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redstarwriting · 2 years ago

Text

bestie

spider squad x black cat!fem!reader

request?: yes

request: “hi! okay i love your works and my brains been rotting thinking abt this lol. i was wondering if i could request a black cat variant! reader that somehow (idk how sorry ), she's apart of the spider-society? Given that black cats backstory isn't all that nice, maybe she has a deal W miguel to let her stay if she makes sure she uses her skills to help the society instead of stealing? and how the squad(miles, gwen, pav, hobie) meet her in the society?”

requested by: anon

word count: 2.1k

genre: platonic and chaotic LMAO

Warnings: language, stealing, bad Spanish, slight Gwen crush if you squint but also like not really

A/N: STOP I LOVE WRITING PLATONIC AND CHAOTIC THINGS!! i did change up the prompt a bit as they didn’t meet her in spider society necessarily (even though the did, they just didn’t know it lol) i hope you enjoy this anon! also if anyone wants to knows some of the specific songs that gave me black cat 2099 vibes lemme know 👀 i’ll make a post

pt ii - becoming hobie’s bestie

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Gwen, Miles, Pavitr, and Hobie were called to “the principal’s office” as they started calling it. So here they are, in front of Miguel, waiting to be reprimanded for something they did. “I have a mission for the three of you,” he says, pointing to Miles, Gwen, and Pav. “Hobie, you’re not needed.”

“Like ‘ell I’m not,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Miguel subtly smiles to himself. Reverse psychology. Works every time.

“Wait, what?” Miles asks, eyes wide. “You aren’t gonna yell at us for existing?” Gwen asks, equally as surprised. Miguel rolls his eyes. “For existing? When have I ever…” he trails off as Pav, Hobie, and Gwen point at Miles.

And Miles points at himself.

“Dios mío,” Miguel mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m not doing that. This time.”

“What’s the mission then? Are we going somewhere new? Oh! Can I bring back a souvenir?” Pavitr asks, excitedly. “No, but I’m sure you’ll end up with some sort of souvenir regardless,” Miguel grumbles, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “Well, what do you mean by that?” Gwen asks and Miguel types into his computer. A picture of a girl pops up on the screen. “I need you to bring me her.”

“Uhhh what? You want us to bring you a… civilian?” Miles asks, and Miguel nods. “She’ll respond to you all better. You’re the same age,” Miguel says, and they all glance at each other. “Can you not be secretive for like, a couple of seconds? Is she an anomaly?”

“No, Gwen. Just bring her to Spider Society, please. She’s from this universe, so I’m just sending you to where I need you to go,” Miguel says, opening a portal for them to go through. They all glance at each other before Gwen shrugs, walking through the portal. Miles and Pav follow her, and Hobie rolls his eyes following the three of them. They find themselves… at a show? They’re on top of the catwalk in a stadium show, looking down at the audience. “What the hell?” Gwen mumbles and Hobie is intrigued when he sees the instruments on the stage. “Now why did he send us to a concert?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. Right at that moment, the lights go down and everyone starts to scream. “So, you think she’s in the crowd? How are we supposed to find someone in all of these people?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. “I can do it, easily,” Pav says, and Miles and Gwen give him a Look™. “What?! It’s simple you just look for her face! Miguel showed us a picture of her.”

“Aye, ‘e’s right. Found her,” Hobie says, and they all look at him. He’s pointing, and they follow his finger. “SHE’S THE SINGER?!” Gwen yells as the music starts. “Yeah. Guess we gotta wait for the set to finish,” Hobie says, shrugging and sitting on the catwalk, “Gettin’ a free show outta this shit at least.”

“Oh, please, every show you’ve ever been to has been free,” Gwen says, sitting next to him, taking her mask off. Hobie, Pav, and Miles all follow suit. “What does Miguel want with a singer?”

“I like her outfit,” Pav says, ignoring Miles’ question and sitting next to Gwen. Miles quickly slips between Pav and Gwen, shooing him away slightly. “Not my style. Lyrics ain’t bad,” Hobie says, leaning back and observing the performance, “She can sing, I’ll give ‘er ‘at.”

“I fuck with it. Lyrics speak to me,” Gwen says, and Pav nods. “She seems angry.”

“Yeah, that’s why I can respect what she’s doin’. Threatenin’ and angry music is cool,” Hobie says, bobbing his head up and down. Gwen nods. “Okay, guys, seriously, what does Miguel want with a singer?”

“Maybe she’s a scientist or something? Miguel needs her help?” Gwen suggests, and Miles shakes his head. “Nah, I feel like he’d just meet with her then.”

“He did mention she was close to our age, though. And her songs make it sound like she has an issue with authority,” Pav mentions, and Hobie nods. “I fuck with ‘er.” They all look at him. “Oh, I get it. She’s Hobie’s age,” Gwen says, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “What does ‘at ‘ave to do with anythin’?”

“You two are the same age, both have a problem with authority… whatever she is, she needs someone she can relate to to actually come with us,” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “Guess ‘at makes sense.” The four of them continue watching the concert. Even though it isn’t necessarily punk music, Hobie loves the lyrics. And Gwen loves all of the songs because she understands the lyrics more than the other guys. Miles is enjoying it because Gwen is enjoying it, and Pav is enjoying it because other people are enjoying it. However, neither of them would probably listen to this after this mission. When you’re nearing the end, Miles slips his mask back on. “Alright, everyone. What’s the plan?”

“We need to get backstage,” Gwen says, slipping her mask on as well. “‘ave a gander down there,” Hobie says, pointing at some marks on the stage. “What’s that?” Pav asks. “Pyrotechnics. When they go off, we go in,” Hobie says, and they all nod. “Hope they’re big enough that no one sees us,” Gwen mumbles and Hobie scoffs. “Gwendy, it’s a stadium show. It’s ‘bout to be big,” he says. The four of them prepare, running along the catwalk and getting ready to web back to where you would disappear to. Sure enough, the pyrotechnics go off and Hobie was right. They’re big. It gives them the advantage as they slip undetected backstage. They hide high up, watching as you run offstage after your encore. They silently follow you to your dressing room and Miles points at an air vent. Gwen nods, quietly yanking it off of its hinges. She crawls inside, taking a glance to make sure you’re still clothed, and then motions for the boys to follow.

Meanwhile, you’re wiping your makeup off, sipping on some water to soothe your throat from your performance. You walk away from the giant mirror to go grab a snack in the corner of the room when, suddenly, you feel like someone is watching you. You subtly unsheathe your hairbrush, which doubles as a dagger. Just in case. You take a deep breath, turning around, and throwing it. Miles leaps out of the way, and the other three’s eyes are wide. The accuracy with that throw was a little too good. “None of you are Miguel,” you say, on edge still. “Ay, don’t compare me to that bloody bloke. I’d rather die than be called ‘im,” Hobie says, and you give him an amused look. “I can arrange that,” you say, and Gwen clears her throat. “I just wanted to say your concert was like, totally, awesome.”

“Aw, thanks! Did you pay to watch?” you ask and she looks around. “Well uh… I, um—” She gets cut off by your laugh. “I’m kidding. I don’t give a fuck if you didn’t. In fact, I would prefer you didn’t,” you explain. “Oh! Then no. Too cool to pay, you know?” Gwen rambles and Miles turns his head to her, giving her a look that translates into ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ You chuckle. “Why are you four here, then? Señor O’Hara miss me?” you take a bite of the snack you picked, leaning against the wall. “How do you know Miguel?” Pav asks and you snort. “Long story. Oh! He finally find out I took something from him?” you ask, tossing your food to the side and crossing your arms. “I… we actually don’t know. He just said we had to bring you back to—”

“Wait he’s actually inviting me into his super secret spider society?” you ask, a look of excitement spreading across your face. “Uh. Yes?” Miles says, and you squeal. “This is so exciting! My first time being invited, okay, great, hold on,” you say, quickly running off and behind the changing room divider. “Uh… you’re just gonna come with us?” Gwen asks, and you yell a quick ‘yep!’ They all look at each other and shrug. “No offense, sweet’eart, but I thought it woulda been ‘arder to convince ya. Wasn’t aware bein’ invited by a stuck-up wanker like ‘im was all it would take,” Hobie says, and they hear a giggle from behind the screen. “Oh this isn’t my first time in his little fanclub,” you step out from behind the divider, garnishing an all-black catsuit with shiny black gloves coming to claws at the fingers. A small eye mask adorns your face, and you smirk. “It’s just the first time he’ll know I’m there.”

“Holy shit, no way! You’re Black Cat!” Gwen says, and you do a little curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance officially, Gwen Stacy,” you say, and her eyes get big. “How did you know—”

“Like I said. Not my first time there. Surprising since you all have that spidey sense or whatever, but guess I’m just that good,” you say, pulling out a dimension-hopping watch. “When did you—”

“Do I have to say I’ve been to your Spidertopia already again? Come on, I’m sure your pendejo of a boss is waiting for us,” you grin, and Hobie shakes his head. “Not my boss. I like you, though. Gettin’ fuck the establishment vibes,” he says, and you wink at him. “Thanks, Hobie Brown. Appreciate it. Also, Pavitr, you need to tell me what your haircare routine is,” you walk through the portal, and the four of them follow after you. Sure enough, you step out of the portal and stand right in front of Miguel’s desk. “Hello there, Spider-Boy,” you say, and he sighs. “(Y/n). Give me the device back. Now.”

“I’m good, actually. Been having too much fun with it,” you say, placing it on your wrist. He mutters something in Spanish as the four of them appear behind you. “Wait, if you’re Black Cat, why are you like… a superstar?” Miles asks, taking his mask off. “Was told at a young age to never settle for second best. So, I never did. Also if you want to steal from the big leagues, you have to be in with the big leagues,” you say, shrugging. “Damn, she is… so cool,” Gwen whispers. “We have an agreement, (Y/n),” MIguel says and you groan. “Miguel! Big guy, amigo, can I call you that?”

“No.”

“Don’t care, when have I ever stuck with an agreement?” you ask and he frowns. “This is all because you want to be able to come here whenever you want, isn’t it?” he asks and you grin. “You’re so smart, bestie,” you say and he groans. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. So can I come here and not have to worry about multiple spiders biting me all at once?” you ask, and he sighs. “Yes.”

“YE—”

“BUT!”

“Fuck, there’s a but,” you groan, as he continues talking, “No. Stealing.” You feign offense. “What makes you think I would ever steal something from here?” He points to your wrist. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This was gifted to me.”

“By who.”

“Myself.”

“Esta maldita chica,” he mumbles, and you grin. “Well, thank you so much for approving my breaking and entering of your little arachnid club. I’ll be sure to return everything I’ve taken in hopes that you would notice I wanted to be invited,” you grin, and he clenches his jaw. “You step one toe out of line—”

“I woooon’t! Promise! Before I return everything though, I kinda have a heist planned in Earth-42,” you shrug, pulling up a portal. “I’ll tell Miles you said hi, Miles,” you give him a smirk, but before disappearing into the portal, you hear Miguel. “When you’re done come back here. I actually might be able to use you for something.”

You smile at him. “Say less, Spider-Man.” Then, you disappear. “We’re about to see a lot more of her, aren’t we?” Miles asks, and Miguel sighs and nods. “Dude! She is so cool!” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “She don’t take shit from no one. Respectable.”

“She’s funny! And she was able to shut you down, Miguel, that never happens,” Pav says, laughing a bit. “She seems kinda crazy,” Miles says.”

“What, like we aren’t?” Gwen retaliates and he shrugs. “I am perfectly sane! Most of the time…”

Miguel runs his hand through his hair in frustration as the four of them continue discussing you while walking out of the room.

He was not looking forward to the friendship the five of you were about to form.

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#spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #hobie brown x reader #gwen stacy x reader #miles morales x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderverse #spiderman #spiderpunk #spidergwen #hobie brown #gwen stacy #miles morales #pavitr prabhakar #miguel o'hara

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simpcityy · 2 years ago

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I’m Not Her (Father Miguel O’Hara x Teen! Daughter Reader)

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is your biological father but it’s not great being his daughter when he’s hooked in the past still.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. This is very short as well! Just a little prompt I thought also, I know the song is about a girl who loves a boy etc., but I thought of it more as father and daughter way. *Ahem* Him thinking of Gabi rather than the present daughter he has…I’m sorry if I confused you.

Word Count: 500

Warnings: Use of female pronouns, Use of (Y/N), angst, Father Miguel, overall, it’s just sad. Uhhh I think that is all for now.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

Being the biological daughter of Miguel O’Hara has its ups and downs but mostly downs according to you. Walking through the Spider Society, you held some reports from Jess, she was on her way to hand them over to your father but seeing the kind person you are, you decided to do it for her so she can rest. You're amazed how a woman so pregnant can still fight. Walking down the halls, you were alone with your thoughts. The time he left to be a father to another girl..a girl named Gabriella…were you not enough for him? What did Gabi have that you didn’t? So many thoughts running through your head only to be snapped from hearing Mayday giggling in the room. Taking a deep breath, you pushed in ready for the chaos. “Hey! (Y/N)!” Peter smiles holding an energetic child. “Hey” You responded before looking over at Miguel who was looking at the videos that hurt you the most. Videos of him and Gabriella. You only frown a bit before masking it. “I'll just drop this off” You dropped the files onto a flat surface before walking to the door. “Hey Boo! You going to ask him?” Lyla appears in front of you smiling. You look at her and back to Miguel before shaking your head. “No…he has better things to do” You whisper walking through her, leaving. Lyla watches you staying quiet before next to Miguel. “Files were dropped.” She brought him back to reality. “Hmm? Who?” He mutters looking at the AI. He goes down his platform and picks up the files you left. “(Y/N) did, she was here not long ago” Lyla looks at her phone scrolling through it. Miguel looks at the door where you left not long ago.

