#anyway i wish i could help her but telling her to 'trust less' and 'never truly rely on other people' sounds horrible and cringe and edgy af

[widevibratobitch]

moments like this when im really glad im a sad little cynic who always considers the worst possible outcome and never lets herself truly get comfortable and trust the good things in her life to stay there and builds her life around trying to soften the blows of the eventual disappointments just waiting around the corner lol never leaving my edgy teenager era peace and love

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[grimdarling69]

Another Dan and ellie deaged p2

Dick wasn't unaccustomed to getting calls at five a.m., but he wished it had happened less. He reached his hand out from the haphazardly placed blanket and fumbled for his ringing phone. Finally finding it, he quickly answered to the call. I swear if this is an arkham breakout, it better be the goddamn joker. He will be very upset if Tim just calls him in for condiment king.

"Hello?" He says sleepily. He winces and rubs his eyes away from the bright light of the phone.

"Dick. I need your help, Damian got spooked somehow and ran away. I'm pursuing him but i can't get him to stop."

His heart drops. Immediately awake, he jumps up from the bed and tries to find the suit pieces he threw around when he crashed last night.

"What happened?" I found myself asking, hoping this was just a misunderstanding. "I don't really know. We were down in the cave, and I guess he knocked a tool off and woke me up. I asked him what he was doing, but he didn't answer me and just ran to the bikes."

He could hear the slight panic in Tim's voice. "I'll call him."Wait -" I hang up.

I quickly dialed Babs number. If Damian left as fast as tim says he did, he probably didn't have his phone. I glance at the windows, one of my gloves is placed on the seal. Rain is still coming down hard. Thunder rumbling distantly.

"This better be goddamn joker." Me and Babs always thinking the same thing, I think fondly.

"Damian ran away, and I need you to connect me to his comms."On it now. I'm calling in the others just in case."

A click is heard, and I can hear slight wind and heavy breathing through my own comms. I hang up the call.

"Dami?" I ask hesitantly. His baby brother son was out there alone in the rain.

I hear a sharp intake of breath, but he doesn't speak. I quickly throw open the windows after grabbing my last glove. Skillfully and methodically climbing down. Throwing myself on my bike. Come on, Dami, answer me.

"Whatever is going on, you can tell me, okay? I'll help you no matter what. I promise." He meant every word.

The bike starts, and I race down the streets in chase of the tracker. I just need to make it to Gotham in time.

__________

Bruce was no stranger from his kids running away. They'd all done it at least once. It never got any better whether they were running from him or others didn't change it. He just had to remember they always came back.

Alfred watches off to the side. Making sure if i start to go down, he could catch me. I won't. A few broken ribs and a sprained ankle won't stop me. He had gotten the call in his bedroom. Alfred had finally wrangled him into sleeping when the call came through.

"Bruce. Damian fled the nest. Dick and Tim are in pursuit, but i don't think he's stopping anytime soon." Her tone heavy but focused.

He had quickly made his way down to the cave. Alfred had stopped momentarily to wake up his other son. He would be down soon.

I start to make my way to my suit, but I'm quickly thwarted.

"Master Bruce. You will be no help with might i remind you of five broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and a stab wound." Alfred told him stepping in front.

"My son is out there. i need to find him."he said with a deep voice heavy with memories. He knew Alfred was right he would only be a hindrance. He could walk off his injuries they were barely flesh wounds, but he wasn't good with emotions. He had plenty of arguments with his kids about it before. Whatever scared Damian into running, he couldn't help him.

Duke's footsteps sounded out behind him. He walked past, gancing at him concerned but determination on his face. He turned around and limped back to the batcomputer. He just had to trust his sons to bring their brother home.

‐---------

Jason was no stranger to long nights. He hadn't even made it to his safe house anyway, too busy with the storm, making sure all the alley kids had a warm and dry place to sleep for the night.

Stormy nights were the worst for alley kids. He hated them when he ws on the streets. The cold rain freezing your clothes to you, the cold rain soaking your shelters, the cold rain ruining any halfway edible food. He's seen a lot of kids get sick from the rain and die. If you were sick, you had to hide. If others found out you were sick, they'd leave you in a heartbeat. It caused a lot of fights with Bruce in the early days. He hid his injuries or sick days in case Bruce finally saw how weak he was and threw him out.

"Damian fled the nest. The rest of the batboys are already heading out after him." Oracle spoke into his comms.

The Batboys. What O had recently started calling Dickhead, Timbo, Duke, Demon brat and him ever since the batgirls left to Hong Kong together.

Demon brat, his obligation in the league. When he left, he'd assumed he'd never see him again, or if he did, it'd be from opposite sides. Sometimes, it felt a lot like opposite sides regardless.

Jason revved up his bike again he was mostly done with his people anyway. He would have to have some of his trustworthy men on the lookout for stragglers.

He pulled up his tracker to Damian. He winded through the streets following it.

---------

Crack

Thunder sounded out. Dick had hated the rain ever since... He just hated it. It was worse, so with Dami out there all alone. He didn't even know what had scared him enough to run. Damian would never run just cause what he knocked a tool over? That didn't sound like his brother son. Something else must have happened. He just had to figure out what.

"Nightwing. Report." Bruce growled into the comms suddenly. His throat felt dry. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't speak.

"SHIT!" A crashing sound loud enough to echo on the comms could be heard. Tim, dami, please be alright. He was just now reaching the Gotham border. Just hold on, I think desperately.

"Red Robin, what's happening on your end." Bruce demanded.

"Red Robin is fine. Damian deployed the bike sludge. He had to grapple backward to avoid the sludge. I think his leg is broken."

"Be careful, Signal, one wrong move with your powers, and you could light that right on up." Jason attempted to banter. Jason and his bad habit of deflecting by using humor. Something he's gotten in trouble because of before.

"We are on the warehouse that we busted yesterday with that drug deal across from Gotham Bridge. We lost sight of him." Duke ignored Jason's comment and carried on.

"Damian has stopped near gotham bridge hurry. Cameras aren't looking good."

"Oracle. Report, what do you see?" He can hear Bruce's gravelly voice tinged with desperation. Please don't do what I think you're going to do.

"I think he might jump."

The silence was suffocating.

Click.

Damians comms came back online.

"Damian?" Bruce's voice sounded distorted and echoes to his ears.

"Dami, can you hear me?" He knew he could.

"Yes."

"Master Damian, please come home." Alfred didn't beg, but he swore he could hear it in his voice.

"We can help you. Damian, don't do whatever you're planning. Please." Jason's voice was desperate.

" Please, Damian, listen to us. Let us help you."he was begging at this point, but he couldn't care less.

"I'm sorry Richard, but I don't think you can."

Click.

Crack

Lightning broke the illusion of quiet peace. The rain thundering just as loud against the ground.

-------

Jason drove as fast as he could, but by the time he and dick made it, the bike was the only thing left of his brother.

"Damian!" Dick tried jump off after him. "Dick! Stop!" "Let me go! I have to save him. Please..." His voice was thick and course. His brother's mask was starting to peel from the wetness.

"I know. I know..." He collapsed to the ground, taking his brother with him.

The headlight flickered ominously in the heavy rain.

[fantasylandloser]

Not Flirting

Pairing; Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: You and Rafe want each other so bad.

Warnings: smut, mdni, Public sex, smoking, shotgunning, two uses of slut and one use of good girl, Rafe calling the reader kiddo in flirty way

******

You’re not flirting with Rafe Cameron. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself anyway. The casual touches, and the constant bickering that presents like foreplay is how the two of you have always been. Right?

The two of you don’t even talk outside of when you’re with your mutual friends. That’s probably why you seem so focused on each other. And the only reason the air around you is so charged with sexual tension is because- well he’s Rafe. He could have chemistry with a doorknob. It is not flirting. 

You’ve told nearly every person that’s been in contact with you something similar to those words that you’ve been trying to convince yourself of. Nobody believes you, sadly you’re not even stupid enough to believe it. That doesn’t stop you from trying though.

It helps you feel less guilty about wanting his attention, and having it. He’s a known fuck boy on the island and you’ve been sort of friends since high school, but after graduating your friend group got smaller and it was hard to ignore him. 

You tried to sometimes, but it never worked. The pull the two of you had on each other was too damn magnetic. Like at this party you were at. He’d found you accidentally, laughing with some people, your bikini practically melded with your skin after a dip in the water. 

You don’t see him when he walks behind you, but the way the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, you know it’s him. So, you don’t panic when his arms wrap around your shoulders, or when he takes your cup and drinks out of it, even though he knows you hate that. 

“Hey, kid.” You roll your eyes at the nickname he’d given you when he found out about the one year age gap between the two of you. You hate yourself a little for the smile you feel making its way onto your face. 

“Don’t start.” Rafe doesn’t acknowledge that, or the people that were around you because he starts pulling you away from them. “Where are you taking me?” You wish you could sound like you actually cared but you’d go with him regardless. 

“We’re smoking.” He whispers, his breath fanning the outside of his ear. 

You twist your lips in apprehension and Rafe must have a sixth sense for you at this point because he eases your mind immediately. 

“Don’t worry, kiddo. It’s more your speed than mine.” Again, you roll your eyes. You don’t stop him from walking you towards wherever he’s going though. 

“I don’t even-” 

“I know, I know. “ Rafe groans. You reach back to flick him for interrupting you and he finally lets go of you since you’re walking with him willingly. “Just trust me.” You miss his body heat the second that it’s gone but you’re going to blame it on being cold, even though it’s ninety degrees out. 

You mock him childishly, to ignore the heat that crawls through your body when you look at him. You remember him saying something about cutting his hair off, and then you teasing him and saying it would look bad. You just thought his long hair added to his cuteness. You were very wrong. 

“Oh you did it.” He lets you run your hand over his buzzed head, while you walk beside him. 

“Mhm.” He smirks and you already know what’s coming. “Is it as bad as you thought it would be?” But he knows it isn’t because you are not subtle in checking him out and his ego is bigger than the sun. 

“It’s somehow worse.”You taunt only to be met with a tug on your hair. It’s childish and violently in character for Rafe. He smiles at the squeak you let out and laughs when you push him back. 

“Yeah, whatever you like it.” Your conversation is cut short when your presence is noticed by your other friends.

“Where have you been all night?” Kelce asks from the hammock he’s lying in. 

“Up your butt.” You answer obnoxiously, skipping over to your friend Natalie’s lap and giving her a hug. You could tell she was a little high on something you didn’t want. 

“I think that is the last place you’d wanna be.” Topper says, patting your head and you can tell he’s been drinking by the way he slurs. 

The conversation between you and your friends is mindless while Rafe rolls the blunt on the patio table. You tried not to stare at his fingers as he did so. Or look at him too hard as he licked the paper. You failed. 

You try not to think too much of it when he’s finally done and he beckons you over, or when he pulls you in his lap, like that's normal. Once again, you fail. It takes you all over two seconds to get comfortable once he wraps his arm around you though and you’re used to ignoring your friends' looks by now. 

You’re a little nervous once he lights it but he brings it to his lips first and you really want your lips to be on that blunt all of a sudden. When he hands it to you, you try to mimic what he had done but you can tell you did it wrong immediately. 

“Inhale, kid.” You try again, you kind of feel it this time. 

“Lemme see.” He takes it from you and inhales the smoke, which you’re pretty sure is like illegal when it comes to rotation, but you don’t say so. You’re a little surprised when he grips your jaw firm and gentle, before blowing the smoke into your mouth.

“Inhale”  You do so, trying your best to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

 “Good girl.” He says finally releasing your jaw. You choke on the smoke in your lungs as he passes off the joint. Rubbing his hand on your back, immediately reminding you how naked you are in just your bikini. 

“I hate you.” You say once you’ve finally gathered yourself, but it holds no weight as you lean back into him. 

*****

You’re horny. That’s all you can think about by the time your friends and you stop smoking. Everyone had dispersed by now and it was just you and Rafe with you still sitting sideways across his lap. 

“I can feel you.” You squint eyeing your position.

“It would be concerning if you couldn’t.” You're well aware that your skin was touching his. He shakes his head, propping his hand right to the pulse in between your legs that was only covered by the thin layer of your bikini bottoms. 

“You’re fucking throbbing.” Your words are caught in your throat at the sensation of him rubbing you. Intensified by your high and how long you’ve been wanting him.

“Someone is gonna see.” You finally get out, trying to shift your legs. 

‘Good for them.” When he grabs your jaw this time, it’s to kiss you and you immediately forget whatever it was that you were worried about. He lets you shift around until you’re straddling him, kissing him back with equal fervor. 

“So you do like my hair.” He says panting once, you finally give him room to breathe. 

“What hair?” You softly scrape your nails down the nape of his neck. He sniggers, when you begin grinding against him. And he’s a little shocked when you pull his hard dick out his shorts. 

“And what’re you gonna do with that?”

“Sit on it.” Rafe moans, he’s not sure if it’s at your words or the hickey you’re currently sucking into his neck. Possessive. He finds himself noting. “Unless you don’t want me to.” You add, and he almost laughs at the fact that you’re giving him an out. 

“I do.” You’re so excited to fuck him you forget how much of a stretch he would be. But it’s too late to care once you start, you brutally force yourself to take half, ignoring your own pained whimpers at the sound of Rafe gasping into your neck. 

Despite himself, Rafe grabs your ass so that you can’t go any further. “Eager little slut.” 

“You started it.” You accuse after catching your breath. “You’re the slut.” Your voice is whiny, which is unlike you and Rafe can’t help but wonder if that’s a result of you being out of your mind horny or high.

“You’re the one that’s making a mess all over the both of us.” He says gesturing to the slick skin in between the both of you. While he’s talking you continue to take him deeper, nipping at the skin on his neck. He stops you again from taking more of him.

“Too much for you, kiddo.” You push past his hand in an act of rebellion, your ass meeting the top of his thighs. The stinging pain only makes you regret that action a little, but the look in his eye makes it worth it. 

‘Fuck” He lets you continue to bounce on him for a minute, but once you start to finally find your rhythm he starts bucking his hips back into yours. He’s pleased when you can no longer hold back your moans.

“Rafe!” And he knows that warning anywhere, especially mixed in with the way you clench around him. 

“Yeah? You like that?” Your answer to him is nearly gibberish as your body begins to convulse. And initially Rafe had every intention of pulling out, but the thought washes from his memory at the feeling of you. He groans as he finishes inside you, not utterly appalled by the idea of getting you pregnant. 

Once you catch your breath, you laugh a little to yourself. “I guess I like your haircut.”

[cuffmeinblack]

Idk if you’re taking requests but I have one and I’ve loved you’re writing for Ominis so let’s go!!

⚠️spoilers ahead just in case⚠️

I was wondering if you’d be willing to write an Ominis x fem!hufflepuff! Reader where they’ve liked each other but it all comes out before the Scriptorium mission. Like he tells the story on why he won’t use crucio and everything but when Sebastian uses the curse on her Ominis is the one to rush to her and help her. I just want fluff and love for this boy he needs more of it!!

I trust you to write this amazingly and please make whatever changes you’d like I’d just want this boy to be loved ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hold me close

Ominis Gaunt x gn!reader

Tags: angst | hurt/comfort | torture curse

1k words

A/n: Thank you for the request! This is a short little one shot rewrite of the In the Shadow of the Study quest so ⚠️SPOILER WARNING⚠️. Hope you like!

Quite how you ended up in Salazar Slytherin's secret Scriptorium with a couple of Slytherin boys was a mystery in itself, almost as baffling as the one presented directly in front of you. You'd left the cosy Hufflepuff common room only an hour ago, and now here you were, staring at a huge, ornate door decorated with serpents. Salazar Slytherin really liked snakes.

