of him. "Goddammit. Don't tell me you're fucking hypothermic. Don't even - fuck."

It was like he'd been waiting for something like this to happen; he moved without thinking, checking off imaginary boxes in his head as he went. Sam's jacket was soaked with snow, so it had to go, ditto with her earwarmers and gloves. She barely even reacted as he moved her around, pulling her arms out of sleeves, her feet out of boots, so as he struggled to lift her under her arms, he was disheartened but not surprised to find her little more than dead weight.

The couch was four feet away. Five, maybe. And even so, every step was a monumental effort, Josh straining under her weight, Sam clumsily trying (and failing) to find her footing to help. He half-carried, half-dragged her in front of the fire, and when his strength gave out and he had no choice but to set her down on the floor, the agonized little whine that slipped out of her broke his heart.

"I know. I know it hurts. Thawing out isn't exactly going to be a walk in the park either." Josh was surprised then; surprised at the sound of his own voice in his ears, surprised at how all the venom he'd been soaking in earlier had gone out of it. He took the lap-blanket off the couch, wrapped it around Sam's shoulders, and tried his best not to think about what that might've meant.

Slowly, bit by bit, he watched the color come back into her face. Heard her breathing even out. The shivering didn't stop, and there was a glazed look in her eye, but he figured that was par for the course...at least until she tried to stand again.

"Excuse me? Where do you think you're going?" he asked, the weight of his hand on her arm more than enough to keep her rooted to the ground.

"Out," she said raggedly, her voice still strange. "I have to get back out there."

"And freeze to death. Uh huh. Okay, yeah, sure." He tried not to sigh aloud, knowing confusion and babbling both came part and parcel with the whole hypothermia deal. Still, tired and frustrated and thrown for a loop himself, he did his best to distract from the conflicting emotions threatening to choke him the only way he knew how: by being a smartass.

"How about this," Josh suggested, turning to face her more fully. "Solve my riddles three and I'll consider letting you bumble back out into the great white beyond, huh? Sound fair? Cool. So here's riddle number one. How many fingers am I holding up? And this is probably against the spirit of the thing, but I'll give you a hint: No, neither of my hands has six fingers, so if that's what you're thinking, you're - "

She turned to face him too, but he realized immediately it wasn't to look at his hand. The glazed look he'd noted before had changed, the glassiness of her eyes having welled into tears that refused to fall. "I have to go," Sam insisted though her body remained slumped and weak. "I have to find them, Josh. I...I can do it. I just...I just need to get back out there."

And then the cabin was very quiet; and then, so was his head. The fire crackled, popped, hushed in its grate. Even the wind seemed to soften outside the window panes.

What was left of his anger left him in a gout, bled dry by an invisible wound, and when he saw she didn't even have strength enough to cry, he wrapped her in his arms and did it for the both of them.