Sitting out on the roof of your dimension, your thoughts only seem to be filling you up with anger. Why did he leave you to be a father for another kid…yeah, she lost her father but so did you…he left you to be with her. You groan out in frustration before looking at the time. “There is not enough time left” You mutter before getting up and going back to the house. A home where you stopped waiting for him to come home. Upon reaching your room, you changed into your pjs before walking over to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you pulled out a cake you ordered yourself from your favorite shop. Placing it on the table, you put the candles on and sat down in front of it. “Happy Birthday to me…happy birthday to me…” You began to sing before letting out a sob. Your candles were put out from your tears. Another year alone and many more to go.

“If I could be her…but I’m not her and she’s not me.”

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Authors note: This was just little one-shot. An idea that always comes to mind whenever I listen to that amazing song! I am working on part 3 of the Biomedical Engineer x Miguel. Hopefully this weekend it comes out along with the last part of my first father figure Miguel x reader. Please check those out if you haven’t. I’m stuck if I should make this into a full series as well, but I don’t know if people would interest in it. Anyways, as always sorry for any grammar errors. Thank you all for the support! Remember to stay hydrated and to keep on simping! (Simp City Population: 62!) Thank you so much for the follows and please you are welcome to reblog my works for others to be aware of this new Miguel O’Hara simp writer!

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara fic #across the spiderverse fic #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x platonic reader #Miguel O’Hara x daughter reader #father figure miguel ohara

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sugar-sweets-fanfic · 8 months ago

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⚘gı∂єση ⛌ ƒєм!яєα∂єя

Warning(s)- 𝟭𝟴+, sex, p in v, no protection.

Prompt- Met in Hollywood on set. You were a makeup artist on set. Making sure he looked close to the actor he was doing stunts for (more so actresses). You two began to date. He even dragged you into the plan against his dad. You mainly follow due to really liking him. Though meeting his dad made you realize why he was so against him. Especially the way his dad judged you for your tattoos and live choices. Though the rest of them you rather enjoyed. After that entire mess. You stayed with Gideon. But you two haven't done much. Kissing;yes. Anything else, nope. Maybe tonight would be a different night.

//Border by - @enchanthings

clink...cliNK......clINK. You jump up and inspect your bedroom window. You see Gideon in the bushes. A snarky grin grows across your face. You unlock and pull open your window. "Y'know the rock throwing thing works better if I had a second floor bedroom, right?" You place your elbow against the windowsill. Resting your chin in your palm. Eyeing him with a half-lid gaze.

Gideon stands up straight and walks forward three feet. Meeting you at the window. He looked a tad flustered. "W-Well, I just.. was trying to be romantic." He chuckled awkwardly. "Thats what they do in those movies." He moves in to embrace you.

You instantly hug him back. Soon helping him crawl in. Before shutting the window after. "I'm surprised. After your dad found out about us.. he seemed pretty cross." You lean back against the window. Watching as he sits down on your bed.

Gideon grabs your teddy bear. Giving you a playful look as he fiddles with the plush. "He'll come around. He can be over dramatic." He murmured, shrugging his shoulders. Setting the stuff animal aside.

"Yeah.. I can certainly see that." You snort. Waltzing over in a silly fashion. Overly swaying your hips. Strutting yourself until you make it over to him. Earning a few soft giggles from Gideon. "But I can handle all his..interesting insults." Your hands settle on his shoulders. As you recount mr.gemstone calling you a 'inked up freaky gutter whore'. Which only made you laugh at the time. Even now made you little chuckle to yourself.

Though Gideon cringed thinking about the awful things his dad said to you. He leans back a touch. His arms shift further behind himself. Leaning back against his palms. His body shudders to the slightest touch you give him. "I'm sorry... I'll make sure to talk to him. I really hate when he looks down at you. You're...—he doesn't see you the way I do. You're fucking awesome in so many ways. Funny, talented, smart, clever..." His words trail off. As he feels you straddle his lap. Causing his body to tense. His pale cheeks, splattered with brown freckles. Soon turn a deep pinkish red. Flush with passionate feels that he hasn't quite experienced before.

"Thanks..Gids. That means a lot to me. But don't apologize. It's not your fault." Your hands slip up the sides of his neck. Cupping his face, that slowly grew warmer. "..fuck you're beautiful." You whisper under a sigh. Admiring every detail of his face. His lashes, olive shaped eyes, and all those soft features. Leaning in to fill the void between them. You press your lips against his. He happily kisses back. As you two silently share soft, yet deep smooches. Faint sounds of your lips collisions fill the room. Little moans and breaths echo between.

His arms grew weak, failing to keep his body secure. He let the two of you gently fall. His back hitting the mattress. You stay safely ontop of him. Being gifted the hug of his arms. That wrap around you snug. Strands of your hair falls against his face. As you two exchange light dips of one another's tongue. Gideon tilts his head to the side. Granting you better access to his mouth. "Fuck..—sorry. I know we can't." You pull back. Sitting up on him. Your body shivering with heat.

"Can't what?"

"...uhh—W..Well, have..sex.."

"...o—OH! Yeah! Uhhh.. why not?"

You laugh awkwardly, "Won't your parents banish you or something? I mean, I really don't want to mess things up for you more. I care too much. I know you care too. How much you love your family and care about religious parts of it too."

"..they don't have to know. Plus, I only want you. I..I really really like you. Maybe even more. You make me feel special. You make me feel good. You care about more than just me. You care about all the things I like and my ambitions too." He smiles brightly up at you.

Now it's you that's blushing wildly. Your body felt like it was floating. Butterflies in your stomach. "..Gideon. I love you too." You bite your bottom lip. Your hands cover your face. Feeling all giddy with emotions.

"Oh thank goodness! I was afraid to say it. But yeah! Y..Yeah! I love you! I love you t-too!" He chirped eagerly. His face still rather pink. "So in my eyes.. I don't see what difference it makes if you have a ring on or not. I just..want you."

"I feel the same. I mean.. yeah in the future..possibly. but right now...", you lean back down to kiss him a few more times. "..I just want you too..Gids." You brush some of your loose hair behind your ear. So it isn't in his face.

Gideon stares at you in awe. "..is it not natural..", he starts to unbutton his shirt with one hand. "..to want someone you love? I've never been so sure of something before." His voice so hushed. It was like silk. Making your mood grow more needy. Not to mention seeing more and more of his bare chest. You sit up, using the hairband on your wrist. Putting your unruly locks in a pony. Getting back close to him. Your lips peppering his chest with kisses. His shoulders smile at the tingling sensation it blessed him. Gideon sighed as he loosely held you.

You decide to kiss up his neck. Your kisses quickly becoming heavy. Suckling against his skin rather roughly. Your hips start to shift. Gently humping against him. His hold on your tightens.

"Ff..—ʏ/ɴ..! Ahnn.."

You stop instantly, looking him in the eye. "Sorry! I—too far? I don't want you to be uncomfortable.." you murmur.

"No...I-Im okay, heh.. just never been so intimate. We can..keep going. If you still want to." His hands caress your arms.

You smile, "yeah.. I want to. Just tell me if you want me to stop." You kiss his lips.

He kisses you back, feeling you start to dry hump him once more. Gideon slips his hands down. Holding your hips as you ride him. You two keep a good eye contact. As you move faster. One of your hands grip the sheets next to his head. The other slips carefully against his neck. His brows curve upwards. A look of submission spreads across his face. Soft moans are exchanged between you two. You can feel it grow hard. Your lips part as shakey breaths leave you. Thoroughly enjoying every second of this.

"I need you inside me." You purr.

"Please..I—I'd like that."

"..you wanna be on top?"

He chuckles awkwardly, "what if I'm bad?"

"Mmmmmmm...I severely doubt it. I bet you'll make me see stars.." you sit up, playfully pressing harder against his erection. Seeing him react to it. You pull your shirt off over your head. Tossing it against Gideon's face.

"Hey..!" He jokes with you. Removing the shirt from his face. His face still sporting a nice peachy tone.

You couldn't help, but feel this odd moment. You surely thought he would checking you out. But his eyes still stayed hooked to yours. You ache harder for him. Soon getting off of him. Removing your bottoms.

He sits up and watches you. "..what if I..hurt you? I don't wanna hurt you."

You were only in your underwear at this point. Before moving back over to him. Leaning against his side. You press a kiss against his cheek. "You won't. If I feel too uncomfortable..I'd let you know." You smile softly.

"Promise?" He whispers to you.

"Promise.." you whisper back.

The two of you start to kiss heavily once more. He unbuckles his belt. Getting his pants off. The sound of it makes you instictually squeeze your thighs together. Though he soon ends up on top of you. His lips begin to wonder down your neck. "Mmm..take it all off." You beg of him. As you squirm underneath him. Removing your underwear. So you could properly invite him between your legs.

Gideon felt 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒌 by your words. He quickly obeys and gets the remaining clothes off. Taking the invitation to get closer. He felt it, how heated you were down there. "Sh..should I put on pro-protection?" He whimpered softly. His own nether regions aching with just, or not more, need.

You cup his face, "Please no. I just want you. All of you. In me." Your hands slip around. So your fingers can bury themselves in his hair.

"O-Oh...Okay." He smiled shyly. Giving you a lighter peck on the lips. He glances down your body. Using his hand to try to aim himself in. "Heh...sorry Its difficult to see." He murmured awkwardly.

You let out a giggle. Reaching down to help guide him. Biting your bottom lip as you touch his shaft. Once you felt his tip press against your entrance. You remove your hand. Holding onto his shoulder. Your other hand gripping onto his locks.

As his hips slowly push into yours. You feel that discomfort of pressure. As you adjust to his size. Gideon shuddered by the tight fit. His body experienced a whole different sensation. It felt so warm and heavenly. "Ahhnn...ahhh..hh. wow. A-Are you okay?"

You nod lightly, "Yes. It just feels a little uncomfortable. But it'll feel better soon. Don't worry Gideon. Just be slow for now.."

"Of course." He kisses your forehead a few times. Trying his best to comfort you.

His hips start to move nice and slow. Just as you wanted. Your thighs squeeze against his hips. As he plants an arm against the mattress. The other hand caressed one of your hips. Further trying to sooth you. You helpless grab at his bicep. Whining soft at each pump he gifted you. Gideon moaned softly in harmony with you. You felt yourself grow more and more aroused. "Fuck..harder. please." You murmur. Your legs finally relax, opening more. To give him some extra freedom.

"Yeah? You want it harder?" He asked in a playful manner. Rolling his hips harder against yours. Moving faster, causing the bed to creak. You two grow louder making such lewd sounds together. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck. "Oh baby..! You're doing so g..nnn..goOD!" You cry out.

"You feel fuckin good.. Mm! I'm gonna cum..I'm gonna fucking cum y/n!!" His voice shakey with need.

Your legs wrap around his waist tightly. "Oh my god.. please. Please Gideon. I need y..yhh..you.." You cry softly. Still hugging onto him tightly. As he slowly embraced you too.

"Damn..you..—y-you want me to do it.. ahhh..i-in..side of yo..hhnn-you?" He gritted his teeth. Trying his best to hold back. Wanting to make sure it's what you wished.

You start to buck your hips needily. "Yes Gideon! Yes! Cum baby!" You moan sharply.

You both start to hump wildly against one another. Thrusting and bucking both of your hips. Gideon's thrusts more rapid and sloppy. Sloppier as his climax grows closer. Until he finally jams as deep as he can get. Feeling that pleasant snap in his stomach. Pumping his seed into you. As he lets out such a heavenly sigh of relief.

Your mouth agape, feeling a warm rush gush inside of you. Your core tightens and releases as you hit your peak. Gideon let's out a soft, breathless chuckle. His eyes full of hase. "Did you..uhh just..cum too?" His voice trembled. Feeling a touch shy to ask.

You nod as you wrap a leg around his waist. "Yes. I think I made a mess." You giggle weakly.

He shared a laugh with you. Embracing you and showering you with kisses. You add a few kisses of your own. You brush your fingers through his hair. Admiring his glistening face. His eyes so beautiful to gaze upon. "I'm gonna marry you one day, baby." You cooed. Causing Gideon to blush heavily. "Y-Yeah? Are ya? You wanna be a Gemstone?" He asked in a playful manner.

You thought about his wild family. Humming softly to yourself in thought. "They are pretty interesting—that family of yours. But I know I wanna be yours...and I want you to be mine." You smile. Gideon seemed to be happy with that response. Leaning in to properly kiss your lips. You eagerly kiss him back. "I love you...y/n." He murmurs against your lips. "I love you too."

#fanfic #the righteous gemstones #gideon gemstone #gideon gemstone x reader

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ladycrimsonandblack · 6 months ago

Note

(sorry if I have sent this to you earlier, I didn't know if it went through cuz my laptop bugged out haha. Feel free to ignore this if so-)

Idk if your still open for TCF prompts, but if soooo: Everyone in the group knows that Cale is aromantic, or at least knows he doesn't want a romantic partner. However the public doesn't know this, and assumptions and rumors begins to fly as they see Young Master Cale interact with some members of his group. (Basically Cale is in a QPR, or has something similar to that, with those of your choosing! People makes assumptions but it's eventually revealed what is really going on)

AO3

There are a lot of rumors about Commander Cale Henituse, the esteemed hero Silver Shield and the savior of both continents. Ranging from ridiculous (saying that Cale Henituse is related to the White Star and that’s why he was able to defeat him will get you laughed out of a tavern, with a few good kicks added for emphasis), to actually plausible (the current raging theory that the Commander is on his path to godhood is usually met with agreeing nods), the rumors fly from kingdom to kingdom and from continent to continent at unprecedented speed. Thanks to his many great and varied public deeds, Cale Henituse’s life is an excellent fodder for imaginations of nobles and commoners alike.