"That must be the voice I hear," Ominis says beside you. " I don't believe I'm about to do this."

Your heart flutters in your chest as you watch him approach the door and take a deep breath before speaking, if it could be called that—a quiet hiss escapes his lips. You jump back in astonishment as the mechanism on the door jumps to life, the eerie green glow of the serpents' eyes illuminating the dim corridor.

"Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed," you say, marvelling at him.

"Between the two of you, I'm starting to feel left out," Sebastian says from behind you.

"Between the two of us?" Ominis asks. If it weren't so dark, you'd swear he'd be blushing.

"I…never mind," Sebastian mutters.

You know what your friend means, but you squirm uncomfortably anyway. It's true, you both seem to have rare abilities that others might envy. You make quite the pair, though Sebastian was none the wiser of your mutual affection.

It isn't long before you encounter yet another locked door in this infernal maze. The floor is wet, the room smells dusky and damp, and you quickly notice the reason why. Following the scurrying of a rat in the corner, your illuminated wand shines on a skeleton in the corner of the room. You fight to hold back the bile rising in your throat. A scrap of paper draws your eye, slightly nibbled but still more or less intact, laying next to the long-decayed corpse. You reach down and pick it up with two fingers, your face twisting in disgust as you try to read the scrawled words.

"Ominis...your aunt Noctua…she mentions being trapped here. Blocked by an unforgivable curse," you say shakily.

Your gut twists with guilt, knowing that having agreed to talk to Ominis for Sebastian had doomed you all. You had wanted to help your friend, but you should never have agreed to it, and the pain on Ominis' face is more than you can bear.

"Ominis, I know this is the last thing you want to do…," Sebastian started.

"Yes, it is! I thought you knew me better!" Ominis shouted back.

Your immediate reaction is to go to him. You wish you could hold him, comfort him, instead you move slowly to his side, your hand reaching for his but falling short under Sebastian's watchful eye.

"Ominis," you whisper.

"I won't do it," Ominis says, shaking his head and beginning to pace nervously. "You shouldn't either."

"I understand, but it's our only way out of here. I can take it," you say, trying to keep the quavering from your voice. You muster the courage to reach out and grip his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Are you going to use the curse on Sebastian?" he asks in a small voice.

"I don't think I can."

Ominis grimaces as you leave his side, walking over to Sebastian by the door, steeling yourself for what's to come. You trust your friend not to prolong it longer than necessary. Balling up your fists, you nod and Sebastian readies himself, raising his wand and hesitating only for a second before expelling the dreaded incantation.

"Crucio."

A crackle of electricity ripples through your body and you see only a red haze before forcing your eyes shut and falling to the floor, gasping for breath. Your nerves are on fire, your very flesh feels as if it's burning as you try to scream but nothing comes out.

"Please, please," a faint voice enters your ears as the pain subsides and you open your eyes, staring at the floor as your vision readjusts to the assault on your retinas, the stones beneath you swimming back into focus. You take a deep breath and fill your lungs, desperately reaching out in front of you, clutching the first thing you feel.

You look up and Ominis is kneeling in front of you, holding your arm and feeling his way to find where you are. You start breathing shakily, trying desperately to catch your breath and feel wet, hot tears pooling in your eyes. Ominis' hands are shaking as they glide up your arms, over your shoulders and brushing your neck, finding your face. He cups your face in his hands, pausing as the tears roll over his fingers, then wipes them away gently. His face is contorted in pain as he asks, "Are you okay? Please, be okay."

"I'm okay," you manage to stutter.

Sebastian seems to be in shock, standing dumbly by the now open door, watching the interaction between his friends.

"I'm so sorry," he groans, leaning back against the wall.

"It's fine, you did what you had to do," you say weakly, attempting to get up off of the floor.

Ominis clutches your arms again, firmly, standing with you and steadying you as you wobble on your aching legs and stumble into him. He doesn't loosen his grip, only pulls you closer, looping an arm around your back and holding your weight.

"I've got you," the soft voice says in your ear.

You rest your head against his shoulder, his hand finding its way to the nape of your neck and gently stroking your hair.

"I…there's a room here…," Sebastian says feebly before retreating behind the door.

Ominis doesn't let you go, the shaking in his hands subsided, now replaced with a tender and assuredly comforting touch. You look up at him, his hands still tangled in your hair, and watch his closely knitted brows relax.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," he says.

"I'd do it again, for you."

[merrybloomwrites]

I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 4)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: After battling the symptoms of touch deprivation for weeks, Y/N sees Harry again in Chicago and he helps her deal with the worst of it.

Previous Chapters: Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3

Word Count: 4.9k

Y/N POV

“You haven’t had a nightmare in 4 days?” Rachel asks.

“Nope!” You reply happily, taking a sip of your iced caramel latte. You and Rachel both have a free afternoon and decided to meet at a local cafe. You feel so much better than you had for the last few weeks that you felt confident to order a different drink. No tea that reminds you of Sarah, no hot chocolate that makes you think of Harry.

“And you’re not using those coping mechanisms you mentioned?”

“Haven’t needed them in days.”

“And you’re still not going to tell me what they were?” You blush at this question, embarrassed by the truth.

“No, that secret may come with me to the grave,” you joke.

Rachel looks at you, slightly worried and says, “It was safe right? You weren’t like, drugging yourself to sleep were you?”

“Oh God no!” You reply with a laugh. “Nothing like that, I swear.” Though you think to yourself that Harry’s scent in its direct form would probably be so delicious that it would act like a drug to you.

“Okay, I trust you,” Rachel says. “So, have you heard from Harry?”

You sigh, slightly disappointed by the answer you have to give. “Not since the night of the concert. I’m sure he’s been busy.”

“Maybe you should text him first.”

“And maybe you are out of your mind. No way. And before you say anything, it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm the girl or he’s the alpha or any of that sexist bullshit. It has everything to do with the fact that he’s Harry Styles.” You whisper the last part, aware that you’re in public and anyone around could hear the conversation.

“So what if he’s Harry Styles?”

“What would I even text him?”

“You could start with ‘Hi, how are you?’”

“Very funny. I mean, I guess I could. Maybe. I’ll give it a couple more days.”

“Waiting for him to leave the area?”

“Something like that,” you reply.

“Speaking of procrastinating things,” Rachel says teasingly, “have you called your doctor yet? To find out why that alpha knew you’re an omega even though you’re on suppressants and scent blockers?”

“Okay, that I did not procrastinate on. I called her but I can’t get an appointment until November.”

“Seriously?”

“Yea. I mean there aren’t a lot of doctors who specialize in omegas, so they’re always booked. Anyway, she said that my body has probably just developed a resistance to the pills. She’ll try to change my regimen after the appointment and told me to use the spray on neutralizers until then.”

“That sucks.”

“It does. I am so not looking forward to changing meds. It takes awhile to find the right combo and then there’ll be all new side effects. But it’ll be worth it.”

“I wish omegas didn’t have to hide who they are.”

“Me too. But that’s just how it is now.”

From there the conversation turns to lighter topics until you part ways to continue your day.

Another week passes and you still haven’t heard from Harry. On top of that the bad dreams come back, along with the restlessness, and chills. You’ve started using the old coping mechanisms again, which barely work this time around.

The morning after his final show in New York City, your social media is flooded with videos of him receiving his banner at Madison Square Garden. If there was any time to reach out to him, now was it. He said he wanted to be friends, right? A friend would absolutely congratulate him on this achievement.

It still takes you forever to type out the message, and ever longer to find the courage to press send. It’s nearly noon by the time you text Harry, “Congrats on the banner!”

It’s a simple sentence, just four words, and you still find a way to overthink everything for the two hours it takes Harry to reply. You’re taking a walk, grateful once again that you work on your own schedule and can take a break when you need one. And right now, you need one. Because you texted a celebrity and he still hasn’t answered and you for sure made a complete fool of yourself.

You stop dead in your tracks when your phone buzzes and Harry’s name appears on your screen.

From Harry Styles: Thank you! Can’t believe I got such an honor. How are you? What are you up to?

There’s a bench nearby and you sit to reread his message five times before replying.

To Harry Styles: You deserve it! I’m good, just out for a walk. How about you?

The next message comes in much faster.

From Harry Styles: I’ve been doing well. Took it easy this morning, currently enroute to Texas for the next shows.

You can’t help but feel disappointed that he’s no longer just a city away. You know it’s silly, but it was nice that he was so close by.

To Harry Styles: Enjoy Texas!

From Harry Styles: Thank you! Have you ever been?

To Harry Styles: Once, in college. Went to San Antonio with some friends.

From Harry Styles: That’s a great city, love the river walk there!

And so, you and Harry Styes became friends who text each other about random things. You talk throughout his flight to Texas, and sporadically over the next couple of weeks. It never gets very deep, all surface level conversations, but it’s nice. You feel like you’re getting to know the real him, and he’s getting to know who you are as well.

The texts from Harry are the high points. The low points are, unfortunately, very low. The hot chocolate, and roses, and forest smelling candles are no longer helping you. Bad dreams happen almost every night, you’re constantly cold, and there’s an itch under your skin that just won’t go away. The voice in the back of your brain is telling you it’s touch deprivation, but you refuse to admit that to yourself. You’ve never needed an alpha, and you refuse to depend on one now. So no, you do NOT have touch deprivation.

You’re checking your email, and you see that there are still spots open for a job training opportunity in Chicago. You rarely go to these, but it’s been a while, and you think maybe it would be good to go. There are always new types of data software, and you found the last two training courses you attended to be pretty informative.

Looking at the dates you notice the course is the following Thursday and Friday. In Chicago. You also notice that Harry will be doing shows there at the same time. You don’t admit that’s what seals the deal for you, but it totally is.

After registering and setting up your flight and hotel reservation you send a text to Harry. You casually mention that you’ll be in Chicago the following weekend. You’re surprised when your phone starts to ring, and Harry’s name is on the screen.

You answer the phone and he’s first to speak, saying, “You’re gonna be in Chicago?”

“I am!” you reply, matching his excitement.

“Can you come to my shows?”

“Which days are they again?” You ask this to try and seem like less of a stalker.

“I’ve got one Thursday, Friday and Saturday. You’re welcome to come to as many of those as you want,” he answers.

“I think Thursday is an all-day thing, so I won’t be able to come to that one. The training ends with dinner on Friday evening so I think I could make it just in time for the concert.”

“Ok great, and Saturday?”

“I am free all-day Saturday. My flight back home is Sunday afternoon.”

“Wonderful. I’ll have tickets for you for those two shows. That is, if you want to come of course.”

“Harry, I absolutely want to come.”

“Then the tickets are yours. All the details will come from Jada. I’d be a mess without that girl.”

“You paying her well?” you ask jokingly.

“She’s compensated handsomely, I promise,” he replies with a laugh.

“Happy to hear it.”

“I uhm- it sounds like you won’t be able to come before the show Friday, correct?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’ll probably get there right before you go on.”

“Forgive me if this sounds forward, but would you want to hang out after? It would have to be at the hotel, I can’t really be out in the city after a concert.”

“Totally understand that. And yea, I’d love to hang out after.”

“Great! I’m staying at the Nobu Hotel.”

You quickly look it up and see that your hotel is close by.

“No way!” you reply. “I’m at the Crowne Plaza like, two blocks away.”

“Well, that’s convenient. I’ll make sure there’s a car to take you to Nobu after the show Friday if that works for you?”

“Yea that would be great. I’d love to hang out!” You cringe, hoping that didn’t come off too strong.

“I’d love to hang out as well. Listen I have to go to sound check for tonight’s show. I’ll text you soon. And look out for the email from Jada, it’ll have all the info you need.”

***

Harry POV

“You’re extra happy today,” Elin says as Harry bounces around the venue smiling so big that both dimples are showing.

“I am!” He replies. “Thanks for noticing!”

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Sarah asks. “Because it’s definitely not how this sound check is going.” She has a point there. No less than a dozen things have gone wrong since they started, leading them to take a break while the sound techs work out a few problems.

“Just talked to a friend who will be in town next week.”

“Oh I see,” Mitch says. “So Y/N will be here?”

“Yes, and she’ll be coming to the shows Friday and Saturday. I can’t wait to see her!”

“Aw, someone’s got a crush,” Pauli says.

Harry ignores the teasing from his band members and says, “Honestly I’ve been a bit worried about her. I’ve just had this feeling that keeps getting worse.”

“Why do you think it has to do with Y/N?” NyOh asks.

“I mean, I don’t know for sure. But we’ve talked on the phone a couple times, and she always sounds exhausted.”

“I’m sure she’s alright,” Sarah says reassuringly.

“I know, I just can’t help it.”

“I completely get that,” Sarah replies softly, looking towards her mate.

“Fixed it!” One of the sound techs calls out, effectively cutting off the conversation as Harry and the band get back to work.

***

Y/N POV

The next week passes in what feels like slow motion. Every hour drags on. Your apartment building hasn’t switched from air conditioning to heat yet, so you’re constantly wearing layers of warm clothes and burrowing under blankets. The itch under your skin only gets worse, spreading to new areas each day until there’s a maddening tingle throughout your whole body.

Amelia drops you off at the airport Wednesday afternoon. You know she can tell that something is wrong, but you don’t offer an explanation, so she doesn’t pry for details.

You put on your mask before walking into the terminal. It’s a habit leftover from the pandemic, and also a great way to block out the potential strange scents. Alphas and omegas might be rare, but there’s always a chance a few will be around in such a crowded place. You’re extra sensitive to smells at the moment due to the touch deprivation that you’ve finally admitted you have. But it’s mild. Totally manageable. Not a problem.

The plane ride and subsequent train trip and walk to the hotel is exhausting. You stop and grab some food on the way. After checking in you immediately eat your quick meal, take a hot shower, and crawl into bed.

You’re almost asleep when your phone digs with an incoming text. You’ve already texted your family and friends letting them know you’re at the hotel, so you’re annoyed that someone is interrupting your sleep.

That is, until you see who the message is from. Harry’s name pops up with a text asking if you made it safely to Chicago. You practically melt at how sweet it is that he’s checking in on you. You send a quick reply before immediately falling asleep.

The first day of the training session is typical- informative, but boring. Harry’s show is still going when you get back to the hotel, so you watch on a livestream. You’re still exhausted and fall asleep before it’s over.

Waking up the next morning is difficult. Your body feels heavy, like your bones are filled with lead. The chills seem worse than ever and you’re grateful you packed yourself a heavy sweater to wear that day. Not only is it warm, but it covers up the marks from where you’ve been scratching at the skin on your arms due to the incessant itching.

You have trouble concentrating on the training throughout the day. There was one alpha there, and he was somehow in every single session you attended. He didn’t have a bad scent per se, but his presence alone became overwhelming.

By the time the sessions are over, you feel exhausted. You debate skipping dinner altogether but know you at least need some food before you can start your walk to the United Center. The alpha, whose name you’ve learned is Andy, sits next to you at dinner. He seems nice enough, you don’t feel threatened by him, but you still want to finish dinner and get away from him as quickly as possible.

Once dessert is over you grab your bag, ready to escape. Andy stops you before you go, asking for your number. Without thinking you quickly say, “I have a boyfriend,” and hastily leave the restaurant.

You’re not far from the venue, only a few blocks away, and you’re so out of it that you barely notice where your legs are taking you. It only takes fifteen minutes to get there, but you’re on edge the whole time. Glancing at your watch you see that it’s just before 8PM, meaning Harry should still be backstage.

