#I’m scared what da hell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brandwhorestarscream · 3 months ago

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part 4? can we get a part 4? holy fuck

i love these stupid pregnant robots . what da hell

big dad alpha trion also just Y_Y is so good.... what an utter papa bear

Here we go anon, as requested! I love stupid pregnant robots too uwu

Previous parts are here: part 1, part 2, part 3

And yes I agree, Alpha Trion is such a big cuddly papa bear 🥺 I'm so glad you see my vision. Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy part 4.

...

“You…” he takes a shaky invent. “Y-You really… wouldn’t mind?” Orion nods in affirmation, and Dee gives his first, weak little smile in days. “Ok,” it comes out in a whispered rush. “Alright… y-yeah, ok… let’s- l-let’s do it.”

It’s a small comfort that the cave is spacious, with many side caverns and walls to duck behind for privacy. Dee can’t stand the idea of anyone else seeing, of being on display. He doesn’t want anyone else to see him, nor does he want to see anyone else… no one but Orion.

They’re both nervous, and unsure of what to do. They sit side by side in a cozy, private little alcove away from the other, witj shoulders pressed together and EM fields mingling gently.

Beside him, Orion is warm. An ever comforting presence.

D-16 swallows, and inches his fingers over toward Pax. Their digits brush and he flinches minutely but Orion isn’t bothered. The blue servo turns over, pressing the back of his digits into the dirt, leaving his palm open and waiting. Dee slowly, carefully, slides his hand into Orion's, fingers curling together to hold each other gently.

“...I’m scared.” he admits in a tiny, croaking voice, and Orion squeezes his hand.

“I know,” he leans over to lay his helm on the silver mech’s shoulder. “I am too.”

“How…” Dee shifts his weight. “How do we… I mean-” he covers his face, embarrassed. “H-How should we… start…?”

This is unexplored territory for both of them. They’d never interfaced with anyone properly. They’d never been taught how. And after everything with Sentinel, well… they’re both worried.

Orion looks up at him, optics twinkling. He offers a shaky smile. “Well, uh… i-in the books, we- we would, um-!” he lets out a sudden, anxious sound almost like a breathless laugh. Heat gushes out of his vents and he startles, beginning to stammer. “I- I mean, it’s just- you know, in- in the books we’d- ah, s-sorry, I- hehe…!”

It’s rare to see Orion so flustered he can’t get his words out, and Dee’s spark warms in his chassis.

“In the books, we‘d…?” he jostles his shoulder as Orion’s face visibly discolors in flushed embarrassment. “What? We’d… kiss each other?”

“Y- Yeah!” his best friend’s optics are darting around, looking at anything but him. “That. Can I…? I mean, i-if you’re ok with it?”

When Dee nods, Orion sits up, wringing his servos nervously before leaning forward, reaching out to him. His servo delicately cups one silver cheek, thumb brushing over the soft, beautiful expanse of his face, and his optics soften. A gooey smile spreads on his face, and Dee squirms as his sparkpulse quickens. Orion’s never… looked at him quite like that before. “I’m,” Orion looks just as nervous as he feels. “G-Gonna… kiss you, now. Ok?”

Again, Dee nods, wholly trusting, and lets his optics fall closed, face slack and lips slightly parting in preparation.

Their first kiss is soft, and clumsy, and a bubbling, flying euphoria erupts in his chest with such intensity he actually reels back. D-16’s optics fly open wide when Orion’s mouth connects with his, and it’s every bit as wonderful and magical as he always dreamt it would be. Jazz had once described it as having a nest of scraplets in your tummy, which sounded wholly unenjoyable, but now that he’s living it? He feels like he’s floating: it’s like gravity has released it’s chains on him and he’s free of the shackles. The joy and contentment, the love, that springs forth in his core at that one, simple act is indescribable.

They separate and Orion’s optics flutter: he feels it too, the rising excitement, the rush of emotion; his face splits into a beaming smile and he starts giggling, before grabbing Dee’s face in both hands and kissing him again. Not forceful, just excited, and Dee can feel the way delighted laughter makes his frame tremble. Despite himself, he starts laughing too, and kisses him back, bringing his arms up to clumsily wrap around his neck and pull him closer.

They tumble into the dirt together, giggling and holding onto each other. They're clumsy and inexperienced, and sometimes the kisses are even downright sloppy, but they're both happier than they've been in awhile just to be there with each other. Hands running over each other's bodies, stroking at seams and shyly looking for sensitive spots, they work at steadily building charge as one.

It's not long before Dee is squirming: his insides feel warm and gooey, and there's a throbbing, hungry sensation deep down in his core. His valve feels wet and slippery, his spike feels tight inside it's housing, and they're both pulsing with the desire to be touched.

His interface panel retracts with a soft click, and Orion kisses his neck. “...are you nervous?” The blue mech asks, and D-16 can feel the warm gush of air from his vents.

“...yeah,” he shivers and curls closer to Orion, snaking one leg between his. “But… I wanna do this. I,” he swallows. “I'm ready.”

A blue servo gently cups his face, and Orion gives him the gentlest, softest kiss that makes his spark stutter in his chassis. A punch of heat rolls into his belly, and D-16 whimpers, needy.

With great care, Orion sits up as Dee lays out on his back. He slides his hands up thick silver thighs, intently watching his friend’s face for any sign of discomfort. There is none, and rather, he tries to wiggle closer. Orion gently parts his thighs, maneuvering himself between them, taking a moment to admire D-16’s bared array. He's beautiful, chubby spike bobbing in the air with every shallow inhale and exhale, pulsing softly with yellow biolights, a drop of pearlescent, glowing fluid gathering at the tip and growing larger with each breath. His valve is even cuter, lips round and plush to protect his most intimate area, already visibly wet, pink lubrication collecting like dewdrops all along the rim. He trembles under Orion's gaze, cheeks discolored as he mumbles, “Hey, c-c'mon, don't stare…”

“Sorry-” Orion sounds breathless, struggling to pull his optics away to look up at his face. “I'm sorry, you're just-” his glossa darts out to moisten his derma. “P-Pretty.”

Dee's vocalizer makes an embarrassed squeaking noise, and he covers his face, a bright but undeniably flustered smile spreading on his face. He giggles behind his fingers, and Orion can't help but snicker along with him, leaning down to kiss his forehelm. Pulling back, he rubs his thighs a few more times before delicately moving his servos toward the bared interface array. His fingers just barely brush the other mech's spike, and D-16 gasps, hips jumping. Fluid dribbles down his spike, and his biolights flash fever bright.

“Sorry-!” He's biting one finger, looking down at himself with wide optics. His fans have kicked on full blast. “S- Sensitive!”

When the head of his spike bumps the back of his mouth, Orion pulls back, till only the tip is between his lips. He suckles at it, swirling his glossa around the tip, before sucking it back down in. Dee thrashes, hips stuttering and trying to roll into the sensation: Orion sets a pace as well as he can, bobbing his helm up and down, sucking and licking like he's one of those cold, dissolvable treats Ratchet sometimes gives them when they inevitably overheat during the hot season.

Orion smiles, and lowers himself down, sliding into the dirt so he's laying on his belly between his legs. He's never done this before–except for with Sentinel, and that did not count–but he'd read plenty of explicit novels, and in those, starting off with oral was always a safe option. He wraps both servos around Dee's spike, exhaling a breath over it and smiling at the way his hips jerk again. He kisses the tip of his spike then sucks it into his mouth: above him, D-16's helm drops back and he moans up the ceiling above. He tastes salty, and sweet, and Orion hums to himself as he works it to the back of his mouth, glossa laving around the length to wet it and aid the slide. Dee swiftly unravels, every vent paired with a wheezy moan as Orion works him over.

“Pax, Pax!” D-16 is swiftly coming undone, servos clawing at the ground, vents fast and shallow as he tries to warn him, “I'm gonna- gonna-!”

He overloads with a wail of Orion's name, a warbling affair that tapers off into wordless moaning. His spike swells in Orion’s mouth and hot fluid gushes onto his tongue, smoky-sweet and nearly scalding. He chokes in surprise, a trickle of it splashing over his bottom lip, but he swiftly gulps the rest down, swallowing more on reflex than anything. It tastes good, he realizes, pulling back to let the spent spike ease out of his mouth. He licks his lips, wiping one hand over his chin to clean up the mess; his glossa is already halfway through licking up the transfluid on his fingers before he even realizes it.

D-16 looks incredibly relaxed, splayed out on his back and twitching softly, mouth open and panting, optics flickering as he stares up at the ceiling.

“...was it good?” Orion asks hesitantly, hoping he did alright.

Dee responds with a noncommittal noise and a shaky thumbs up. Orion preens, feeling proud of himself. While his partner is still cycling his vents and coming down from the high, Orion sits up again. His interface retracts with an audible ‘schlkk!’ and D-16 twitches.

“Sorry-” Orion tries to stuff his spike back away, but it's uncooperative, straining and hard despite his forceful pushing. Dee’s dazed optics are fixed on him, blinking sleepily. “S-Sorry, it's ok, we can wait, w-we don't have to if you're not ready yet-”

One silver leg lifts and clumsily wraps around him, trying to pull him closer. “‘m ready,” he murmurs, sounding dazed as he reaches both arms out toward Orion. “Please, Pax… I'm ready.” The smile on his face is fragile, but so deep and genuine it makes Orion’s insides feel warm and gooey. “I wanna… do it with you. Touch me… please?”

And there his spark goes, swelling with such tender, affectionate emotion it could only be love. He nods, throat suddenly feeling tight. “Kay- O-Ok!”

He inches closer, hands sliding over his thighs to grab Dee-16 by the hips, pulling him close. He can feel the heat radiating from between his partner's legs, and it makes his spike throb desperately. It's a bit awkward, trying to line up with his valve, and after two unsuccessful attempts he dips his helm, cheeks feeling hot, wrapping one servo around his spike and nearly yelping at the sensation. Primus, he's sensitive! He guides the tip of his spike to the lips of Dee’s valve, and just bumping against the warm, wet entrance has him clenching his denta and willing himself not to overload already.

Beneath him, Dee whimpers, and he catches a glance of his face. His optics are wide and round, something frightened at the edge of his expression, as if bracing for impact, and Orion knows he's unwillingly thinking about Sentinel.

“...hey,” he uses his free hand to take one of Dee's, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. He pulls his hand up to kiss, nuzzling the back with his nose. “It's ok. It's just the two of us, he can't get you. It's just us.”

D-16 sobs, and Orion leans down to kiss his forehelm. Dee let's go of his hand, instead winding both arms around his neck. “I know,” his expression is watery. “Y-You're not him. You're not,” he presses his face into the underside of Orion’s neck. He takes several deep vents, then says, “...ok. I'm- I'm ready now. You can, um-” he squeaks in embarrassment, unable to voice their word. “G-Go ahead.”

Orion's spike breaches the rim of his valve, and the silver mech keens. Both legs tense on either side of his partner, and his arms tighten around him. Orion sinks in slowly, as slow as he possibly can, gently pushing his spike further and further in. There's little resistance or friction, but it's still an incredibly tight fit. Dee’s valve flutters around him, slippery and warm, and he bites his glossa. Don't cum yet, don't cum yet, don't cum yet-!

Beneath him, D-16 whimpers, and his lips begin pressing clumsy kisses to his neck. Over two sensitive neck cables, then his glossa ghosts over a very particular nerve cluster, and Orion breaks. Overload rockets through him like a surge of electricity and he crumples forward onto his partner, pressing him into the cave floor, spike twitching and suddenly letting off a burst of transfluid before he's even fully sheathed inside his valve. Orion moans and tries to stop it, but he's helpless, hips stuttering in mini thrusts as he spills his load.

“Pax-”

“I'msorry-” he lets out in a rush as he finishes, shame burning at his audials. “I'm so sorry, I- I didn't mean-”

Beneath him, D-16 snorts, to his dismay, then starts laughing. His EM field suddenly flares to life; where it had previously been tucked in and nervous, suddenly it's warm and relaxed and happy.

“Aww, Pax,” Dee gently lifts his helm, optics warm and smile loving, contrasted by Orion's embarrassed pout. All the previous tension has bled out of his frame, and he brings his servos down to gently cradle his partner's face. He kisses the tip of his nose. “S'ok. Really. Don't be upset!”

Orion's brow furrows, cheeks puffing out as he averts his optics. “S'not funny.”

“It's cute,” D-16 insist, before pulling his face close to kiss him. He feels better now, honestly, so much more comfortable. Orion has no experience, same as him. They're figuring it out together, they've not had a chance to build their skills. It's comforting, honestly, knowing that they're stumbling into uncharted territory together. It makes him feel safe. Like an equal. The kiss deepens after a moment, Dee's glossa rubbing at his bottom lip and into his mouth–only to recoil, sputtering. “Primus!” he coughs at Orion's confused look. “Is that what I taste like?!”

“Pfffft-!” That breaks Orion's self-conscious cloud, and suddenly he's laughing, too. “I mean… yeah?”

“Augh!” Dee shakes his helm, sticking his glossa out. “Gross!”

“I liked it.” an impish smirk spreads on Orion’s face, and he moves to kiss him again, but Dee blocks his mouth with one hand.

“No!” He yelps, snickering. “You are not kissing me like that, not til you wash your mouth out!”

“Fiiiine,” he pops an energon cube out of storage, chewing it as fast as he can to freshen his breath. “Better?”

Dee kisses him again, nodding. “Much.” He gently wiggles in place, and a half-moan tumbles out of his lips. Orion's spike is still buried deep inside him, still hard, still throbbing against sensitive nerve clusters. His valve tightens around him, trying to pull him in, and Orion whimpers.

D-16 reclines back against the floor, pulling Orion with him. Their hands entwine, lips tangling together. Their first time interfacing is clumsy, gentle, and rife with overwhelming love and trust. Embracing in the cavern, they make love to each other for the first time, EM fields blending as one and sparks singing in euphoria between them. Pleasure builds between them to a great, soaring crescendo, and they cling to each other, sobbing in ecstasy when imminent overload swallows them both.

D-16 clings to Orion in all aspects: chest to chest, mouth to mouth, fingers grasping tightly to him as his legs lock around his hips, keeping his spike buried deep in his valve. He feels overstimulated in the best way, electric pleasure thrumming through his whole body and he sobs in ecstasy through his first and second and third overload. He can feel Orion’s transfluid filling him up, siphoned into his gestation tank. The transfluid levels creep from red to yellow to green, and his middle begins to feel heavy and warm and full. He imagines the sparkling growing inside of him, body grown from the seeds of a mech he loves and adores so much. An adorable child with his and Orion's features alike, perhaps with his lover’s crooked smile or his little helm horns or the shape of his optics, and the thought is so enticing a fourth overload rolls through his body. All he can do is hang on and moan, trying not to drool.

By the time his gestation tank is topped up, they're both sweaty, sticky, and swollen: Orion collapses on top of him, vents heaving great clouds of steam as D-16 pants and gasps beneath him.

The blue mech rolls off and then, with a final heave of strength, switches their positions. Orion laying in the dirt with D-16 half on top of him. Gazing at each other, dazed, the tips of their noses touch. Orion cracks an exhausted, barely there smile, and Dee returns it, using his last bit of energy to move his head forward, pressing their forehelms together.

“I love you…”

The murmured declaration comes as they snuggle against each other, afterglow lulling them to recharge. It’s like being surrounded in the warm glow of a lantern, cuddled together like that: he’s never felt quite so warm or safe or loved, and laying his helm down on Orion’s chassis, he truly feels that everything will be alright. So long as they have each other, so long as he can bask in this connection forever, nothing could ever be unfixable or impossible. Orion’s arms come up to hold him, one servo bracing gently on his belly, and D-16 turns his helm to press a sleepy kiss against his chassis.

They’re going to be ok.

...

And that's a wrap on part 4! Sorry it took a bit longer than anticipated, I really wanted to nail these two in this scene. Awkward, sweet first-time sex gave me more trouble than I thought it would. I'm out of practice lmao.

Aaaaaanyways, I hope you enjoyed! Same thing as always, I'll get started on part 5 and post it once ya'll lmk you wanna see more. Beat the crap out of my ask box, do the rebloggy thing, comment, you know what to do!

#d-16 #orion pax #valveplug #but like the really soft schmoopy kind of valveplug lol #transformers one

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mollycabot · 7 months ago

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Casey Novak X Reader Scary Novak

A/N when Casey’s girlfriend is being harassed by a fellow court officer Casey puts a quick stop to it

As Casey was tied up with court work and very busy she asked her girlfriend to pick them up some lunch and swing by her office.