However, the current rumor is a bit different.

It seems that Commander Cale Henituse actually has a harem.

It started innocuously, in a small tavern in Rain City, the patrons imbibing large quantities of alcohol and listening to even larger quantities of gossip.

“I heard he attended a ball with Princess Rosalyn, from the Breck Kingdom! Did you know that she’s building a new Magic Tower? Only someone as capable as that is worthy of the Commander!”

“Didn’t he attend a ball with Knight Choi Han a few weeks back?” A couple of nods and a rumble of murmurs answer the question. “Did they break up?”

“No, they weren’t even together. Going to the ball at the same time doesn’t mean they’re dating.”

“You’re the one that said that the Commander is dating Princess Rosalyn!”

“They just fit! I saw them once on the street in the shopping district and they were very close! And the picture they make— ah, they look so beautiful together!”

“Well, Knight Choi Han always follows the Commander, so I guess they might be dating too!”

“Uhhh, guys,” a timid voice interrupts them as one of the gate guards raises his hand like he’s in a classroom. “Doesn’t Knight Choi Han live together with the Commander? I heard they have a villa near Harris Village.”

A thoughtful silence follows this sentence. Then a series of considering nods and whispers, as the patrons catch each other’s eyes.

“It’s not so strange? A knight should live with his lord, right?”

“But, uh, isn’t Choi Han from Harris Village? Did the Commander build a villa there just to have Choi Han live closer to home?”

“That seems like something the Commander would do. He’s so kind!”

Everyone drinks to that, and then there’s shouting for a new round.

“But doesn’t that mean that Choi Han is more than just a knight?”

“He’s a hero too, he deserves that much,” someone refutes.

“A whole villa where they live together? I think that’s a bit too much for any hero. The Commander didn’t need to move into Choi Han’s villa.”

This time, the murmurs lean more toward Choi Han.

The man who first talked about Princess Rosalyn and the Commander frowns. “But Princess Rosalyn is also living together with them. Didn’t she move in during the war?”

The following moment of silence is full of consideration.

“Does that mean he’s dating both of them?”

The room explodes. The evening ends with a bar fight so nasty that two people end up in the hospital and the rumors about what started it only grow with retelling. As does Commander Cale’s harem.

Eventually, the rumors reach Huiss City and the ears of royal spies therein. When Tasha hears them, she bursts out laughing, doesn’t stop for good ten minutes, and then immediately goes to inform her nephew.

“So there are rumors that my dongsaeng is dating Choi Han.” At Tasha’s nod, Alberu frowns in confusion. “There have always been rumors like that. Why is this important?”

“There are also rumors saying Young Master Cale is dating Princess Rosalyn...”

Alberu sighs. “Well, those will have more immediate political consequences, but it’s nothing we haven’t heard before.”

“... At the same time as he’s dating Choi Han,” Tasha finishes, her pearly white teeth stark against her face as she grins.

“...What?” Alberu chokes out.

The thought of Cale dating two people at once is so strange that Alberu needs to take a moment to recover. As if Cale would want to be in a romantic relationship with even one person!

Tasha’s grin becomes outright mean. “There are even some rumors that the two of you are having an affair.”

“He’s my younger brother!” Alberu bursts out, more indignant than he remembers himself ever being in his life.

“And then there is Mary.”

“Surely people don’t think there is something going on between Cale and Mary?”

“Oh, they do, and there’s a lot of them.”

Alberu feels a headache oncoming. He rubs his temples and reaches into a tin can on his desk for some cookies to comfort him. “He treats her like she’s his kid.” Never mind that Mary is physically older than Cale. Cale has mentally slotted her into the same category as Raon, On, and Hong very early on, and now Mary gets an extravagant monthly allowance on Cale’s dime.

It’s telling that nobody has actually commented on this, or thought it strange. Their whole family accepted it as just another one of Cale’s eccentricities.

“And of course,” Tasha says, apparently not finished. “There is also Eruhaben.”

“He treats Cale as his kid!”

“Well, it’s not like people on the street know that,” Tasha points out, very reasonably. “But they do think that Young Master Cale is dating all of you. At the same time.”

“So they think that Cale… has a harem?” Alberu tries to wrap his head around this. There is not a person less likely to have a harem than Cale Henituse.

“Yes,” Tasha says, and smiles like this is the funniest thing she’s heard the whole year.

“Why?” Alberu wonders, for once not being able to guess what people are thinking. Cale is just so… Cale. Alberu can’t even imagine him wanting to date someone.

“Nephew,” Tasha gives him an arch look, and Alberu feels like he’s thirteen again, and is caught sneaking out for more practice with his sword. “You forget that not many people know Young Master Cale as well as you do. And when looking from outside, our family’s situation is a little strange.”

Alberu tries to think about this objectively.

“Our whole family lives together, even though most others have their own homes.”

“That is one part of it,” Tasha agrees. “It is especially strange for Princess Rosalyn, who is a royal from another kingdom, and Eruhaben-nim, who is known to be a Dragon.”

Alberu nods. “And whenever Cale goes somewhere, at least one member of our family accompanies him.”

“And the Young Master always buys everyone extravagant gifts.”

With each sentence, Alberu frowns even more.

“This is nuts,” he says.

Because, looking from outside perspective, it does seem like Cale has a harem.

…

He decides not to talk to Cale. Instead, he gathers Choi Han, Rosalyn, Eruhaben and Mary for a private talk, with the children averaging nine years old dragging Cale off to shop in the city (On takes one look at Alberu’s face before suggesting the trip; she is growing up to be terrifyingly perceptive).

When Alberu tells them the latest rumor, Eruhaben is the first to react. He sighs. “Unlucky bastard. And now he’s dragging me down with him.”

Choi Han is so red that his ears appear to be steaming. “How can they— why would anyone even think that?!”

“Because Cale provides for all of us,” Rosalyn says, laughing in delight. “And most people can’t imagine us being family. Not like this.”

“But this is so strange! Cale’s not… he is not—”

Interested. Cale is simply not interested.

It hadn’t taken them long to figure it out. Cale’s lack of interest in anything approaching romance or romantic relationships is so obvious to those close to him, that even the few of them that might have quietly considered it as an option chose to discard it immediately. Cale loves them, but it will never be romantic, and doesn’t have to be. They’re a family. That’s all there is to it, in the end.

Alberu smiles pleasantly, none of his previous confusion visible. “Of course, not many people know my dongsaeng well, so they would come to their own conclusions. However, I called you here today to discuss what to do next.”

“We have to stop them from saying it!” Choi Han burst out. “Cale-nim would be upset.”

“We don’t need to let Cale know,” Eruhaben points out reasonably. “He doesn’t need to worry about this too, and it’s not really a big problem.”

Alberu nods. “Eruhaben-nim is right. There is really no way to stop the rumors, but they’re not doing any real harm.”

“Why can’t we just say that none of us are involved with Young Master?” Mary asks. “Won’t people stop talking after that?”

“That won’t work,” Rosalyn shakes her head. “Denying something like this never works. It just makes it look like you have something to hide.”

“Exactly, Princess-nim is right,” Alberu agrees. “Our best official course of action would be to ignore the rumors completely. I wanted you to know about them so that you wouldn’t be surprised if you heard someone talk about it in a public setting.” Choi Han frowns at that answer, but Alberu only aims a bright smile in his direction. “Of course, if anyone approaches you privately to ask about any kind of rumors about my precious dongsaeng, feel free to respond as you wish.”

Choi Han’s answering smile appears innocent. Everyone in the room knows better than to trust it.

…

In the end, the gossip is stopped by the most unlikely person of them all.

During the couple of weeks the rumors have been rampaging around without any checks, no one has actually been brave enough to ask for clarification from any of the people involved. Alberu, Cale and Rosalyn’s high positions stop everyone from commenting on it in their hearing, even obliquely, and Eruhaben… Well. Eruhaben is a Dragon. No one dares.

There are a couple of people who try to broach the subject with Choi Han, thinking that the famously noble knight would not take offense. Those people end up in infirmary after Choi Han, somehow, convinces them to spar against him.

That leaves only Mary.

The thing about Mary is that she has a very clear, very even voice. So when she says, “I am not dating Young Master Cale-nim,” in a very crowded ballroom filled with Roan nobility, her voice carries despite the fact that she is not any louder than usual.

The nearby conversations immediately taper off as everyone strains their ears to listen.

“Oh?” asks the madam that had had enough courage to approach Mary in her little corner. “Does someone else have the luck to be the recipient the Commander’s affection?”

“Of course not,” Mary answers, apparently not noticing that she has the attention of half the crowd. “Young Master-nim is very busy. He does not have any time nor inclination for romantic attachments.”

The crowd murmurs in agreement. The madam lifts a hand to her mouth, looking stricken. “Of course, I completely forgot.” Eyes misting over, she says, “It’s admirable that the Commander is willing to deny himself so much just to keep our kingdom safe.”

Mary nods. “Cale-nim is very dedicated to his goal.”

Everyone feels very moved, but also very curious about the Commander’s goal. They haven’t heard anything about that, beyond Cale Henituse’s well-known wish to keep everyone in the kingdom safe and happy.

“His goal?” the madam asks, curiosity rising.

“Yes,” Mary confirms. “It will be very difficult and very hard to accomplish, but Cale-nim will surely succeed.”

“Of course he will!” the madam exclaims. “Who would ever doubt the Commander?”

Nevertheless, people are very eager to talk about his goal.

Very difficult and hard to accomplish? Perhaps it has something to do with his latest battles? The Commander had informed the public that he has been battling the organization behind the White Star’s power in other worlds. That is surely a feat that would bring him divine attention, and he has been seen visiting the Temple of the God of Death.

Perhaps… perhaps those rumors about Cale Henituse ascending to the path of legend and godhood are not so far off. Everyone has heard about them, and some even believed them, but this is the first time someone from the Commander’s inner circle confirmed that there is a bigger personal goal for him in all this.

The next day, there is some new gossip going around the taverns of Huiss City. This time, there are no bar fights, or even small brawls.

Everyone agrees that Cale Henituse is deserving of godhood anyway. Why would they fight about it?

#tcf #trash of the count's family #my writing #so i know you wanted the misunderstanding to be resolved #but since this is tcf and no misunderstanding ever gets resolved there i had to take drastic actions #to resolve this particular misunderstanding #i had to create a new and bigger misunderstanding #i'm so sorry and i hope you like it anyway #asks #prompts #thank you so much for sending this i had so much fun writing it #i can't remember the last time i wrote 2k words so fast

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year ago

Text

“do you believe in aliens?”

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x GN Person

Summary: Meeting DB in a furniture store.

Prompt: “Do you believe in aliens?”

Trope: Meet-cute

Words: 1.4k+ (sorry can’t shut the fuck up)

Rating: Teen (because swearing)

Notes: For the @dieterbravobrainrotclub May Drabble Challege! Also slightly inspired by Broad City when Lincoln said he met Ilana in a foot locker in Times Square and she was just chillin’. First person POV.

—

It was one of those weeks.

The kind of week where you seem to have no patience for anyone or anything. The kind where extra heavy traffic adds an hour to your commute each way. When you find yourself picking fights and reaching for comfort foods and maybe smoking twice as much as you normally do.

You know the kind of week where you come home on Friday after a long day of suffering under capitalism, only to discover that your live-in boyfriend up-and-left with all of his belongings?

Maybe that last one is just a me problem.

Anyways.

After the first sleepless night on the floor of my apartment, I decided I should get a mattress. Maybe even a bed frame if I could find a good deal.

I went to this nearby furniture outlet, and right away I could tell the place was understaffed. The employees wore these bright sunshine yellow polos that made them easy to spot across the open air of the warehouse. They were outnumbered four to one, easy.

This was gonna take up my whole day. I didn’t mind, though. The way I looked at it, I could either go back to my half-empty apartment and cry about the fact that I didn’t have a bed or a tv or a boyfriend, or I could wait my turn to buy a goddamn bed.

I found the cheapest mattress/bedframe combo available, then laid down on the starch-stiff comforter and gave it a few test bounces before deciding it was good enough.

I walked up and down the aisles of sad-looking bedroom furniture sets, trying to catch the attention of a sunshine polo to no avail.

That’s when I heard him.

“They said it might be an hour wait.”

Following the voice, I turned around and saw this guy all stretched out on a king-sized sleigh bed. He radiated the same energy as a sulking teenager waiting for his parents to pick him up, scrolling on his phone with one arm tucked behind his head.

I checked over my shoulders, then asked, “Are you talking to me?”

He looked up from his phone, dark eyes peeking over the rim of his sunglasses, “You’re trying to get a sales person, right?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged, sitting up to bend his legs criss-cross applesauce, “Might as well make yourself at home.”

“Well, what can ya do,” I sighed and looked across the warehouse, confirming the sunshine polos were neck deep in annoyed customers.

“Hey, uhhh… since you’re waiting, would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Tell me what you think about this bed.”

I turned to face the furniture in question, tilting my head as I studied the thing, “I don’t know, it’s big, I guess. Looks… sturdy,” I kicked the leg and nodded in approval, “Yeah, that frame is solid as fuck. Is it comfy?”

“Pretty comfy,” he took off his sunglasses, hooking them on the collar of his worn-out shirt before patting the bed beside him, “See for yourself.”