You’re tired, and dizzy, and a little fuzzy, but knowing you’re so close to seeing Harry again has you moving faster than you thought possible. You’ve even built up a slight sweat, and you feel warm for the first time in weeks causing you to roll up the sleeves of your sweater.

As you approach the building you hear your name being called. You turn to see Jada running up to you.

 “I didn’t think you’d be here so early! Glad I was talking to one of the security guards, you walked right past the entrance,” she says.

You smile as she hands you your VIP badge and leads you inside.

“Harry has a few minutes before he needs to finish getting ready. He’ll be glad you made it before he goes on, I know he’s been dying to see you,” Jada says, causing you to blush.

“Well, I can’t wait to see him either,” you reply.

She knocks on a door which opens a second later. The first person you see is Mitch, who gives you a hug as he says, “Hey kid, good to see you again.”

“You too!” you answer, somewhat surprised by the warm greeting.

Sarah’s there too, pulling you in to a hug next. The moment her arms wrap around your shoulders, you’re overcome with a wave of dizziness. Black spots flash in your vision and you blink rapidly to try and clear them.

“You okay, love?” she asks as she lets go and takes a step back.

After a couple deep breaths you answer, “I’m good. Practically ran here from dinner, still catching my breath I guess.”

Harry, who’s been quietly watching you quickly walks to the fridge and grabs a water bottle. You reach out your hand so he can pass it to you, and see his eyes focus on your arm. There’s no way he missed the angry red scratch marks there, but you immediately pull your sleeves back down to hide them anyway.

“Can we have a moment?” Harry asks, causing Mitch, Sarah, and Jada to promptly exit and close the door behind them. He motions to the couch, and you’re reminded of the last time the two of you were in his dressing room together.

Like the last time, you sit next to each other, but he seems to be giving you more space. This confuses you. If he’s so excited to see you, why didn’t he greet you with a hug like everyone else? And why is he so far away now? And why does he seem so serious instead of happy?

“Y/N, I have a question, and it’s kind of personal, but I’d like you to answer honestly,” he starts.

“Okay,” you reply, taken aback by this turn of events.

He’s quiet for a moment, seeming to think of exactly what he wants to ask. Finally, he settles on, “Where did those scratches come from?”

“My arms were itchy,” you reply. Not a lie, though probably not the full truth he’s looking for.

“And the dizziness? Cause I don’t think it was from your walk. You seemed fine until Sarah touched you. Until an alpha touched you.”

You know what he’s getting at. He’s no dummy. Just minutes after seeing you he’s figured out what you’ve been hiding for weeks. Hiding from everyone, including yourself.

He watches you, and you know he’s waiting for an answer. But you can’t think of one to give him. So, he continues, “Y/N, I think you have touch deprivation. Is that fair to say?”

You let out a shuddery breath and nod. “Yea, that’s fair to say.”

“It seems pretty severe.”

You finally decide to open up, saying, “It’s been getting worse the past couple weeks. I don’t think my meds are working anymore, and the soonest doctors appointment I could get still isn’t for a couple weeks.”

“I’m worried you’re close to a drop. Like, any minute now. Or that you’ll go under if I touch you. You realize that you were close with Sarah, right? That if you’d stayed in contact with her, or if she’d released any pheromones you’d be in a full drop right now?”

Part of you wants to snark back, yell at him for going full alpha male and acting like he knows your body better than you. But the problem is, he’s right. It’s been so long since the last time you dropped that you forgot what it’s like. You forgot what the signs are.

But now that he’s pointed out the obvious, you really start to feel it. He sees as you deflate, starting to fold in on yourself. His hand reaches out, wanting to comfort you in some way, but he can’t. He can’t risk sending you into a drop, not when he has a show to do in just twenty minutes.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “I didn’t realize it. I thought I was handling it, that I could make it to my doctor’s visit and get new soothers and I’d be okay. I just don’t know what to do if I don’t have meds that work.”

“I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

You finally meet his eyes and see that he’s completely serious.

After a moment you nod and reply, “Okay.”

“Okay? You’ll let me help?”

“Yes. I don’t know what else to do. And uhm, I trust you. You’re a good person, Harry. A good alpha.”

He smiles at your words before glancing at the clock and saying, “I have to finish getting ready in a minute. I’d still like to hang out after the concert. I think it might be healthy for you to do a drop with me there, if you’re comfortable with that?”

“I mean, I don’t like dropping. It’s only happened to me twice before and I was alone each time, so they weren’t good experiences. But maybe it will be different if you’re there?”

“I can help you through it, if you’ll let me.”

“What would you do to help? Like, how do alphas help omegas through that?”

“It depends on what you consent to but ah, I would hold you, help you get the touch your omega needs. Most alphas will scent the omega. It lets them know that they’re not alone, that someone is there protecting them, keeping them safe while they can’t do so themselves. I’d also release calming pheromones to keep your omega relaxed.”

“Okay. I’m okay with all of that. I’d like that,” you answer. Truthfully you’re a bit nervous. Harry Styles has just offered to hold you, to scent you for goodness sakes. That’s incredibly intimate. But you’ve felt so awful for weeks, and there are still weeks to go before you can get new soothers. And this is kind of a dream come true.

“Do you want to stay here for the concert? You can hang in here or go to the VIP box. Or you can head to the hotel now and take it easy if you’d like,” he says.

“I’ll stay in here if that’s alright,” you reply.

“It’s more than alright,” he answers. “And if at any point you want to get out of here just text Jada. She can arrange a ride back to my hotel and I’ll meet you there after the show. Or if you change your mind she can get you a ride back to your hotel too.”

“Thank you, Harry. For everything.”

“Of course. I know I don’t know you all that well, but I care about you. Anyway, I uhm, need to get dressed so I’m just gonna step into the bathroom for a moment.”

“I can go in the hall for a minute, get out of your way-”

“Nonsense. You’re not in the way. I’ll be right back.”

Harry finishes getting ready, and you make yourself comfortable on the couch. A couple of people come in, touching up his hair and make-up and before you know it he’s heading to the stage.

You watch on the screen in the room for the first few songs. After a while Jada joins you and you ask if you can watch from the VIP section for a bit. It goes well until Harry and the band take a break. You’d been so focused on the music that you were distracted from everything else around you.

But now all you can hear are all the other people, and it’s overwhelming. It becomes difficult to breathe, and you start to see dark spots once again.

You turn to Jada, and she immediately leads you back to the dressing room.

“Do you want to wait for Harry, or do you want to leave now?” she asks.

“I think I should go,” you reply.

“To your hotel, or his?”

“Harry’s, please.”

“Okay, wait here, I’ll get the car and come back for you in a minute.”

You sit back on the couch, seeking out Harry’s scent to calm you, but it’s barely noticeable.

Jada comes back and you follow her to the car. It’s a quiet ride to the hotel, and once there, she goes with you to the suite.

His room is on the top floor. It’s big, basically a full apartment, and you stay in what seems to be the living room. Jada sits on the couch with you, and you say, “I feel like you have more important things to do than babysit me.”

She laughs and says, “It’s not babysitting. I like hanging out with you. And you’re a priority to Harry. Which makes you a priority to me.”

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence for a while until Jada’s phone buzzes. “Shows over,” she says. “Harry’s just getting changed and then he’ll be here soon. He said you can borrow some of his clothes if you want to get comfy.”

You hesitate and she adds, “I have no problem going through his stuff. I can grab you some clothes if you want.” You laugh at that and nod.

A short while later you’ve changed into a pair of Harry’s sweatpants, as well as a t-shirt and hoodie. They smell like him, and you shamelessly inhale the scent you’ve been craving for weeks. The suite door opens, and Harry walks in, looking incredibly cozy in his own pair of sweats.

“Thank you, Jada,” he says. “Get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

“Night guys,” she says as she leaves the room.

You’re left alone with Harry. It feels different, here in his hotel room, surrounded by his belongings, while you’re wearing his clothes.

“You left early,” he says.

“Sorry,” you reply.

“Don’t be. I’m just worried as to why you left.”

“I was just overwhelmed. Needed some quiet.”

“I understand. Y/N, are you ready for this? You still seem on the edge of a drop.”

“I’m ready.”

“And have you changed your mind about anything? Or is it okay if I hold and scent you through this?”

You pause for a moment, scared at how vulnerable you’re about to be. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want you to do that. I trust you.”

He takes a step towards you. “Thank you, for trusting me. We’ll probably be more comfortable in the bed.”

“Lead the way,” you say.

It’s awkward at first, the two of you sitting next to each other in his bed, backs resting against the headboard.

He turns to you and says, “Can I hold you now?”

You nod, and his arms wrap around you, pulling you until you’re tucked under his chin and resting against his chest.

Everything starts to get fuzzy, and you feel yourself losing consciousness. It’s an unsettling feeling, but you know that Harry is there to help you through this.

The last thing you hear before it all goes black is Harry calmly saying, “I’ve got you. Let go. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Harry can’t describe the helplessness he feels as you go limp in his arms. He doesn’t allow himself to stress, or panic, knowing that his emotions will impact you. Instead, he takes some calming breaths and thinks through everything he knows he needs to do in this situation.

He hears you whimper quietly as you start to shiver, and he doesn’t hesitate to soothe you. It takes some maneuvering, but soon you’re both laying down in the bed. He tucks his nose into your neck and begins to scent you, releasing calming pheromones until you relax.

It continues this way for the next couple of hours. Harry holds you, and scents you, his nose rubbing against the gland in your neck. During one moment when you seem particularly distressed he can’t help but place kisses there to soothe you faster.

Finally, you start to stir. It takes longer than Harry had anticipated, so he’s relieved when your eyes meet his after hours of being closed.

“Hey there,” he says with a soft smile.

“Hi,” you answer groggily. “How long?”

“Couple hours. Your inner omega needed the rest. Now you need some too. Go to sleep, I’ve got you.”

It’s the same words he said before you dropped. You wish you could hear that all the time. No one has cared for you before, not like this. It feels good, but you remind yourself not to get used to it. Still, you curl into his embrace, enjoying every moment of contact with Harry that you can get.

The next thing you know, it’s late morning. You’re still cuddling against Harry, and his deep breaths indicate he’s still sleeping.

You feel amazing. You’re nice and warm, your mind is clear, and the constant itch and restlessness are nonexistent. You’re extremely grateful, but at the same time, you’re annoyed that you need to depend on another person just to feel normal. But you don’t dwell on that. Because Harry is starting to stir next to you.

“Hey,” he says when your eyes meet his. “How do you feel? Sleep okay?” God, you could melt at the gravelly sound of his morning voice.

“I’m good. Feel better than I have in a long time. And according to that clock, I slept wonderfully.” The two of you laugh, seeing that it’s nearly noon.  

“I was hoping to treat you to a nice breakfast, but I guess I missed the window on that,” Harry says, continuing to laugh with you. “I do still have plenty of time before I need to be at the arena. Would you like to spend the afternoon with me exploring Chicago?”

“I’d love to,” you reply. His face breaks out in a huge smile before he leans down, once again running his nose along your scent gland. You go limp at the feeling, happily submitting to him.

You don’t think about the fact that this is temporary. That you leave to fly home tomorrow afternoon. That you’ll be without his alpha scent once again.

Instead, you think about the hours you have ahead of you, hours to spend with Harry. Nothing could be more perfect.  

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

AN: Thank you so much for reading! This was one of the scenes I imagined when I first thought of the story and I'm so happy that it's finally shared with you all!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz @fictionalmensblog @buckybarnessimpp

[presidentbungus]

spy had a long string of accidents leading up to his departure. coming home bruised and bleeding, or with police lights on his tail. men showing up at the house at night. maybe scout's ma sees spy teaching her boys what to do if they think they're being followed and something just breaks in her heart a little bit

spy's flaky, and dangerous, and as much as he seems to try he's still the man she sits at home next to the phone worried sick over when he mysteriously disappears every few weeks. one time he vanishes for three months--three--a few days after the birth of his son, his son, and when he has the nerve to show up at three AM begging for forgiveness (and waking up all her boys while he's at it), she snaps. there's an ultimatum: give up the job, or leave, because she loves spy to death but she ain't gonna lose her children for him. spy tells her it's all he knows how to do.

she tells him she loves him, more than anyone else she's ever loved. she just can't trust him

when the sun rises the next morning spy is gone and it's almost like he was never there at all, and she supposes he made his choice, didn't he. selfishly she imagines him crawling back in a few weeks, tail tucked between his legs, apologizing profusely--i thought i could make it without you but I couldn't, and I'm sorry, and I just want to live with you and be with you and grow the fuck up and

but he never does. obviously he never does, and it's probably for the best, and it crushes her. and she knows it's probably not true, but she can't help but think that maybe it was like she always feared; disposable, fleeting, nothing. she has no way of knowing that spy is spending every day in bunkers and ballrooms thinking about her and regretting leaving, or maybe regretting her in the first place--for letting his guard down, for getting attached like he swore he never would. it was the best thing he's ever done but now he gets to know he'll never have it again. and, really, the worst part of it all is he knows he probably could, if he set aside some of his pride and gave up on the unforgiving work that leaves him less fulfilled every day anyway, but he also knows he won’t. he just won’t, and there’s a thousand reasons, but it’s impossible to put into words and at the end of the day he knows the only thing that’s stopping him is just himself.

he’s horrible. they both know he’s horrible and they both wish so desperately he could change that—that he was willing to change that.

and when he starts work at a backwater mercenary company in the worst part of the united states for—well, even he isn’t really sure, but he sees scout for the first time and suddenly he knows. it’s just so obvious.

and suddenly, he is entirely unwilling to distance himself any further from what very well may be his last chance for redemption—so he doesn’t run, which surprises even himself, after so long. but the more he desperately looks inside for anything whatsoever the more he realizes he is entirely unwilling to approach the man that, more obvious by the way, he left of his own volition a little over two decades ago.

he knows this strange limbo, this block of figurative amber, can’t last forever. he hopes.

so he waits. and he waits. and he waits.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Glynda: “You’re back. And the beast?”

Jaune: “Monster is slain. Bangarang.” *snaps his fingers so that he ends up pointing distantly at the ground*

Glynda: “You look tired. You should get some rest.”

Jaune: “Can’t. I have to help team CMAD with their serial killer mission."

Glynda: “Why?”

Jaune: “Why do I have to help them or what help do I have to give?”

Glynda: “Well, both at once I suppose.”

Jaune: “The killer came up into my network about a week ago. It’s sort of my responsibility to keep an eye out for people like this.”

Glynda: “Your network?”

Jaune: “My criminal contacts in the city. I have the name and semblance of the killer.”

Glynda: “That’s most useful.”

Jaune: “That’s what I strive for. I wake up everyday and say ‘oh, if only I could be most useful today.’”

Glynda: *narrows her eyes then offers a dismissive half shrug*"Ozpin often wished to be able to tap into those elements for this very reason but couldn’t figure out how to get started. I mean, it’s nice to say you want to build trust and contacts like that and quite another to go out and succeed at it.”

Jaune: “They want you to kill people for them sometimes. And sometimes you have to kill some people just to put the fear in ‘em. Or torture people. Whatever.”

Glynda: “Should you be telling me this?”

Jaune: “I mean, what are you gonna do about it? What is anybody gonna do about it? Besides, I thought it was ‘most useful.’”

Glynda: “Maybe not what you have to give up to make it happen. That’s perhaps why Ozpin never succeeded.”

Jaune: “You have to have a hard stomach. And at any rate I need to be able to see my sisters coming or, god forbid I even say this, my Mother? Could you imagine her rolling up on us?”