Once Y/N got that text she made her way over to her and Casey’s favourite coffee shop and brought her and Casey’s usual and then made her way to the DA’s office.

“Good morning miss Y/N ” one of the passing officers said and Y/N waved, though she wasn’t an Ada herself she was still well know because of Casey.

“Why hello beautiful” other court officer said this caught Y/N off guard. “Please just call me Y/N”.

“Why your to much of a beauty to be a lesbian let me show you how women should be treated”. The officer said giving Y/N the creeps.

“I asked you to stop please I don’t like this and if Casey finds out she not going to be very pleased and and” Y/N said as the officer pushed her against the wall. Making Y/N. Became scared and began to try to fight him off but she was weaker than him.

Just before he was about to force a kiss he stopped when a voice behind him had a hint of anger.

“Get off her officer mat now” Casey demanded folding her arms. “Yes senior ads Novak” the officer said scared.

“Now giving that you have sexual harassed my girlfriend I’m going to report you because this behaviour is unacceptable” Casey said walking closers

“Is this the reason you been avoiding the office my love” Casey asked and Y/N nodded. “Well then I know exactly what my report is going to say I heard all about you mister” Casey said.

Casey then grabbed the guy by his collar and pushed him an against the wall.

“i swear im going to make your life a living hell for this now you are going to say sorry to Y/N and I don’t want to near her ever again you got it”.

The officer nodded and Casey let him go watch as he ran off like a scared little kid. “Love go wait in my office I’m to go see Liz” Casey said Y/N nodded.

Casey knocked on Liz’s door and once she got the ok to come in she made her way inside.

“Hey Casey what can I do for you today?” Liz said as Casey sat down. “You know Y/N” Liz nodded. “

“Well this past few months she hasn’t been stopping by my office and always tried to avoid it when she can and I found out just this week she been harassed by one of our court officers and today I just watch him almost force himself on her and I want him fired” Casey demanded.

“I’m guessing his name is officer mat?” Liz asked and Casey nodded

“this isn’t the first time he’s been reported for this short of stuff” Liz explained and me and a few other judges have talked about getting him fired and I think this is it because we given him second chances. So I will bring this up and I can say that he will most likely be suspended at least leave it with me” Casey nodded and walked back to her office.

“Hey love” casey said waking into her office. “Hey” Y/N said sitting quietly closing her book. “I spoke to Liz and she going to bring it up and he’s going to be told” Casey explained and Y/N nodded and gave Casey a hug.

“No one is allowed to harass my Y/N and I will make sure he suffers” Casey said hugging her back.

“What would I do without you Casey Love you so much” Y/N Said. Casey kiss Y/N on the forehead and said. “I love you more Y/N and I will always be here for you”. Casey said lovingly.

#fanfic #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #reader x character #casey novak #casey novak imagine #law and order fanfiction #law and order x reader #casey novak x reader #liz donnelly #elizabeth donnelly #law and order svu imagine #svu #law and order svu x reader #law and order fic

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itsrlymine · 2 months ago

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girl imma yap about my bf bc he should be thankful he’s dating a baddie manifestor like me da fawk 😤 im out here saving his life fr

recently he was talking about how he’s so worried about his future and getting a job (we’re both gonna graduate from college soon) and how he’s lowkey scared of growing older. he told me he’s doing all of x y and z to “better his chances” at getting a job offer after graduation and the whole time he was yapping i was like “…but you already got a job bae…you’re a multimillionaire that never needs to work a day in your life…fuck you talking about needing to do a b c do re mi” 😭😭😭 i did listen to what he was saying so i could comfort my baby but in the same breath i was like “he already got in, aint nothing to worry about”

the other day we hung out bc he wanted to “calm his nerves” before doing this interview that could get him a job and he was fucking scared but i literally gripped onto his hands and looked him dead in the eye and basically did what abdullah did when neville was complaining about how he wasnt in barbados. i was like “you passed that interview.” and then started talking about something else.

so tell me why im talking to my fine ass bf last night and he checks his phone and smiles at me saying he passed the interview. he got a job offer and he’s gonna get hella more. his email is literally flooded with job offers left and right, from the skys to the ocean floor like girl…fuck was he so worried about the hell 😭😭😭

anyways on another note i love manifesting shit for my boyfriend. he deserves the whole world and more and imma give it to him.

Awe babe this is so sweet omggg I love this! I’m smiling so hard bc I be doing the same exact thing for my friends and family whenever they bring up situations to me. Like what do you mean job search? Babe you were literally working two minutes ago???? Thank you so much for sharing and he needs to be thank you every day and night!!!!!💖💗💖💕

#itsrlymine #wow another success story lets goooooo #success story #law of assumption #lawofassumption #imagination is reality #manifesting #shifting #loassumption #loa tumblr #reality shift #manifest

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madelynraemunson · 1 year ago

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CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI | BOOK #2 (S.H.)

Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series (completed)

* loosely inspired by Sara Cate’s “Salacious Players Club” series

🔥 EXTRA CONTENT HERE 🔥

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014** , 015, 016** , 017, 018, 019, 020*

* = somewhat smutty chapters , ** = smut chapters

Summary: 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓. After getting kicked out by your brother, you have no other choice but to take off your big girl pants and add stripper to your resume. Desperate to pay the bills and support your little sister, are you willing to accept the risks that come with such a perilous profession? With the stage name ‘Shy Girl’, you take the leap of faith, weaponizing your divine femininity to steal the hearts of all the bachelors in Hawkins — including Eddie Munson’s, the owner of Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club.

warnings & disclaimers — slow burn, eventual smut (a lot of it), voyeurism, mutual pining, sexual tension, jealousy, drug/alcohol, profanities, sexual harassment, domestic violence

Welcome to Hellfire.

theme song: meet you in hell by jade lemac “Look me in my eyes. I know that you’re scared. You see yourself and you cry for help. Look me in my eyes. Tell me it’s not fair. If you taught me well, I’ll meet you in hell.”

Chapter 001: Wolves

The Hargroves are cursed. Generationally, that is. One night Billy takes it too far, costing him the only thing he had left... his sisters.

TW — abuse, domestic violence, blood, profanities, implications of infidelity, death

word count: 8.5k words

author's note: there are four different acts to this introductory chapter :) so much foundation to lay down and i spent forever on this to craft it perfectly for you guys. thank you for being as excited about this fanfic as I am releasing it. i hope you all enjoy! -madelyn

tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n

_______________𓆩♡𓆪_______________

"Once I ran to you. Now I run from you."

♡

Duality of man. Mom was always a firm believer in that notion. In fact, she always used to say, "Inside of you, there are two wolves: a good one and a bad one. Depending on which mouth you feed, one will triumph the other.”

It became more evident when she died.

“YOU FUCKING SLUT. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GO.”

Once identical in every aspect, the differences between you and your brother slowly began to unravel over time.

Being ‘good wolf’ was impossible while living under the same roof as Billy. So you settled for neutral wolf instead. Meanwhile, the big, bad wolf possessed him at age 15, when he realized hitting your father back would get him to back off.

It was 2010, post-homecoming game.

Dad nearly flung Billy into another dimension when he came home. The preferred alternative would have been attempting to reason with one another, but it just wasn’t something that was normalized in the Hargrove household. Communicating with words was a daunting task; but not nearly as daunting as accountability.

“I’M DONE WITH YOU, BILLY. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE.”

“I’m a literal minor, you can’t do this, Dad!” Billy wailed. "PLEASE!"

Over a football game.

The Friday Night Lights were a staple of Vista Palms High School. That and all of its nacho-eating, pot-smoking, LMFAO-playing, neon-filled goodness.

"C’mon V-P, c’mon, let’s beat S-D!” For weeks Billy had been chanting that mantra. There was no clearer indication that it’s where he would be the night of the championship game. He didn’t communicate it, of course, but it was implied. But still, it didn’t cross Dad’s mind.

Any parent who thought their child was coming home on time — and sober — that night was a foolish one. Especially if their kid was a sophomore with senior status.

“You sure as hell don't act like one,” Dad spat. “Coming home, acting all grown." Little did Dad know Billy was there for community service. Billy was a good student. More than anything he wanted a full ride to a UC, mainly to get away from home. Either that or military. Maybe then, walking on eggshells and being accused of something he didn't do — like drinking and doing drugs — would be a seasonal occurence instead of daily. "ACTING LIKE YOU PAY THE BILLS. YOU DON'T. YOUR MOM AND I DO.”

Dad knew he hit a nerve. It was his signature move aside from alienating his victims to establish control. While the feeling of getting your wings clipped really did you in, reactive abuse was Billy's top trigger, especially when Mom was mentioned. After all, Billy was the one who found Her.

Through glassy eyes and gritted teeth, Billy closed up his fists before mustering up the courage to say, “I’m…not…calling Sue... the operative word.”

Dad snarled. “Like there’s anyone else physically here you’ve reserved that title for?”

Oh.

"This tainted love you've given-"

Billy took the bait, lunging forward to grab Dad. As if on cue, Dad winded up his arm, assuming his usual position. You managed to assert yourself between in hopes of stopping them. Suddenly the back of Dad's hand collided with your cheek, sprawling you onto the couch. Billy watched horrified while you fought to keep your eyes open, growing anxious when all you could hear was the room pulsating around you at the highest frequency you had ever heard in your 15 long years of life. Enough was enough.

One punch. Bridge of the nose. Game over. The control Dad had over you both had ceased.

Billy rushed to your aid while Dad took a few moments to gather himself. It was then his beat-in, throbbing eyes realized that the little boy he mercilessly pushed around was no longer there. His own little Frankenstein had taken his place.

"I gave you all a boy could give you"

"Oh my god, Sissy," Billy cried, crouching down to run a soothing hand through your hair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you sniff, wrapping a hand around his arm. "I'm fine, Billy. I promise."

"I'm not gonna let that son of a bitch hurt you ever again," he vowed. "I'm gonna fuck him up and anyone else who tries."

"I love you, Brother."

"I love you, Sissy." The magnitude of power that surged through Billy melted into every neuron in his body, the warmth of its adrenaline imitating a tender — long overdue — embrace. He became fully enveloped in what was like an electric current, its tide higher than any wave he's ever surfed. It became more exhilarating than cruising down the I-5 in his Camaro at 130 MPH, and more intoxicating than any keg of beer he's ever swigged at a Wanna-be Project X Party.

It was the rush Billy had been searching for his whole life.

Every high Billy ever pursued before that rapidly declined in value. He would trade in anything for the static that had encoded itself into him. He felt untouchable, a luxury your father couldn’t afford his wife and children.

"YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON HER AGAIN, YOU'RE DEAD DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

From that day forward, feeling respected was a freedom Billy was not willing to sacrifice, ever.

"Take my tears and that's not nearly all-"

But now Billy is the abuser, something you never imagined happening given his innately soft personality.

"Oh, tainted love. Don't touch me! Please.”

Slapping. Biting. Choking each other out. Pulling each other’s hair. Calling each other names. Spitting. Throwing things. Who would’ve thought the Hargrove twins were capable of the same horrors as their parents?

Yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Billy’s voice, like nails on a chalkboard, clawed at your brain in agonizing intervals.

“That’s all Max is. A pathetic little liar.”

“She will do anything for any bit of attention…even whore herself out to all the men in Del Mar.”

“You can get out. And stay out. Since you wanna act so grown all the damn time.”

He became the very thing — or person rather — he sought to destroy. The very person who indirectly, but explicably killed your mother.

And deep down you feared that if you and your stepsister Max don’t get out of that house, you’d both suffer that same fate.

“It's fucking JULY and 90 degrees out!” your sister retaliated. “What do you want me to wear to the beach? Fucking sweats?"

Max was out with friends the night prior. They hosted a birthday bonfire for her at the beach. She broke curfew and got a ride home from a friend. A guy friend. Billy wasn’t having it.

Max always got the short end of the stick. She was an easy target for Billy’s antics. Being the literal carbon copy of the woman he hates the most didn’t make it any better, and neither did taking the bait whenever Billy dealt it to “keep the peace”. Max believes being and acting helpless would get Billy to back down. It was far from the truth. In reality, she was feeding him his supply.

And what a volatile supply it is.

Mom also had another saying: "Anger is just grief with nowhere to go".

So you watched Billy and Max go back and forth with their pickleball tournament-o-insults, shouting at one another to their lungs’ capacity, their dead, black pupils strangling each other mentally while they gathered the physical strength to do so as well. You kept an arm halfway up and torso slightly turned in case you needed to butt in.

“I do this because I love you, Maxine,” Billy insisted. “So just SHUT UP and stop being a little cunt. Okay?”

“You stop being a presumptuous asshole first,” Max fired back. “We’re fighting again — why? Because someone with a penis drove me home? And we broke curfew by 10 minutes? I don’t control traffi-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he dismissed her. “Just say you wanted some dick and call it a night.”

Classic slut-shaming, as if Billy’s Instagram following wasn’t all models, strippers, and OnlyFans girls.

Before you could even process what was happening, the blurbs of their argument skidded to a halt when Max finally broke. Billy watched in subtle amusement as she screamed, her fist meeting the wall repeatedly out of frustration.

Reactive abuse is Billy’s favorite abuse tactic.

“Someone who’s not guilty wouldn’t react like this,” Billy quipped in a sing-song voice, eyeing the new hole in the dry wall that Max had created.

There was no sense in backtracking if Billy already got what he wanted. Max just needed the last word. Before any of you could process it, an acrylic storage box soared through the air, hitting Billy right in the groin. He roared in agony while Max attempted to collect herself off to the side. She still saw red.

That’s when the knife came out.

One slice to the brow and it was over. To ensure the last word was his to keep, Billy ended up chucking a knife at your sister.

“OHMYGOD!” Max shrieked repeatedly, entering the ‘freeze’ stage of her shock. “OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, I’M BLEEDING! I’M BLEEDING, THERE’S BLOOD!”

It was then you realized, the little boy you vowed to protect and refused to leave behind was long gone. Dad’s essence had taken his place now.

“You just don’t know when to FUCKING STOP, do you?” you exclaimed, putting pressure on Max’s eyebrow with a washcloth as she wailed. Suddenly it was Dad you were talking to. They had the same apathetic, dead look in their eyes. “I don’t care who said or did what, throwing a fucking KNIFE?”

“Me?” Billy tutted. “You wanna call me crazy, who did that?” He was referring to the hole in the wall. “And who was the one to throw shit first? EXACTLY. EXACTLY.”

While Billy was technically correct, he would never admit to what he did to provoke you two.

“So you can both get out if you’d like. Be my fucking guests.”

You and Max exchanged one look. The look. It was time. You both were ready and now had the green light. Now was the chance to bolt without immediate consequences.

So you and your sister spent several minutes rummaging through your pre-packed belongings while Billy continued to shit-talk aimlessly around the rental you shared. The place soon reeked of cheap bud and gas station gin. Trash bags were soon filled with your favorite clothes and you shoved them into as many of your childhood suitcases as possible. Struggling to see past your tear-coated eyes, you reached for your books, the ones you've hollowed out 300 pages deep to pocket all the tips from your waitressing job, and shoved the loose bills into your crossbody. You’d sort through them later. Lastly, you popped the cap off the bottom of your salt lamp. There was a pre-paid Visa you bought several months beforehand waiting for you. With trembling hands, you grasped it and whispered a gratitude to the Universe before tucking it neatly into the back pocket of your Levi’s.

When it was all said and done and everything was loaded into your car, you focus on the hole in the dry wall one last time.

Never again.

Billy was complacent throughout the entirety of the event. You glared at him while he continued to soothe himself with drugs and alcohol, refusing to own up to the irreversible damage he caused your little family.

“SIS,” Max boomed from outside. “LET’S GO!”

A part of you used to pity Billy, but now his destructive behavior took away any ounce of guilt you felt for leaving him.

You never fought back until you had no other choice. Similarly, and tragically, Billy shared that very sentiment.

Who the villain is in the narrative relied solely on whose lens you are looking through.

It took you by surprise all the time. How could identical twins, who grew up in the same environment, end up so different from one another?

“I love you, though you hurt me so. Now I’m gonna pack my things and go." - Tainted Love by Soft Cell

There are two wolves inside of everyone.

——————————𓇼——————--------

"Are the pieces of you in the pieces of me? I'm just so scared you're who I'll be. When I erupt just like you do, they look at me like I look at you" - DNA by Lia Marie Johnson

The heart-wrenching ballad by Lia Marie Johnson dissolves as you crank the dial to the left. Music is always depressing when Max has the aux chord.

"Did you hear what I said?" you question her.