“You know, normally I make a guy buy me a drink before hopping into bed with him,” I teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

He gave me this charming, dimpled smile, big brown eyes all sparkling warm when he shrugged, “I’ll buy you one after, how’s that sound?”

Heat clung to my stomach and I couldn’t even bear to look at him wearing that devilish grin.

Shaking my head, I climbed onto the mattress, “I’m just giving you shit.” I laid back on the pillow and sank down into the plush bedspread, “This is so much better than the one I’m getting, oh my god.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled and laid down beside me, crossing his ankles as he stretched out, “I’ve been trying to find one that’ll put me right to sleep. I keep having these weird fuckin’ dreams and—”

He cut himself off with a sigh, then looked over at me, “Do you believe in aliens?”

The ludicrous question took me by surprise. This big bubbly laugh escaped my throat and I turned to him, lost for words. All I could do was repeat the question: “Do I believe in aliens?”

“Yeah.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Searching his face, I smirked, “Who are you?”

“Dieter,” he rolled on his side to make eye contact with me, “What’s your name?”

So I gave him my name and then I told him, “You know, when I was a teenager I lived out in the country. I’d always see things in the sky I couldn’t quite explain. These lights that would stay static in one place for minutes before zooming off into the stars, and… and, yeah, Dieter, I do believe in aliens. Why do you ask?”

“Well, ok,” he propped his head up on the heel of his hand, “See, the person I bought my bed from told me they were abducted by aliens. And I keep having these dreams where I’m in some kind of a spacecraft and these little gray fuckers won’t stop doing experiments on me. I dunno if it’s my subconscious or if I’m being abducted, but I gotta get a new fuckin’ bed either way.”

“Why would the bed make them abduct you?”

He frowned as he considered this, looking around before returning back to me, “Maybe they have a tracking device on it. I don’t know how it works. Probably not even real.”

“But just in case, you’re getting a new bed?”

“Yeah.”

I shrugged, “Doesn’t hurt to try, huh?”

He nodded, eyes flicking around my face, then rolled onto his back. We laid there staring up at the steel support beams and ugly lights fixed to the warehouse ceiling. For a little while I wondered whether or not he would think it was strange for me to bring up my own grievances. Then I decided fuck it, why not?

“Yesterday I came home and half my apartment was missing. My boyfriend moved out while I was at work, took the bed and everything.”

“Doesn’t sound like he’s your boyfriend anymore.”

“No, I guess not.”

“You don’t seem too broken up about it.”

“It was a long time coming,” I shrugged, “It’s… I don’t know, I’ll be fine. Right now I’m mostly upset about the bed. I set up camp on the living room floor last night and could barely sleep.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, then asked, “Are you gonna get this one?”

“I fucking wish. The one I have picked out feels like a cement slab compared to this.”

“Do you want my old one?”

“The one with the alien tracking device?”

“Oh yeah,” he giggled, “I forgot about that.”

Laughter rumbled up from my belly and his, thick and genuine, the kind that can’t be contained no matter how hard you try. It vibrated through my limbs and welled in my eyes as I choked out, “I—I thought we were gonna be friends, but now you’re trying to get me abducted by aliens? What the fuck, man?”

He doubled over on his side, whole body shaking with these gasping giggles that spread like a contagion to me until I could barely breathe.

Once the laughter died down, I looked over at him wiping the tears from his eyes and felt something rare and beautiful spark in my chest.

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard,” I admitted, rolling on my side to face him, unable to wipe the smile from my aching face.

“Me neither.”

From just an arms length away, I met his gaze and the most inexplicable compulsion overtook me. I wanted to kiss him, I realized, and that was truly insane.

His eyes dropped to my lips as though the same thought occurred to him.

“Do you wanna get out of here? Go get a drink?” he asked.

The question bubbled up my spine and made my stomach flip.

I nodded, “I do, but my bed—”

“I’ll take care of it,” he smirked, that devilish smirk that I knew would be trouble, and shrugged, “I’ll have my PA get two of these. Deliver one to your place, how’s that sound?”

“You can do that?”

“Absolutely.”

“How?”

“I’ll explain later,” he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, looking back at me, “You coming?”

Unmistakably, this was a leap of faith. It was insanity. He could have turned out to be any number of terrible things, but he wasn’t. He was a breath of fresh air. A clean break from the funk smothering the light from my life. He was the weirdest and best thing that ever happened to me.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo meet cute #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo brainrot club

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flightless-magpie · 1 month ago

Note

GOD BLESS U- hi!! I was looking for someone to make or take requests for Transformers Beast Wars for a while now, and I want to know if you can make a rattrap x Reader? It's fine if u use any term to refer to the reader (y/n, Reader, ___, etc) although I wanted to know if you can use feminine pronouns for them. (although if not, no problem!!)

It can be Headcanons or a one-shot, there you can choose freely and use your imagination since anything is fine ^^

(Oh, and welcome to Tumblr! It's a pretty cool place, I hope you have a good time here (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ )

Wow, I was not expecting to get a request that fast! I thought it would take days lol.

I would be happy to make a one-shot/headcanon for you!

Thank you so much for asking for beast wars, it is not appreciated nearly as much as it should be.

pre-established relationship

Rattrap x Maximal Reader

Transforming into (Animal mode), ____ was quick to make her way towards the nearby mountains. Cheetor and Rattrap had somehow managed to cause a rock slide while patrolling for predicons, and per usual Optimus had sent ____ to retrieve them.

"Arrived at mountains, Optimus. Geez this place is a mess." ____ spoke into her comm as she gazed up at the mountain she stood under. Dust covered the area, and small rocks were still bouncing down the cliffs.

"Affermative ____, do try to bring them back in one piece." The comm buzzed with slight static, likely due to the distance between herself and the Axalon (that is what the ship is called right?).

"No promises." ____ said to herself as her optics gazed over each fallen rock pile, each messy cliff side, everything she could see. She only relaxed a bit at the sight of a hand popping out of a pile of rocks near her.

____ made her way over, working to move the rocks off of whoever was stuck underneath. Each moved rock revealed a little more of the grimey brown form underneath. Rattrap. Great.

____ rolled her eyes at the rattled expression on his face, he was clearly dazed and likely would be for a while. Now to find Cheetor.

"Hey-uhhh- toots... never thought rocks could be so heavy."

"Are you injured, Rattrap?"

"Only my pride. The kid is probably worse off than me." Rattrap grunted out, flicking a pebble off his chassis.

"Do you know where he is?"

Rattrap scratched his head as he thought. "Not really... I mean, I know he was ahead of me. Never slows down, that one."

She heaved the rat out of the rocks and set him to the side so she could continue her search. A brief energon scan showed that Cheetor was in fact under a some rocks ahead of Rattrap. ____ made her was over and got to work moving the rocks, revealing the youngest bot on the team.

"He's in stasis, I'll need to carry him back. Can you walk, Rattrap?" ____ asked while heaving the cheetah bot onto her shoulders in a fireman carry. She looked back to Rattrap and watched with concern as he shakily stood.

"Eh- of course I can. Beast mode!" His systems hesitated a second before following his command and transforming into his animal form.

____ nodded and began walking, making sure to be slow enough for Rattrap to keep up with. She activated her comm to let Optimus know she located their teammates and was heading back to base.

After ____ was done, she turned her attention back to Rattrap.

"So what's the deal with the rockslide?"

Rattrap cringed slightly and hesitated not wanting to say anything, however a glare from ____ was enough to prompt him into spilling his data.

"*sigh* We spotted a pred. Spots over there decided that he would rush off into battle, then before I knew it we were covered in rocks."

____ let out an exasperated sigh. "Why didn't you call in for backup? What if something else happened?"

"Listen, I'm sorry sweetspark alright? It was just that ant bot, I thought we could take him."

"Well you thought wrong." Uncomfortable silence laied heavy on their shoulders. The Axalon came into view. Rhinox and Optimus were waiting at the entrance and began approaching once they saw ____ and Rattrap coming towards them.

Optimus standing tall was quick to take Cheetor off of ____'s shoulders and into the ship for repairs. Rhinox looked down to Rattrap and asked if he needed assistance.

"Eh, I can wait till da boss is done givin the kid repairs."

Rhinox nodded and started walking away with ____ following after, only to be halted by Rattraps hand in hers, pulling her back.

When ____ looked back at him, all she saw was a look of sadness. Guilt shone through his optics as he stared into hers, a desperate plea for her to stay beside him.

"Listen, I- I'm sorry alright? I'll try to be more careful, just... please don't leave."

____ sighed as she looked down at her hand in his, tracing her thumbs over his knuckles as she spoke.

"I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

"It wasn't your fault. You probably were worried about not getting blasted and trying to help Cheetor. I shouldn't be upset but I just can't help it. I'm worried about you Rattrap. If something happened to you, I don't know what I'd do with myself."

Rattrap and ____ gazed in eachothers optics for a brief moment. If any outsider were to notice, they would see nothing more than the complete and utter love and devotion the two held for eachother.

"Yeah, I guess that's fair. I wouldn't know what to do if anything happened to you either. I'm just glad Inferno left after the rockslide."

____ paused, and looked to the side in thought.

"Say, why would Inferno leave that early? You would think he would want to take you two as some sort of present for his dear old "queen"."

Rattrap paused too, before rubbing his neck cables and dismissing the thought.

"He probably didn't want to get caught in the rocks like we were."

____ gave Rattrap a kiss on his helm. "Yeah, you're probably right..." She attempted to shake away the thoughts. "Anyway, we should take you back into the base. Don't want you collapsing after the sheer exhaustion of your daring mission."

"Oh ha-ha, so funny."

____ laughed and Rattrap chuckled as they made their way into the Axalon hand in hand.

#Transformers beast wars #Beast wars #Transformers #Rattrap #Rattrap x reader #I love the trash eater so much #Not alot of romance here but it does have reader and Rattrap acting like a stressed couple so there's that #X reader

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2af-afterdark · 1 year ago

Text

The One True King

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad? Content: Bael x Reader, Reader is clearly in a (currently) one-sided admiration,technically this is based on what 💛 told me so it’s not a general reader but… I am trying, Reader is a devil, not smut A/N: 💛 anon gave me a really good prompt and I kind of wanted to wrote this for them. Uhhh… ngl, I have only written for a specific person one other time before. I usually say to give me a handful of personality traits and I will whip something up. So, you know, this was an exercise. May need more practice using other people's MC’s and self-inserts… Sorry if it’s a little… messy… There were many personality traits I couldn’t include in full because of the setting and length of this fic, but I hope that a few of them are noticeable at the very least. Word Count: 1854

Bael was trying to finish the work that Beelzebub had left behind in his latest rush to escape responsibility. Trying. It was hard to concentrate with all the unusually noisy hustle and bustle happening not only outside his office door, but traveling down the hall. The heavy footsteps were more frantic than usual, with one particular set noticeably pacing back and forth right outside.

He held his breath as he waited for when the person inevitably finally knocked for him; a knock he was slowly getting anxious over given how hesitant that devil seemed to me to call for him. But, call for him they did as they peaked their head through the narrowly open door and said, “There's someone at the front gate asking for Lord Beelzebub.”

Bael cocked a single eyebrow only slightly. It was a well known fact that Beelzebub was rarely in Avisos, let alone the castle. Whoever had come to the visit was looking in the wrong place and causing a ruckus at the same time.

“They won't leave,” the devil in the doorway added when it became clear that Bael wasn't moving.

“The others haven't chased them away yet?” Not to be rude, but now was not a good time to visit.

“Stolas and Naberius still haven't returned from the mission you sent them on,” that would be attempting – and likely failing – to track and follow Beelzebub.

“What about Amon?”

The devil hesitated and Bael knew immediately that he wouldn't like the answer.

“Amon has been… subdued,” they said with no further explanation.

At least, as the devil in the doorway clarified, the person at the gate was a normal devil. It seemed they were another of Beelzebub’s many fans – like the rest of Avisos – and could be convinced to leave once they were assured that the king was not present. If Bael, the current acting king in Beelzebub’s absence were to come outside, then perhaps the visitor would leave willingly.

Bael was exhausted. He couldn’t recall the last time he had slept properly and it was starting to impair his judgment. Having an unexpected and unwelcome guest causing a scene at the palace gates was not helping his current state.

He stood from his desk. “I’ll see them away quickly.” If only so he could return to his work undisturbed.

He marched out of his office with his head held high and a confident swagger that attempted to hide how completely and utterly tired he really was. A few devils who had clearly decided to stick to their own tasks rather than deal with the unexpected guest stopped only long enough to watch Bael walk by before busying themselves again. In his current state, he was their acting king and that made him someone to admire as he passed by.

But they didn't dare stop him to admire him in full. Even if they tried to, they wouldn't be able to. He was, after all, too used to focusing on the kingdom's operations to be distracted by how devils stared at their substitute king, and that was why he could arrive at the palace gates without delay. That’s how he made it in time to see the unfamiliar devil at the gate speaking through the bars to Amon who seemed to be doing nothing to move them along.

“Are you the one who asked to see Lord Beelzebub?” Bael asked as he approached the two. “You came at a bad time.”

You stared in awe as Bael came closer, the loose strands of his blonde hair dancing lightly in the wind, his skin-tight black uniform hugging his muscles and thin waist, and his uneven eyes staring back.

You were not one of the grand and illustrious 72 like he was. It was rare to be one of the 72 considering that there were, after all, only seventy-two of them in total compared to the entirety of Hell’s population. Still, even those who weren’t part of the 72 had a place serving their kingdom and their kings. What was Hell without its devils, after all?