Glynda: “I don’t really want to. Would she?” 

Jaune: “She mostly acts through intermediaries when she can. I can… feel her? Her location? All the time. So I’d know if she was moving around at all. Instead she just hangs out on one of the kingdomless continents. Ayan. So she stays far away from any kingdom and acts from the shadows.”

Glynda: “I don’t know how concerning that is. How concerned should I be?”

Jaune: “Somewhere between one and ten. Depending on how much thought you want to give it. Just don’t think about it very much. That’s what I do. And I’m… mostly fine?”

Glynda: *shakes her head at him. Gentle but firm denial* 

Jaune: “Well, I’m as ‘okay’ as could be expected?”

Glynda: “I don’t think so."

Jaune: “Exactly how ‘okay’ am I supposed to be?” 

Glynda: “Well ideally with a one being the worst and a ten being the best you’d be at a ten, Jaune."

Jaune: “I’m like a five. A hard five. That passes muster.”

Glynda: “A hard five which way?” 

Jaune: “Yeah, fair cop. Good point.”

Glynda: “I wasn’t even making a point."

Jaune: “Well you made it anyway."

Glynda: "Go to bed, Jaune. Your serial killer can wait. What? Are you excited to add to your little collection?”

Jaune: “Am I more or less messed up if I say ‘yes?’” 

Glynda: “You’re just a mixed up kid.”

Jaune: “I mean… yeah. I knew that. But am I more or less fucked if I say I want to add her sniper rifle to my collection?”

Glynda: “You know her weapon?”

Jaune: “Answer the question.”

Glynda: “I… I would say that you’re more mixed up than less. Not everyone has a collection of weapons from serial killers they’ve stopped. Not everyone thinks about adding to it. You are more mixed up than not. You’ve got to really be at least a four out of ten. Admit that to me.”

Jaune: “It’s really probably at most a three.”

Glynda: “Go to bed.”

Jaune: “I’ll go to bed. After I send team CMAD my dossier so they're not going in blind. I think she’s too dangerous for them or hee police to take on. If they find her, sure, good enough. But I really don’t think they should fight her.”

Glynda: “You can’t coddle them.”

Jaune: “I’m tryin’ not to but there’s a serial killer on the loose and they have some real power.”

Glynda: “What about you?”  

Jaune: “What about me?”

Glynda: "You’re a serial killer serial killer.” 

Jaune: “What? I’m not a… serial killer.”

Glynda: “Don’t emphasize ‘serial.’ It doesn’t do anyone any favors.”

Jaune: “Mass murderer? Sure. Spree killer? Probably. But I don’t do it for psychological gratification.”

Glynda: “Don’t emphasis ‘psychological!’ You need to find a sweet girl to look after you. Help put you back together. If you even like girls that is. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

Jaune: “I like girls. I’ve got team RWBY.”

Glynda: “They’re not here. What’s wrong with Miss Gainsborough?”

Jaune: “You mean besides the fact she’s my student? Off limits, remember? Besides, she’s seen a little into how fucked I am and probably shouldn’t want any of that mess.”

Glynda: “What if she does anyway?” 

Jaune: “I think I would know by now? I'd like to believe I would. But I don't really understand girls. Just throw me at a monster or serial killer or something and let me worry about that. Girls are complicated and hard and complicated."

Glynda: "Not really."

Jaune: "Girls like games and hints and teasing around."

Glynda: "Do you think I'd play games?"

Jaune: "I think you're probably an exception and not the rule. You and Weiss both."

Glynda: "Miss Schnee?"

Jaune: "Yeah. I mean, I think so. She doesn't like games or hints or playing around with her feelings either. I think that's why she barely tolerated me when we went to school here."

Glynda: "You were attracted to her? In your time as a student?"

Jaune: "Still am. That hasn't really changed. She was my first real crush. I had fake memories of crushes before that but I really woke up for the first time at Beacon after I was set loose. And then I met Weiss. Beautiful. Smart. Way out of my league. We're not even playing the same ball game." I ran a hand through my hair and felt the grime there. 

Glynda: "Good for you." 

Jaune: "Why?"

Glynda: "I think that's healthy. I'd be a shade more concerned if you really weren't attracted to anybody and you had nothing to strive for. Not that there's anything wrong with being asexual. But it's important to have personal goals for yourself and not just professional ones."

Jaune: "I'd love to impress her. Still. I'm just not really sure how. You know? In her time as the heiress or whatever she probably had all sorts of guys appeal to her so she's pretty much seen it all. I have no moves to make that she hasn't seen somebody else do better than I can. And I doubt my little collection of mass murderer trophies would make her stop and think in a good way."

Glynda: "Have you tried not appealing to her at all. Maybe you should just be honest with yourself and her and let your personality impress her."

Jaune: "I'm a schizoaffective loser."

Glynda: "You're not a loser just because you're schizoaffective."

Jaune: "I know that. I’m not stupid. I have totally separate reasons for why I'm a loser. I'm not funny and my personality isn't particularly pleasant to be around."

Glynda: "You have charm. You can be funny. Not exactly cracking jokes or something similar but you have a certain dry humor. Use that to impress her. Plus you've become surprisingly competent."

Jaune: "Well, thanks. I'll just use all those assets when I see her again and blow her away. Anyways. I'm safe. I'm back. My mission was a success and I thought you'd like to know that." I pulled my scroll from my side pocket and started tapping away and putting together what information I had on Cerise Genfield for CMAD. "Let's see if we can't wrangle ourselves up a serial killer. Yee-haw. I always did love outlaw justice. It's super fake. And it's basically all the murder with none of the guilt ."

Glynda: "Do you really think that?"

Jaune: "A little."

Glynda: "Go to sleep. Let the police and team CMAD track her down."

Jaune: "I hear you. I'm off to bed." 

[thatonegenshinsimp]

Pantalone x Shy! Reader

Notes: After this was wasting away in my drafts for over a month, I finally got to post this. Enjoy, everyone!

Masterlist

Out of all the treasures in Teyvat that the Tsaritsa could have gifted him, Pantalone truly meant it when he said that he struck gold with you. You were a very polite lady in Her Majesty’s court, if not a little shy at first. In fact, you were very distant during the first few months of your marriage. However, he knew that would change with time the longer you spent around him. Since he was so generous in deciding to help coax you out of your shell, he took the initiative and invited you to work with him one day.

You were in the bedroom when he approached you, setting his glasses on the nightstand and joining you under the covers. You kept to your side of the bed, so as not to infringe upon his personal space. However, he gently wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. “If you don’t mind, I would like to bring you with me to Zapolyarny Palace tomorrow while I work. Of course, only if you wish to join me.” He offered, his voice now lacking the condescending tone you heard him use with his subordinates. Not wanting to possibly anger him, you answered him. “Of course, husband.” You replied. He rolled you over to face him and gently tilted your chin up to where you were looking at him. Pantalone then hummed softly to himself before he spoke. “Why is it that you shy away from my touch whenever I give it? You’re always so apprehensive when you’re around me.” He asked. Your eyes widened slightly, before you looked to the side in embarrassment. “It’s because you’re very intimidating. You scare me a little, and I don’t know why you would want to be around me, anyway. I’m not the most social person, and I know that you tend to take advantage of any opportunity to benefit off of most others, so I’m worried about what you might do to me if I don’t do everything you say.” You confessed, causing him to frown slightly. “Know this, I will never take advantage of you in any way, shape, or form. The Tsaritsa trusted me enough to let me marry you, and she has never made a bad decision in terms of marriages. I will never do anything to you that would hurt you or make you lose trust in me, I promise you that.” He reassured you, leaning closer to you and pressing his lips against your forehead. “However, we’ll take things slow, and I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He paused. “Which brings me back to the whole work thing. I still would like it if you could accompany me to the Palace tomorrow. It would certainly make work much less dull. But if not tomorrow, then perhaps next week?” He offered. You took a deep breath, looking up at your husband as you spoke. “I’ll go with you tomorrow. Besides, it’s been a while since I last saw the Palace.” You replied, pulling away from him and looking at him. “Then I suppose we should get some sleep. We’ll be getting up early tomorrow.” He mumbled, watching as you rolled over again and closed your eyes. Pantalone stayed awake for a few more minutes until your breathing had slowed and you were peacefully asleep, before closing his eyes and allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

The next day, Pantalone gently shook you awake, telling you to get up. You sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, looking at him as you nodded. “Come on, I’ll help you pick something out to wear if you’d like.” He offered. You looked at him hesitantly, before nodding softly. He looked at the dresses you’d picked out, choosing the one that was your favorite color. He then walked to the vanity and picked out the necklace that he saw you wear the most, before picking out a matching pair of shoes and gloves. “Alright, do you like the things I chose?” He asked, receiving a nod from you in response. “I’ll leave you to change then. I’ll be waiting outside, so call me if you need me.” He said, leaving and shutting the door behind him. You quickly put on the dress and shoes, before picking up the necklace and trying to clasp it. You struggled with the clasp for a few minutes before giving up and calling for your husband. “Pantalone, would you come in here for a minute?” You called, watching as the door opened and he stepped into the room. “What is it?” He asked, before seeing that you were struggling to clasp the necklace. He walked behind you and fastened the chain around your neck, pulling away from you after he had done so. Pantalone then took one of your gloved hands into his own and led you down the stairs and out the door to the mansion.

When the two of you arrived at Zapolyarny Palace, Pantalone wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you down the maze of corridors that led to his office. As the two of you walked, you looked around you at the ornate designs on the walls and windows. You and Pantalone stopped at an office door and you watched as he fished a key out of the confines of his shirt, unlocking the door. He led you inside and sat at his desk, watching as you walked to the chair that was closest to him, right beside his desk. “If you get bored at any point, please do tell me.” He said, taking one of the papers from the pile on his desk and looking over it. He eventually got his pen and signed it with his signature, setting it to the side and grabbing another. You had brought a few books with you, and grabbed one of them, knowing that this would be a long day.

About an hour later, two people walked into the room and stood in front of Pantalone’s desk, displeased looks on their faces. “Regrator, would you mind explaining to this imbecile that I’m not allowing him to accompany me to Sumeru because he will destroy every ruin machine within a ten mile radius of us?” The older looking of the two asked. He had mint blue hair and a mask that covered his face, his body clad in the same white cloak that both your husband and the man beside him wore. “I won’t do that, and you know it. You just want me to stay out of the way because you’re hiding something.” The other man shot back. This one had ginger hair and blue eyes. A red mask sat on the side of his head as he spoke, bickering with the other man in front of your husband. After about two more minutes, Pantalone took a deep breath and sighed deeply, glancing at you apologetically before slamming his hands down on his desk as he spoke. “If you both don’t shut your mouths, I’m going to cut your funding for the next month! I don’t care what you decide, but Eleventh, it is ultimately The Doctor’s decision on whether you’re allowed to go to Sumeru with him or not.” He threatened, his voice holding a hint of malice. You jumped when he spoke, a soft squeak leaving you as you held up your book as a sort of self defense. Unfortunately, that brought their attention to you, both Harbingers staring you down. Dottore spoke first. “Who’s this lovely lady, Regrator?” He asked, striding over to you and taking your hand into his. He kissed the back of your hand and then let it fall back to your side. Suddenly, the floor was much more interesting than the man in front of you as you sat back down in your chair. Pantalone cleared his throat and glared at them before reluctantly answering them. “That is my wife, and this,” he said, gesturing to the two of them, “is a waste of my time. I have paperwork to do, and your petty argument isn’t helping me focus. Now get out and if you can’t stop, go bother The Jester, instead.” he grumbled, all but forcing them out the door and closing it behind them. He then cast a worried gaze at you. “Are you alright?” he asked, walking up to you and gently tugging you to your feet. you nodded, deciding to finally reciprocate his gestures and lean against him. “The loud noise startled me, and I was a bit surprised to see you so angry, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” you giggled softly, resting a hand against his chest as you looked up at him. Pantalone all but picked you up and carried you to his desk chair and sat down with you in his lap, your face turning red as you felt his arms wrap around your waist, his face hidden in your neck as he set his glasses on the desk. You were tense for a few seconds, but eventually relaxed in his embrace and let him hold you. “I’ll be done with this paperwork in a little while, and then we can go home.” He mumbled into your hair, before picking up his glasses and his pen. “What are the documents even about?” You asked, leaning back against his chest and kicking your legs out. “They’re mainly about the withdrawals and deposits that the Northland Bank is getting from each of us Harbingers. If you’re curious, then I’ll tell you that Dottore and Childe are the two that make withdrawals the most out of the eleven of us. They rarely pay them back in full, too.” He huffed slightly, putting his glasses back on as he started to write. “I must say, I think I prefer working in the office whenever you’re here with me. It helps me focus on my work instead of worrying about you.” He said, briefly looking down at you. You looked up and met his gaze with your own, reaching up and gently placing your hand against his cheek. Pantalone placed his hand over yours and leaned into your touch. “Then again, I suppose you can be a bit distracting, a sight for sore eyes.” he muttered. “But enough of that, I still have work to do, no matter how lovely it would be if I could only focus on you,” he continued, his embrace growing slightly more lax than before as he leaned down to where he was right beside your ear. “Do me a favor and stay here, I like being close to you like this.” he whispered, huffing in amusement when your face turned red and you nodded. Deciding to not further delay his work, Pantalone picked up his pen and started to read over the documents on his desk, occasionally explaining the purpose of some of them to you. You leaned against him and got comfortable, knowing that this day would be quite a long one, but you were ok with that. Your eyelids got heavier the more that you sat there in his lap, and you fought sleep as best you could. However, you couldn’t help gently tugging on your husband’s sleeve to get his attention. He seemed to know immediately what was going on, because he laughed softly before speaking. “You may rest easy, I’ll wake you when it’s time for us to leave.” he reassured you, smiling down at you as you spoke. “Thank you, I love you.” you mumbled drowsily. Pantalone’s hand stilled while in the middle of signing off on a document, but he set it down after a minute or two and looked down at you. “Do you mean it?” he asked, his voice lacking that sort of confident air he usually had. He was nervous. “Mhm, you’re constantly looking out for me, and you still keep me around even when I’ve been so hesitant to be around you since the start of our marriage. Of course I do.” you said, your sleepy confession being the last thing you said before looking up at him. “Anything else before I drift off?” you asked, expecting him to shake his head. Instead, he leaned forward and caught your lips in a gentle kiss, pulling away much too soon for your liking, but you weren’t about to complain. You leaned into the kiss, reciprocating it with equal tenderness before chasing his lips slightly when he pulled away. “Now then, you best take the chance to sleep while you have it, things get chaotic around lunch time.” he mused, causing you to nod. Oh, what a long day it would be, indeed.

At least you got to spend it with him.

[like-a-bantha]

Lost/Loss

Summary: Everything changed after Eriadu. Hunter becomes withdrawn, and you can't help but worry about him. You do what you can to show him you're there for him.

Pairing: Hunter/GN Reader (No Y/N, no descriptions of reader's appearance)

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, mentions of major character death

Word Count: 1.7k

AO3 | Masterlist

One week of radio silence. Our contact was supposed to get back to us five days ago with intel on Hemlock and his captives. Instead, we’ve sat around on Pabu tensely awaiting a holocall that we’re beginning to lose hope in receiving.

Phee was kind enough to offer us room in her home, and free reign of her holotable, to act as a sort of base. It’s been quieter since we were last gathered around this table. The usual boisterous laughter and interrupted rants replaced with worried silence broken every so often by a sea breeze that no longer carries the joyous sound of Omega and Lyana playing just outside. That mission, Hemlock, the Empire, took so much from us; it’s taken an incredible amount of effort from Hunter, Wrecker, and I to not allow these forces working against us to take our hope on top of it all.