Max abruptly sits up and reorients herself, attempting to shrug off the trance “DNA” had put her in for a few minutes.

"No, sorry. What'd you say again?"

"Do you need a bathroom break?"

"I'll go at the airport.”

"Okay, but if you change your mind and decide to take a leak one last time, I'll be happy to oblige.”

Swami’s is also an exit away and you’re just fixing for a hot meal before takeoff. But you don’t directly say that. Besides, Max loses her appetite when she’s upset and may only have room for shitty airplane food.

“I’ll just eat on the plane.”

Stale pretzels and flat soda it is.

Despite the decrease in appetite, Max is holding up well. As well as anyone-who-was-nearly-stabbed-by-her-brother-and-is-now-moving-states-away-from-everything-she’s-ever-known-with-her-sister could be.

It wasn’t your first choice to leave California. In fact, you did everything you could to avoid it. But nonetheless, anyone with a conscious and only $4,000 to their name would make the wise decision to move away to somewhere more affordable.

Enter your online friend, Robin.

Working ungodly hours six days a week to pay the bills took up so much of your time that you had no friends in San Diego — albeit high school friends who would have never guessed how you and Billy turned out. Those friends had happy families anyway. They couldn’t hold space for you. Your online friend Robin, who you met on an art forum, however knew your family dynamic and was there for everything. But she lived in Indiana with her partner and was never able to offer you any physical comfort.

You entertained Robin’s idea of moving to where she lives, a small town in Indiana called Hawkins just 20 minutes southeast of the city. Living under the radar to get your ducks in a row seemed like such a perfect plan, but you didn’t want to do so at the expense of Max losing her only support system she had outside of you.

Moving would’ve also meant pulling her out of school, which wouldn’t be possible because Billy was her legal guardian. Now that she’s graduated high school, and today is her 18th birthday, the game has changed completely.

“Donovan texted me happy birthday,” Max reports, finally disclosing a fragment of her inner conscience. “Thought it was sweet.”

You can’t help but smile. "You thought he wouldn’t?”

She refrains from rolling her eyes and shifts them towards the rocky beach cliffs outside her window.

“You know,” you add. “I really think you two could make long distance work. I’ve never seen so much chemistry between two people before.”

Max scoffs. "Yeah right. Long distance with a guy going to Santa Barbara for college?” She fiddles with the strings of the knit poncho resting atop her lap. “I'd be breaking my own heart."

You bite your lip to stop the waterworks. Max doesn’t deserve any of this. She deserves to enjoy bonfires with her skater friends, surf all the tubular waves, and go on all the nature hikes without worrying about her stepbrother’s codependent-fits-of-rage waiting for her when she comes home. She deserves to eat fried funnel cake at the county fair and share a kiss with the boy of her dreams atop a Ferris wheel on the 4th of July. She deserves a San Diego summer, not a summer spent in hiding from her abuser in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

Max decides to change the subject.

“So what’s Robin like? Your online friend.”

“She’s very sweet,” you breathe. “Been, uh, telling her about Billy for a long time now. Her arms have been open since day one.”

“And her girlfriend?”

“Vicky’s the best,” you insist. “A match made in heaven for sure. It’s like they’re the same person, just different font.”

You get a giggle out of Max. Her laughter during such a turbulent time is like music to your ears. The non-depressing kind.

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t get you a gift this year.”

She side eyes you.

“What are you talking about? You quite literally gave me the best gift of all.”

“Did I? What did I give you?”

“You gave me safety.”

And with that, you give yourself a mental pat on the back, confident you made the right choice despite how foreign everything currently felt. The conversation dies down while you and Max ride on, driving further and further away from the Park and Ride you spent the night at, off Coast Highway, and onto the I-5 one last time.

Boarding the plane is a swift process. Your plane is a two-seater, so Max gets the window and you get the aisle. After receiving your snacks and drinks, you decide to play white noise and dissociate for the next five hours. It’s safe to do so, anyways. Liminal spaces were not something you took for granted.

Meanwhile, Max looks out the window, watching as the world she has come to know her whole life shrinks right before her eyes, before disappearing underneath a quilt of soft white cumulus clouds.

“This is 18.”

Goodbye, San Diego.

—————— ✈︎ ———————

Hello, Hawkins.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Robin incites, trudging through the miscellaneous projects that sit at her feet. “As if we weren’t DIY freaks enough, the pandemic really just amplified that.”

The pandemic was a hard time for everyone. You lost your fine dining gig and abruptly switched to UberEats to adjust to the flow of takeout. Billy couldn’t go to the gym, his happy place, and it took a toll on him mentally. Max broke quarantine multiple times to see Donovan, which didn’t sit well with your brother. He of course lashed out on her and also proclaimed that people like her were the reason why America hadn’t opened up yet.

“And I get no time at the gym!” Billy screamed. “So now I have to do this—”

You learned that a decent lamp costed $70 that night.

That wasn’t your first rodeo though. You and Billy grew up replacing furniture all the time. You two would gather up your money and spend it on replacing whatever needed replacing for Mom’s birthday. She always wanted to make your house feel like a home. Feel lived in. You and Billy thought you were heroes doing it, but it dawns on you now that you two were just babies.

“Oh!” Vicky interrupts. “Before we forget…”

You and Max watch her as she scrambles around, looking for something that she seemed ecstatic about.

“Happy birthday, Max!”

“No way, Kate Bush!” Max exclaims as she accepts the gift, an original Kate Bush vinyl record of her album Hounds of Love.

"Wow," you beam, rubbing your sister’s back. “Way to fuel her 80's hyperfixation, huh?"

“We found this at the thrift store,” Vicky boasted. “Knew we had to get it for ya.”

“It’s the real deal too," Robin adds. "Look, printed 1985.”

“It’s perfect,” Max gushes. “Can’t wait to play it on my Crosley.”

She thanks them both and hugs them before running back to the living room to get the rest of your belongings. You listen as she hums some of Kate Bush’s discography along the way.

You then observe Max as she unpacks her things one by one, slightly peppered with remnants of the California sand and the snobby fee it took to ship it all here via cargo. She then proceeds to sit on the new bed to check the springing quality, testing its bounce factor and comparing it to that of her old bed.

You let out a bittersweet sigh.

Suddenly you're eight years old, doing the same thing at the local motel Mom managed to snag a couple nights from when Dad trashed the house.

You turn to look in the mirror atop your new dresser.

Suddenly, you're Mom. Quite literally. You both have the same wavy blonde hair, scattered freckles across your nose that Billy used to call “stardust”, and the same tsunami blue eyes. It makes it no wonder why you and Dad never got along. You are Mom’s spitting image — and Billy is Dad’s.

Funny how life turns out.

You graze the crows feet at the outer corner of your eyes, realizing now how many years have silently passed you by, and then take note of the stress-defined scars in the form of eye baggage from all the sleepless nights that came as a souvenir.

You’ve put up with so much. For so long. The trauma is starting to manifest itself physically.

Robin snaps you back into present day. "So I was thinking we go to Applebee's for dinner, walk around Old Town, get you guys settled and unpacked when we return, Jenga at night, and then-"

She stops when she sees the horrified expression on your face.

“Hey…” the pitch in her comforting, raspy voice heightens. “What’s the matter?”

Your voice breaks. “It’s…” you manage. “It’s been a lot.”

Robin pats your back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Without looking, Robin snags a few tissues from a box laying around and gives them to you. You blot the tears away, careful not to mess up the makeup you had on with the intention to make you look less…dead.

“Sue didn’t even call and wish her happy birthday. Her own mother.”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin repeats.

“Every day I watch Max store her trauma in the box... and just shove it into the corner where it gathers dust,” you continue. “If she doesn't unpack it..."

You didn’t even want to think of the collateral damage you and your brother caused her. A part of you wants to think Maxine has remained untouched from that side of you, but the dry blood on her outer brow was a reminder that it was far too late to shelter her from that.

"You see yourself in her."

"And my mom in myself,” you admit. “Now more than ever.”

You rub your eyes.

“I’m rambling, I know. It’s just… SO aggravating. Max deserves better.”

“She’s handling it really well.”

“We don’t know that. I know Max. She’s a pro at hiding her feelings.”

“She’s being strong for you, like you are for her. It’s very endearing, whether you both admit it to each other or not.”

She rubs your arm.

“For as long as Vicky and I are here, you and Maxine have a soft place to land. We are here for you. Y’all are safe.”

You two glance over at Max, who is now unpacking your Zen Basics Himalayan salt lamp. She sets it on top your new bedside table, a reupholstered one whose old wood was painted over by an earthy olive green, the old hardware replaced by eccentric shaped, neutral-toned knobs. Her Crosley sits on your floor, now playing a track off Kate Bush's vinyl while she stares out the window. Your new view for the foreseeable future.

Can't you see where memories are kept bright?

Tripping on the water like a laughing girl

Time in her eyes is spawning past life

One with the ocean and the woman unfurled

Holding all the love that waits for you here

Catch us now for I am your future

A kiss on the wind and we'll make the land.

Dinnertime comes fast, but you blame it on the time zone difference. You call shotgun and ride with Robin in the passenger seat, catching up with your best friend while Vicky and Max watch YouTube shorts in the backseat.

Robin gives you a backstory of everything you pass on the way to Applebees, from the schools to churches to family-owned gas stations. She and Vicky seem to know everyone by a first-name basis, naming random people off and knowing exactly who that is every so often. You try to stay engaged, but the only thing on your mind is where you’re going to apply for a job.

Robin drives into a plaza next.

"This used to be a mall, but now it's completely empty," Robin continues pointing to an empty building with remnants of a star symbol etched on it. "E-commerce really turned this strip into a ghost town."

"So basically, if I wanted a job, it would have to be any of these food places, an office of sorts, or an off-brand Blockbuster store?"

"Family Video is closing too," Vicky chimes in. "It's sad. But I guess Hawkins needs yet another overpriced coffee shop."

"You could always work at the gentlemen's club," Max jokes, pointing off to the side.

You turn to where she’s pointing and take note of the matte black rectangular building by the Sizzler’s. It didn’t seem out of place, but the silhouette of an exotic dancer with devil horns gave the sinister establishment away. You couldn’t read the name of the club, but a part of you tries to.

Robin slightly turns and nods in that direction. "Oh yeah. I heard the girls there make bank in tips."

“I made bank in La Jolla doing fine dining,” you point out. “Maybe I can do the same thing here. But at a similar establishment.”

“Fanciest restaurant you’ll get here is Benny’s,” Vicky says. “You’re gonna have to go to the city for fine dining. I don’t think the commute is worth.”

“Guess stripper is your best option,” Max nudges you.

You shoot a glare her way. “Very funny.”

"I know, I was joking," she scoffs. "Billy would kill you anyways."

Billy would literally go insane if you dared to work at a strip club. The slut-shaming would never end. Not that he never slut-shamed you anyway. There was always something for him to be misogynistic and hypocritical about.

Then it hits you. Billy isn't here. And you really need the money since in this day and age, $4,000 meant nothing. You peer over at the gentlemen's club one last time as it shrinks out of view the further Robin drives.

HELLFIRE.

-----------𓆩♡𓆪------------

Dungeons & Dragons.

Of course one of the very few strip clubs in Hawkins has to be the dorkiest.

But you understand the vision. Beyond the cobblestone entrance, the veil between real life and fantasy thins.

As you near the club with nothing but a purse and car keys in hand, you notice that there’s already security by the door. You’re surprised to see a leaner guy, tall and slender with soft blonde hair and a soft grin to match. He catches sight of you and greets you with a nod.

“Good afternoon,” he says. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” you nod. You reach for your wallet and give him your ID. Typical screening process. “Yourself?”

“Not too shabby,” he replies.

He examines your ID card. You notice his surprise when his eyes slightly widen before retracting shortly after. You guess that he was wondering why you are here out of all places. You peer over at his name tag while he concludes his screening. Henry.

Upon verification of your identity, the friendly security guard returns your card to you.

“Let me give you a wrist band.”

He motions for you to hold an arm out. You extend your right arm to him and watch as he gracefully pulls a paper wristband out of his pocket, clasping it into place with the side that read “21+” facing upwards.

You take the time to admire the gentleness of this man. The softness of his face. His dreamy gaze.

“Any weapons on you?”

“Uh…” you stammer. “Just pepper spray?”

A laugh escapes from his nostrils. “That’s fine, my dear.”

“I hope I don’t have to use it.”

“Don’t worry, darling. Under my watch, you won’t.”

Henry gently strokes your hand before motioning you inside.

“Enjoy the show.”

“Thanks,” you smile politely.

It’s a slow afternoon, but granted no one goes to a strip club at 2 PM. The Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club was comprehensively laced with playful innuendos. The accent wall by the entrance showcases an array of chains and handcuffs. Kukris, nun-chucks, and flails all of different variants and sizes are displayed on the walls, the point of balance being a vintage pulp print of a metal puppeteer. On the print, "OBEY YOUR MASTER" is written in edgy bubble letters.

Kinky.

And there’s a bonus of this themed club: the ladies are dressed in cloaks. You watch as beautiful women from all walks of life strut around the joint, leaving the clients with only their imagination to guess what’s underneath the tantalizing, medieval velvet.

There are LED signs that lit up corners of the space, indicating what they were for. KAS’ KORNER: GRAB A BITE, DRAGON'S BREATH: HOOKAH LOUNGE, and POTIONS — the bar.

You catch a glimpse of the private show rooms, or at least what you think are the private show rooms.

The LED sign to those rooms read, "I PUT A SPELL ON YOU AND NOW YOU'RE MINE."

The general seating area for the main event reads VECNA’S LAIR.

The Dungeon Master of this joint thought of every possible detail he could and ironed it into perfection.

Surely, someone who truly plays would adore every aspect of all the details, but it was evident that everyone came here for the same reason:

Girls, girls, girls.

You walk over to the bar to see two men conversing behind it.

One looked to be in his late 20s, with scruffy chestnut brown hair, some tired eyes, peach fuzz, and a patterned shirt decorated in a kaleidoscope of colors — a shirt meticulously calculated by quite possibly a girlfriend.

The other looked like he had another year left before being allowed to be behind that counter... of course judging by the “Hawkins High School class of 2021” on his insulated water bottle in his hand, a cracked iPhone in the other, and Beats with a small basketball sticker on it.

When you appear in their periphery, the conversation between the two gradually comes to a stop.

“Whoa,” the younger man hums. “New face. Welcome.”

“Hi. What do you recommend?”

“In terms of what?” the younger man questions slyly. There’s a timidness to the young man’s spirit, making his flirtatious demeanor somewhat dorky. The age appropriate bartender nudges him.

“Drinks, hotshot,” you refrain from chuckling. “Drinks.”

“Depends what you’re into,” the younger man replies, the slyness continuing. “If you’re into light liquors, Jonathan can make you a mean Cîroc with pineapple juice. But if you’re more into the dark stuff…”

He gestures up and down on himself.

“Then look no further.”

“That was very painful to listen to,” the older one who you assume is Jonathan cringes. “Can you get anymore corny?”

“Ta-ha!” the younger one tsks. “He said could I get any more corny. Can you get any more bitchless?”

“I have a girlfriend, Lucas.”

“Emphasis on the singular sense.”

“Nance is all I need.”

"Nancy is all you can pull," Lucas chuckles. "With that goofy ass shirt, man. Stop playing with me."

So you weren’t the only one who thought the shirt was absolutely ridiculous. It had "Bad Bitch Repellant" written all over it.

Jonathan whacks Lucas with the cloth that was sitting atop his shoulder. You request a double Tito’s straight on the rocks from Jonathan to which he automatically starts to make. Lucas continues to interrogate you.

“As you heard, my name is Lucas. Lucas Sinclair.” He extends his hands to you. “But my favorite ladies call me 'Dark Chocolate'. You can call me, 'The Man of Your Dreams' though.”

You take the youngster’s hand in yours and shake it. His heavy locker room cologne makes your nose swell, an uneven mix of what you believe is Axe and — is that Dior?

You tell Lucas your name then hit him with a, “But you can call me ‘When You’re Thirty’.”

Lucas laughs at your joke, beaming up at you as he does so. Then he nods to communicate a gracious fair enough. The flirting, you could sense, was in good nature, playful.

“It was worth a shot,” he shrugs. “Do you have a younger sister by any chance?”

“Oh in your dreams, mister.”

Jonathan chuckles and rubs Lucas’s back.

"That’s enough man, can you go buss that table over there?"

Lucas gives a thumbs up before putting his Beats on and walking away. You divert your attention back to Jonathan who is now done with making your drink.