Nothing. The answer was that Hell would be nothing without the myriad of devils that brought it to life. From the madness of Abaddon to the luxury of Tartaros to the efficiency of Hades, Hell was made by the kings and the devils that swore loyalty to them; each kingdom a reflection of its king and people.

The only kingdom that could be argued was not a reflection of its king was Avisos, which was want to run rampant without its should-be-leader at the helm. Or, perhaps it was exactly the kind of thing the wandering ruler Beelzebub would want. A kingdom full of mindless pleasures in which frequent coming and going was the name of the game. Establishments in which he wasn’t expected to stay any longer than it took him to grow bored of whatever mindless indulgences they offered. It made for a wonderful economy, but a complete headache for any devil unfortunate enough to have to deal with the actual business and politics of the kingdom rather than simply enjoying all the treasures hidden around every corner.

You were one of those regular devils who called Avisos and its many different entertainment establishments home. The proof of your citizenship was pierced into your skin. You were not ashamed of your status as just another devil in the crowd. If anything, it made it easier for you to accomplish your goal. After all, it was in the nature of the 72 to care about their king, kingdom, and people. Amon already seemed to be on your side after a well placed bribe.

The next goal was Bael himself.

“No,” you corrected, “I asked to see the king.” You held out a wrapped, three-tiered bento box filled to the brim with food. “Have you eaten yet?”

Bael blinked at you a few times before glancing at Amon, who seemed entirely indifferent to the conversation between Bael and the unexpected guest. In fact, he seemed more taken with a piece of paper in his hand rather than anything happening around him.

You continued to speak without hearing an answer from Bael. “You seem like you’re always overworking yourself and it’s important to eat. I have a feeling you won’t take a break to cook for yourself so I cooked for you.”

Bael inhaled in a way that seemed more like an exasperated sigh. “Beelzebub really isn’t here. Attempting to bribe me will not get you an audience.”

“Who cares about Beelzebub?” you said bluntly, seeming to finally get a reaction from Amon who looked at you only long enough to glare judgmentally. You didn’t bother to even look at him before pulling a small envelope out of your pocket with your free hand and holding it out to him. He took it without a word, seemingly content once again. “I came to see you, Lord Bael.” You could feel your face heating up as you spoke. “Haven’t I made that clear by now?”

Bael looked at Amon once more, who was looking inside the envelope with approval. It seemed he really would receive no backup from his cohort.

He tried to put on his most convincing inflection as he began to speak, attempting to send this stray devil away without further delay or incident. “While I appreciate your intentions-”

“Amon, will you make sure King Bael eats something?” You were already waving another piece of paper in front of him; your last bribe of the day.

Amon took the paper and bento without question.

“Thank you, Sir Amon.” You smiled at Bael who hadn't had a chance to finish his attempted rejection of your efforts. “I'll come by again tomorrow to pick up the dirty dishes, so make sure you eat everything. Wasting food is unforgivable in Avisos.”

You turned away with a pep in your step and tried to hide the absolute glee on your face. Not only had you managed to give King Bael the meal you had made for him, but you also managed to promise him that you would be returning tomorrow. Knowing that had you practically giggling as the distance between you and the gate where Bael still stood grew.

Once you were out of sight, Bael looked to Amon with a sense of defeat in his eyes. “Who was that?”

Amon shrugged. “I don't know.” He held out the bento to Bael so he wouldn't have to be the one to carry it. “Take this.”

Between the strange devil's antics and Amon's lackadaisical attitude toward them, Bael could feel a headache coming on. “If you don't know them, then why were you so amicable to them? Especially when you should have been escorting them away from the palace?”

He titled his head slightly, indicating he was too tired to have this conversation. “They gave me photos of King Beelzebub.” That was all the reason he needed. It's not like they were doing anything bad, so he didn't see a reason to waste his energy on changing them away, especially when he was getting rewarded for looking the other way.

“Is that all it takes to convince you?”

Amon ignored the question. “My arm is getting tired,” he said as he motioned again for Bael to take the bento.

Begrudgingly, Bael took the bento with both hands. It felt heavier than it should have.

“Are you sure all they came for was to deliver food?”

It felt odd to have a citizen of Avisos storm the palace gates just to give him something to eat; something that, in all honesty, he could not see himself sitting down to indulge in given all the work he still had to do. Perhaps if he tossed out the food or gave it away? It wasn’t as if the other devil would know what had happened to the contents of the bento once it was empty.

“You’ll eat it,” Amon interrupted his thoughts.

“I won’t eat something given to me from someone unfamiliar.”

“Lord Beelzebub would.”

Bael winced, but in a way where only those who knew him well could tell that Amon’s words had cut him deeply.

“Lord Beelzebub accepts what his subjects give him. Sometimes he takes it without being offered…”

Did that mean Bael had to accept everything too? The same way he accepted all of Bell’s work and duties and even his face, did he have to take every gift as well? Because he was simply a substitute for Beelzebub?

“That devil called the fake king a king,” Amon said absentmindedly. “Do you think they know that you're just keeping the throne warm?”

“I’m sure they’re aware.” After all, there wasn’t a soul in all of Hell, let alone Avisos, that wasn’t aware that Beelzebub was the wandering king.

He looked at the bento in his hands.

He turned back toward the palace and began to walk.

“I have work to do.”

“Are you going to eat it?” Amon asked. “They already bribed me to make sure you do.”

“If I have a free moment, I’ll consider it.”

#2af writes #❖ 💛 anon #what in hell is bad #whb bael

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d-issent · 9 months ago

Text

Botched. (Dissent AU.)

Peter Sam encounters Proteus. Having had the Sad Story of Smudger in the back of his mind for decades, he wishes on a whim for Smudger to be restored. Months later, after a remarkable discovery at the Mid Sodor, rebuild!Smudger is indeed - well, rebuilt - but has seemingly lost all of his memories in “exchange.” He loses his personality, his quirks, everything, he’s completely reset. Peter Sam doesn't do well with guilt. This is part of the Dissent AU! So these guys are all robotisized - robofied? Robotified. Hell if I know. I could've written this with them as their normal engine selves that you see in the show but uhhh I didn't want to! Enjoy!

After days and days of a stalemate, on a hazy, muggy summer evening, Peter Sam finally spoke up, with no one around to hear him but the root cause of his grievances.

“I just feel so guilty,” he blurted out to his shed-mate, “I feel responsible. I feel like I’m the only one at fault for the state you’re in, and I can’t speak about how I feel without someone dismissing everything as ‘just an old fairytale.’ I can’t get closure like that.”

Silence followed his words, at least at first, but soon enough a gentle, almost melodic, metallic ticking of well-oiled parts began to sound, as the second occupant of the shed slowly stretched his arms up to the ceiling. As he moved, the cylinders in his shoulders and elbow joints clunked, releasing a few short, sharp jets of steam, and with it, the tension of the day’s work judging by the sigh of relief that also left him.

“Dunno how I feel about that wording of yours, Peter.” He finally replied, blinking rapidly as the fading daylight from outside prompted the automatic lights in his eyes to flicker on, bathing the shed’s dull, wooden ceiling beams in soft, golden light. Even on their lowest setting, they still illuminated the dust, the cracks and the spider webs stretched across the wood.

Another pause, then his voice sounded again, a twang of something that almost resembled humour mixed into his usual monotone.

“I like to think that I’m in a far better state than some of them poor bastards in the scrapyard at least.”

“That’s setting the bar pretty low if you ask me.” Peter Sam mumbled, his eyebrows pinching together in distress, a crease forming in the soft silicone of his face. “Anyway. My wording’s the least of my worries, God’s sake, Smudger, I’m pouring my heart out to you here, mate.”

“I know, I know. Sorry, I’ll try to be a little more compassionate.”

With another muffled cacophony of clicking and ticking, Smudger hauled himself up into a sitting position, more steam hissed, warming the already humid air.

“I don’t wanna sound like everyone else when I say this, I really don’t,” he began, “but aren’t I enough closure for you? I’m back up and running again, right?”

“Not all of you.” Peter Sam retorted, his voice deepening into an almost pouty, sulking tone. It was a wonder he hadn’t stuck out his bottom lip. “Sure you’re working, Percival even said he’s never seen a re-hauled engine operate so smoothly, but that’s all there is. So what if you’re a ‘miracle of engineering’? You’re not you, Granpuff said so.”

“Duke hasn’t made you feel like this, has he?” Smudger asked. “Because from what I’ve been told, he’s never had the best opinion of me.”

“He hasn’t done anything like that. He never wants to talk about the Mid Sodor anymore.” Peter Sam said defensively, proverbial hackles immediately raising at the thought of the tension between Smudger and his mentor. His hands twitched and twisted in front of him anxiously, wearing down the already peeling, plush grey silicone a little further down his fingertips, revealing the smooth metal beneath.

Smudger eventually spoke up again, his shoulders pulled up around his head in a tiny shrug.

“Eh. That’s his cross to bear, I guess. Anyway, even if I’m not all there as you said, I’m not sure if I even wanna be the ‘me’ I was back then if just the thought of that ‘me’ gives our fellow engines a headache, Peter.”

The older engine tilted his head, eyebrows raising, bringing a little bit of life into his usual plain, weary expression.

“Leave your dang fingers alone. You know it’s not easy for management to get hold of that material. You wanna look like the Terminator?”

“Ugh…”

Peter Sam threw his mauled hands down with a groan of frustration, but the itch to do something with his hands just wouldn’t leave him, and soon enough he was back, almost stealthily picking at the peeling silicone, hoping against hope that Smudger wouldn’t notice.

Silence fell between the two of them, in which the air around them hung heavily with troubles yet to be spoken about, grievances yet to be aired. Peter Sam really couldn’t stand it, he knew that the night was drawing in, and with it the other engines, all groaning and complaining half-heartedly about the day’s work, yet all of them still content and chatting away, filling the shed with noise and stripping away all privacy. He wasn’t sure if he could go another day without getting this off of his chest, he feared his boiler might explode.

“Look. I know how silly this sounds, I know it’s nonsense!” He blurted out, voice high and wavering with misery. “But I know what I saw and I know what I did. I wanted you to be found, I wished for it, I asked Proteus to save you and he said, consider it done! Should’ve known that it would’ve been too good to be true; that it was a botched deal; look at what he’s done to you!”

He turned in his seat, gesturing wildly towards his bemused friend.

“You’re a total blank slate! I know everyone is all cock-a-hoop about your re-haul, everyone’s always talking about how good a job they did and everybody’s always saying how well you run and how bright and glossy your livery is, but what does it matter? You get up; you do your work; you come back here and that’s it! You hardly talk to anyone, you barely react to anything, it’s like you’re sleepwalking through life. Is that really what you want?”

“Sleepwalking through work doesn’t sound so bad.” Smudger quipped.

“God above, Smudger…”

Peter Sam ran his patchy hands down his face, the last remnants of steam leaking out from his ears, covering his face in a misty halo, obscuring his expression for a moment.

He continued on.

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for you to be so apathetic about everything, I asked for you to be given a second chance, but what does that matter if he didn’t bring you back? You’re completely rebuilt, you don’t have a single original part left, save for your chip, and even that got completely overwritten! It’s like you’re still lost under the Mid Sodor. You don’t remember what happened, you don’t remember who you were, you couldn’t even remember your name when you first came here, for goodness’ sake, and it’s my fault!”

He exhaled sharply, leaning forward with a creak of metal, his head in his hands, shoulders hunched, a truly pitiful sight to behold.

“I hate sitting on all of this, and I hate that no one believes me.” He grumbled.

Outside, the muggy, sticky heat was finally given a period of reprieve. From the murky sky, raindrops began to fall, thick and fast, peppering the ground and the buildings of the Skarloey Estate with much needed water, a roll of thunder sounded in the distance, deep yet muffled, a promise of a stormy night yet to come.

From the gaps between his fingers, Peter Sam saw Smudger tilt his head towards the sound inquisitively, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the older engine’s first storm since his retrieval from the Mid Sodor, and his suspicions were confirmed as he spoke;

“Man. It ain’t just you. Dang sky’s yelling at me and all now.” He muttered, his voice almost lost in the white noise of the rain.

Peter Sam grimaced.

“… I’m sorry,” he sighed, finally lifting his head out of his hands, an uncharacteristically haggard expression on his face, it made him look far older than he was, “didn’t mean to shout, really.”

“S’fine. Feels good to yell sometimes. You’re just lucky Handel ain’t around to make a fuss about the noise.”

Another lapse, and outside the rainfall turned into a deluge, pouring from the sky in a great sheet. The temperature steadily dropped, and the scent of petrichor lingered in the air; the sight and the smell normally would’ve brought some sense of comfort to Peter Sam, but tonight the gloomy weather just made him feel boxed in. He gazed reproachfully up into the dark hills that surrounded the estate, eyes narrowing.

Was Proteus up there right now? Skulking around, refusing to interact with anyone, human or engine, loyal to no railway, answering to no man; spreading his spoiled wishes across the island, duping silly little engines like him into thinking they could make a difference.

Oh. If he found him again…

“Think you’re beating yourself up about this for nothing, y’know.” Smudger said, bright eyes watching the rain, blinking slowly, lazily. “All that spiel that came outta your mouth was great and all. But you didn’t actually stop to ask me how I feel about all of this, the uh… So-called victim of the hillbilly and his faulty lamp.”

Peter Sam drew his knees up to his chest, his face pulled into a sullen, moody arrangement, feeling for all the world like a student being reprimanded by his teacher. It was a weirdly familiar sensation, one that he really didn’t care to look into at the moment.

“Alrighty. Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, doing his best to lighten his tone.