Echo and Rex referred us to this contact not long ago, someone who they’d worked closely with during the war, someone they trust. I commed Echo. Hunter advised against it, said it wasn’t worth it, that all we could do now was wait. I snuck out to the Marauder to use the long distance com anyways. Of course, the conversation was brief, and he has as much information as we do. Sit tight. Waiting game. All that.

“How’re they holding up?” His voice low, even with the volume adjusted to its highest setting. He’d mentioned returning to Coruscant last time we spoke, it must be the middle of the night there. We always did have terrible sleeping schedules.

“Not well, but I mean…” I trail off, we both know the reason, we both hold some foolish hope that not saying it will make it less true, “They miss you.”

“But you don’t?” There’s that sass, that glint of normalcy I’ve both craved and feared these past two months.

A laugh escapes me as if on instinct, it sounds foreign, “Nah, thought I’d never shake you. So clingy.”

“You’re one to talk, you do realize it’s 0100 here?”

This, our shared brand of humor and sarcasm, too, feels so distant to me now. Slowly, it comes back to me, “Oh, I’m so sorry, did I wake you up? Were you sleeping?” 

“Like a baby.” His warm chuckle crackles through the com speaker, and mine through his. The silence that follows is warm, easing his way into broaching the question, “I take it he’s distancing himself again?”

I sigh, a deep sigh only brought about by reality, “I get it, I really do — and, honestly as bad as it sounds, I wish I didn’t because this kriffing hurts — but withdrawing like this, I don’t know why he can’t see it’s only making the feeling worse.”

“Have you told him that?”

“‘Course. He just says something about how we can’t give up and stares at the holotable. I don’t want to give up, I can’t give up, I just hate seeing him like this.” 

Echo hums, but just as he begins to respond, static and unintelligible voices play loudly through the speaker. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. Good luck.”

I nod, wiping at my misty eyes as I reach for the switch to end the transmission, “Be safe. Talk soon.”

Silence. Mournful, somber silence echoes through the lonely hull of the once lively ship. Everywhere my gaze falls sits a piece of their history, our history; one of Tech’s unfinished projects, a drawing of the ship Omega had called extra credit, Echo’s favorite brand of instant caf. Unable to withstand the weight of these memories, I decide to take my leave and the silence follows me back to the cottage.

I return to a rare sight: an empty house. No Wrecker sitting at the kitchen counter disassembling and reassembling explosives. No Phee asking him to take it outside. No Hunter hovering over the holotable awaiting a call. No com to tell me to hurry back, mustn’t have been an emergency.

I make my way over to the holotable, fingertips gliding across its rounded edge as I approach Hunter’s usual seat. When I pull out the chair, I’m met with a sight that would normally make me laugh. His shredded scarf that he’s grown so attached to, destroyed on our last mission to gather intel, along with his prized bandana that appears to have shrunken in the wash. The best I can muster is a bemused huff, taking the bundle of abused fabric into my arms as I sit. Suddenly, I’m struck with an idea. It could be a very stupid idea, of course, but a very good idea doesn’t always equate to a very smart idea. It’s a perspective thing and seeing as the only perspective available at the moment is my own, I figure I may as well get to it before more perspectives show up.

After careful work, I neatly fold remaining fabric and stash it in my pack with my tools; as the designated mender of the group, I know firsthand there is no such thing as too many fabric patches. Returning to the table, finished product tucked delicately in my vest pocket, approaching voices grow louder and louder.

“I’m telling you, it looks good! Stop fussing, leave it… yeah, like that,” Phee’s voice nears the door, and I’m sure I hear Hunter grumbling about something. The door whooshes open and my eyes widen with surprise. When I meet Phee’s gaze, she seems to silently plead for backup, “You’re back! What do you think?”

She gestures to an unamused Hunter, visibly fighting the urge to fidget with the hat he’s wearing. It doesn’t look bad on him, very few things would, but he doesn’t exactly look comfortable. Unwilling to hold the spotlight any longer, he grabs the floppy brim and removes it from his head, tossing the garment onto the table as he takes the seat next to me. Unable to help myself, I lean forward with a smile and run a hand through his slightly disheveled hair.

“That bad, huh?” Phee sighs, Wrecker following closely behind as she heads for the kitchen.

“I liked it,” The glee still empty from his voice, even at something that would’ve garnered one of his trademark laughs a few months ago.

“Me, too, big guy.” Phee sets a crate of groceries on the countertop. Wrecker’s taken to cooking. Though he’s been much quieter these days, Wrecker seems like himself again when he’s preparing a meal.

Hunter’s gaze is locked on the table, silences between us were never tense like this. When he speaks, he doesn’t look at me. “How’s Echo.”

It isn’t a question, more of a remark, maybe even an I told you so if I really read into it. I answer it like a question anyway, “Good, but no word from the contact.”

He hums. The silence that follows deems the told you so unnecessary.

I reach into my vest pocket. Now’s as good a time as any. “I made you something.”

He hums again, gaze flicking away from the table for half a second in question. Right now, that’s probably the best I’ll get. I place an open palm on the table before him. After a moment's hesitation he rests his hand atop mine, palm up, and I look to his eyes as I delicately drape a band of maroon fabric with thin gold stripes across his fingers.

Hunter’s expression is unreadable, regarding the gift silently. I bite my tongue, attempting to hold in any preemptive apologies in fear that I may have overstepped. My flat expression shifts only when I see his eyes begin to well up, before the first sorry can push past the floodgates he turns to me with the faintest smile. A smile I haven’t seen in too long. His grip tightens around the bandana as he rushes to pull me into a tight hug. Instantly, my arms wrap around him, tears forming in my own eyes. “I love it,” his voice low, he places a kiss on my temple, “thank you.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.” My voice comes out a whisper, all of the words I hold back seem louder. “We’re going to get them back, Hunter.”

“Not without a fight.” He says grimly, holding me tighter, as if he’ll lose me the second he lets go.

“I know,” I pull back to look into his eyes, my hand coming up to cup his tattooed cheek, “but we fight as a team. We can’t keep bottling all of this up, we need to take care of each other, ourselves.”

Hunter rests his forehead against mine as he sighs, “You’re right.”

“I know. How’re you feeling?” He shuts his eyes as my thumb gently ghosts back and forth over his cheekbone.

He thinks for a moment before releasing me, opening his palm to look at the bandana in his hand. “Lost,” he turns the garment over, examining the back, “Loss. I couldn’t protect them. You, Wrecker, Phee, you’re all I’ve got now and I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect you either.”

“Tech protected us. Omega, too. I think it’s cruel to put that duty solely on yourself, Hunter. It’s an impossible weight to carry on your own,” A tear falls from my eye, quickly sliding down my cheek before landing on my pant leg, “please, let me carry some.”

“Giving it away doesn’t sound easy, either.” His own tears threaten to spill over, I hope I never get used to the subtle, somber shake in his voice, “But I’d like to try.”

When he looks up with a sad, weary smile, I can’t help but lean forward and place a small kiss to his lips. I begin to withdraw, but Hunter’s palm cups my cheek and pulls me back in for a longer, gentler and tearful kiss. This time, the silence that follows is peaceful as he rests his forehead against mine once more.

His loose hair falls around his face and I accidentally pull a few strands into my mouth as I inhale. He chuckles a bit as I pull away, a sound I’ve missed dearly. I can’t help but let out a small laugh of my own, reaching up to once again run a hand through his curls, “It’s gotten so long.”

Hunter smiles, turning the bandana over once more before presenting it to me, “Do the honors?”

With a smile and a nod, I take the cloth from his grasp, delicately wrapping the fabric around his head and tying a single knot.

“It’s perfect,” He places a soft kiss to my knuckles, taking my hand in his, “thank you.”

The holotable chirps. Incoming transmission.

A/N: Someone pointed out Hunter's hair looks longer, plus the new bandana, I just had to get this out of my system. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, comments mean the world to me! <3

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 8

I wish I could explain to you the absolute feat it was to complete these chapters. I’ve been having a TIME lol but like,,, not a bad time? Just a busy one. I’ll probably be gone for a bit (but who actually knows) since I’ve got a few end-of-year projects that have been taking up my time and brain. And I don’t recall if I mentioned before, but I’m on a 2-year medication that causes SUCH bad brain fog. anyway. That’s enough over sharing. Here’s the rest of were you sent by someone?

table of contents

i’m not pretending in the way you are

It becomes a routine, Jamie coming over. It doesn’t help that Madeline (the fucking traitor) vaguely endorses the whole thing after girl’s night at Keeley’s. 

“I genuinely think he’s trying,” she says. “He goes to therapy, for fuck’s sake. That’s got to mean something.”

“Fuck you,” you reply good-naturedly and Madeline just poses for another selfie with Clare. 

But she’s right. He is trying, trying in a way he didn’t when you were together. He’s almost reliable, although you’d never say it to his face. He shows up with flowers, doesn’t push boundaries, and more often than not he makes dinner. 

And he’s fucking brilliant with Clare. It’s almost unfair how good he is, with no practice whatsoever. She loves him, smiles whenever she can see him and giggles when he holds her.

You take her to a game, once. Madeline comes too, wearing an oversized Rojas kit and a miniskirt. You just wear a red shirt and jeans, but Bean has a Tartt onesie. You see Keeley Jones from afar and barely dodge having to talk to her. Jamie finds you after the match and Madeline takes a picture of the three of you. Jamie has his arms wrapped around you and you’re smiling. It’s a real smile too, and the picture ends up on your fridge. You’re not sure how because you definitely didn’t put it there, but Madeline and Jamie are there often enough that it could have been either one of them. 

Most dinners devolve into fierce arguments between Jamie and Madeline about who love Clare the most, but you aren’t complaining. She’s sleeping through the night now, so you let them argue while glued to your computer.

Jamie has taken to holding your hand whenever he can manage it. He always was one for physical touch, and it’s nice. He hasn’t made a move beyond that and you’re not ready for that but whatever you have right now is working.

Georgie visits, and that’s strange. You’d only met her twice before, and now she’s in your house holding Clare while Jamie sits on the couch next to them. It feels like intruding almost, the way they all have the same face and the same smile, so you disappear upstairs. They won’t notice, you’re positive, but there’s a tap on the door to your room and instead of looking up to see Jamie, it’s Georgie. She comes in and sits at the end of your bed at your invitation and says, “Are you all right, love?”

You smile, the one you use for photographs. Not fake, but not real either. “Of course,” you reply. “I’m glad you could come meet Clare. You’re welcome back any time.”

Georgie squints. “It must be strange for you,” she says, “going from being all alone to having the other side of Clare’s family. It was hard enough for me when Simon came ‘round, much less Jamie. And Jamie was older, too, so the poor baby was always worried Simon was going to leave.”

You nod. You’re quite familiar with the story. You still aren’t sure Jamie trusts Simon, but maybe he wouldn’t trust anyone with his mum.

Which begs the question, do you really trust anyone with Clare? Jamie’s been lovely for a whole month, but a month isn’t long enough to really tell. You wonder if the threat of him leaving will always loom over your head.

“Jamie called me, you know,” Georgie says. “It was right after he met Clare. He wanted to know how to un-fuck up everything and I told him he might not be able to. He was a right little shit, I heard. I just told him what I would have liked when I was in your shoes, but I know it doesn’t magically fix everything.”

And that… that makes sense. Not that Jamie couldn’t have figured out how to make things better on his own, but he did it almost perfectly. It makes sense why everything he did seemed to anticipate all your needs. He’d asked someone who’d been in your shoes, and hadn’t gotten the help she might have wanted. 

“He loves you, you know,” Georgie continues. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to pressure you to speak, which is good because you don’t have much to say. “I mean, he really, truly, spectacularly loves you. He speaks about you in all of our conversations, always going on about how amazing you are at your job and as a mum.” That’s interesting. You hadn’t known Jamie spoke to Georgie about you, much less what he might have said. You know Georgie can be many things, but she isn’t a liar. 

She hesitates for a moment. “You don’t have to treat me like your mum, but I’d like to treat you as my daughter. I always hoped Jamie would choose someone who’d make him want to be better. He’s a sweet thing, he is, but he gets funny in the head sometimes, you know what I mean?”

You smile. “Jamie? Funny in the head? Say it isn’t so.”

Georgie laughs. “Ah, that Clare is going to have quite the sense humor between the two of you I’m sure. You’ll have to come ‘round up north when you can manage it. I know Simon would be absolutely delighted to meet you both.”

Your eyes flicker. That’s a big step. A very permanent, potentially painful step.

Georgie catches it and leans forward. “Love, I’m not just here because of the baby. I’m here because you’re someone Jamie cares about. Simon and I want to be a support system for you.” She smiles. “And of course, we don’t want to step on your toes. James’s parents were always trying to take Jamie, and I fucking hated it.”

You hear footsteps on the stairs and Jamie appears with Clare. “Oi,” he says, “you lot having a chat about me?”

“No,” you and Georgie chorus and Jamie just squints. “Fucking lying, you are. Can always tell.”

You hold your arms out for Clare. At this rate, the kid won’t be on the floor long enough to learn how to crawl.

“Cruel,” Jamie continues, and you roll your eyes. So dramatic, he is. “Anyway, came up to see if you’d like to go out to eat tonight. I can’t do the fuckin’ dishes. I need a break.”

“Lazybones,” Georgie says, and it’s different now than it was downstairs. It feels like family.

—

Georgie’s been gone a week and you’ve been roped into dinner at Jamie’s with Roy Kent and Keeley fucking Jones.

Thank fucking god Madeline’s there as well with her on-again off-again boy toy who’s probably her soulmate and who she will most likely marry when she’s in her forties because otherwise you’d lose your fucking shit.

It’s a strange dinner without the fact that you can’t stomach Keeley, because Roy fucking hates Jamie.

You’re pretty sure he tolerates you, and he definitely likes Clare because he holds her most of the night before you put her down in her room to sleep. 

The feeling’s mutual, because she cries the moment you take her from him.

You say, “You’re good with kids,” and Roy just shrugs.

Back at the dinner table, Madeline’s had to dig her nails into your thigh. She’s definitely going to leave crescent fingernail marks, but if it stops you from being rude, you won’t wiggle away.

Jamie’s oblivious. He just seems happy not to be alone in his giant, far too quiet house. It’s a relatively uneventful evening, although you’re not the biggest fan of the way Keeley tells stories about Jamie like he belongs to her, somehow. Or like you don’t exist.

By the time she and Roy leave, you’re exhausted. The last thing you want to do is wake Clare, drive her home, and try to get her to sleep again.

Madeline and Isaiah (aforementioned boy toy) leave soon after, and you call, “Use protection!” as they walk down the steps.

“Worked well for you, did it?” Isaiah asks and you flip him off, but you aren’t mad. Like you said, you’re relatively certain he’s Madeline’s soulmate and he’s been around long enough that he’s allowed to joke like that.

The door finally closes behind them and you’re ready to collapse. You turn to find Jamie with a similar expression and without conscious effort, you make your way into his arms.

You close your eyes and sigh as you rest your cheek on his chest.

He asks, “You tired?” and you nod. “Want to spend the night? Can make up the room next to Clare’s. Won’t take long.”

You shake your head, and you feel him deflate a little. “I don’t want the room next to Clare’s.”

Jamie pulls away a bit to gauge your expression. “You mean-?”

You nod. “I hate sleeping alone. It’s cold and stupid.”