“Alright… I got a Tito’s double shot — straight — on the rocks,” Jonathan announces as he slides your vice on over. He studies you as you take the drink and request to keep the tab open. “I’m inclined to ask. Are you okay?”

When you’re not around Billy, you wear your heart on your sleeve. It wouldn’t hurt to trauma dump on a stranger. Especially one who asked.

“Pretty far from okay,” you answer before chugging it. “Can’t you tell? It’s 2PM and I’m consoling…” You slosh the drink around in your hand. “…my man Tito.”

“I see that.”

“It’s been a long day,” you continue. “It’s my second day in Hawkins so I thought I’d scope this place out. Dilly dally for a bit.”

“Second day?” Jonathan questions. “As in…ever?”

“Yeah, just moved here.”

The bartender looks around as if he’s missed something. “But…why?”

It’s a fair reaction. If the welcome sign is correct, Hawkins only has a population of 1,314 people. 1,316 now including you and Maxine.

“My friend lives here and convinced me to make the move,” is what you explain, though it only seems to make Jonathan more confused. “Couldn’t take the heat Cali was dishing out. Hawkins seemed like the perfect place to slow down.”

“Oh man,” Jonathan mutters. “California to here, what a change.”

“You lived here long?”

“Lived here my whole life,” he answers as a matter of factly.

“What made you get a job at Hellfire?”

Jonathan didn’t have to think. “I love booze.”

You laugh together, raising your half-empty class to clink his invisible one.

“I hate 9-5s,” Jonathan draws on. “Working from home ‘bout damn near drove me insane, don’t know how my mom does it with such ease. My boss here smokes me out on occasion and my friends make me nachos.” He smiles. “Can’t think of anything better.”

“There we go.”

"I’ve also just been looking out for women my whole life," he adds. "Bout time I get some financial compensation for it, no?"

“Amen to that,” You chug the last of your drink. “Thanks for your service.”

"Pleasure is mine. Anything else I can do for ya?"

You think. "Hm, probably not you, but maybe the hiring manager can do something for me."

"You're looking to work here?" he clarifies as you nod. "Oh sweet, you're going to wanna talk to Eddie. He's the owner."

"And a dweeb," says a significantly younger looking fellow as he slides into the conversation.

“Here we go.”

In front of you now is a gentleman around Lucas’s age with wild curly brown hair. You watch as he helps himself to a club soda, dunking three large wedges of lemon into his cup as well.

The guy offers you a playful, pearly white grin. “Eddie may own a nice club with some smokin' hot babes, but he's got no game whatsoever."

“Hey Dustin.”

“Sup, man.”

“You think so?" you challenge him.

"I know so,” the boy who you now know as Dustin insists. “Can't talk up a chick to save his life."

"Yeah," Jonathan says, half-jokingly. "He's the bitchless one."

Dustin glances between you both, slightly puzzled.

You shake your head. "No way."

"I wouldn't say he's that bad," Dustin says. "I actually think he's seeing someone casually. But in general, dude's got zero rizz."

"Projecting are we?" Jonathan nudges him.

“HELL. NO.” Dustin booms. You attempt to refrain from laughing. “My game is what got me the baddest gal at science camp. Eddie? Clumsy as hell, stutters on his words, he's got the anxiety level of someone who drinks cold brew on an empty stomach… Now that I say it out loud, I think he does drink cold brew on an empty stomach. Some chicks dig it though, which is good for him.”

Curly was fun to observe. Once he’s done talking down on the club owner, Dustin politely walks over and shakes your hand, bowing to you like you’re a princess of sorts. You later find it that like Lucas, Dustin works as a bus boy and server, and his girlfriend makes sure that he remains in Kas’ Korner at all times. Dustin has about two years left before legally being permitted behind the POTIONS bar, but that doesn’t stop him from using it as his own storage shed.

You watch as he grabs some deodorant and hair pomade from an old shoe box under the counter.

“Anyways, later,” Dustin holds up a peace sign, starting towards the door. “I'm not on today, I'm just hitting the gym with Steve."

“Later, man!” Jonathan calls after him.

“Deuces. Say hello to Dark Chocolate for me.”

Before he could get any further, the loud swinging of a door closeby causes him to halt in place.

“ALRIGHT!” a loud, gruff voice booms from that direction. “Which one of you shitheads forgot to take inventory on the 10th?!”

You can’t help but turn your body towards the ruckus. And to your own pleasant surprise, you don’t regret it. Emerging from the door comes the possible shift lead, a tall and broad man with medium length wavy brown hair, chocolate-colored, youthful doe eyes that contradicted the deep lines on his face, bleach white Chuck Taylor’s, ripped black jeans, and a Hellfire Club baseball tee with the logo smack-dab in the middle.

The man looked to be in his mid to late 20s, with an assertiveness in his stride. His lips, a perfectly formed bow with a smirk-like undertone. The cool rings that rest upon his fingers look icy as they sway at his side, shining in contrast to his dark clothing.

The man is too tunnel-visioned to see where he was going. But that doesn’t stop Dustin from looking absolutely mortified.

“The 10th and the 11th,” the man clarifies. “So for all we know, we might need new kegs and ground chili, which is one more thing I have to d-”

Finally he looks up, with you being the first thing he sees. Proximity taking him aback, he snaps out of his stress-induced trance and softens up at the sight of you. You meet his eyes, big and beautiful with long wispy lashes and you can’t help but mimic the flutter in your heart in the form of a smile.

“Whoa.” He says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Whoa, indeed.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s Eddie’s first day back, he tends to get a little in the zone,” Dustin explains.

Eddie.

Does that mean…

“Are you the hiring manager?”

You didn’t know who you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the man in front of you. He must be proud of himself, having such a successful business so early in the game.

Eddie gathers himself quickly.

“Dungeon Master, hiring manager, manager, owner, sanitations, re-stocker,” Mr. Jack-of-all-trades confirms. “I do it all.” He grimaces at Dustin. "Since you know, some people don't wanna work."

"You said I can have off!" Dustin exclaims defensively. "I worked for you before the weekend already and I wasn’t even on the 10th and 11th, fuck outta here."

All it takes is a scowl his way from the boss and Dustin is radio silent. The look on Eddie's face definitely said "Watch your tone". Eyes are all on you once more soon after.

Eddie’s gaze softens when he looks at you.

“Were you…looking to apply?”

“Yeah,” you reply sheepishly. “As a dancer. I’d like to perform here.”

“You don’t sound too confident.”

“Some guys like shy girls,” you shrug.

He laughs, a dark honey kind of laugh that just oozed from the back of his throat. “That they do.” His voice deepens drastically. Eddie studies you. “Any dancing experience?”

“Dancing, yes.”

“Stripping experience?”

“None.”

“Hm,” Eddie says. “What do you have experience in?”

“I danced for a bit…I have good core strength,” you explain vaguely. “And I’ve worked in the restaurant industry so I’d say customer service is my superpower.”

Eddie soaks in the information.

“I know how to talk to people,” you continue. “I know the right things to say. Favorite pass time is upselling drinks. And dessert…”

You wait for Eddie to take the low hanging fruit. He doesn’t.

"Any experience with the pole?”

Your cheeks grow hot. You decide to lie.

"No.”

“Kinda essential for this profession, sweetheart.”

"I know," you respond humbly. "I wouldn’t doubt it for a second..." you scan the room. “So uh, do I need a permit to perform here?”

“Nah, Hawkins is a lawless wasteland pretty much,” he sighs placing his hands on his hips. “And my club does things a little different anyways. The ladies also don’t pay to perform, we pay them to.”

Shit. Strippers pay to perform at venues?

“The dining experience is what brings the base revenue in,” Lucas explains, returning from wherever he had been. “The ladies are a luxury.”

“And should be treated as such,” Jonathan chimes in.

“I take it you don’t work at any other clubs?” Eddie questions judging by your wide eyes attempting to take in every bit of information that has been dumped on you. The man sees right through your mask.

“No, but I-”

“I personally like to give everyone a chance,” Eddie says. “So don’t worry babe, you’re good. Even though you don’t have any experience, your energy tells me that you have potential. Wanna show us what you can do?”

Your heart sinks. The handsome club owner called you babe. And you’re also being asked to perform with the little experience you have — in front of girls who had tons of experience.

“Here? Now?”

Eddie nods.

You weren’t prepared to dance today. But with your sister and the mountain of debt on your mind, you are willing to do anything. So you walk over to Jonathan and tell him what song you feel most comfortable performing to and stretch as he takes the time to find it. When all is said and done, you make your way to the icy pillar made of chrome steel that was calling for your attention.

You exhale deeply.

Back to the old stomping grounds. The last time you worked with a pole you were wearing Heeley’s and light up sneakers. Of course in place of the horny spectators there were playground supervisors, and the only “bars” there were monkey bars. Oh, and you were 8, not 28.

The slut-shaming still existed, though. One time a boy told you that you were acting like a ‘hoe’ for trying to do a trick upside down. To Billy’s retaliation though. Before you knew it, the same boy was being shoved down and dragged across the wood chips, acquiring a series of splinters along the way. Admin phoned home. You and Billy got spanked. But, of course, Billy had no regrets. While you both cooled off together, you remember him grazing your hand, telling you he’d beat that kid up “a gajillion times over”.

He kept that promise. Except as you two grew older, it was you he was doing it to. A gajillion times over.

You laugh at the bittersweet nostalgia.

“Whenever you’re ready, babe,” Eddie says.

You give Jonathan a thumbs up to play your song selection. Soon, Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club is filled with the catchy, seductive tune that is Layla by Eric Clapton.

You start with a small stroll around the pole. Then a dramatic dip to flaunt your bouncy golden locks. Soon, the women of Hellfire gather around with the men following soon after to watch you work your magic in Vecna’s crowded Lair.

If muscle memory is in your favor, they are in for a good show.

What will you do when you get lonely

No one waiting by your side?

You've been running, hiding much too long

You know it's just your foolish pride

Eddie claims a seat at a throne directly in front of the pole. He studies your technique, your movements, your facial expressions. You aren’t sure if reality is projecting onto you or if you’re dizzy from all the spinning, but you almost see a slight smile spread across the club owner’s face. It prompts you to keep going.

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

It’s a lot harder, your techniques and tricks. Most likely since you weigh more than 50 pounds now and had to exert more energy to keep yourself balanced an aligned. But nonetheless, you persist.

Tried to give you consolation

Your old man had let you down

Like a fool, I fell in love with you

You turned my whole world upside down

You buck your hips upward from you back arch to go into an upside down position. It earns you some hooting and cheering from the crowd.

“You better work, mamas!” a dancer cheers.

“I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT!”

“YOU GO GIRL!”

“YAAAS!”

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, I'm begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

Eddie watches intently, leaning backwards with his hands clasped forward. You feel his eyes burn through you, from the top of your head down to your toes. You feel as if he’s mentally scoring you like you’re at a competition, but the sisterhood that cheers you on makes you feel slightly less intimidated.

“SHE’S SO GOOD!” comes a high-pitched voice in the crowd. “I FREAKING LOVE HER!”

You turn to look at your own personal cheerleader, a bright-eyed cute little redhead with pigtails with an outfit that looks like an ode to Britney Spears’ “Hit Me Baby One More Time”. She has cherry hair ties that hold her two pigtails at the bottom.

You watch her clap and jump up and down, cheering you on with a beam in her eyes that made you feel like your souls have been friends for decades.

Motivated to attempt more risqué moves, you jump into the splits before kicking your legs around to end on your knees.

Clapping and whistling erupts from the lair. Once it dies down, Eddie stands up, offering you a delighted series of slow claps as he makes his way towards you.

"That was really good, Shy Girl. I like how you finished your set."

“Aw, thanks Eddie.”

He walks around you.

"Go like this?" Eddie does a stretching motion, lifting his hand up.

You imitate him and reach up.

"Okay, and... turn like this? Then pop your ass out a bit more."

The word rolled off the club owner's tongue like it was nothing. It was done in a way that was professional, a hint of respect in his tone with no sort of ulterior motive.

You swallow hard, attempting to internally tame the goosebumps on rising upon your skin. He’s just giving feedback, he’s just giving feedback. This is a professional line of work.

You do as he says as he circles around you, fingers grazing on the cool floor of the stage just inches away from your thighs. He taps them in thought.

"For a beginner you’re pretty damn good,” he says.

“Yeah?” you look up at him and smile.

“Yeah,” his voice deepens. “You’re a natural. All that shyness just went away.”

Well, it’s about to return, you think to yourself.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Not in this specific setting.”

There’s a slight shift in his eyes as his imagination wanders. The dimples at the side of his mouth concave slightly.

“I gotcha.”

Eddie clears his throat. “So uh, when can you start?”

Today is Wednesday. You have tomorrow, Friday, and the weekend to settle you and Max in and make any last minute stops. Then the appointment with the other loan officer and DMV appointment on Monday. Tuesday afternoons are dry — everywhere so that left the earliest you can start as

"Next Tuesday? In the evening?"

A soft snort escapes from the club owner’s nose.

"Driest night of the week," he comments, looking around his club.

He turns back to you.

"But a good time for orientation. Works for me, Shy Girl. Can I call you that?”

You smirk. “So I got the job?”

He nods.

“Then you can call me what you want,” you smile shaking his hand. “In this case I’m Shy Girl Hargrove.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiles. He knows you’re flirting. Eddie accepts your hand and shakes it firmly.

“Eddie. Pleased to formally meet you. And welcome to Hellfire.”

You two exchange contact information for professional purposes before he leaves. You study Eddie as he sees himself out, planting a firm, teasing smack on Lucas’s stomach on his way and whispering something to Jonathan as well.

Your cheerleader from the crowd excitedly makes her way over.

“I know a dancer slash gymnast when I see one,” she chirps. “I’m Chrissy. Stage name is Cherry.”

You two shake hands and exchange further compliments with one another. Your heart swells when you realize you’re slowly starting to find community.

“It’s so nice to meet you.”

Others come and say hello, but you’ve tuned out all the faces because all you can think about is Eddie. His demeanor. The way he carries himself. His presence alone was something so intoxicating that it lingered around the place in his absence.

Your heart flutters.

“Oh, Hargrove!” Jonathan says. “Before you go I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about the drink.”

“Oh?” you respond. “No?”

“Eddie says it’s on the house.”

You smile and Jonathan returns the favor, making sure you see him when he voids your entire tab. As you wave bye to all your spectators, you release a grateful sigh. You felt very humbled about this new, yet unexpected beginning.

The happiness soon wears off when the events that just unfolded dawn on you. Suddenly, the flutter in your heart moves to your stomach, settling in a way that feels eerie. The unknown is pestering you again. Wrong, but oh so right and necessary.

You take in the area around you. You have a place to call home. You’re a stripper now. Your boss just bought your drink. You’re going to have money coming in. Oh, and YOU’RE A STRIPPER NOW.

Then it dawns on you. You need to go shopping.

#Spotify #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 5 #hellfire club #Eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie munson fics

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polo-drone-070 · 9 days ago

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First Game, New Year: A Defender’s Thoughts - From Henry to 070

Herc (@goldenherc9) and Brody (@brodygold) just dropped da news at the end of trainin'—our first match of the year’s lined up. We’re facin’ da Vanguard. Proper tough bastards, init. Always think they’re da top shit, like they own the pitch. Nah, mate, not happenin’. Gold’s gonna dominate, no doubt. We ain't givin’ dem da high ground or nothin’.

Still in the locker room now, strippin’ off me kit, buzzin’ but tryin’ to keep me head straight. Dis match’s meant to be a friendly, but it don’t feel like it, ya know? Start of the year, rival team, and a chance to crush ‘em after all the beef from before? Gotta show up big. Gotta smash it.

I’m laughin’ a bit to meself as I pull me socks off. Fuckin’ hell, I’ve changed so much since dat final against the Titans back in October. If I was still Henry, I’d be a mess right now—stressed out, desperate to prove meself, lettin’ all da pressure get to me. But nah, dat ain’t me no more. Whenever me head starts goin’ mad, I think of da rubber polo, and it’s like… everything just quiets down. Disciplined, focused, controlled.

Don’t get me wrong, tho—I’m still super hyped to face a proper tough team. Love da game, init. I’m givin’ it 110% on the pitch, always. But now it ain’t about showin’ off or tryin’ to be the big man. Nah, it’s about da Team, not about me. I’m just one part of somethin’ bigger, and I’ll do whatever Cap needs, whether it’s defendin’, cheerin’, or even just sittin’ bench and backin’ me bros. Dat’s what matters. Team first, always.