“I ain’t that cheap, sorry,” Smudger sighed, barely disguising a yawn, it was clear that the older engine’s lack of steam was winding him down for the night, but still, he spoke, “look, I just reckon you’re thinking about all of this the wrong way. Sure, I don’t remember anything about Duke, or the Mid Sodor, but from what I’ve been told, I’m not sure I want to.”

“I can understand that.” Peter Sam nodded, though an awful, sour feeling now sat resolutely in his throat, a need to tell Smudger that he should at least be a little curious as to his origins, but he stayed silent, letting the older engine speak on.

“Even if I could remember all of my misfortune, all of my spills, all those decades spent as a generator, I’d probably wanna forget all that crap anyway.” Smudger said simply. “Wouldn’t you? Growing and healing from horrible stuff that’s happened to you is cool when it’s a plot for some cheesy novel, but it sucks in the real world. Would you wanna do it if you didn’t have to? I wouldn’t.”

“Depends on the engine.” Peter Sam pointed out. “Some of my friends wouldn’t be who they are today if they hadn’t gone through the hardships of life.”

“Guess you could argue that, yeah. But I’m not interested in working through everything that’s happened to me,” Smudger replied, “if I was given the choice, and I have been; I’m fine with not knowing. That’s good enough for me, and that should be good enough for you too, right?”

Peter Sam didn’t reply, but it was clear that Smudger’s words hadn’t sat well with him. He was frowning mightily, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and when he finally spoke again, that sulky edge was present once more, rough and grating.

“Being told about who you were and what happened to you isn’t the same as remembering it.” He grumbled. “It’s hard to think about the past, of course it is, but how are we supposed to grow if we don’t? We need that experience and those life lessons, otherwise we never learn anything, we end up doomed to repeat the same things over and over again.”

“Peter, I’m not stuck in a loop, you know.” Smudger said sharply. “I’m not an idiot, man. I’m not doomed to make mistakes and then immediately forget why and how I made them.”

The older engine sighed, a short and sharp exhalation of breath, a frustrated sound.

“Maybe I haven’t started growing yet,” he went on, “maybe you, and Duke have just gotta give me a chance to figure some stuff out first. Maybe this right here is gonna lead me to become whoever I am in the future. ‘Cept this time the world’s a kinder place, this time I’ve got a bit more sense and this time, I’ve got a couple hints as to what I shouldn’t do under my belt. How about that?”

“What happened to you on the Mid Sodor wasn’t right.” Peter Sam said doggedly, and in his anxious fidgeting, an entire strip of silicone was peeled away from his thumb, earning a grimace form him. “Fiddlesticks. You shouldn’t have been put away like that because of a bad track record, no engine who was treated like some object with no sentience did. What humans did to some of us back then was draconian, you know that, right?”

“That’s not what I’m getting at,” Smudger replied with a shake of his head, “I don’t wanna be a victim. I’m tryna reassure you that this is a far, far better start in life for an engine like me, and knowing what little I know about who I was back then is enough to make me wanna be better. Useful, if you want, that sounds like a second chance. Sounds like you got your wish to me.”

“But…”

Peter Sam struggled to think of another point to make, another angle at which he could approach this, all of what Smudger said made sense, but it still did nothing to appease the squirming, nauseating feeling of guilt inside of his stomach.

“Think what this all boils down to is you worrying that after all of that effort to restore me, I’ve ended up as some miserable prick. A bit like Duke,” Smudger snorted, casting a glance at the deluge outside, “contrary to what you think, I’m pretty happy right now. I’m not out in that mess at least. That’s a cause for celebration if you want my opinion.”

Peter Sam finally found himself cracking something like a smile, a wobbly expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and from across the shed, Smudger appeared to notice this, as with a groan of metal, he sat up a little straighter, fixing the younger engine with those intense, yet warm eyes.

“Peter Sam.”

“Smudger?”

“You did a good thing, alright? It’s fine.”

Peter Sam swallowed a retort, a retort that he wasn’t even sure he wanted to make. Something about the way Smudger spoke worked to calm the storm howling away inside of his head, after such a hard conversation, it was strange how just that simple sentence was enough to quell the unease plaguing him.

It’s fine.

Directly above Smudger’s head, the lamp hanging from the wooden ceiling beam suddenly fizzled, the lightbulb buzzing and dimming almost to the point of popping, before it flashed back up again, bright and warm as if nothing had happened.

Smudger glanced up, an eyebrow cocked.

Peter Sam held his breath, hoping against hope that nothing would come of it, hoping that it was just a faulty lightbulb, hoping…

“Someone’s gotta check out the wiring in this shed tomorrow.” Smudger commented, his eyes sliding closed. “Reckon I might know a thing or two about that.”

#TTTE #TTTE AU #ttte peter sam #ttte smudger #smudger #ttte duke #ttte proteus #there's a whole bunch of ways you can interpret this ig #like maybe proteus isn't magic at all and smudger's just fucking unlucky #or maybe he is and this is some kinda curse and he possibly also maybe has some influence over electronics still iunno #it's up to you tbh #I like ambiguity so it could be either #wild times

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alilbatflies · 1 year ago

Text

I wrote a short continuation of this amazing prompt by @thepenultimateword, which goes as follows:

“What are you doing?”

Alex jolted violently, nose still buried in the watermelon musk of Ben’s hoodie as they whirled around.

“Uhhh…”

Ben stared dryly between their open locker and Alex’s wide eyes.

Alex held the hoodie out in front of themself, face suddenly twisting in confusion. “Wait, a minute, this isn’t mine. Did I get the wrong locker?”

The scrutinized the numbers a few seconds before clapping their hand dramatically to their forehead. “Will you look at that, I’m in the wrong row! Sorry, Ben, I’ll see you later.”

Alex went to march away but was promptly caught by the collar of their shirt and yanked a couple stumbling steps backward. “You still have my jacket.”

“Oh.” Their cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and displeasure. “So I do.”

They reluctantly let the soft fabric fall back into Ben’s long, scar-nicked fingers and bustled away before their coworker could ask something stupid like: “Why were you sniffing my clothes?”

They should have walked faster.

...

for sake of clarity and my sanity (seeing the word henchman so many times while editing nearly melted my brain), I named those two:

Henchman A = Alex, Henchman B = Ben

... ... ...

Avoiding someone who works for the same person as them was... Manageable.

Alex would know, for they managed to avoid Ben for all of two weeks despite their shared tasks, appointments and whatnot.

Were they caught sniffing Ben's clothes again? Not yet. At some point Alex assumed Ben knew and just rolled with it. Which was odd, since Ben never rolled with anything, spare the orders from their boss.

And yes, they could just say your scent helps my powers calm so uh... thanks but wouldn't that just be the creepier? Openly admitting it wasn't Ben they were fixated on, but their smell? How fucked up was that.

Besides. A rational, well-mannered, unimpressed Ben. Getting their quirks and unexplained tendencies. Not happening.

Alex prepared for all alternatives, avoiding serious conversation and hiding behind excuses to leave the moment work was done. See that spider on the ceiling? Gotta go. Bye. It wasn't their best but it worked despite all the confusion that it caused.

What Alex did not factor with was outside of work.

Much like seeing a teacher at a grocery store was odd, seeing Ben leaning against their apartment door hit them like a mirage. Not quite there. Not quite right. A miracle kind of pleasant surprises, except somehow out of place and chilling in its suspiciousness.

Ben nodded at them in greeting, unimpressed eyes focused with unfair intent. They meant business when they looked like that.

Alex was so screwed.

“Good evening.”

Alex's head reeled at the greeting. Deep and quiet, yet perfectly clear. Politely blank, just there.

Manners, Alex. Your fucking manners.

“Evening,” was all they managed, searching for their keys. They had to find out what Ben was doing there. “Thought you lived downtown?”

“Thought we had things to discuss the boss doesn't need to be involved in.”

Alex's blood ran cold. They swallowed. It helped nothing.

Ben tilted their head to a side. “Don't we?”

“I guess.” Alex was pretty sure their voice did something weird. They gestured inside once they managed to open the door. After you, except they didn't say it, because they would stutter for sure.

Ben slipped inside, waiting for them to pass by only to follow close behind. Maybe they didn’t know which flat Alex lived in exactly. Maybe they did but didn’t want to be obvious about it. Maybe they wanted to make sure Alex wouldn’t bolt.

Alex let them slip into their flat without comments. Their mind chanted a really not helpful chain of I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead.

“So.” Ben looked around curtly. They leaned against the door.

Alex considered inviting them further in. They also considered Ben’s stance and decided maybe Ben would take it as an attempt to avoid the conversation, and so they fiddle with the straps of their bag and waited.

The realisation that Ben was effectively blocking the way out really did nothing to calm them down.

“You’re avoiding me.” Ben tilted their head again, focused look studying every shift in Alex’s expression, no doubt reading them like an open book. “Is it because of the locker accident?”

Accident. Not on purpose. Alex nodded their head perhaps a little too vehemently.

Ben didn’t look like they were quite buying that. “What were you doing there?”

“Uhhh…”

One would think two weeks was a reasonably long time to think of an excuse. One would be wrong.

Alex did not have an excuse ready. There were really not that many plausible, normal-looking excuses for being addicted to someone’s scent.

Ben looked like they wanted to talk again. It startled Alex’s brain back into function. They didn’t think they could handle anything that came out of Ben’s mouth next.

“I have the same hoodie at home,” Alex blurted, “it just… smelled different.” Lies. “Different but good.” Oh gods, shut up.

Ben was staring into their eyes and somewhere behind, presumably scanning their soul and weighting how well they could hide their body from everyone and their absence from their employer.

“It uhhh… caught me off guard.”

“What about all the other times, then?”

Alex felt their soul leave their body. They know about the other times. They needed to sit down. They didn’t think they were getting such chance.

Ben let them suffer in silence. They reached into their bag, searching for something.

Alex closed their eyes, hoping that whatever it was, it would at least kill them quickly. I won’t have to clean the mess if I’m dead. It was a small reassurance.

“Here.”

Alex blinked. Their vision was not blurry and it was not tears. They blinked a few times and finally managed to focus on what Ben was holding out to them.

“Shampoo…” they managed weakly. It was two bottles… Watermelon scented shampoo and shower gel. They were smelling those clothes. Right.

“You could have just asked, you know?”

Alex laughed. It wasn’t an entirely comfortable laugh. Better than bursting into tears, they supposed.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m…” Alex realised, belatedly, that it was a really nice gesture. A solution. Ben was always good at finding solutions, but that didn’t mean they had to go out of their way and get Alex things instead of beating them up and threatening them to stop. It was a gift. Ben was being nice to them. “I’m alright.”

They were so not alright, although admittedly for a different reason than a few seconds ago.

“I’m not mad,” Ben said. “So, stop avoiding me.”

Alex nodded.

Ben looked like they wanted to add something, but then shook their head. They pushed away from the door and turned to leave, hand on the doorknob already when Alex found their voice.

“Surely you could uhhh... Stay back for dinner?”

Ben's lips quirked into the tiniest of smiles. “I have a bus to catch.”

“…maybe you don’t.” You could stay here. With me.

Ben tilted their head in confusion. “And how else would I get home, silly?”

Stay, I’ll lend you a sleeping bag. Stay, there’s a spare blanket here somewhere.

“Right.” Alex nodded, backing off. “Right.”

Ben left through the door, and Alex absolutely did not think about the fact that the way they said silly sounded all too much like silly little thing, and how they would probably fall and never get up if Ben called them their silly little thing. Nuh-uh.

Alex kept thinking about the tiny smile. And the gift. They used it. It did smell like what they were used to. They missed the smell of something indisputably Ben underneath it, that little bit of their presence that stayed behind.

Alex kept thinking about little gestures and everything Ben made. They saw Ben once during a particularly bad magic moment and they did something so unavoidably Ben (like that weird shrug of shoulders) and Alex immediately calmed down and oh.

Shit no. It might be more than just their smell after all.

Not to mention Ben was the villain’s best attack dog. Killing machine. Quite like the rest of them, except, well, much more dangerous. Alex kind of hoped Ben assumed their avoidance was based on some kind of fear of them after fucking up and ending in the wrong locker by accident instead of… whatever it was. However much they were not afraid of Ben. Maybe that was the issue from the beginning. If they were afraid like everyone else, they wouldn’t have bonded so well.

But then Ben went out of their way to fix it. As if that wasn’t the most gesture thing to happen to Alex in forever.

It was the smallest of gestures. It was the most thoughtful of gestures. Attempting to solve the situation instead of pushing in.

Strangely, ironically, it was making Alex's craving worse.

Alex refused to think of all those utterly menacing and dangerously enchanting moments of Ben that they’d witnessed over their shared time together at work. Or outside of it. They thought of them anyway. They were so utterly, profoundly doomed. It wasn’t even funny.

They managed to stay in the clear for all of eight days after that, before they found themselves picking the lock of Ben's locker again. Breaking in. Like a creep.

“Maybe they should just kill me instead of being so fucking endearing.”

Except they couldn’t find the hoodie this time. They ruffled through the bag and patted the notebooks and pens scattered over the upper shelf in the locker. Nothing. Just work stuff.

Alex had exactly two seconds to stare into nowhere and notice the steps stopping next to them.

“What are you doing?”

Alex flinched and slammed the locker closed, facing Ben on instinct. Their mouth opened and closed with no words to form—their brain was refusing to cooperate properly.

Ben was wearing their hoodie. Their hair was wet and they were holding both their bloodied uniform and towel, meaning they probably had been sent home to rest after killing someone.

Wish for death and dead you shall be. Except Ben’s expression was not murderous in particular.