Jamie says, “Hm,” and uses one hand to brush hair away from your face. Your gaze flicks to his lips for a moment, but he definitely sees it. You have just enough time to say, “We’re not having sex,” before he’s kissing you, and you think that maybe forgiving him isn’t such a terrible idea after all. 

But you’re too tired to explore that idea further so when he breaks away to get some air, you pull him upstairs and to his room where you both collapse on the bed and fall asleep intertwined.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Just started Medjed arc of P5R; here are my current thoughts on the characters I know so far:

Joker: Look, I know people say he's a "self-insert" but I really, really see a few very distinct personality traits in him. He's lost in thought a lot. He zones out. He's really goal-driven. He's clever. He's a risk-taker. He's wary of consequences. He takes a little while to trust people, especially adults. He's suspicious and easily annoyed. He's on your side. He wants to help. He's a snarky little shit. His compassion is as much his defiance as his bitter disdain. He's hesitant. He's confident. He's bluffing. His respect is earned. His assistance isn't. He's free. He's chained. He's larger than life. He's a dumbass dork of a teenager. Incredibly fun character to play as, 10/10. I love that you can actually see him becoming more confident as time goes on. His dialogue options also become sillier/snarkier/more teasing as he becomes closer with people. It's just fun. I have a lot more thoughts on him but I'm going to stop here. I'd love to do a bit of an analysis on him once I finish the game - I'd like to go back through his main story dialogue options and his idle and specific scene animations. Plus, they seriously popped off with his character design. There's so much I could say about that alone.

Ryuji: Ryuji, my beloved. I wish you were less horny in uncomfortable ways in some scenes - I think, as well as Atlus not knowing what teenage girls are like, they also have not... spoken to people raised by single mothers, or mothers who got out of an abusive relationship... but anyways, asides from that, I love Ryuji. I think his desire for popularity makes a lot of sense - he's only ever stood out in a bad way. He just wants to be liked, you know? And he doesn't think he's enough the way he is. He's trying his best. I need him to shut up so bad but also I hope he never shuts up, you know. He's genuinely so funny, and he's the most ride or die of anyone. Ryuji gets angry on everyone's behalf when they can't muster up their own anger yet. Everyone say thank you, Ryuji.

Morgana: I do not get the hate for this not-cat; he's so funny to me. He's becoming a little more aligned to the thieves' morality, which is probably for the best since at the beginning he was definitely down with accidental murder and totally open about his pragmatism. He actually encourages this in Joker. It's just funny. I love my emotional support not-cat bestie who sits in my desk at school then tells me to go strike shady deals with random people in back alleys. You can definitely see a change in Morgana though; he's becoming more excited about helping people for the sake of it (like Joker, he too has gained purpose), but he's also becoming more insecure.

Ann: She remains my favourite of the Thieves. If Ryuji is the original drive and Morgana the original method, then she is the original conviction. The strength to stand with victims. The desire to force those who hurt others to understand the feelings of said victims. She has the rawest fucking lines at the end of the Kamoshida arc. She loves Shiho so much, and I really feel like her and Joker are on the same page when it comes to things deeper than their surface level interests. Get you a friend like Ann fr. It's a shame that later scenes have her mostly just getting mad at the guys when they uhhh... act like horny guys towards her. Feels bad man, especially because I love the aspect of her character that wants to be more comfortable with her sexuality and have that be on her terms. <- That's really cool, actually! Why couldn't we do more with that...? As a note though, I seriously love her admiration towards female cartoon villains and that one mean girl model. I think that's so funny and also such a mood. I do not believe for one second that Ann is straight. I hope she becomes the sexy and confidant morally-ambiguous thief of her dreams, and also that she gets a girlfriend. It's what she deserves.

Yusuke: He's so dramatic. Do you expect me not to love him? I really loved his conflict during Madarame's arc - those revelations were absolutely brutal, and Yusuke really handled things well, all things considered. Again, like Ann, there were some raw lines in there. But then, of course, the slump on the other end, when the adrenaline wears off. That Yusuke's painting only showed the dark side of desire tells me that he is still grappling with the effects of all these reveals. He has a lot to process.

Makoto: I just think she's so cute. Her design is adorable. She's such a sweetheart. On the flip side though, while I don't find her as intimidating as the game seems to, I definitely would not want her mad at me. While, as I mentioned before, I found the lead up to her joining the thieves to be a little janky, the actual moment was great. I love that she has a support system now. She really needed that. I hope there are more scenes with her in group settings tbh. While I'm enjoying her one-on-one dynamics with Ryuji and Ann, I do feel like she doesn't really... gel with the group as well as, say, Yusuke did. I think they need to drag her out to more activities lol.

Sojiro: I still don't know yet? He seems like the tough love sort. I do enjoy getting to learn random coffee trivia from him, and it seems like he cares in a kind of gruff way. He also gets a lot of suspicious people coming by. Guess I'll find out more later.

Maruki: Again, I don't know much still. He's endearing and dorky. That salt bae thing still lives rent-free in my head. I feel his frustration with not being able to help more. I get it man. I will say though, the fact that we get to see scenes with the thieves and Maruki, with no Joker present, is... odd.

Kasumi: I... I don't know how to feel. She's too nice. She's too polite. All of her scenes are so weirdly convenient. I like her just fine, but there's something seriously off. I almost feel like she's an outlier on purpose, like she doesn't blend into the world. Unlike Maruki, who is new to Royal but blends into the story quite nicely, Kasumi really stands out, to the point it kind of feels like that was the intention. She is adorable, though, I won't deny that, and I do want her to succeed and all, I just... hm. I don't know how to feel about her.

Akechi: I could fix him (smack him upside the head). <- okay but seriously, he is so obviously suspicious, he so obviously knows about Joker, he's such a smarmy little shit. I would despise him irl, but he's absolutely the funniest character in the game right now. Everything he says has me either cackling or my jaw dropping at the fucking audacity. He's also really interesting to me. Love a character whose every line means three things rolled into one. He feels dangerous and weirdly endearing at the same time. What the hell is his problem (affectionate + derogatory).

Yoshida: YOSHIDA MY ABSOLUTE BELOVED. I love him so far. He's my favourite confidant right now. He just makes me so happy man I love him so much. Yoshida takes the hard road and he's got the conviction, but you need support from people to really turn your life around. Hey, that's kind of what the game is about, yeah?

Takemi: Oh I love her confidant so far. I don't know that she's one of my favourites, character-wise, but I was especially taken with her dedication to that medicine, and Joker's response to her saying that she doesn't suit everyone coming to her for medical help by countering her with an "it suits you". Very sweet. I'm getting close to finishing her confidant; I just need to level up charm.

Mishima: I'm almost done his confidant too! I actually enjoy Mishima's character. I feel like his downward spiral made a lot of sense, and I like that he's both helpful and made me feel a bit uncomfortable. I especially like that he's pulling himself out of that fame mentality by himself, without his heart being changed. We just gave his shadow something to think on.

Kawakami: Idk how I feel about this, but the perks are good. I'm curious about her though.

Sae: She seems dedicated to her job. Forming a confidant with her during the interrogation was something I did not expect and had me going "ohohoho". But man, some of the stuff she says to Makoto is way out of line... I'm glad she's at least aware as soon as it leaves her mouth, and I cannot imagine the constant stress and scrutiny she's under but... still. Girl. :/

Iwai: I'm going to properly start his confidant soon. He's cool. I feel like he's not nearly as scary as he makes himself out to be.

Ohya: Don't know much about her so far, but she's a disaster, and I will always enjoy a good disaster woman.

Lala: SHE'S PERFECT. I wish there was a mechanic where you could get advice from Lala-chan. She's looking out for everybody. She's good. :)

Chihaya: She told me I'm gonna die... :(

[cinnbar-bun]

hi luna :))) *rubs hands together* 💕

can i request some hcs (fluff) of hot pants crushing on reader. like how she is when she has romantic feelings!

(i think you write for pt7 i sprinted to the ask box so delete if you dont anyways bye ilyy)

AAAA Bambi ofc <3 happy late birthday sorry i did this later but yk better late than never!!! Honestly, HP beating me in an alley would totally fix me.

Hot Pants Falling in Love

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1.1k

Notes: Mentions of HP's backstory, GN!reader, no spoilers for SBR, some mentions of death/angst (this is HP) but overall pretty fluffy.

Hot Pants is not someone who generally tries to get close to others. She’s on her own mission for salvation, and she’s willing to do it by any means necessary. 

In the beginning of you two meeting, she acts harsh and blunt, as usual. It’s honestly a miracle she didn’t threaten to hang you, but that’s not really a bad thing. 

You two spend a lot of time together during the race and slowly grow closer, something she wasn’t intending or expecting. She was just trying to do her job and find the Corpse Parts. 

Not that she’d admit that- out loud or to her own self. She holds you higher in her head than Johnny or Gyro, but she still views it as just a working relationship. One where you’re both using the other to collect the parts and stop Valentine. 

Nothing more, nothing less, she thinks (deludes) to herself. 

She will straight up refuse to acknowledge these feelings. In no way shape or form is Hot Pants going to admit she’s falling in love with her partner. No way. 

That extra worry she has that’s only reserved for you? Well, of course she’d worry when her trusted partner is injured or hurt. You work so well with her, it’d be a shame for you to be put out of commission. 

The fact she feels the need to share her food with you? Don’t be foolish, how can you race properly when you haven’t eaten much? Now hurry, you need to go to another location. 

The annoyance she feels when Johnny, Gyro, Diego- or frankly anyone else- is taking up your attention and time? You’re her partner, and it’d be annoying to have to deal with you splitting your time or going off to them instead. 

As you can see, Hot Pants is not exactly one to ponder these thoughts too hard. She believes them to be just about business, and that your relationship to her is just a professional one. Nothing else, no other things involved. 

She hasn’t had experiences with love and romance, so she just doesn’t know how to process these feelings. She’ll occasionally have a split second awakening where she’ll think, I do like their presence, then choke it down with a for racing, of course. 

Hot Pants is also not helping her case because despite you being the closest to her and being the one she curries more favor with, she also acts extra stern with you. 

Everyone is seeing those mixed messages where she glares at Gyro for telling you a joke before she barks at you that you need to get your shit together. 

Or when she gives you a part of her sandwich then shoves it in your hand and lectures you on why you planned so poorly. You need to think ahead for these matters, damn it. She won’t be around every time to save your ass. 

Although… she wishes she could be. 

There’s a certain dread that creeps over her when she thinks or looks at you, and it’s entirely self-inflicted. She refuses to acknowledge the notion or why she could be feeling this way towards you, specifically, but she knows that you’re the one she feels this way to. 

It would only be on a random night under the stars where you’re sleeping and she’s on lookout duty, contemplating and ruminating over her life, where she’d be forced to understand the thoughts she’d been denying for so long. 

Hot Pants won’t even make a fuss or put up much of a fight at that time, instead quietly looking into the fire and admitting to herself the truth. 

Ah… I do like them. I like them a lot more than I should. 

She’s obviously guilty over what happened to her brother, but she wonders if she is worthy of having your attention. Does she deserve to be happy with someone after all she’s done? (The answer is yes, of course)

Daily life after that night stays kind of the same. Although, you might catch Hot Pants avoiding your gaze or talking softer to you sometimes. Not always, again, she will try to mask it with her harshness and continue her lectures. 

But now she’s even more determined to make sure you don’t get hurt or, god forbid, die on this race. She will not have you get hurt if it’s the last thing she does. 

She already admits she’s willing to put her life on the line for the sake of the corpse parts and her salvation, but you also get added there, too. She won’t acknowledge this to even herself, but if push came to shove, she’d have no regrets sacrificing her life for you. 

In a way, she’d hope you could be the one to continue the mission for her. She trusts you immensely, and would like to believe that if you got the parts, you could be free and saved. 

All this to say, Hot Pants’s feelings are more subtle and internal. And although she likes to act as if she does not have such feelings or ideas in her head, truthfully, she’s a whole well of them. She thinks too much, feels too much, and loves you too much. 

You’ve complicated her already busy head while also providing with her the only amount of peace and quiet in her mind. You make her feel a bundle of contradictions that she can’t help but act out on. 

She hates you, but she loves you like nothing else. She is worried for you and wants to shield you, but thinks you’re one of the strongest people out there. She wants to get angry and upset at you, but she can’t find it in her to continue that kind of behavior. 

You’d pretty much have to be the one to confess first for her, because no way is she ever going to get over her self-doubts and worries to tell you those feelings. Hot Pants is dedicated, this woman is more likely to go hundreds of years never saying a word about it because in her head, your current relationship is fine enough as it is (your presence is really all she needs) and she’d rather not spoil it with her own desires she deems unworthy to have. 

But one thing is for certain… a Hot Pants in love is a very protective Hot Pants, who would do almost anything for you. You need to just say the word and she’d do it, even if she pretends it is a bother or a waste of time.

[legokingfisher]

Who wantss to help me come up with a ship name for mudshock+geode because. I have many (sort of uncoordinated) DR mudshock+geo thoughts if yall want em. Spoilers ahead btw

Vivid scene in my mind that’s making me wish I could write: Nya reassuring Cole she is not upset that he has fallen for someone new since the merge. Bc he may have this fear that she and Jay will just think that this means he moved on or forgot about them or sth. But Nya makes sure he knows she trusts him and knows he still loves her n Jay.

And also her telling Cole that like… her only issue with Geo is that she doesn’t know him. But she can get to know him. And in fact she wants to, because she feels that if Cole can love someone and vouch for someone, then surely they’re good. And yeah. Geo is so so good..

You cannot tell me Cole didn’t talk abt his husband and wife nonstop to Geo n Bonzle n the finders in the land of lost things. bc they are his World. And of course the rest of the ninja+buddies. And it’s partially one of the things that has Geo falling for him because ohghhhh that’s a man who loves and protects so strongly so brightly so fiercely, this is someone so steady and nurturing.

I also just think Nya would like Geo. They would be buddies i think. Dr please let them interact I’m begging… they can share a spouse because I said so

Geo being a bit… intimidated? By Nya at first? If that makes sense? Like. He is secretly afraid she’s like jealous or sees him as in her way or fears he’s somehow keeping Cole from her. But then they hang out more and he’s like oh no wait she’s cool as fuck just blunt and not always great at articulating herself.

Bonding via sparring please (let Nya and Geo spar 2024) (let Cole and Nya spar they missed each other so fucking badddd it would be gay as hell)

And of course of course of course Nya and Cole wondering when their wife (Jay) will return from the war (being a missing person)

They’re both barely holding it together but I think Nya less so/worse because she’s had her brother taken from her and things are sorta compounding. Obviously Kai mattered to Cole as well but like dude Kai n Nya are like dipper and mabel levels of tight so it’s hitting her noticeably and. Cole is doing his best to comfort n ease her mind or distract, bc he likes to be people’s shoulder to lean on, but he’s falling apart at the seams himself. At which point I see Geo feeling rather helpless and like he can’t help them. He tries though.

But anyway. On a lighter note. Suit Jay when two buff hot people he’s never seen in his life scoop him up and take him home saying you’re all married and this is the way things are supposed to be: okay yessir yes ma’am 🫡 can’t complain. Nice arrangement 👁️👁️ fine by me 👁️👁️

[milimeters-morales]

chapter 8 of my transfem miles fic <3

Chap 1 / Chap 2 / Chap 3 / Chap 4 / Chap 5 / Chap 6 / Chap 7 / Chap 9

Wordcount: 4k+

Warnings: Nothing graphic, but some bones get broken

“I’m trying to say that even if you say it’s fine, and that you did it on your own, you shouldn’t have had to.”