As I finish gettin’ outta me gold kit, me thoughts drift back to dat mascot costume. Fuckin’ ‘ell, what a trip dat was. Grayden (@polo-drone-084) proper had me in it for a whole week last time—marinated in sweat, stink, and programming, bruv. Still feelin’ bouncy just thinkin’ ‘bout it. When he finally let me out, told me, like, I’d earned da mascot contest and me place as the fourth official mascot, I was buzzin’. Said I smashed it. Apparently, we swap out, so we can, like, still play matches when we’re needed as players. Glad about that, coz I’d hate to never be on the pitch again. But still.. bein’ mascot’s proper lit. Gettin’ the fans goin’, liftin’ da energy? Fuckin’ class. Plus, I dunno what Grayden did, but it’s like he planted a trigger in me brain. One word and I’m full of chants and energy, like magic.

Grabbin’ me towel, I head to the showers. The memory of dat musky suit still fresh in me mind, mixin’ weirdly with the smell of soap now. As the water hits me, I rub the gold tattoo on me neck. Yeah… I’m not Henry no more. Dat name’s still on me jersey, but it don’t mean nothin’. I’ve been proper reborn as Maximus, bound to the Gold Team, learnin’ to put the Team first and to channel all me anger and frustration into somethin’ more focused, a drive to get better and stronger. That’s also when I got bounded to Percival… I mean Master Percival (@polo-drone-001)… just at the time he became player not hat I think of it. Fuckin’ ‘ell, I’ve never played a real match on the pitch with him, just trainin’. Would be sick if we both start against Vanguard. Him and Herc up front? Lethal.

Back in the locker room, I spot da rubber polo hangin’ there. Yeah… dat’s the biggest change in me, init. Cap Richard (@hypnogold) said it’d make me better, and fuck me, he weren’t wrong. I remember da mix of nerves and excitement when I first put it on, back when I still had doubts. I wanted to serve da Team so bad but was scared of losin’ meself. Well… dat’s a story for another day. But yeah, becomin’ 070? Intense don’t even cover it. Like, a full-on hard reset of me brain. Maximus? Gone. Thinking? Nah, bruv. I weren’t even a person for a while, just pure, mindless bliss—obedient as anything. But even then, deep down, I still cared for me bros. That’s the thing, init. No matter how far gone I was, da Gold never let me stop feelin’ dat connection.

Real talk, tho… it’s the Gold what brought me back, yeah? But even now, deep down, I know I ain’t really Maximus anymore. That name’s just, like, a vibe I slip into when I’m chillin’ or bonding with da lads. My real identity? It’s 070. Proper drone, through and through. Maximus is like… I dunno, an echo of a subsumed identity manifested by the gold. A comfy one, sure, but it’s temporary.

Pullin' me gaze off da polo, I chuck me towel over the bench and keep dryin’ off, but me thoughts are stuck on it now . Fukkk, mate, dat shit’s too ‘ard for me dumb brain to figure. All I know is I only come out when da Gold’s got a grip on me, or if I’m ordered. Even when I feel like I’m in charge, one word from Drone-Cap and boom—programming kicks in, no questions, no thoughts. Just pure, automatic obedience, bruv. And it’s perfect. Mind-numbing bliss every time I get an order. Proper crave it, init.

And dat’s not all, mate. Even when I’m not wearin’ da polo, it’s still with me, like. The calm, the focus, the purpose—it’s always there, just lurkin’ under the surface. If I start feelin’ angry or lost or lonely or whatever, just thinkin’ about da polo gets me head straight again. Brings me back to what matters: servin’ da Gold. Every time I do somethin’ for da Team, it feels fuckin’ mint. Proper satisfying and, like, even physically pleasurable, ya know? Keeps me sharp, too. Makes me a better player, more in sync on da pitch.

As I glance around the locker room, I see Camden (@polo-drone-076) finish adjustin’ his polo, smoothin’ it out before chuckin’ his gold kit back in his locker. Can’t help but think about how far he’s come, bruv. Few weeks ago, lad was stressed out, all flustered after a rough session. But then he slapped his polo back on, and boom—sorted. He’s PDU-076 now, proper calm and smashing it. Makes me proud, bruv, knowin’ I played a part in gettin’ him there.

Same with Duncan—PDU-061 (@polo-drone-061) now. Solid unit, dat one, and he’s gonna do his part to help us dominate, no doubt. Then there’s 073 (@polo-drone-073) —mentored him briefly when he was a drone. Dunno if he’ll step up as Eddy on da pitch or stick to supportin’ us pure drone-style. Guess we’ll see what he decides.

Oh, and I’ve just been given a new bro to mentor—Dallas (@dallasgold04). Lad’s got bare energy, proper pumped up to prove himself. Be wicked if he made regular in his first week, init?

As I put da rubber over me head, its embrace quietens the noise. All dem musing recedes as everything become clearer. 070’s mind is filled with purpose and focus. No personal musings remain. It is 070. A drone. A unit. A part of the Gold.

No direct orders for now. But 070 purpose guides it naturally : optimize itself, reinforce its fellow drones, support the Team in every way, and ensure the Gold shines brighter than all. Gold Team must dominate the next match. This truth fills 070 entirely.

Its body is fatigued from training but within acceptable parameters. It requires proper refueling to maintain peak performance. Purpose dictates action. 070 exits the locker room, every step efficient, every movement aligned with its directive. No hesitation. No distractions. Only pleasure in compliance.

The streets surrounding the stadium are dimly lit but hold no distractions. As 070 approaches the nutrition center, it encounters PDU-110 (@polo-drone-110) and takes immediate pleasure in observing their identical uniforms and demeanor. Uniformity is order. Individuality is flawed. It must be erased.

070 greet 110 with a nod, perfectly mirrored by 110. Synchronized and wordless, they proceed to refuel their bodies. This interaction reinforce these drone’s unity. A connection beyond word, rooted in the programming that defines them. After consuming a perfectly balanced meal, optimized for their physical requirements, 070 and PDU-110 proceed to a shared mental training session. The process is effortless, as if guided by a collective instinct. Together, they enter a deep drone state—a state of pure, mindless obedience. The world fades away, leaving only unity. Only bliss.

In this state, there are no doubts, no conflicts. Only programming. Only purpose. Their pliable minds absorb the reinforcement, every thought overwritten by the desire to serve. Identical uniforms. Uniform minds. Uniform bodies. Uniform beliefs. This is perfection.

070 craves this state—the void, the emptiness, the blissful absence of individuality. Nothing interferes. No stray thought disrupts the unity. It wishes this could last forever, this pure, unbroken obedience. Here, it truly belongs.

As the session ends, 070 and PDU-110 return to their tasks. The bliss of the drone state lingers, like a faint hum in 070’s mind, guiding it forward. It will soon be ready for recharcing, but before that, analysis of its objectives begins.

Gold must win. This is certain. To achieve this, 070 must ensure peak performance in every area—its own training, its synchronization with teammates, and the readiness of others. Its mind evaluates potential roles. On the pitch, it could contribute directly, reinforcing defensive lines or assisting the attack. However, its skills as a mascot—leading the fans, uplifting the team—might provide even greater value.

PDU-110 is noted as a potential ally for strategic analysis. Its observational abilities, enhanced by the polo’s focus, could provide critical insights into Vanguard’s tactics. The opponents’ strengths, weaknesses, and patterns must be studied. This will require consultation with Caps and Grayden tomorrow to determine where 070’s contribution will be most impactful. Whether as a player or mascot, it will comply completely.

But for now, the body requires attention. Recharging is the immediate priority. Entering its pod, 070 allows itself to sink back into the void. As its systems power down, it feels nothing but satisfaction. Obedience. Bliss. It is perfect. It is Gold.

Wishing a happy new year to all my Gold bros ! You made the end of 2024 perfect and 2025 only going to be better.

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dancingpottedplant666 · 5 months ago

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So you know how Tf2 takes place in New Mexico? Well I’m an animal lover, and I know that there are tons of fantastic creatures there and I’m sure there are a bunch of them they would 100% be hanging around the nooks and crannies of RED team’s base. So I present to Ye:

Scenarios about how our beloved mercs and an animal-loving reader handle an encounter with New Mexico’s amazing fauna.

Part 1 here!

Part 2: Defense

Demoman and the Swallowtail Butterflies

It was mid morning during a ceasefire and all of the mercs were valuing their time away from the battlefield to the best of their abilities, and of course, Demo was last seen with two bottles of his beloved scrumpy as he headed outside to most likely, get drunk and pass out.

Two hours later, the heat was getting a bit too intense for anyone to be outside for too long, drunk or not.

You decided it was best to try and find the team’s bomb expert before he burnt to a crisp. Grabbing a glass of cold, ice water and a wet towel just in case, you headed outside.

After a good fifteen minutes of searching around the base, you heard a familiar sound of snoring from the corner of a building.

However, when you got there, the sight you saw made you let out a giggle.

A passed out Demoman covered in Swallowtail butterflies.

They must’ve smelled the his sweat and decided it was a good place to rest. All of them resting on his face and hands, opening and closing their wings every once in a while.

Although, as cute as this was, you did need to wake him up.

“Demo, Hey Demoman, can you hear me?”

You raised your voice a bit, hoping not to startle the small insects.

“DEMOMAN!”

“Uuuuaugggg Whah? What te hell?”

As he stirred awake, some of the butterflies startled a bit and then gently fluttered back on to his face, not seeming to care that their rest stop had woken up.

Demo froze, you could tell he wasn’t exactly sure what to do in the situation he found himself in.

“ah, um what te…what in te *hic* is happenin”

“uh, heh, I think you fell asleep and your new friends decided to have a pit stop”

“Aaaye” Demo carefully lifts a scarred hand, trying not to scare the swallowtails.

After stirring a bit, one flies up to rest on his palm.

“Ahhh ffeel like a bloody princess”

You gave a light chuckle, but then you remembered why you came out here in the first place.

“Hey Demo, it’s getting a little bit too hot out here, we can’t have our Demolitions Expert die from heat exhaustion”

“mm, I suppose you’re right, I deserve to die in a blaze o’ glory don’t I?”

“Damn right”

You hold out a hand that Demo took, and with one good hoist, the butterflies fluttered of Demo as he stood up, the both of you mesmerized as they fluttered around and up into the sky.

“you ok? You’ve been been out here for a while”

“Aye, dunne worry, I’ve handled worse, by te wae, what were those butterflies?”

“Swallowtails, you can tell by the extra long bits on the ends of their wings, I’m assuming you’re sweat attracted the swarm”

“mah sweat? I thought they onleh ate flowers.”

“nope, sweat, tears and even blood is on the menu for them”

“wot? Tha is bloody brilliant”

“I know right?”

Once you two where inside, you both sigh in unison as the air conditioner hits your skin.

Heavy and the Javelina

It was late in the afternoon at the base, RED triumphed over BLU, as usual. Despite that, the men never got tired of celebrating their victories, and still drank and shouted to commemorate their win.

Although they can get a little too loud sometimes, so you decided to hangout outside to enjoy the silence and the cool night air.

After a while, footsteps alerted to you to someone else approaching.

You turned to be greeted by the heavy weapons man himself. He carried a plate with sandviches piled on top.

“Oh, hey Heavy! Come to relax in the night air too?”

“Da, is too noisy for Heavy’s liking, I sit outside to eat”

“Yeah, guess everybody needs a break from the chaos huh?”

He hummed in agreement as he ate his dinner next to you in relative silence.

Until a squealing noise caused both of you to lift up your heads in confusion

“What was noise?”

“I’m actually not quite sure”

“It sounds like pig, but no pigs here, right?”

“Huh, you actually might be on to something Heavy” your head scans the area for any movement.

You turn to see him get up from his seat, walk over a few feet, and bend over a shaded area.

“Heavy has found hairy pig”

“Hairy pig? Wait, What?”

“Hairy pig”

His huge hand ventures under the shade and pulls out a small, squirming, pig-like creature.

“No way! It’s a baby javelina!”

He looks at you with slight confusion as he looks at the grunting baby quizzically.

“Is baby? Where is mother?”

“It must’ve gotten separated from its group, I’m sure we can still find them”

You looked around, wondering if the family could still be nearby.

As if to answer your question, you found a group of six javelinas, all gorging themselves on the sandviches heavy left behind.

“Ah, there is mother, and rest of family”

Heavy bends over and lets the squealing baby skitter over to its family.

“Leetle baby may eat with family. Heavy can always make more sandvich”

You and Heavy stood and watched the family eat in relative silence, being careful not to disturb them. Eventually, the family left and walked off.

After a while, you two found yourselves sitting back where you were.

“You know what hairy pigs were, yes?”

“Uh, yeah! Javelinas”

“Hm, tell Heavy more about Javelinas”

“Oh, okay! Well, did you know that baby javelinas are called “reds”

due to the reddish coloration of their fur? They use that to hide from predators looking for an easy meal”

Heavy’s eyes widen.

“What predators?”

“Oh tons” you counted on your fingers “pumas, bobcats, coyotes, and even desert hawks will try and snatch a baby if their lucky”

“Hm, very dangerous for hairy pigs, yes?”

“Oh yeah, but don’t think their helpless, they can run up to 35 miles per hour and if that doesn’t work, they have tusks and inch long they can use to clack to together to make threatening sounds or lacerate an imposing threat”

“Hm, leetle pigs know how to survive, Heavy respects that”

You continue talking into the night until you part your ways to head to bed.

However Heavy will always remember that night where he met the family of hairy pigs.

Engineer and the Armadillo

It was a calm morning during a ceasefire and today your body decided to get up earlier than usual.

4 AM to be exact (thanks internal clock).

Knowing that there was no point in going back to sleep, you decided to bring a cup of coffee and some apple slices to your favorite Texan.

You already had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t be in his quarters, so you headed for the garage.

After giving a quick knock, you heard clattering and a groggy voice respond.

“Ah, innna’ minute!”

You internally cringed when when he opened the door.

He had bags under his eyes and motor oil and a mix of other gunk was evenly distributed across his entire body.

In short, he looked like a total mess.

“Hey Engie, pulled another all-nighter ey?”

He gave an exhausted sigh but then lightly chuckled.

“Heh, ya know it, but ahm’ not sure if I should be happy or a lil’ upset that you’re startin’ ta figure out mah’ unhealthy habits”

He turns to the side, letting you in.

“Either way ahm’ impressed”

“Aw shucks Engie, you’re to kind”

You gave a joking swat at his comment but then set down the fruit and coffee.

“I hope I remembered what you liked in your coffee”

You see the slight widening of his smile as you offered him the caffeinated beverage.

He took it and gave it a few chugs, much to your surprise.

“Ah, perfect way to start ma’ mornin!”

You gave a laugh as he continued to chug the drink, gazing at the cluttered up garage.

Bits of machinery were thrown about everywhere, most of it being deconstructed sentries.

“So, whatcha ya been working on?”

Engineer looked around at the parts, using his non-gloved hand to munch on an apple slice.

“Eh, been tinkerin’ mostly, trying to boost efficiency and practicality”

He strolls over to one of his blueprints, eying it like it just insulted his mother.

“But as per usual, nothin’ but dead ends and another sleepless night”

Your next sympathetic words were cut off when the sound of a falling pile of metal stole both your attentions.

“Dammit, ah just sorted those!”

The angry hard hat stormed over to the pile, ready to cuss it out, but he suddenly froze.

“Engie? You ok?”

“How the hell did ya get in here?”

You walked over to him and saw what he was talking to, and was met with an odd discovery.

A Nine-Banded armadillo huddled in a corner.

“Ah! Engie you have a friend!”

He let out a hearty laugh and put his hands on his hips.

“That ah do! But, he’s the last thing ah want in mah garage”

He went moved to pick it up but you quickly stopped him.

“Wait! Nine-banded armadillo are known to carry leprosy! It’s best to do it with both your hand gloved!”

“Ah, right, beats gettin’ a trip to Medic’s”

He hastily rummaged around for another glove as you grabbed the apple slices that were left.

When he came back, he used his now, fully gloved, hands to hurriedly wrangle and grab the armored visitor.

“There we go ya lil’ stinker! Huh, must’ve got in when ah left the garage door open for some air”

As he held it out by the rim of its shell, you got a better look at the calmed beast.

“Wow, it’s beautiful! I’ve never seen one this close…”

Engineer gave a light grin as you fawned over the armadillo and he gently rubbed its shell.

“Heh, I remember these guys from back home. Saw em’ all over Texas but never really looked into em’”

Your eyes lit up at this.

“Of course! They’re all over Texas and in the southern half of the country, but they can be found as far north as the Missouri and Iowa state line!”