Alex found themselves gravitating towards them. Before they came to themselves, they already stood close enough to Ben to touch. By the time they tried to jerk away, Ben was already holding their upper arm, keeping them steady.

“So,” Ben whispered into the silence between them, “what’s the matter?”

Alex wanted to say something. They really did. Instead, their magic tugged them forward and they buried their face in their shoulder.

Ben went still.

Alex inhaled their scent, calming and there. Their magic settled. They melted.

“Is it my hoodie?” Ben’s voice flowed quietly, almost from afar.

“…just you.”

“Sorry?”

Alex realized what slipped. They wanted to pull away. They wanted to stay close forever. They needed to leave. They needed to cling to Ben.

Their dilemma was solved by those strong fingers curling into the back of their shirt, pulling them closer.

“You might want to elaborate on that,” Ben whispered.

“I’m…” Alex was content with keeping their face hidden.

Ben was drawing circles on their back now. Oh dear. Not even their grandma could help them anymore.

“I might have a little problem, and… it’s you,” they mumbled into Ben’s shoulder eventually. “Except it’s not the appropriate sort of problem at all.”

“Well, lucky you then.”

Lucky you. And of course Alex was lucky, were they not? If it was the villain or one of their higher-ups, there would be far worse consequences, wouldn’t they?

“We might have a similar kind of problem.”

Alex felt their magic settle. Their brain stopped. Their breathing probably stopped, too.

Their heart did the exact opposite, galloping forth.

They tried to look up then, but their head was held in place and pressed back into the shoulder.

“Invite me over, hm?” Ben petted their head. “I won’t catch the evening bus.”

And Alex did.

#i took liberties #i also took forever this was sitting in my drafts for half a year or so. don't tell anyone though it's a secret #Alex (henchman A) at any given situation: uhhhhhh #i imagine they do some sort of lock-picking and trap-setting kinda work for the villain #prompt response #is it?#writing #writing snippet #writeblr #creative writing #villain x villain #minion x minion #henchman x henchman #heroes a #heroes and villains #pen i am sorry if this made a mess of your notifications somehow

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skepsiss · 1 year ago

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Reflection: Eddie's POV

This is a 4 part mini-series about the Fruity Four. It's 1989 and Steve, Eddie, and Robin are visiting Hawkins over winter break. Nancy has invited them all over for a little Christmas get-together, and we read from the point of view of each member of the crew across 1 event.

I wrote these pieces to be read in any order, so... enjoy some Steddie, vague Ronance, Vickie x Robin, and just the Fruity Four being... fruity.

Dialogue prompt "You Remember That?" for @thefreakandthehair's Spicy Six Winter Fanworks Challenge. Page break/border by @/alderdoodle.bsky.social on Bluesky.

Rating: T Words: 3,072 CW: Swearing, scars/injury, sexual language

Steve's Part Robin's Part Nancy's Part Eddie's Part

Nancy shut the door and Eddie stepped awkwardly down the front stoop with Steve’s help. He was treating Eddie like he was some kind of delicate ballerina or something, and it only vaguely bothered Eddie because he was wearing Nancy’s coat. He had left his proper winter coat at home by mistake, and of course tonight of all nights the weather gods had decided to launch Hawkins into a snowstorm. Just his luck, really—especially after he had bet Steve that their rental car wouldn’t get stuck in the snow during their visit. He had been dead wrong and now their only way back to the trailer was by foot and well… the trailer park was on the opposite side of town.

“Hey Steve,” someone greeted from behind them, and Eddie slowly turned. “Hey Nance, where are—-oh.”

It was Mike, and he actually took half a step back when Eddie turned to look at him.

“Eddie?” He asked, looking startled before his brows creased, and his mouth tried to form words for a question.

“I forgot my coat,” Eddie said with a sharp frown, sounding vaguely threatening. “One word, Wheeler, and you’re dead meat.”

“Jeez—okay, I just wanted to—-sorry,” Mike replied, sounding defensive despite folding easily under Eddie’s glare.

“Hey, Mike,” Steve responded, leaning around Eddie slightly before tugging him in beside him. “We’re just leaving. We’ll be back around in a few days, probably, though.”

“Uh, yeah, cool, I was actually hoping I’d catch you before you left, Eddie. I can’t find the like initiation stuff you used for us when we first joined Hellfire, where is it? Do you remember that?”

“Uhhh….” Eddie replied, a bit stunned at being made to remember something so long ago—it was only 2 years, but he could hardly remember what he ate for breakfast sometimes.

“Theatre costume room, maybe?” He replied, shrugging. “I really don’t remember, dude. I’ll ponder on it, though, see if I can unlock something out of Mordenkainen's Tome.”

The two of them exchanged a chuckle at Eddie’s reference before they properly parted ways.

Steve trudged across the lawn, and Eddie shivered in his wake as he followed his footsteps through the snow. He took Steve’s hand once again when they reached the sidewalk and tucked in close to his side.

“Whose Mortem… Mortemkinim?” Steve asked, his voice lacking shyness for needing clarification. They had gotten well past the point of Steve needing to be embarrassed about asking for clarification on nerd stuff.

“Mordenkainen,” Eddie corrected lightly, “he’s like an arch-mage in Greyhawk who invents a bunch of magic… things. Has these planar tomes he has forbidden knowledge in and all that.”

“DnD shit?” Steve asked, raising a brow.

“DnD shit,” Eddie confirmed with a chuckle.

“You’re such a fucking nerd,” Steve teased, and Eddie glanced up to see him rolling his eyes. He was smiling still, though, which made Eddie grin back.

“You loooooovvveee it,” Eddie singsonged, knocking his temple against Steve’s head gently. “Got a fetish for it or something.”

“Excuse me?” Steve asked, accusatory, leaning away from Eddie with a laugh. “How the hell is that a fetish? What are your sources, Munson?”

“Uh, my eyes?” Eddie replied acrimoniously. “My eyes, my mouth, my ass–”

“Okay, enough, we have to walk for another thirty minutes at least, I don’t need this right now.”

Eddie snorted but relented, pleased that he had won that debate.

“It is nice, though,” Eddie said after a few moments of silence. He looked at the sky as they walked, watching the fluffy flakes of snow falling down on them. “Hawkins looking like this. Quiet… walking around the streets with you… holding your hand.”

Eddie looked back at Steve, who smiled faintly at him. He looked soft and despite how cold it was outside, Eddie could swear he felt heat radiating off of Steve from how much he glowed. He looked positively smitten.

Eddie had to look away, and he grinned down at the sidewalk instead, chuckling in an almost shy way.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Eddie swallowed, chewing his lip a bit out of nervousness. Steve could still make his chest and stomach explode with butterflies, even all these years later.

“Like what?” Steve asked, sounding amused as he nudged Eddie’s shoulder with his own.

“Like that–” Eddie laughed, leaning away dramatically from Steve’s friendly shoulder check. “Like you’re completely satisfied with life and more in love with me than anything else in the world.”

“I am in love with you…” Steve replied softly, and Eddie reached up and pulled the brim of his beanie down over his eyes.

He was grinning like an idiot, and Eddie could feel his cheeks cramping from how happy he was. He was being foolish and perhaps a bit juvenile, but he loved hearing Steve say things like that. It was so soft, and it made his heart soar like nothing else.

“You’re so fucking cute…” Steve complimented, which made Eddie pull his hat down further and groan.

“God, shut up,” he huffed, on the verge of giggling.

Eddie hadn’t anticipated it, but suddenly Steve’s arms were around his middle as he was being picked up off his feet.

Eddie shrieked with laughter, the hold only lasting for a moment before Steve was leaning over his shoulder and kissing his neck and cheek.

“Stop it!” Eddie whooped, trying to wriggle from Steve’s hold as he bent at the waist to get away. It didn’t do much to help except pull Steve further over his shoulder, so they were both shuffling gracelessly through the snow.

“I can’t,” Steve chastised, still kissing at what little bits of skin he could reach. “You’re just so goddamn adorable.”

He pulled the brim of Eddie’s hat up, and Eddie couldn’t control the giggles that escaped him as he feebly pulled away from his boyfriend. God, they were acting like such teenagers. They were so stupid. They were so stupid and so in love, and Eddie wouldn’t change a single second of it.

“I’m not adorable,” Eddie complained, still smiling, but his laughter had died down. “I’m supposed to be a metal-god. Devil spawn, heart-breaker extraordinaire!”

He heard Steve chuckle in his ear before relenting and giving him one good kiss on the cheek.

“Yeah, a metal-god that makes me buy chocolate milk for him and who watches Banjo the Woodpile Cat on repeat when he’s feeling sentimental. Which is like… at least once a month.” Steve retorted, still grinning as he moved back to Eddie’s side.

“Shut up, man,” Eddie laughed, punching Steve in the shoulder as they continued to walk. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone that on pain of death.”

“You see anyone else around?” Steve asked, gesturing to the empty streets.

The orange glow of the street lights was making velvety shadows spread across the snow, the various Christmas lights from people’s yards joining in to create a nativity of colours. It was romantic, and it felt like they had slipped into a nulspace or the ethereal realm where they were the only ones around. It felt gossamer, and Eddie found himself longing for the old streets of Hawkins that he had so readily left behind a little over a year ago.

“Just you, handsome,” Eddie replied, regaining a bit of his composure as he took Steve’s hand again.

It was Steve’s turn to chuckle with flattery, and Eddie took the pause in their conversation to hustle ahead of Steve slightly.

“If there was someone around,” Eddie asked, striking a dramatic pose as he put his hand on his waist and cocked his hip. “You think they’d recognize me?”

Steve snorted at him and continued to walk, seemingly unfazed by Eddie’s antics.

“Doubt it,” Steve teased, poking Eddie in the stomach as he passed. Eddie flinched away with a smirk, despite not being able to feel the touch through the heavy parka.

“That thing does wonders for your waist, though, makes you look curvy as hell.”

“Awww, you miss the curves, Steve?” Eddie asked, only feeling thin-skinned as he trotted up beside his boyfriend again. Despite them dating for two years, Eddie still had these moments of fear and anxiety over their relationship. Steve had been such a womanizer before they started dating—and he had pulled it off well, too. Every woman loved him. But he had somehow settled for thin-as-a-rail, chaos-gremlin, Eddie Munson who hardly had an ass for Steve to grab.

“Sometimes,” Steve admitted, and Eddie felt his stomach drop as he went quiet.

“But,” Steve shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “I’d miss a whole lot more than curves if I lost you.”

Eddie snorted at that and looked away again, Steve’s comment helping to banish his insecurities for now.

Yeah… if they broke up—gods forbid—hearing that Steve would miss his body and what he had to offer felt reassuring. Despite hardly having an ounce of meat on his bones, he knew Steve found him attractive. He had heard it and seen it in the way Steve stared at him; how his breath hitched when Eddie stood at the foot of the bed with nothing on. He knew Steve found him attractive… it just felt difficult sometimes to stand in front of a literal Greek god—a man carved from marble in the likeness of the hero of Troy—and compare himself to that. Steve was positively radiant.

“You getting in your head again?” Steve asked, which shook Eddie from his reverence. He blinked at Steve and then stuck his tongue out at his boyfriend.

“Only a little,” he admitted, looping his arm with Steve’s once again.

They were a little more than halfway to the trailer park, and Eddie breathed deep as he felt his nose begin to tingle from the cold.

“Can we have a bath when we get back?” Eddie asked, swinging Steve’s arm a bit as they walked, needing to release some of the energy that was building in his limbs.

“A bath?” Steve asked, letting Eddie manhandle him however he liked. “It’ll be 11 at night by the time we’re back.”

“Yeah, so?” Eddie retorted, looking at Steve as if he was an idiot. “We’re on vacation, 11 pm baths aren’t anywhere near the freaky shit I want to get up to.”

“Oh, I’ll be sure to mark that down and check off ‘breakfast in bed,’ ‘12 pm wake-up calls,’ and ‘assembling Christmas puzzles on the living room rug’ on the freaky list,” Steve replied sarcastically.

Eddie smacked Steve’s arm with the back of his hand, the action having no real force behind it.

“God, am I getting boring?” Eddie asked, snorting slightly. But the question tickled a small part of his brain, reminding him that all of those things were painfully boring.

He still had the goal of becoming a Rock Star, but he was less driven than he had been as a teen.

Rock fame had been the only thing that was going to get him away from Hawkins-–away from his old man’s shadow—but along came Steve Harrington, who had whisked him away. Eddie was content now, and that was odd for him. He wasn’t sure if he had ever been content in his life before now.

“I don’t think you’re boring,” Steve offered, awkwardly trudging his way through a snow drift and then offering his hand to Eddie to help him over it. Eddie didn’t need help, and he casually refused Steve’s hand in favour of making his own path.

“But that might just be because I’m pretty boring,” Steve admitted, watching Eddie as he struggled through the snow.

It was denser than Eddie had realized, and he regretfully had pants that were not suited for this kind of weather. He didn’t exactly want to get them wet, since they had another twenty minutes of walking left.

“You’re not—boring,” Eddie huffed, awkwardly shifting and sticking his arms out to balance himself so he wouldn’t fall over. “You’re a badass. B-A-D-D… ass.”

He was concentrating on not falling and not paying attention at all to the fact that he had spelled ‘bad’ wrong. Eddie had at least made it to the crest of the drift, but now he was regretting his trajectory.

“And now I’m boring,” Steve said lightly. He reached for Eddie and grabbed his waist, hoisting him up easily enough and depositing him on the road. The move almost looked practised—like Steve was in a ballet and Eddie was some damsel leaping from the porch and into his lover’s arms so they could do the two-step for an audience. Really, the effort on Steve’s part hadn’t been too great, but it was still mind-blowingly hot.