Okay, he gets that.

“And that simply doing something doesn’t get rid of your fear. Which, is a reasonable one! I don’t want you to think I think it’s crazy or something.”

Miles starts to fiddle with his earrings as he listens.

“I’m just saying sorry for not trying to figure it out… further. Like, more detailed and planned out, before you came out to your brother and Peter again.”

“Ganke, it’s—“

“Don’t tell me it’s okay, please,” Ganke sighs, twirling his pen, “I’m fine with you thinking that, but really think about what I’m saying, too.”

Miles lays back on his bed with his arms folded under his head. Staring at the ceiling really hard while he thinks certainly doesn’t help in the thought process, but it does feel like it.

So Ganke is… upset isn’t the word. He’s a bit guilty, maybe, that Miles came out on his own, despite everything being fine. 

…He wishes Uncle Aaron were here. He’d know exactly what to say to make Ganke feel better.

But Uncle Aaron isn’t here, so he’s going to have to man up and figure this out on his own.

And it should be easy, he become Ganke’s best friend before becoming his boyfriend! But it still feels like he’s missing something.

The bed dips, and Ganke rests his head on Miles’s chest, slightly curling into him. His body is warm, and Miles hooks their ankles together. A sense of calm washes over him as he focuses on the other boy’s heartbeat, and he starts breathing in sync. 

He can’t fall asleep. But man, he wants to soooo bad right now.

Maybe this entire situation is easy to understand, and Miles is the one just not getting it, like how he is with some unspoken rules in the world. Or maybe, it’s a “journey, not destination” type of thing he isn’t seeing. Sure, it would’ve been really nice if Ganke was there, but Miles isn’t sure that would’ve helped that much. He’d have to be extra careful jumping dimensions with a normal human with him, not to mention if the coming out went super bad.

If Ganke got hurt in any type of way on his watch, he’d never be able to forgive himself. Ganke would never trust him again, and they’d drift apart…

Ugh. Stop thinking about that. It turned out fine, Morales.

Maybe it isn’t about guilt. Maybe it’s like… how he can lift gigantic things by himself, but it is appreciated and a bit easier when other spider-people help out. They don’t need to, but that didn’t matter to them. 

He wasn’t ready to come out. He still doesn’t feel ready to tell anyone else. Managing to actually do it, much less to three people (four if you count Peter’s friend, which for Miles’s sanity, he does not), was only because Ganke was getting fed up, and Miles promised to come out to one of those people anyway. 

It was a bit more bearable coming out to Hobie, but was that because Ganke was there, or because Hobie was Hobie? 

Removing a hand from under his head, he places it on top of Ganke’s.  

Maybe he should just ask Hobie. They could ask him, together, even.

“Ganke, hey. Are you asleep?”

A light snore answers him.

Okay, maybe they can ask him later.

____

Having super-senses is as much a blessing as it is one of the worst curses in the world. 

The lady thanks him profusely, patting his shoulders as he lets her down from his hold.

Her perfume is overwhelming. It wasn’t a bad smell, but man, did she have to spray so much this morning?

“A good man, a good man,” she mutters afterwards, the shock still in her system.

“Here ma’am, there’s a few ambulances over there, they’ll take great care of you,” he gently tells her, “I have to go.”

“Yes you do, you’ve got to fight, good man… good man…”

Anyway, he’s here, fighting some dude with too much strength and not enough brains to realize he was also hurting himself in the process. He was yelling something about being followed, but it’s by nothing that Miles sees, so maybe it’s another invisible enemy just biding its time or something. Or the guy’s lost it.

The bulging muscles look grotesque, reminding Miles of zits that would pop from the slightest pressure. Eugh, gross. The guy, who he’s taken to calling Brick because come on, is barely protecting his modesty.

Oh he sounds old when he says that. 

The guy’s barely covering himself with some torn black briefs and black wrestling mask.

“Hey man! I don’t know what your deal is, but—“

He launches himself closer (which he really didn’t want to do, he doesn’t want to get close to this man at all), but Brick grabs a nearby truck and launches it at him. 

Without enough time to dodge, and the perfume smell lingering and making it hard to focus, Miles shouts in pain as the truck hits him full force, the crack of ribs and something on his face made him panic for a second, the pain not hitting him yet (hopefully it won’t be too bad). He quickly rights himself midair, webbing the truck to the ground as he continues to go flying into a wall. 

“Shit,” he wheezes out as he smacks into the hard brick and falls down to his knees. 

His parents are gonna kill him if he makes any of this worse.

Quickly standing up, he swings back over to Brick, landing on his back as the man bends over to lift up part of the sidewalk.

“Hey man, that hurt! Talk to me! What’s going on?” He snaps his fingers near the man’s ear, swiftly webbing his arms and legs to the ground. 

Not like it’s gonna do much , he thinks.

He feels something warm spreading all over his face as he stands up, and wonders if he should just avoid going home for a few extra hours. Give everything some extra time to heal before he freaks his mom and dad out…

“They’re after me!” Brick yells, ripping his arms free from the webbing and trying to swat Miles away with a large hand. 

He simply scuttles to a different part of Brick’s back-- why hasn’t that perfume faded yet?!

“Who?!” Miles shouts back.

“Them!” 

Thanks, man.

Miles huffs and webs the man again, not sure if he should paralyze him with his venom. Brick already looks really… unhealthy, his heart is for sure working overtime, and though Miles can (usually) control the amount of venom he uses, it seemed too risky.

Maybe he should just play along? He thinks he’s read that somewhere.

“Okay man, I’ll help you!” Miles pats Brick’s back, feeling for a heartbeat. Yeah, way too fast to be healthy. 

Did this guy take something that mutated him this badly? Like, super-steroids? Steroids on steroids?

“You can’t!” Brick shouts, ripping free again with a strange sob-yell, and starting to run towards another truck.

“Oh no you don’t,” Miles mutters, hopping off and grabbing Brick’s wrists before sticking his feet to the ground. “I can help! I’m super good at this!”

“Let me go!” Brick shrieks, trying his best to free himself from Miles’s grip. For a second, Miles is worried Brick will start ripping skin, but he tries to kick Miles square in the chest.

“Hey, that’s not nice!” Miles shouts, adding a bit of whininess to his voice, releasing Brick and jumping on top of the man’s foot to flip back onto his back. “Why don’t you tell me what their plan is?”

“They know I stole from them! Look at me!”

Okay, so Brick definitely took something. Miles feels pretty bad for calling him dumb earlier… how’s he supposed to proceed? The perfume still lingering makes it hard to focus, but he knows three basic things that might help. One: make sure Brick is as safe as possible. Two: get him water. Three: make sure he gets medical attention.

“I see you man, you’re huge,” Miles tells him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “how’d this even happen?”

Brick growls and goes to swat Miles again, but he dodges-- a bit too slow, because the mighty hand clips him on the shoulder, jostling him almost off of Brick’s back.

“I gotta know what happened, man! Do you have a name?” Miles asks, righting himself on the man’s back. 

Brick starts to run down the street again, away from approaching police sirens.

Great , Miles thinks sarcastically, shoulders drooping.

“Are the cops the ones after you?” He asks Brick, trying to hold on with his wavering vision and strength. “I can get them to leave you alone for a bit,” he says, not fully knowing if he actually can. He’ll try though.

“No! The-- Those scientists, they’re after me!” Brick stumbles over a pothole, sending Miles tumbling over onto the pavement. Ugh. There’s two of everything now. Is he losing too much blood? No, right? Nosebleeds don’t bleed that much for someone like him, he’s almost 100% sure of that.

Brick quickly grabs his arm, hand dwarfing the limb, and puts him back on his back as he runs down the street. The sudden movement makes Miles groan, but he pushes on. Brick’s about to go into spaces filled with people, and that perfume smell is starting to drive Miles mad.

“I have a scientist after me too, she hates me. Well, hated. I defeated her, but she might come back,” Miles tells him. “I might be able to help you get rid of those scientists, too!” He says, making his eyes wide and pointing in the air..

“Really?” Brick asks him, slowing down. Good.

“I promise to try! But we have to get somewhere away from all these people, and get you back to normal,” Miles says, taking a deep, shaky breath. His shoulder twitches as he waits for Brick to come to a complete stop.

Oh, thank god. 

Brick immediately jumps over twenty stories into the air, landing on the roof of a building. 

Miles feels ready to pass out. He thinks he did, for a few seconds.

“Okay… okay okay okay…” Miles repeats to himself a few times, slipping off of Brick’s back and onto the roof. “Alright, so just tell me exactly what happened.”

There’s definitely police gathering at the bottom of whatever building this is, so he has to be quick without freaking this guy out, and without messing up from being too disorientated. Fucking perfume.

“You won’t get me captured?” Brick asks, distrust lacing his tone. 

Miles takes a moment before responding. Captured… he probably means by the cops and the scientists. He won’t get Brick arrested, no, and he’ll try his best to make sure the man gets medical attention and adequate care, but he can’t prevent the cops from arresting him. He can delay it, but they could find Brick again, and arrest him for things that people have no doubt already recorded. 

The scientists, if they’re real, however… 

The man’s skin is severely flushed, his eyes are red, his muscles are unhealthily huge, and he’s convinced (reasonably so) that there are scientists after him because he stole from them. 

Miles feels so lost.

Brick starts to look uncomfortable, and Miles wonders if he’s finally going to explode, but then the man starts glitching. 

Miles gasps and backs up, mind racing.

Brick shouldn’t be glitching. Nothing should be glitching! Rifts that swallow people up shouldn’t even be happening anymore!

Quickly calling Peter-- no, Hobie, quickly calling Hobie, Miles frantically explains the situation with Brick currently screaming in pain as his body is contorted beyond belief in a matter of seconds before returning to normal like nothing happened, leaving him to collapse into unconsciousness.

“-Miles, Miles! Stop talking, I’m on my way with a stabilizer, stay with ‘im.”

A portal opens, a guitar riff momentarily playing over the wailing of police sirens, and Hobie lands next to Miles, carrying a clunky looking multi-colored bead bracelet. It kind of looked straight out of a kids toy section, but gave off a faint hum. Hobie quickly unclasps the bracelet somehow, and wraps it around Brick’s wrist, reconnecting it together with an almost inaudible click.

“Okay, what happened?” Hobie asks, gesturing to the unconscious man on the ground as he turns to Miles.

“I don’t know! He was freaking out, throwing stuff and hurting himself in the street, and I tried to calm him down so he jumped up here with me, but then he just started glitching! That’s not supposed to happen! We fixed-- that’s the entire-- it’s done--”

Hobie holds his hands up, slowly getting closer and finally placing them on Miles’s shoulders. “Hey, slow down. Take some deep breaths for me, yeah?”

Yeah, okay, he can do that. He can totally do that. If only it didn’t start sending sharp spikes of pain through his chest with each inhale. The adrenaline must be wearing off…

“I’m-- I think some of my ribs are messed up,” he admits, fighting the urge to cough. Something warm runs down the back of his throat, and he wants to thrash his head around at the feeling.

“Mm,” Hobie’s hands are gone in an instant, “we’ll get you home. I’ll call Gwen, she can handle this fella, no sweat.”

Miles feels the pain hitting him all at once. His nose is definitely broken, and now his shoulder hurts like hell in addition to the pain spreading from his chest to his entire torso. And that stupid perfume is still lingering to him like some skunk decided to get different and fancy. His head might explode in the next 30 seconds. 

“Wait, I don’t think he should be alone,” Miles says, “he took some drug, and he said some scientists are after him-- he might be right. I mean, I don’t know what world he’s from, but maybe we should just…”

Hobie looks back at Brick, and then back at Miles, “Don’t worry, he’s gonna be in good hands. We’re getting Margo on it too, see what’s going on, get him some real help-- he’ll be right as rain before you know it.” His lenses squint happily, “you did good.”

Gwen lands gracefully on the roof from her own portal, giving Miles and Hobie an excited wave. “So, what’s wrong?”

Miles can’t speak. It hurts so much. With each second that passes, everything becomes harder to understand and do.

Hobie fortunately speaks up for him. “This guy’s from another dimension, might be being hunted for taking a drug that made ‘im like this. Got the stabilizer on ‘im, tell Margo and get to a hospital.”

Miles notices his accent is practically unnoticeable right now. Isn’t that strange? 

“Huh, thought those were supposed to stop?” She asks as she gently picks up Brick. “Don’t worry Miles, it’ll be okay.” Her lenses squint happily, and then she’s gone.

His head starts to droop down, so Hobie hurries to hold it in his hand.

God, these police sirens. The perfume. The iron taste in his mouth. Even his own suit. It’s all teaming up against him. “My nose,” Miles mumbles, not wanting to move his face much. It’s not like he had the energy to, even if he did want to.

“Alright, I’ll take you home. This is gonna hurt, m’sorry.”

“M’the one, should be ‘pologzing,” Miles mumbles as Hobie tries to pick him up as gently as possible. He was right, it hurts like a bitch. That’s all he really has the energy to describe it as. 

“No, don’t say that,” Hobie tells him, swinging off. There’s the vague sound of gasps from below, but Hobie continues as if nothing else in the world really deserves his attention. “You did the best you could. Anyone could see that.”

“‘Cept Miguel,” Miles mumbles bitterly.

“We don’t have to think about that tosser,” Hobie responds, “society’s done with, remember?”

Miles nods slowly. He doesn’t like to think about the society at all. But sometimes the bitterness and lingering anger just seeps out.

“Do you think you can turn invisible? Just for a minute,” Hobie hesitantly asks.

Hissing through his teeth, Miles makes himself disappear. 

“Great, you’re doing great, bruv. Just hold on for me?”

Miles nods again, letting his eyes close. 

Some minutes later, he feels Hobie land and hears a door opening. It creaks loudly, and Hobie curses quietly. 

Opening his eyes, he notices the familiar walls, and almost startles right out of the other boy’s arms when it hits him that he’s being taken home.

“Hobie, my parents are gonna lose it,” he gasps, “let’s just go back to yours--”

“Can’t mate. If your ma and pa try it, I’ll get us right out to Pav’s,” Hobie promises as they head down the flights of stairs and to his door. He knocks harshly with his boot, and Miles swears his heart freezes when his mom opens the door.

“Shoot,” he mumbles.

____

His mom is talking to him, and there’s a press of lips to his forehead, then silence. He doesn’t want to open his eyes.

“I’ll be fine… in a bit,” he breathes out. Honestly, he’s been Spider-Man for nearly two years now, he thought he would be way more used to the pain and able to push through it.

“Papá, you did push through,” his mom’s voice is close to his ear, and he feels a gentle pressure on his arm.

Yeah, but only because he didn’t feel the pain. When the pain hit, he was like a baby.

“You’re always gonna be my baby. No matter what you do.” Her voice is directly above him now, and there’s a dip in the bed by his head. He feels his mask being carefully pulled off, slightly grimacing at the cool air on the blood caked on his face. “No matter what,” she repeats.

“Countdown?” Hobie’s voice almost echoes in the room. It was so weird. 

Remembering Gwen’s fake countdown, Miles furrows his brows. “Jus’ do it,” he mumbles.

His mom holds his hand. He really is a baby.

The pain explodes across his face again, making his leg kick out harshly and move the entire bed a few centimeters, probably. Tears sting at his eyes, and he fights the urge to twist his head away by shaking in place. 

“You’re doing great, so great,” he feels a warm and wet towel gently dab around his mouth and cheeks, “let me help.”

“His ribs,” Hobie informs, sounding like he’s messing with some sort of clothes.

“Heal on… own,”

“We know,” his mom and Hobie say at the same time.