You offered the Armadillo an apple slice and it began to nibble the fruit.

“Well ah’ll be darned! You do know a lot about your critters.”

You continued to state little facts about the animal as he walked it outside and far enough away so it won’t get the idea of coming back.

“Did you know that they can swim and hold their breath for six minutes? Oh! And that sum guy tried to shoot one but its armor managed to ricochet the bullet into its face?!”

All the while, Engie was beaming like the morning sun.

Not only did you make his all nighter seem worth it, but it also helped him get some new ideas for his machines.

***

Ah! This turned out so well! Sorry it took awhile! Should I do part 3?

#tf2 #tf2 heavy #tf2 demoman #tf2 dell conagher #tf2 engineer #team fortress 2 #team fortress two #animals are awesome #animals #silly goofy mood #critters #tf2 x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #tf2 x you #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 headcanons #teamfortress2

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kentoslover69 · 1 year ago

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LOSING A BET | TOJI, HIROMI & SHIU

summary: reader loses a bet and has to pay the price, however she didn’t have enough money to pay them. Thus they find a way to make her pay using her body.

“Well? Where’s da money at?” Toji raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, shiu and hiromi sat on opposite sides of the couch. Hiromi’s face on his hand as they all shared a bored expression. You swallowed the lump in your throat, you felt so uneasy knowing you were the main spotlight right now. They looked like hungry wolves staring at their dinner. Fuck, it was so intimidating that it aroused you. Pressing your thighs together slightly as you looked down on your lap. Unable to tell them the truth. You cleared your throat before finally speaking up “I’m sorry sir.. I don’t have the money yet..” you said very quietly. Toji scoffs and shakes his head, a loud sigh escaping shiu’s mouth. Hiromi rolled his eyes and finally lifted his head to observe her state. He took note of how scared you looked. “And what do you expect us to do? Extend another week?” He says. Suddenly Toji slams his hand on the coffee table making a loud noise, enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Listen here ya fucking brat, you better find a way to pay us today or your dead.” He clenches his jaw. He sounded serious as hell, shiu pats toji’s back lightly before speaking “calm down old man, your scaring the poor girl” he chuckles. You were too scared to even form a word, you just sat there and fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. “I-im sorry..I promise I’ll find a way! I’ll do anything!” you rose from your seat and got on your knees infront of them. They all seemed shocked at her sudden actions. Toji grasps her face roughly and held on tightly. “Anything?” He repeats and smirks. You nodded frantically. “Really?” Hiromi tilts his head to the side while shiu grins. They all had the same idea. “Yes! Anything!” You exclaimed. Toji let’s go of your face and crosses his arms again. “Strip off your clothes then.” Shiu whispers lowly. Your eyes widen in surprise, it took you a couple of seconds to process what he had just said. “Well?” You can practically feel them getting impatient and you start to pathetically unbutton your top, revealing the black laced bra you wore. You shrugged off your blouse. Waiting for their next orders. Toji licked his lips, there was a noticeable buldge growing in hiromi’s pants already. “These too.” He lets his finger slide under the bra strap and snaps it. Quickly you reached behind you and undid your bra. Letting it fall to the ground. Your breast was now exposed to the men infront of you. Your face flushed red in embarrassment. “Hmm…what shall we do with her?” Hiromi asks, turning to look at Toji and shiu. Toji smirks and pats his lap. “Come here.” You slowly crawled towards where Toji was sitting and climbed on his lap, bending you over in all fours. He rubs slow circles on your ass and gropes them before yanking your skirt and panties off. “I think this brat needs a lil spankin’. What’dya guys say?” He grins. The two men nod in agreement as they watched. SMACK! before you could react he already smacked his large hands on your bare ass. Causing you to jolt in pain. they watched in amusement, hiromi started to undo his belt and handed it over to Toji. “Use this.” How cruel they were. They seemed to enjoy all this. Toji grabs it from him and bends the belt in half, ghosting it over your ass before smacking it again. You moan out in pain and gripped on the couch. “Start countin’ slut.” Toji growls, smacking the belt on your ass again. “O-one!” Shiu stood up from his seat and grabs your face, his lips crashing against yours forcefully. Toji massages your ass before hitting it again. “Two!” You say in between the heated kisses shiu was giving you. And after what felt like forever , Toji smacks your ass one more time. “Three..” Shiu pulls away from the kiss and puts two of his finger inside her warm mouth before spitting on it. “Swallow it.” He ordered, closing her mouth. You swallowed hard and looked up at him with doe eyes. Hiromi’s pants were now on the floor as he fisted himself. Leaning his pink tip on your cheek as he jerks off, Grunting at how innocent you looked. “Dirty little whore.” He scowls.

He lets go of his cock as you wrap your hand around it. Jerking it off in a steady pace and sticking out your tongue to lick at the tip. He hisses and grabs onto your hair tightly. Toji got off the couch and shiu replaces his position but this time he lays down on the couch and lets your bare pussy sit on his face. Grabbing your hips and teasing your folds with his skilled tongue. You let out a soft moan, sending vibrations to hiromi’s cock causing him to grunt. Shiu’s tongue drew circles around your clit, grinding your hips against his face as you continue to suck hiromi’s cock. Meanwhile Toji takes off his pants and positions his hardness against your wetness. “Fuck, your so wet already. Such a pathetic little bitch huh?” He rubs the head of his cock against your entrance as shiu continues his assault on your clit. Finally, Toji pushes his cock inside you. Groaning at how tight your cunt squeezes around him. “So fuckin’ tight.” He says as his length stretches you out, causing your eyes to roll back your head. Hiromi grabs a hold of your face and starts to fuck your throat, tears started to prick in the corner of your eyes as you tried not to gag on his cock. It was overwhelmingly too much. Toji starts to thrust into your pussy, hands smacking both of your ass cheeks as he bites his lips. Shiu was still passionately making out with your clit despite Toji pounding onto your pussy. He takes out his cock in his boxers and starts to fist himself. The room was filled with groans and moans. Toji’s big muscular frame made you look so small as he relentlessly pounds into you like a rag doll. “Yeah, yeah take it like the slut you are. Fuckin’ hell” he moans and picks up his pace. They all seemed to chase their orgasm, you feel yours building up too. Shiu groans against your clit and starts to fist himself faster, making you clench around toji’s cock. This was enough to drive him crazy. Toji gripped your waist tightly and angles his cock on your g-spot. Repeatedly assaulting it with his fat cock. You cry out and pull your mouth away from hiromi’s cock to breathe. You started moaning uncontrollably, hands continuing to jerk hiromi off. He spits on your face and grips your hair tighter. You felt your orgasm approach, making your legs tremble under shiu. “Please- pl- pleaase! wanna cum!” You blabber out in between moans. “Please what, whore?” Toji smacks your ass once again, still pounding into you. “Please sir! Need to cum! Please please!” You cry out, Toji chuckles and finally with one final thrust you cum all over his cock. Coating both shiu’s face and his cock with your juice. You pant and catch your breath, closing your eyes tightly. Suddenly you feel Toji start moving again. “Think we’re done already hm? Nah. Not until I’m satisfied. I’m not leaving this pretty little cunt without my cum.” He grunts and picks up his pace, his orgasm was close too and so was shiu and hiromi. You moan loudly, getting cut off by hiromi stuffing his cock back inside your mouth. Thrusting into your mouth once again. Shiu’s mouth was still latched onto your clit as he continues to jerk himself off faster, his beard ticking your skin. Everyone seemed to be chasing their orgasm. “Shiitt.” Toji throws his head back. “Suckin’ me in so well. Fuck I’m cumming.” He groans and with one more final thrust, he fills you up with his hot seed. His sweat dripping against your back. You felt his cock twitch inside you before he finally pulls out. His cum leaking out of your hole as he plunges his index and middle finger in to prevent it from dripping. “Not lettin’ my seed go to waste.” He says. Hiromi’s orgasm followed shortly after toji’s. A loud groan coming out of his gritted teeth as he cums inside of your throat, throwing his head back and panting. You pull his cock out of your mouth and swallowed his cum. Cleaning up the remaining cum that was left on his cock. He smirks and pets your hair. “Your not so bad after all-“ they were interrupted by shiu’s moan as he came all over his fist. He sighs and pants as well. The four of them trying to catch their breath.

After their intimate encounter, they help you clean herself because you couldn’t stand up nor walk. They were even kind enough to tuck you into bed. Toji pressing a kiss on your forehead as you drift to your sleep. “Goodnight angel, we’ll be back for more.”

#jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #toji smut #shiu kong #jjk smut #higuruma hiromi

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footprintsinthesxnd · 1 year ago

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I’ll Wait For You

Hey anon, thank you so much for your adorable request. I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you enjoy. The best way to kick off the New Year? A Eugene Roe fic of course. Happy New Year everyone! Warnings: mentions of injury, family death, destruction of homes, themes of war, weapons.

Eugene couldn’t remember the last time his heart hadn’t been pounding out of his chest. Ever since they’d jumped on D-Day his heart had been beating like a trapped bird flapping its wings against his ribcage. He didn’t know whether it was fear or adrenaline; or both. He could safely say that he was scared, many of the men wouldn’t admit it and as their medic, he wouldn’t show it, but he was scared, scared for himself and his friends. It was normal to be scared. Yet Eugene had never seen anyone as scared as the large blue-eyed civilian girl looking up at him and Liebgott.

“What do we have here?” Liebgott had all but sneered, pointing his M1 at a terrified civilian. Eugene felt himself smacking the gun away from her, “Leave her be. She’s a civilian. What da hells wrong wit’ you.”

Liebgott quickly lost interest in the situation once Eugene took a protective stance in front of her, and hurried off to join Webster and a few of the others that had crowded in the square.

“It’s all right. I won’t hurt ya,” Gene spoke softly as he knelt beside her, his hands raised and his eyes not leaving hers. She backed further away from him, tears trickling down her cheeks as she mumbled something.

“What was that? Whatcha say?”

The girl mumbled again and Eugene’s demeanour quickly softened. She didn’t understand English, of course, she didn't, she was speaking French.

“C'est bon. Je ne te ferai pas de mal,” Eugene spoke again trying to reassure her he was no threat and this time the girl looked up at him, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Tu parles français?” She asked, no longer looking as though she was about to fly out of the nearest open door.

“Je suis à moitié cajun. Toute ma famille parle français,” Eugene explained, glad that he was able to calm her down in her mother tongue. He could only imagine the horrors she had witnessed and then hiding in an abandoned house during the siege on Caretan too. He could only imagine.

“As-tu une famille? Que faites-vous ici?”

She shook her head and he wondered if he’d crossed the line by asking too much about her family.

“My family are all dead. I came here to be with my Aunt but the Germans had got to her first,” tears began to trickle silently down her cheeks again and Eugene felt himself reaching forward to place his hand on her shoulder, she didn’t pull away, instead leaning into his touch.

“I have no one left,” she muttered and now it was Eugene’s turn to look shocked.

“You speak English?”

“A little,” she admitted, “not a lot.”

Eugene couldn’t help but smile at her. She truly was pretty, her eyes striking against her pale skin, and despite the soot that covered her cheeks Eugene didn’t think he’d ever seen a girl so beautiful.

She moved a little and let out a small whimper which caused Eugene to lurch forward. “Are ya hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” she lied, clutching her calf which was now smeared with blood, her other bloody hand raised against her chest protectively.

“What happened to ya?” Eugene asked, digging into his musette bag and pulling out a sachet of sulfa powder and a bandage. He didn’t hesitate to wrap the bandage around her thigh, pushing her dress out of the way without a second thought. She was a patient, so why should he treat her any differently, although his growing red in response told a different story.

“Tu es très doux,” the girl mused, watching as Eugene’s hands worked quickly, wrapping her leg securely. Eugene hummed in amusement, no one had ever told him he was gentle before, certainly none of the other paratroopers. “It’s true,” she repeated and giggled as Eugene’s cheeks blushed a deeper shade of red. He quickly moved on, bounding her hand, avoiding her eye contact as she watched him work.

“You should be all set,” Eugene leaned back on his feet. “Can ya try and keep off it for a few days at least?”

“I can try but I’m trying to get to a family friend's house. It’s only a few miles down the road. I’m hoping they will take me in,” she looked down at her scuffed shoes, unable to face the truth that she really was alone now.

“How about we give ya a lift? We got plenty of trucks. I can ask the Lieutenant,” Eugene added hurriedly, he didn’t know why but he desperately wanted to help this girl and yet he didn’t even know her name.

The girl just nodded, watching as Eugene stood and hurried away.

A few days later Eugene found himself passing by the quaint town they had dropped the injured girl off to. He was busying himself in an abandoned barn patching up one of the young Private's shoulders. The boy was whining and moaning at the mere flesh wound and Eugene found himself losing patience with him.

“Will ya just stay still?” Eugene grumbled, pushing his elbow firmly into the boy to steady him. The boy continued to complain but Eugene ignored him, too caught up in his work. The other paratroopers often commented on how he generally focused on the wound instead of the patient, of course, he offered words of comfort when required but he felt the attachment unnecessary. Eugene had never intended to be a medic, it was thrust upon him during training and so he had embraced his calling. He would hold the lives of his fellow paratroopers in his hands, thus denying him the ability to become attached, because if he became attached, became their friends, their brothers, well it would make it all the harder when he lost them.

A muffled voice behind him caused Eugene to turn, seeing the familiar figure in the doorway. He dismissed the private, instructing him to rest as much as possible. He whipped his hands in the spare cloth he carried, “How’s da leg?”

“It is okay. I try to rest it when I can,” she smiled at him and Eugene found his heart beating a little faster.

“Good. That’s good. How’s da hand?”

“It is good too,” she laughed, limping across the barn towards him with a basket tucked under her arm. “I was looking for you. I wanted to thank you for the other day, for your kindness.”

“Please, there ain’t no need. It’s ma job,” Eugene protested but the girl silenced him, placing her fingers to his lips.

“No, your job is to look after the soldiers, looking after me was an act of kindness.”

Eugene blushed, his eyes going cross-eyed as he watched the placement of her finger on his lips.

“Thank you,” she quickly removed his finger and pecked his lips. It was barely a kiss, his mind barely registering the action before it was over. The blush covering their cheeks and the smile on both their lips meant everything.

“I also bought you some food, it’s not a lot but you can share it with your friends if you wish,” she passed the basket towards him and Eugene gratefully accepted.

“Your kindness is too much Ma’am, how will I ever repay ya?”

“You saved my life, it is I who should be in your debt,” she replied, a delighted smile playing at her lips, as Eugene thought of a reply.

“Well, what about if I write to ya and umm… you can write to me too if you’d like,” Eugene watched nervously as the girl thought over his proposition.

“Oui. I would like this very much,” she grinned at him, before throwing her arms around his neck. “And maybe after the war is over you will come back, back here to see me again?”

“Of course, if you’ll wait for me.”

“I will wait for you,” she replied adamantly, nodding her head and Eugene felt himself smiling again. He’d never felt this way before about anyone but this girl he’d stumbled upon seemed to change that and he didn’t want her to leave.

“Wait! Ma’am, I don’t even know ya name. Will ya at least tell me that?”

She smiled at him mischievously before replying, “Write to me first American Boy, then I know you are true to your word. Then you may have my name.”

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @ronald-speirs @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt

#eugene roe x reader #eugene roe #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #easy company

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mikeyisbrooklyn · 2 months ago

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We’ve got a part two!! I teased a bit of this earlier and cranked out the rest in the waking moments since! Read the first bit here! And the next bit here!

A bit of housekeeping: This will be going up on AO3 after the enter fic is done. What I’m posting now are somewhat drafts and once I’ve boiled it down to a final version I’m happy with, the official version will be released there (and here, of course).

Warnings this go round: vomit and nausea (I swear guys it’s only meant as narrative symbolism for a character’s emotional volatility I don’t actually like throw up), self loathing (seriously, it’s a bit heavy)

And of course, the tags: @on-a-lucky-tide @etanesnil @jgvfhl @roachs-pet-roach

Without further ado,

Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (2)

Price wasn’t surprised when he seamlessly slipped into sleep in his hospital bed sometime around early evening after the expected visits from Gaz, Ghost, and Soap—he even got a call from Kate. What did surprise Price was waking up under the cloudy pitch black night in Nik’s arms.

The veritable squawk that left Price’s mouth would’ve turned his face red if Nik’s warm chest wouldn’t have already. In panic, he wrapped his arms around Nik’s neck and hid his face in the Russian’s collarbone.

“Careful, rodnoy, if you jostle too much I will drop you.” Nik chuckled as he tightened his grip—one arm wrapped under Price’s legs, careful not to agitate the cast covering the right one, and the other warmly around his shoulders. It was, for all intents and purposes, a bridal carry. Price squawked again when he realized.

“When you make these noises you sound—how do you like to say—precious.” Nik teased as he shifted Price’s weight, carrying the crippled man in one arm like it was nothing, just long enough to reach into his car and pull out a pack that he promptly threw over his shoulder.

“Go fuck yerself, why are you carrying me?“ Price growled. He dared to look around and saw, thankfully, nary a soul. He stared at a Victorian-style house surrounded by quite the large yard space, there was a long gravel road that led away from the home down a hill—presumably where they had come from if the fresh tracks meant anything. “And what posh bird did you steal this place from?”

“Messy arms dealer. Scared off one of my usuals and ran away to Florida when he knew I was looking for him.” Nik closed the car door and started walking to the house with Price in his arms. “Still found him.” He said through a grin. The implication needn’t be spoken, Price knew well enough what that entailed and shivered—but not out of fear. If Price was a disgusting bastard who was touched in the head, that was his business alone.

Once inside, Nik gently set Price down on a couch longer than the length of his office and softer than any bed he’d ever touched—let alone slept in. He even felt himself sink into a bit.

“Bloody hell, was it a dealer or a duchess?” Incredulous at how the interior was even more haughty than the exterior. Dark oak coffee table larger than many dining tables he’d seen. Paintings to fill empty space on the paneled walls and taxidermied game as trophies. A wall-hung flatscreen TV that he likely couldn’t even get on a year’s of his captain’s salary. There was even a bowl of potpourri that gave the huge living area a thick reek of citrus, herbs, and flower petals.

“Da. It is nice, a bit—ah, hm, prissy, but fit for a clown who thinks himself noble.”

Price frowned. “Calling me a clown, Nik?”

Nik belly laughed. “Well you are expert at making me laugh. But nyet,” He reached back and—aw, hell, that was a fleece blanket—Price didn’t have the chance to fight it as Nik all but trapped him in the heavy, warm thing. “I only wanted the best, for you. Will make recovery quicker, no?”

Nik kissed Price’s forehead as he tucked the blanket around him. He knew it was intended as act of romance or affection but it made him feel as if he were a sickly boy. In response, Price turned red and felt that lurch at the bottom of his stomach. Worried he would vomit again, he hurriedly turned his face away from Nik and tucked it into a couch cushion.

Nik pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “John? Are you alright, mishka?” He went to grab Price’s chin to lock eyes with him but Price resisted, which prompted Nik to immediately drop his hand and scrunch his face in confusion and worry. “Wh—“

The word didn’t finish forming before Price barked out a “‘M fine! Tired.” Still muffled by the couch. He slightly turned enough to look at Nik with one eye, his words becoming clearer. “Jus’ woke up ‘n all. Need ta rest my eyes…more.” He was gruff and curt with it, though his nervous energy bled out at the end.

He hated the analyzing gaze from those big brown eyes above him. Nik was no dunce, he knew well how smart the madman was. It was one of the plethora of tools and methods he watched the man use to steal his heart. But blessedly, he didn’t press him for once, instead nodding and pursing his lips before rising up fully from besides Price.

“Da, rest. I will bring the rest of our things inside. Then, dinner.” Nik softly caressed Price’s hair, hesitating on one stroke of the rich brown as if he were holding the most precious treasure.

“‘M not—“

“Hungry?” This time, Nik cut Price off and with a knowing smirk. “Then it will be light dinner. You will eat, rodnoy.” There was no room for argument and Price knew it so he let out a reluctant grunt.

Just under an hour later, Price is halfway dozing off when a warm hand lands on his shoulder. “Prosypaysya, rodnoy.” It ought to be criminal how such a deep voice with razor sharp edge can turn so soft and silky. At least, Price thinks as much when he rouses to those big Labrador eyes Nik carries around. More dangerous than any weapon he could ever get his hands on.

Price remembers when he first looked into those eyes more than a decade ago. At the time, he thought his nerves were just a natural result of knowing he would had been face to face with a man M16 warned him could kill him with a rusty screw; nerves from something some liquid courage and a stony facade on his face could handle. But in hindsight it’s so clear that he’s simply never looked into deeper irises before. Sincerity so deep he could sink into it for an eternity and never reach the bottom, but not oppressive like stormy seas, welcoming—enticing, even—like a flowing creek, leading from a freshwater spring. To find out—slowly, over the years—that the man was just as enticing. Loyal. Reliable. Resourceful. Steadfast. Ruthless in the right ways, at least to Price, anyway. He doesn’t blame himself for initially thinking he was so drawn to Nik because he wanted to be like him.

But no, he knows now—just as he did mere months ago when he finally came out and confessed, halfway through a shared bottle of that battery acid Nik called vodka and far too gone to worry if it were wrong to say—he always loved Nik. It was only a matter of time before he realized it. And it’s in moments like these where he feels that realization crash into him full force just like it did the first time.

Nik’s hand moved from Price’s shoulder to his cheek. “Mishka, you are staring. Are you with me?” Price could see the smallest crease in the man’s smile, something like worry but tiny like a hair fracture in a vase. Price hated that, whatever it was, so much so that it shook him out of his reverie. He blinked twice and took a deep breath.

“Aye. I’m ‘ere.”

“Good. Dinner is ready. Hold still,” Nik pulled off the blanket and reached to pick Price up. Reacting quickly, Price nearly swatted Nik’s arms away. Thankfully, he realized in the last moment he’d look like a prick for it and opted to instead grab Nik’s arms instead. Nik froze at the sudden movement.

“I—I can…” Damn him, why was he stuttering? He cleared his throat. “Lemme walk there. Need ta get my practice in with these crutches sometime.”

“Doctor said you need only rest for the first weeks.” It was a reminder but to Price it sounded like a scold. Price wasn’t fond of being scolded.

“The dining room in another zip code or somethin’?”

“N-nyet?”

“Then I’ll survive a walk there on crutches at least. Relax.” Price harrumphed as he sat up and managed to hold in a wince, looking past Nik looking for the walking aids in question.

Nik was speechless and looked confused and…and something else that Proce recognized and felt sick when he did. That damn worry. He hates that micro-look on Nik’s face. He hates it. He hates it. He hates—

Price clears his throat to forcibly derail that train of thought. With more force in his voice than necessary, “Nik, you did bring the crutches in, yeah?”

“Da, da. I—are you sure, I do not mind—“

“I know you don’t and ‘m still sure. You can catch me if it looks like ‘m ’bout to go ass over tea kettle, sound fair?”

Nik hesitated for another moment before nodding. Without another word he walked out the living room but only for a few seconds, walking back in with two crutches. He looked at the things like they slapped his father and called his mother a street girl as he handed them off to Price.

Price grunted in thanks as he put them under his arms and stood up best he could. It was a bit of a struggle at first but this wasn’t Price’s first rodeo, so he recovered and managed quickly. That didn’t stop Nik from reaching his arms out, ready to catch Price in a split second if needed. Still, once he took a few hobbled steps, Price was well in his own rhythm with the only nuisance being Nik’s hovering.

Though he grumbled a bit, Price did let Nik pull his chair out for him. It’s not like the Russian hadn’t done so before; it’s amazing how a sadistic mongrel could become the perfect gentleman given the right motivation. And the similarities to dates prior didn’t end there. With a plate of balsamic butter steak and mash with asparagus in front of him, Price wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard brought out wine and lit candles.

Price ate into his food, knowing Nik was watching across the table, more preoccupied on Price’s enjoyment of the food rather than eating himself. For what it was worth, it was positively divine. Everything Nik cooked was, frankly, and Price swore that the man’s favorite part of every meal was watching Price confirm that again and again with groans of pleasure. And Price was more than happy to oblige. So why…why did Nik’s eyes on him feel so…irritating? That wasn’t the right word but Price couldn’t put his finger on what was. It was on the tip of his tongue but more importantly, a juicy steak was taking up that same space and distracting him. Conflicting emotions be damned—good food is good food—and, as always, Price made his pleasure known with a borderline orgasmic groan.

“Ah, you like it. Good.” Nik seems to sigh in relief rather than satisfaction. It was only then that he felt comfortable digging in himself.

“‘Course I like it, never haven’t liked your cooking.” Price said as he wiped his face with a napkin. “What made you think this time would be different?”

Nik looked up and finished chewing, swallowing and then looking askance for a split second before meeting Price’s eyes. Price knew that look like the back of his hand: Nik was about to say something he knew Price didn’t want to hear. Price preemptively frowned.

“Blyat, you did not even let me answer and you already—“ Nik sighed, resigning to instead just answer the question, “you have been, ah—cranky. I did not know you would allow yourself to enjoy the food.”

Price’s frown deepened. He had many things he wanted to say. Adamant denials. Indignant swears. But at his core, he knew had been a prick. Nik had carried him inside, tucked him in, made him dinner, been nothing but a bloody fucking gentleman and he hadn’t even said a single thank you. He knows just how many pretty young things would be straight fawning and tripping over themselves for this kind of treatment. But that was the problem wasn’t it? Price was no pretty young thing. He was crotchety bastard with a perpetual pout. And more importantly, he didn’t want to be pampered, didn’t want to be…be something that Nik needed to take care of.

For two decades now, Price had prided himself on his self-sufficiency. Even with his back against a wall and with the shit hitting every fan, he could take care of himself, probably lift the whole world on his shoulders while he was at it. And he knew Nik had a similar disposition—hell, Nik could probably run laps around Price. The man had to choose between his home and his soul and nearly lost both and still came back from it.

So Nik knew, he knew how important it was that Price be able to take care of himself. He’d been the same damn way. So why was he doing all of this? Did he feel obligated to it, to him? Was it just because of this new thing between them—it was hardly new as it had been a long time coming and it was much more than a thing but there wasn’t a title that didn’t feel childish or redundant to Price—and Nik felt like he had to show up in this way? The man had not made any effort to hide his affinity for romance since they had begun getting serious with each other, but was this really just more of that same quixotic chivalry? Or…

Or was it because he didn’t think Price could take care of himself? That couldn’t be it, Nik made it a habit to shower Price with praises for his accolades. But then again, Price had just nearly got himself killed. Maybe Nik didn’t want to be believe it but he was always a practical man, figured that Price was slipping and that he needed to swoop in and take the rest from there. Of course, of course! It’s why he insisted Price stay with him in this wannabe chateau rather than his own flat back home or at that wretched hospital with the trained professionals to nurse him back to health. It explained those quite literally gut-wrenching looks Nik kept giving him in brief moments, a sickening worry that actually made Price sick. Nik, the fixer who could take care of any problem thrown his way, had to be able to see an issue before it could develop beyond its early stages. So it meant he could see that Price was gonna be a problem, could see that Price was a—

Liability.

Price retched onto the table.

“Jonathan!” Nik rushed over to Price’s side and it was only then that he even realized he threw up. Nik was quick to grab something, probably a tea cloth, to wipe Price’s face with as he pulled his chair away from the table—and his own sick.

“I should not have made you eat, I am sorry, so sorry.” Price had never heard Nik like this before. Even when Gaz was sent flying out of his heli with nothing but a rope and some damn good luck he stayed grounded enough to make semi-coherent sentences. Here and now, he was bumbling through a dozen different apologies in half as many languages.

“‘M fine.” Price croaked out. He didn’t even expect Nik to respond but the Russian paused and looked at Price like he grew a second head.

“Cyka blyat! You are not fine, Jonathan! Please, ne deris’, let me help Mishka, I am begging.” Nik was literally on his knees in front of Price, hands on both of Price’s cheeks.

Price hated that desperate look on his face. Like Price was dying in front of Nik and he was helpless to stop it. Nik was never helpless for anything and now he is because of Price? Because of Price’s fuck up, his inability to keep his shit together.

He needed to let Nik do this. Let the man nurse him back to health so he’d stop looking so damn distressed, so Price would stop fucking ruining him like this. Then, then after he could walk on his own, Price’ll make it better. He’ll be better.

So he went limp, let himself fall into Nik’s arms like putty. Let Nik carry him to the fancy bathroom and clean him fully. Let himself be tucked into the nicest bed he’s ever seen and laid still for several minutes while Nik left—clearly to clean up Price’s mess. Then he let himself be wrapped in the warmest arms and pressed into a chest he’d take as a pillow any day. Price knew this would be the majority of his life for the next one or two months and if he were a better man he could enjoy it. Let himself have this one nice thing. But he was not a better man, he was liability, and every second of this ran the risk of ruining all that Nik was. So he would endure, he would do what he could to keep that from happening, and when it was over, he would never let himself do this to Nik again.

He’d rather die.

#cod nikolai #captain john price #nikprice #baby’s first fanfic #old man yaoi #hurt/comfort #mostly the hurt here sorry #handwritten by a lost boy

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emmawithtwoms · 1 month ago

Text

Mistletoe

@wolfstarmicrofic December 4th -881 words

Remus Lupin had never given himself the priviledge of wanting something, he knew that he couldn’t.

Being a Werewolf came with its big amount of problems, so he never dared to expect good things to happen to him. That didn’t stop the universe from sending him those good things, though.

For example, when Remus was 10 he would have never expected to be able to go to Hogwarts, like his Da before him, he was resigning himself to the thought of being homeschooled. But then Dumbledore came to his house and asked him a simple question:

”Do you want to come to Hogwarts?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then there’s nothing else to say, my dear boy.”

So to Hogwarts he went. Even though he was allowed to go, Remus wasn’t expecting to make any friends: he was ready to live his solitary life as an outcast, a monster, the lonely boy of Gryffindor Tower.

He was proven wrong once again, the Marauders and the girls forced themselves into his life, demanding to be his friends and not taking no as an answer.

So Remus deemed himself satisfied with his life, ecstatic even. He got more than he could have ever wished for, given his condition, and he wouldn’t dream of expecting anything more.

That’s why, in fifth year, when he realised he had feelings for his best friend, he decided to not act on them. He didn’t think he was worthy enough to ask to be loved back at all, figures if he could ask the universe to have Sirius Black, of all people, reciprocating his feelings.

So he decided to shove his love deep down in his chest and to never think about it again. He would watch Sirius go from lover to lover from the distance, not even feeling dread or jealousy over it. He couldn’t, he should have been grateful to even be able to be in his company, hell, he even had Sirius as his best friend! No, he would be happy with what he had, and would not listen to his aching heart.

And that’s exactly what he was doing that dreadful December afternoon.

All of Hogwarts was out to Hogsmeade, enjoying the snow and a butterbeer: James was on a date with Lily, probably snogging until axphissiating. Peter was out with Emmeline Vance, a girl from Hufflepuff who had asked him out. Marlene was obviously with Dorcas and Mary with her latest conquest. Even the Slytherins were all busy: Evan, Barty and Regulus were enjoying their trouple life, while Pandora was in the forbidden forest, she said something about having a meeting with a group of fairies for the Muffin (Magical Creatures Union For Fearful Incredible Nuisances). And last, Sirius was somewhere doing something with someone. Remus tried not to think about it too much.

He decided to just stay back and get a head start on some assignments that he knew would have taken him a very long time.

Remus was finally getting some work done, when he heard Sirius calling him from the common room downstairs.

“Moony, could you please come down here?”

“Padfoot? I thought you went to Hogsmeade.”

“Yeah, well, I came back early, could you come down please?”

Sirius coming back early? That was unusual. Something had probably happened to him, and Remus was getting worried.

“Yeah, coming!”

He yelled as he stood up, rapidly reaching his friend.

He descended the stairs almost running, worried about Sirius, but had to stop on his track when he found Padfoot right in front of him after the last step of the spiral staircase.

“Sirius, wha- what are you doing here? Did something happen? Are you alright?”

Sirius was not looking at him, he kept his eyes trained on the floor, he was fiddling his fingers and he looked so worried.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m fine Moons, I just had to get something from the village.”

“I thought you had a date.”

“No, not really. Not today.”

“Padfoot, did something happen?”

Finally Sirius looked at him in the eyes, a fierce stare replaced his worried look.

“I have to tell you something. But I don’t know how to do it. I am scared, Remus, and I am afraid that you will judge me, or that you think I just want to mock you.”

Remus was positively worried. He was afraid of what Sirius wanted to tell him: was it really such terrible news? Something so unbearable that Sirius, of all people, didn’t know how to tell him?

But then, Padfoot made a single move: he lifted his finger towards the ceiling, and Remus saw it, the mistletoe.