“A few days,” he sighs, feeling scolded.

“And lots of rest,” his mom must feel something wrong with the shoulder she’s caressing, because she’s telling Hobie to “give that here” and to fetch extra ice packs instead.

Toilet paper, or he assumes that’s what it is, is used to wipe up the watery-blood left behind and the blood that keeps managing to run down the sides of his face. 

Hobie comes back, placing small bags full of ice wrapped in towels on his chest, sides, shoulder, and nose.

“I’ll get the ibuprofen,” his mom says, patting his hair with a feather-light touch.

“Still pretty new for me,” Hobie tells him casually once she leaves for the bathroom. 

“Wha? The… ‘profen?”

“Yeah, was made around when I was born.”

“…S’crazy.”

“And, um, sorry ‘bout your forehead,” Hobie chuckles, not sounding that sorry at all. 

Miles forces his eyes open, slowly focusing on Hobie, who has a small, almost unnoticeable smile on his face. His eyelids look heavier than usual, those mismatched brown eyes scanning his face. 

“…What?”

Hobie simply wipes his pinkie across his bottom lip, leaving an almost-black purple stain on his finger. He wags it, and gently wipes it off on his forehead again. 

Oh, does he have lipstick on his forehead now? That’ll wash off easily, right?

“Yeah, should be gone with a good shower.”

His mom comes back in with a large bottle of ibuprofen tablets, a water bottle, a chair, and extra pillows from the couch. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you recovering in less than half the time it would usually take,” she tells Miles, opening the bottles for him. 

Hobie tries to wipe the lipstick mark off with the wet towel used to clean up his blood, but it just smears the mark even more. He grimaces and shrugs.

The sound of a portal opening way above them, probably on the roof, makes Hobie glance up. “That’s Gwenny.”

Sure enough, there’s a knocking at the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Hobie says before his mom even opens her mouth, quickly making his way out of the room.

Ugh. He’s not ready for his mom and Gwen to awkwardly interact again. Even if his mom has mostly accepted that Gwen was in a bad situation, and treated her kindly… you could just tell Gwen was waiting for the other shoe to drop every second. The stilted conversations and added confusion from dimensional differences makes it almost painful to watch them interact without anyone to intervene.

But it’s all got to start somewhere. Even their… rekindling, he guesses, was more painful and awkward than that.

Gwen quietly makes her way into the room, appearing next to his mom and handing her a dark blue bottle of something, and some square that crinkled .

“It’s one of Mrs. Parker’s fudge brownies. She used to make them for m—a lot. Like, a ton,” she hurriedly explains. “Um, Margo managed to get that Spider-Doctor dude to take a look at the guy you helped, but if you don’t wanna talk right now…?”

He really doesn’t. But he needs to know if Brick is okay.

“He should rest first,” his mom explained gently. 

“Is he… alright?” Miles asks, focusing his eyes again. The sunlight from his window was making him regret opening them in the first place. So bright.

And that fucking smell. That perfume clung to him like its life depended on it, and it was all he could smell. He couldn’t stand it. He needs to bathe and wash his hair immediately.

“Language, Miles,” his mom gently but sternly scolds him. “And I’ll wash your hair for you.”

He is such a baby.

“I don’t know, the doctor said he seemed seconds away from heart failure, but he was able to at least find out what dimension your guy was from. He don’t wanna send him back, but he did mention going there to find what drug he took. Maybe to reverse the effects?”

“When your father gets here, he’s going to freak out way more than me,” his mom points out, conveniently ignoring the fact that they freak out equally as bad anytime he shows up with severe injuries. “Gwen, can you get another pillow from the couch? Hobie, run the bath with warm water. It should be at a good temperature by the time these painkillers kick in.”

Ugghhhh.

____

One bath and one assisted hairwash later, Miles still smells like that damn perfume. Not nearly as much, thankfully, but he can still smell it all over him. Before they left, Gwen and Hobie made faces when he got out of the bathroom, so he knows they still smell it too. His mom assures him it’s fine, it’s barely even there, just like the lipstick still smeared on his forehead. 

“They’ll just think I did it,” she laughs, “I’ll get my makeup remover. Don’t move.”

He relaxes into the pillows propping him up on his bed, wishing he at least grabbed his sketchbook before he laid down. All he has is his phone, and that’s been vibrating with several text notifications from Ganke-- must’ve finally woken up-- and his dad.

Oh man, his dad. It must be a miracle that those painkillers also made him drowsy. He doesn’t want to have to have any serious conversations about Spider-Man stuff anymore.

His mom comes back and wipes the lipstick off of his forehead, having to use a bit of pressure. “Sorry,” she apologizes, “I didn’t know you and Hobie were so close.”

“I didn’t really expect it either,” he mumbles tiredly. Hobie was pretty physically affectionate with his friends, but a kiss? Last on the list of things Miles would think Hobie would do. Much less to him… he’d expect it more with Pavitr or Gwen, to be honest.

His mom hums, “You should talk to us about your friends more. They seem like they care a lot. Do they know Ganke?”

“Yeah,” he replies as he feels his eyelids get heavy again. He really shouldn’t be this tired, he’s sprung back from broken bones and concussions before, but the injuries, the overwhelming scent of perfume that must have been cursed, the bath, and the hair washing somehow did it. 

He should still be out there, it’s not even three. 

A yawn escapes him and makes him grimace at the faint pain in his face.

“I’ll tell your father to be quiet when he comes in,” she kisses his forehead and leaves the room, letting him slowly drift off to sleep. 

_____

Thanks to the enhanced metabolism he’s been wonderfully blessed with, the medication wears off quickly. He’s still tired though, so he doesn’t make any real effort to keep himself awake, opting to just hover in between fully alert and half-dead. Maybe this is all a very real-feeling dream anyway.

“Are you awake?” he hears his dad ask softly.

“No,” he mumbles.

“Alright,” his dad responds, followed by the sound of a closing door.

This happens a few times, and each time Miles is no more awake than the last.

“Is that perfume?” his dad asks during one visit.

Miles forgets how he responds to that the second it leaves his mouth, but his dad brushes a thumb over his forehead and leaves again.

Maybe the final visit, or the final visit Miles remembers, his dad actually sits on the edge of the bed and removes the ice packs.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one day… I don’t think I’ll ever be alright with it. This. I can’t…”

And Miles remembers moving his hand, to do something, maybe offer a comforting pat on the back because he’s absolutely awful when it comes to this, but his dad catches his hand and holds it.

“You’re killing me here,” a quiet, sad laugh comes from his dad. 

Please don’t cry, Dad. He doesn’t know how to handle that.

“You’re our baby.”

Please don’t cry. 

“Aw, Miles, don’t cry-- look, I’ll get new ice for these, you don’t need to cry.”

A/N: I only did a few corrections and I think I missed some things, do not point them out please 😭 i should have posted this ages ago! also, 'im and 'em are not being used interchangeably, in case anyone thought they were. apparently past me thought this chap was rushed at the end, but i don't see what he meant? if you noticed that don't point it out either though thank you so mash

[hello-nichya-here]

Do you like any of Lucrezia and Cesare's other love interests or do you only ship them with each other?

As usual, I gotta turn what could be a simple answer into an unnecessarily long rant.

All of Lucrezia's boring love interests and why I don't truly ship her with any of them

Okay, so despite the title, I don't think ALL of her love interests are boring... to the same degree. All of them made me roll my eyes and wish for their scenes to be over faster at some point, but some far less than others, and most of them actually had an impact on Lucrezia's growth as a character.

Djem

He was her first (non-incestuous) love. He is a painfully naive guy, and each time he and Lucrezia were being flirty it felt more like two children playing house - yes, even when he's talking about men being allowed to have as many women as they want, and the different rules for beating a wife VS beating a concubine.

He's trapped in a fantasy of having a peaceful, good life when he gets to Rome - no political intrigues, no one being murdered horribly, no one being two-faced. He's basically Lucrezia's prince charming. A handsome young man from a mysterious, foreign land, being all kind and sweet and obviously into her - with intentions so pure they never even kiss.

But his role in the story is literally to die by the hands of the people he now trusted wanted to be his family, so the Borgias could have more money. He's more of a means to an end than he is a character.

His death represents the first major confirmation that Lucrezia's life (and romances) will be filled with sorrow, and that will kill whatever innocence she once had, and while that's fine foreshadowing, it doesn't really make me wish he had lived longer and actually had a relationship with Lucrezia. And more importantly, it sets up the prescedent for Lucrezia to only go for men that are SUPER docile - to the point that's pretty much their only personality trait.

Paolo

While Lucrezia is being abused by her husband, Paolo is there for comfort her, give her a reason to survive, help her injure her husband greatly so he's confined to a bed and unable to harm her, and, yes, he is the one to first show her what a proper romance and consensual sex is like.

Lucrezia likes him because he's sweet and innocent, much like she once was, and she wants to experience that again through him - and those traits are what make her feel he's not a threat to her like her husband. And again, while that's fine as a theme in the narrative, it makes him just a slight variation of Djem's character - or rather of Lucrezia's need for her love interest not to have a spine, so she doesn't have to wonder if she'll one day be abused again. I pity them, but I don't want them together.

To make matters worse, because Paolo is a nobody in the grand scheme of things, he and Lucrezia could never be together - and not only is she aware of it, she made her peace with it, even if she wishes things were different. That's why she tells him never to return to Rome, meaning he'd never see her or their son again, for the sake of his survival - and then he is murdered anyway because Lucrezia's whole tragedy as a character is "Innocence inevitably dies" and since she only ever chooses generic innocent men as lovers, she's basically setting herself up for failure in each new romance.

Raffaello (And Calvino)

If Djem was the representation of Lucrezia's innocence while it still existed in her, and Paolo was her grieving it, Raffaello is the representation that she is a Borgia and will do as she pleases - and that her bad taste in men reached a new low that I don't think could ever be out-matched.

The guy is just boring, to the point that I didn't even remember his name. He's the generic artistic man that Lucrezia is actively lying to just to get in his pants - and the only reason she even wants to have an affair with him in the first place is because she's both deliberately trying to sabotage her father's plan to marry her off again. That's why she wants the unimportant brother instead of the relevant one, Calvino, who is there just so she has an excuse to be close to the one she's into AND because she liked her mom's idea of just having both brothers for herself just to prove she can - and then cast them aside once she's had her fun and thrill is gone.

These "relationships" are just so Lucrezia can experience being spoiled and demanding something she knows she can't have, and doesn't even truly want or need, solely because she was told "No, you can't have this."

It really is no wonder she doesn't really care when both brothers leave. The engagement and affair were never truly about them, but about Lucrezia saying "Screw you, dad, you're not selling me out to the first gross man you find!"

Alfonso

I'd say Alfonso was the one that was the closest to actually working as romantic pair for Lucrezia. He's personality is almost identical to the the copy-paste of all her love interests and he can be one hell of a pushover, but there's a playfulness to their early interactions, they have genuinely good chemistry on scene in which they nearly consumate their marriage, and he's HIGHLY amusing when he gets sick of being controled (and cucked) and just becomes a mess of a person ruining Cesare's day - it was stupid and got him killed, but he earned lots of extra points just by being the only one of Lucrezia's love interests who looked the Borgias in the face and told them to just man up and get rid of him already instead of hiding behind political schemes and manipulation.

But now matter how much he genuinely cared for Lucrezia and how sweet he could be, and how she clearly trusted him, his devotion would just never hold a candle to Cesare's, and simply lacked that Borgia ambition and ferocity that Lucrezia needed to truly be satisfied in a relationship.

That's why in season 2 she agrees when Cesare says she finally has a good man, yet in season three she reminds him that she could be married a thousand times and it'd always be the wrong husband, because she doesn't just want good - she wants her brother, because only a Borgia can truly love a Borgia.

Okay, now that we're done with Lucrezia's boy-toys, lets talk about Cesare's side-chicks.

The woman that exists solely to be stalked by Cesare

Ursula, Ursula... I never liked her. At all.

She didn't really do anything that made me see her as a bad or unlikeable person - but the whole point of her is that, from Cesare's point of view, she's not really a person, she's the object of his "affection" (unhinged obsession).

In his head, he's the brave, bold hero that killed the monster that tormented her, and was then rewarded with her undying love and, of course, sex - what he desperately wishes he could have done when Lucrezia was forced to get married to a man that would end up abusing her, and will be far away, where Cesare cannot protect her. It's no surprise that Ursula was introduced during said wedding.

From her point of view though, she's a woman who was trapped in a bad marriage to an awful man, thought she had found an honrable savior that was risking his own life out of love for her, only to then realize that he was actually a manipulative, violent, frightening monster that told her pretty lies and half-truths to seduce her and then murdered her (admitedly not innocent) husband to make sure nothing would stand on his way.

When she ends the relationship and literally becomes a nun to attone for her sin of adultery/being the reason her husband died, Cesare refuses to accept it. He corners, harasses, and even manhandles her. He never full on forces himself onto her, but there's nothing about her behavior that could suggest his attempts of courtship/reconciliation are in anyway wanted. She's terrified of him, ashamed of their affair, and wants him to leave her alone. She says as much, repeatedly - sometimes with tears in her face, cowering before him like she's bracing herself for a violent beating, full on sexual assault, or even for Cesare to just slit her throat.

Then, she dies horribly when an army attacks the nunnery she's at, raping and killing her. Cesare avenges her... and that's it. He never thinks of her again, and we never find out anything about her other than "She was constantly being victimized by bad men."

I feel sorry for her, but I don't really connect with her character because she didn't have any, and I REALLY don't like how Cesare acted towards her. All the selfishness, entitlement and downright cruelty that he would rather die than inflict upon Lucrezia he unleashed upon Ursula without a second thought - and like I said, she was not into it in the slightest, so this couldn't even be turned into a "dark, unhealthy, dysfunctional, terrying romance", at least for me.

There's simply nothing to like here.

Cesare's wife and how she was almost interesting

Charlotte had potential to be a cool character. She's clever and just looking out for herself, but she's not cruel or all that ambitious. She and Cesare clearly liked each other and enjoyed sleeping together, and she appreciates that he is making an effort - but like Cesare said, love is not an issue between them because they both know it won't happen and neither of them expects or even wants it from the other.

She's Cesare's wife due to convenience. It's a mutually benefitial agreement, not a marriage in the romantic sense. It's an interesting dynamic that can be functional, but doesn't really make me root for them because it deliberately lacks the main part of romance.

And unfortunately, she shows up in one episode, gets a passing mention some time later, and that's it. She exists to give Cesare the political claim he wanted, nothing more. He can enjoy her company when she's around, but when they're apart from each other he seems to completely forget she existed - and even though I remembered the character, I did not remember the name, because she's simply not that important.

Catherina Sforza and why she's the only one I actually like

Catherina Sforza is VERY different from all the other temporary love interests above for the simple fact that she is a fully actualized character that has a role in the story besides being just another temporarely delay to the incest couple everyone is rooting for.

She's cunning, proud, manipulative and ambitious - much like the Borgias. She and Cesare have a gruding respect/admiration for each other, and her seduction of him is both a ceasefire and her distracting him from his goals, trapping him in her little game for her own amusement, getting the upper hand on him... and then also submiting to him in bed. They're all about that power-play/struggle.

It's entertraining and it's HOT, and in some alternate universe where Lucrezia didn't exist, I could see Cesare and Catherina's short-lived fling becoming a proper affair that would last months or even years - before it'd inevitably end with one of them poisoning the other that is.

So yeah, I really like this ship, even if it can never have the literal soulmate kind of love Cesare and Lucrezia had.