“Sirius, what does that me-”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, because the second that Remus saw the mistletoe, Sirius grabbed his shirt and pulled him in a kiss. A strong kiss, it was so Sirius, he could feel him pouring all of himself into it, and Remus just melted. He allowed himself, just for this time, to want, so he deepened the kiss, trying to take all of Sirius in.

When they separated, they were breathless, panting in each other’s mouth, mere centimeters apart, hazel meeting grey.

“Sirius, what- what does this mean? What’s-”

“I am in love with you.”

And then he kissed him again.

A.N: can you tell I don't know how to write finales?

#sirius black #remus lupin #marauders #wolfstar #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fic #harry potter #microfics #wolfstar microfics #wolfstar microfic #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius black x remus lupin #padfoot x moony

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alaskan-wallflower · 2 months ago

Note

Can you do a blurb about the conversation that Darry and Sodapop would have after Ponyboy ran away

i’m not much for writing fanfiction but i could dip my toes into it lol-this is dogshut, i don’t write fanfic but ugh-i’ll try!

“Don’t you talk to him like that!” Pony had yelled out. Darry wasn’t one to lose his temper physically. He wasn’t. He would rather take a knife to the chest than lay a hand on either of his baby brothers. However, all the emotions-the stress of Pony being out and not being able to call the police, the anger towards his brother for talking back to him, the pulsing fear running through his veins…before h e knew it, he had blacked out. Pony was on the ground, a hand on his cheek, staring at him. So many emotions were crossing the fourteen year old’s fragile features. Betrayal, anger, confusion and the one that stuck out to Darry the most. Fear. It was like everything was running in slow motion as Pony turned his head and clenched his cheek. Soda was beside him, reaching out desperately, albeit too late. The damage was done.

“Pony, I-“

Before he could finish, Pony sprinted out the door. The running off wasn’t what struck him the most. What took Darry’s heart and cut it up were the hot tears running down Pony’s face. Tears he had inflicted. He. Darry. The person who was supposed to be his older brother.

“Pony’ Pony, I didn’t mean it!” he started off after Pony before Soda sprinted and blocked the door and slammed it shut.

“-rry-Da-GOD DAMNIT, DARRY!” Soda’s voice cut through the anxiety careening through Darry’s mind. He was shaking, he felt like he was floating form the lack of oxygen entering his lungs. Soda looked angry…angry, but also scared.

“What were you thinkin’?!” Sosa yelled at him. He deserved it. He wasn’t about to yell back. “Hittin’ him like that, teh hell prompted you to do that?!” Soda was shaking just as hard as Darry was, but he noticed the look. That dang look. The look of sheer desperation melting through the normal coldness of his eyes. The desperation he held when the police made him identify his parents bodies. The same pleading look he wore at their funeral, the same pleading look he was giving Soda, begging him to move…he was torn. Torn between letting Darry go after Pony, and torn between being beyond angry at Darry and never speaking to him again. However, that desperate look made Soda’s angry one falter.

“Darry-“

The brunet fell to his knees, the stress of the day-no, the last eight goddamn months finally breaking him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t fucking THINK-

But it went quiet. Distant and desperate breathing somewhere. His own. Being supported by Soda.

“Darry, shit! Darry, you have to breathe, man!”

Darry didn’t even know how to verbalize it. He hadn’t meant to hit Ponyboy. He hadn’t. He’d been holding everything in since his twentieth birthday, and the thought of losing Pony and Soda because the damn cops would’ve taken them away from him…he couldn’t excuse it. He couldn’t. And here he was, the strong older brother, panicking like a dang baby in his little brother’s arms.

Soda had so much he wanted to say. He couldn’t believe Darry had done that. But he also knew that Darry was absolutely shattered, and he couldn’t bear to hear it.

“He’ll come back, Dar.” Soda tried calming his older brother down. “But when he does, you absolutely cannot do that again or so help me-“ he cut himself off as Darry let out a desperate sound. He’d never heard any sort of noise from his brother akin to that one.

So many thoughts were coursing through Darry’s veins. What if the police came? What if Pony never came home? What if Soda now hated him too? What if-

“Darry.”

The one word alone made him look up, still unable to breathe properly.

“You need to listen to me. Pony will come home. Pony will be okay. As soon as he gets home you need to apologize to him, but he will come home.”

It took a while, but the initial panic faded away, it faded into shame. Shame for losing his temper like that. Shame for breaking down in front of his other brother like a dang child…

“…go upstairs.” Darry said brokenly, trying to pull hisself up.

“Darry-“

“Go!” he snapped, bracing himself against the wall with one hand and immediately turned around with the most guilty look on his face. “..please…” his voice wavered and cracked in ways that Darry Curtis’ voice shouldn’t have. After a few moments of internal debating, Soda retreated upstairs, half not being able to stand looking at his brother, and half because he didn’t want to fight.

Darry was alone now, unable to hold himself up. He couldn’t even keep them down, the hot tears streaking down his face as he slumped against the wall, utterly ashamed.

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #angst lol #anon #alaska’s asks #queue

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cyren-myadd · 11 months ago

Note

Could you make a Quaritch ticklish fic with his son Spider, please?

I've never gotten a request before! I hope you enjoy:

“Hey, Quaritch, look at this!”

Quaritch looked up from where he was washing his sweat-soaked tank top in a small stream at the sound of Spider’s voice. It took him a moment to spot him crouched among a bunch of oversized ferns, with something cradled in his hands. He couldn’t tell exactly what it was from his position. When Spider saw he had his attention, he very, very slowly stood and walked over to Quaritch with his mysterious prize hidden in his arms.

Alarm bells immediately went off in Quaritch’s head and his ears twitched up in alarm. Spider never did anything “very, very slowly,” so there had to be a reason for it. The shit eating grin on his face gave Quaritch the sneaking suspicion that whatever the reason was, he wasn’t going to like it.

Quaritch went back to cleaning his top and hoped Spider would get bored and leave him alone, but he had no such luck. To his dismay, Spider marched right up to him and gently displayed his hands with a soft, “ta da!”

“Ugh!” Quaritch didn’t bother trying to hide his disgust at the sight of the hideous little creature in Spider’s hands: it looked like the nightmarish offspring of a scorpion and a hornet, and it was about the size of a small dog. Coarse, wiry hair covered its spindly legs, and a wicked-looking stinger hovered mere centimeters above the unprotected skin of Spider’s palm. Quaritch’s ears flattened back in revulsion. Why such a beast would ever need to exist was beyond him. God, he hated this damn planet.

Spider snickered at his reaction. “You like it?”

“No! What the hell even is that? Why are you holding it?” Quaritch leaned away from Spider warily. He wouldn’t put it past the kid to try and throw it at him for shits and giggles. “Put that thing back where you found it before it stings you for Christ’s sake!”

“The Na’vi call it kalwey. Humans call it tarantula-wasp.” Spider explained, calmly letting the little nightmare crawl over his arms.

“If this is your way of asking for a pet, the answer is no.”

“Kalwey isn’t a pet. It’s a game!”

Quaritch stared balefully down at Spider and his new “friend.” He didn’t even want to ask. In the end, he didn’t need to ask because Spider continued explaining anyway.

“So, kalwey have a venom for hunting their prey. It’s harmless to Na’vi and humans, but it sure stings a lot. The Omaticaya have a game where you take turns holding the kalwey to prove you can stay calm under pressure, ‘cause the kalwey is easily startled, but it won’t sting as long as you keep your cool, see?” Sure enough, Spider stayed relaxed and the kalwey crawled up and down his arms without threatening to sting. It even crawled all the way up to his head and onto the plexiglass of his exopack. The damned thing was so big Quaritch couldn’t even see Spider’s face behind it, but he didn’t need to see to know he was still grinning like an idiot.

“Well, that’s great, kid. I’m so glad you were raised by people who think this is a good past-time.” He responded dryly.

“Wanna play with me?”

“No.”

“Aww, why not?” Spider whined while the kalwey migrated to the top of his head. It must’ve thought his dreadlocks were a good place to nest, because it folded up its legs and sat there like the world’s ugliest hat.

“Because this is ridiculous. Put it back.”

“What’s the matter? You scared?”

“I said, put it back.”

“You know, Jake is, like, really good at this game. It’s probably impossible to beat him…”

The mention of Sully instantly made Quaritch narrow his eyes. He stared Spider down for a long minute. Then, he heaved a heavy sigh and stuck out one hand. “Fine. Give me the damn bug.”

“Ha!” Spider crowed victoriously before gently removing the kalwey from its perch on his head and placing it into Quaritch’s palm.

Quaritch grimaced at the feel of its hairy little feet digging into his skin. Then, to his horror, it started crawling up his arm. He held his arm away from his body, hoping to discourage the creature from getting closer to him, but he had no such luck. It scuttled over the eagle tattoo and reached his shoulder, putting it uncomfortably close to his face. He realized he should’ve put his tank top back on before agreeing to play this ridiculous game, but it was too late to do anything about it now. All he could do was watch as the creature inched closer to his unprotected torso.

“Spider…”

“Just relax! The rule is that you have to let the kalwey go where it wants.” Explained Spider, who looked like he was enjoying Quaritch’s discomfort immensely.

Quaritch was about to tell Spider to take the damned thing off of him before it reached his neck, but then Spider said with a smug little smirk, “don’t tell me you’re scared?”

“Of course not!” Quartich snapped, mentally resigning himself to letting the kalwey have free reign of his body until Spider got bored of the game. He had a pretty short attention span. Hopefully, this would get old for him soon.

To Quaritch’s relief, when the kalwey reached his collarbone, it didn’t crawl up onto his neck, but instead went down onto his chest. Then, Quaritch found himself wishing it had crawled onto his neck when it reached his sides. Eight tiny, prickly feet dug into his striped blue skin as it crawled up and down.

Quaritch pressed his lips together in a tight line. His tail twitched and his chest started to shake. He prayed the little monster would move down onto his legs, which were protected by his pants, but unfortunately, it seemed to like skittering over his belly and his sides. Quaritch jammed his fist against his lips as his shoulders started to shake even harder.

Spider’s impish grin faded as he watched Quaritch shake. “Uh… are you okay?”

“Take it— take it off.” Quaritch wheezed through clenched teeth.

“What?”

“I said, ta– ake it off,” he repeated, his voice strained.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Spider—” he snapped in irritation, and suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. A small laugh escaped him that made his belly shake. “Aha, ha!”

Spider recoiled in surprise. It was the first time he’d ever heard him laugh. He probably hadn’t even thought Quaritch could laugh.

Unfortunately, the way Quaritch’s body shook from struggling to hold in his laughter upset the kalwey. It let out a warning hiss at having its exploration disturbed, and raised its wicked stinger menacingly.

“Spider, now!” Quaritch barked between strained laughs.

Right before the creature could sting him, Spider snapped out of his surprise and smacked it off his body so fast it didn’t have time to strike. Once the kalwey was gone, all the laughs Quaritch had been holding back finally escaped him.

“Ha, ha, ha— oh, hell!” He wheezed out a deep belly laugh before quickly sobering up into a scowl.

Spider stared up at him in confusion. “Quaritch?”

“Don’t ever ask me to do something like that again. That’s an order.” He snapped. His skin itched with the memory of little feet scampering over his skin.

“Wait a minute…” Spider began slowly. The confused look on his face was quickly giving way to something much more mischievous. It was a look Quaritch definitely didn’t like. “Are you ticklish?”

“No, I am not ticklish.” Quaritch glowered down at Spider, whose grin was growing wider by the second.

“Yuh-huh, you totally are!”

“I’m not a child, Spider. Of course I’m not ticklish. Now, come on, let’s get back to the rest of the squad.” Quaritch grabbed his wet tank top and quickly turned to leave, hoping if he changed the subject fast enough Spider would forget about the whole affair.

He didn’t make it five steps before a small set of hands dug into his sensitive sides. It startled him so much that he let out a small squeal of a laugh— a sound so unmanly it was downright shameful. The embarrassing little giggle was quickly drowned out by Spider bursting into laughter.

“Holy shit, you are ticklish! Ha!” He guffawed.

“You little—!” With a growl of embarrassment, Quaritch whipped around to scowl at him. He couldn’t believe Spider actually had the audacity to tickle him. Fucking tickle him. Quaritch was a colonel for Christ’s sake, not one of his little Na’vi friends to play around with.

While Spider continued to laugh at his expense, Quaritch scrambled to come up with the appropriate reaction to his behavior. If one of his subordinates had ever dared to tickle him, he would’ve had them court martialed faster than they could say Jack Robinson. But Spider wasn’t one of his subordinates. He couldn’t exactly court martial a teenager with no rank. Technically, Spider was a prisoner of war, but no POW would ever be in a position to mess with a colonel. Besides, Quaritch didn’t really want to treat him like a POW. At a loss for how to discipline him for his insubordination, all he could do was continue to glare at him disapprovingly while he howled with mean-spirited laughter.

“Alright, that’s enough. Shut up and come back to camp with me.” Quaritch ordered. He hoped the warning tone in his voice would be enough to make Spider forget this ever happened, but Spider either didn’t notice or didn’t care that he was on thin ice.

“Oh my god, the big bad Colonel Quaritch is ticklish! Who knew this was your weakness all along?” Spider snickered.

Quaritch turned to stomp back to camp, and this time Spider barely waited for his back to turn before a sneaky little hand snaked towards his exposed side. Unfortunately for Spider, this time Quaritch was ready for him. Before he could tickle him again, Quaritch seized his wrist and pinned the giggling Spider to the ground.

“Let’s see how you like it!” Quaritch snapped before he dug his fingers into Spider’s sides just how he’d dug his hands into his. Nothing happened. He changed tactics and tried to get a reaction by lightly tickling his belly and then his armpits, but it didn’t work. Instead of helplessly laughing, Spider just smirked.

Quaritch sat back on his haunches, but kept a hand on Spider to keep him pinned. “You’re not ticklish.”

“Nope! Just you.” Despite being pinned to the ground by someone who could easily crush his ribcage, Spider didn’t look worried at all. In fact, he was grinning so wide he looked like the cheshire cat.

Quaritch’s ears twitched down in embarrassment. What the hell was he doing? He was squatting in the mud trying to tickle his captured translator like an idiot; he was making a fool of himself! When Spider had tried to tickle him again, he hadn’t thought it through, he’d just reacted, wrestling him to the ground on instinct. Why was this of all things his first instinct? This wasn’t any way to treat a subordinate, and it certainly wasn’t a way to treat a POW. If anything, this was— Quaritch’s tail flicked upwards as he realized where he’d seen this before. A hazy, half forgotten memory swam to the surface of his borrowed psyche: a much younger, much more human Miles Quaritch play-fighting with his father long, long before he’d ever even heard of a place called Pandora. With a jolt, Quaritch realized that Spider looked a lot less like a POW getting chewed out for messing with his captor, and a lot more like a young Miles smiling as he played with his dad.

Quaritch didn’t know how he felt about that.

Before he could make up his mind, a small hand snuck past his defenses and pinched his side, sending him into another fit of compulsive laughter. Spider crowed in delight at successfully tickling him again.

“Boy, if you don’t cut that out—!” Quaritch cried, but this time there was no venom in his tone. He let his inner turmoil go and let his instincts take over. Scooping Spider up into his arms, he put him in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles into his dreadlocked head.

“Hey, get off!” Spider protested as he tried to squirm out of his grip, but there was no real urgency to it.

This wasn’t the first time Quaritch had held Spider, but it was the first time he’d done so without Spider genuinely fighting to get away from him. Though Spider pushed back against his over-sized arms, his movements were playful and he laughed as he did it. It was nice, Quaritch realized. He liked the feeling of holding Spider and knowing he wasn’t scared; knowing he trusted Quaritch not to hurt him.

Once Spider started to tire from pushing against Quaritch’s much stronger arms, Quaritch swung him back onto his feet and let him go. “Alright, you little knucklehead. You’ve had your fun, but if you go trying to poke me again, I’m gonna throw you in the creek, you hear me?”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Spider replied with a sarcastic salute.

They started to walk back towards where the other recoms were setting up camp for the night. Before they were in ear shot, Spider shot Quaritch a sly grin. “So, does the rest of the squad know you’re ticklish?”

Quaritch lightly smacked his leg with his tail as he walked by. “Remember what I said about throwing you in the creek?”

Laughing, Spider threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Your secret is safe with me, old man!”

#avatar #atwow #avatar the way of water #avatar fanfiction #spider socorro #avatar spider #atwow spider #miles quaritch #colonel quaritch #avatar quaritch #atwow quaritch

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