“I like it that way.”

Steve was still talking, saying something about being boring and how he liked that his life was much simpler now. He’d had enough adventure for a lifetime in the span of 3 years, and he was content to have people think he was dull. Unfazed and unbothered by the notion that someone would dismiss him out of hand or think of him as ‘uncool.’

Eddie was just admiring him and wondering how anyone could look at Steve and think he was boring.

“What’re you going to do when I become famous?” Eddie asked, his words dreamy and distracted sounding.

Steve looked at him properly, and Eddie could see his boyfriend’s eyes scanning his face.

“Do I have to be famous too?” Steve asked, sounding vaguely amused.

“You’re good-looking,” Eddie shrugged, “you’d sell tabloids.”

“I think you’re good-looking enough to sell your own tabloid,” Steve retorted, teasing, but obviously flattering Eddie of purpose.

Eddie glanced away again, but this time there was less smiling and more shame. He was shy still, but insecurity etched into his brain thinking about himself plastered across a magazine cover.

“I don’t know… might be a bit hard convincing everyone of that,” Eddie said quietly, “cause…”

Eddie gestured vaguely at his jaw, motioning toward the scar that jutted up his neck and along his jaw. The skin was ropey and stretched looking since the wound had healed poorly, and he didn’t have the money for plastic surgery to fix it. Instead, he just hid the mar with his hair and tried to forget about it when he was in public. It was an insecurity, and Eddie feared that even in the metal scene he wouldn’t be palatable. Before the attack, he had sort of always relied on being decent-looking in order to help his career along, especially when he did his eye makeup for the stage.

He wished it didn’t bother him.

“How many times do I have to tell you this?”

Steve’s words were soft, and they pulled Eddie’s attention as he flicked his gaze up toward his boyfriend.

Steve was reaching forward, and Eddie flushed slightly as Steve ran cold fingers over the side of his neck and then soothed his thumb along Eddie’s jaw. He was touching the scar even though that spot had dulled nerves. He was touching the scar and staring at Eddie with such gentle affection that Eddie’s breath hitched.

Two years. Two years and just a look from Steve could make Eddie feel weightless.

“You’re gorgeous…” Steve complimented, his eyes flicked across Eddie’s face as if he was taking all of him in. He truly looked captivated, and Eddie couldn’t help but stare back at Steve with stunned awe; his eyes large and his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest.

“If someone is bothered by this,” Steve commented, running his thumb over the scar again, “then they’re an idiot. Plus, it’s badass, right?”

Eddie huffed a small breath at Steve’s comment, feeling as if he had to deny the compliment, but also feeling incredibly touched by the reassurance. He wasn’t sure if that was right, but Steve didn’t seem to bat an eye at his scars-–and not in an effort to ignore them, either.

Instead of looking away this time, Eddie glanced down the road both ways. It was night, and the wind had let up, making way for lazy snowflakes to fall silently down on Hawkins. No one was out, and it was late enough that even the windows of people’s porches were out. No one would recognize him anyway.

Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and ducked in for a kiss, feeling terribly romantic as he indulged in the slow affection.

Steve didn’t resist in the least, and Eddie sighed through his nose as Steve wrapped his other arm around Eddie’s middle and continued to stroke along the scar on his face.

They stayed like that for a while, kissing quietly, until eventually Eddie brushed his lips against Steve’s cheek and tucked into his neck for a warm embrace.

“You tired?” Steve asked against his ear, kissing the side of his hat where his ear should be. He dropped his other hand to Eddie's waist and swayed them slightly, leaving lingering kisses against Eddie’s temple now and again.

Eddie just nodded slowly; the exhaustion of the day had caught up to him, and he felt like crawling into a warm bed with Steve and snuggling up as close as possible to him. Eddie was so in love… he was so in love, and Steve took such good care of him. There was no one else in the world that he loved more than Steve, and it baffled Eddie still that Steve felt the same way about him.

“Come on,” Steve said gently, slowly breaking their embrace and taking Eddie’s hand to lead him down the street.

Eddie lamely fell in behind his boyfriend and pressed against the back of his shoulder so he could half lean his cheek on Steve’s shoulder while they walked.

Everything felt so wonderful and warm despite the bitter cold. They were still ten minutes away from the trailer, but Eddie didn’t really mind all that much. It almost felt like he could doze off with how slowly he was shuffling with Steve. The holiday season had never been one of relaxation for Eddie before he started dating Steve, but now he felt like maybe he could relate to all those crummy Christmas movies and how love and peace they were. Steve made everything feel a bit brighter.

Gods… he loved this man. In all Eddie’s years on this godforsaken planet, he never thought he’d be so lucky as to date a man like Steve Harrington.

#Eddie is just so soft #and he is so goddamn in love with Steve #just a little weirdo #please imagine Eddie in Nancy's purple parka #my_writing #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #ronance #robin x vickie #rockie #SpicySixWinterFanworksChallenge

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screechthemighty · 1 month ago

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To the shock of absolutely no one who follows my fanfic output, I am once again behind on a challenge. Sorry, Miraith gang. I swear I'll do all the prompts, they just...won't be done during Miraith Week. Make this Miraith Month, I guess, since life keeps kicking me in the face from different angles. Anyways, here's day three on day seven.

time, curious time | miraith week 2025 day three: alt. timeline

She knew something was wrong the second she stepped into the portal, but it was too late to turn around. She’d just have to face whatever was on the other side. Alone. As if this match hadn’t already been going to shit.

Wraith was spit out the other side to near-complete silence. The feeling of damp soil under her feet told her she was still in swamp, but there was no one else around. She’d been in the middle of an intense firefight when she’d gone through. There was no way they’d all vanish all at once.

Unless…

Wraith checked above her. Sun was still in the same position. She checked her stabilizer. A warning light was flashing in one corner, which, of course, she hadn’t noticed until it was too late. The last time that light had flashed, several of them had accidentally gone through a portal to a nightmare dimension, so she could be anywhere. At least this place didn’t have the same perpetual dusk that other dimension had.

Stay calm. We just have to figure this out. Wraith took a deep breath and started moving through the swamp. She ran into her first difference almost immediately. There was a wooden boardwalk running through the swamp that definitely hadn’t been there before. As Wraith climbed up and followed it, she noticed specific plaques along the bridge dedicated to moments from past matches. She recognized a few; others, not so much.

Is this place a museum now?

The sound of someone splashing up ahead made her freeze in place. It might be someone who could help, especially if King’s Canyon wasn’t currently serving as a battlefield, but she wasn’t going to draw attention to herself until she was sure. She could hear someone talking as she grew closer; she thought for a second there might be two people, until she actually registered who was speaking.

“…has to be something that isn’t completely…”

Elliott, talking to himself. Wraith felt her shoulders relax. Finally, a break. She started thinking of how to explain this to him as she walked closer. She wasn’t sure how close the other her was to this other Elliott…hopefully they weren’t full-on enemies. That could make things awkward.

Hey, Elliott, this is going to be a lot to take in, but…do you remember that time around Halloween? No, I don’t have any way of knowing if that happened in this dimension…my equipment malfunctioned, I’m not actually your Wraith, I’m from another dimension…but how much does he know about how my powers work? Wraith had told her Elliott a lot, and was fairly confident he’d take it well if another Wraith from another dimension showed up. This one, though…

She spotted Elliott as she turned around a tree. He was standing in front of a log, examining one of the thicker branches still attached carefully. “This might be…” He tapped it carefully. “Yeah, I think I could…”

“Elliott.”

Elliott yelped and jumped to face her. “Babe, hiii!” He put his hands behind his back and shuffled awkwardly to try and hide the branch. If the tour path of the swamp hadn’t clued her into this being an alternate timeline, Elliott’s face definitely would’ve. One of his scars was on the opposite side of a face, and he had another one she’d never seen before. “Managed to finally get away from Wattson…?”

He trailed off. She could see him noticing everything different about her: the frazzled look, smear of dirt on her cheek, the gun she was holding. Maybe a few other tiny details that differentiated her from his Wraith. She doubted he put the two and two together entirely, but he noticed enough to frown in confusion. “So, uhhh, what did I miss?” he said.

Well, he’d called her babe, so they were probably in a relationship in this timeline. Maybe that meant she’d explained a thing or two to him. “Portal from another dimension?” Wraith tried.

“You can…do that?”

“Not on purpose, trust me. I was kind of in the middle of something.” She rubbed her eyes. “I think my stabilizer malfunctioned. It reset itself last time something like this happened, but I’m not sure…”

“Oh, I have some tools. Do you me to take a look? Or…pass you the tools while you take a look? You…my you is on the other side of the arena and I asked Wattson to keep her busy. Hopefully you won’t…cross streams or anything. Would that be bad?”

“No idea and I don’t want to find out. But the help would be great.” Wraith was able to smile, despite the situation. “Thank you.”

Elliott led her to a bench along the path. Together, they took a look at the circuitry that made up her stabilization device. “So, it is phase shifter adjacent,” Elliott mumbled. “I thought so.”

“You study phase shifting tech in this timeline?” Wraith asked.

“Not professionally. It’s…relationship-related. I wanted to be able to help. Just didn’t think I’d be helping one of her ghosts. Was that a weird thing to say?”

“Maybe, but it’s true.” She was one of his Wraith’s ghosts, just like his Wraith was one of her ghosts. It was enough to make even her head spin. “Swamp looks different.”

“Yeah, they installed all this while we were doing a season somewhere else. Chance to let some fans see the place up close and personal, I guess. New season’s back here in a few weeks, so a bunch of us decided to stop by and take a look.”

“And grab a random branch off a dead tree while you’re at it?”

Elliott immediately blushed. “Oh, that’s…uhm, actually, can I ask you a question really quick?”

“If I can answer it easily, sure.”

“Are there like…any animals you like enough that you would wear them on your person? Or…I dunno, flowers? Plants? Spaceships?”

Wraith slowed down and looked at Elliott. “Are you carving something for her?”

“Uh.” His blush deepened. “I mean, she hasn’t had a birthday in a while, so I thought maybe I should like. Do something for her, you know, and uhm, we met here in swamp so I thought if I made her something from swamp, it’d be like…” He swallowed hard. “M-meaningful and stuff. Is that weird? I was worried it might be weird….”

Wraith shook her head. “No, no, that’s sweet.” She stopped working long enough to seriously consider the question. “In the timeline I came from…you found these branches that looked like laurel and tried to make me a wreath out of it, since I was doing well in the ranked matches. The wreath part didn’t really work out, but I kept all the branches. Ended up making Predator, so I think it worked.”

“Oh, well. Good to know I’m a genius in any timeline.” And he had the same irony-tinged overconfident smile in every timeline, too. “That would work, I think. I can pull that off. Thanks.” He looked back down at her stabilizer. “Hey, does that look corroded to you?”

He was right. One of the wires was corroded. Wraith cursed quietly and got to work cleaning things up and switching out the wire. Before long, the warning light had gone away and the stabilizer was re-adjusting itself with ease. “So, now what?” Elliott asked. “Do you throw out another portal or something?”

“It worked last time.”

“Last time?”

“I don’t have the best luck. At least this time the company was better.” Wraith looked at Elliott and smiled. “She’s going to love it. Don’t worry.”

Elliott’s baffled look turned into a bashful, but earnest smile. “Thanks,” he said. “For saying so. And for the advice. And good luck with uh, whatever was going on when you left.”

Right. She’d be going back into a firefight. And from one Elliott to another, not that his presence made up for the clusterfuck she’d walked away from. “Thanks for the help, Elliott,” she said. “I’ll try to send some good warnings her way if I see her again.”

Elliott laughed as she opened up a new portal. “Our relationship is so weird,” he said fondly.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Wraith said, and stepped through the portal back.

#fic: time curious time #apex legends #miraith #miraith week

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bloodtwin · 6 months ago

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respond to the following prompts out of character, then tag others you'd like to get to know a little bit better.

roleplayer name: Adam

roleplayer pronouns: he/him

muse name: Puck

preferred communication: Discord! Tumblr IMs hate my pussy :~(

experience: Uhhh, I started RPing on Tumblr when I was 12 then I moved on to writing only with close friends on Skype for years before taking a break. Started RPing again this year in Carol & I's beautiful Google Documents. Now I'm here again. :o)

preferred roleplay type: I'm just straight up writing novels in your notifications. Sorry, guys.

pet peeves & dealbreakers: I can definitely tell when someone hasn't read Puck's bio, which is a bit annoying, but I honestly cannot blame them because there's so much to him that I can't possibly expect anyone to remember it all. Other than that, I don't really have any dealbreakers. Like, as long as you're niceys out of character, I'm very chill.

plots or memes: I would have said memes, but recently those have been a bit difficult for me to come up with fun responses for. Honestly, the easiest way to interact with me is just jumping into my inbox with something unprompted. I do like plotting, but it comes much easier with people I've already been interacting with for a while.

are you like your muse?: Erm. Well. Yes, a little bit, unfortunately. He used to be a self-insert, but then I made him a Durge. I would say his sensitive nature & dogboy swag are very me-coded, but everything else … He has some issues that I do not have, personally.

tagged by: @silvertiefling tagging: @postmortiem , @alurlssrinbled , @whomuses & you :~)

#ik sumtimes ppl dont like giving info abt themselves ooc so feel free to ignore if i tagged u of course <3 #&&. OUT OF BONES！☠ 𝐎𝐎𝐂。#&&. PLAYING FETCH … ！☠ 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒。

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rancidpancakebatter · 2 years ago

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Another Way to Fly-[P.P.] | Chapter Three

Pairing: TASM!college!Peter Parker x female!college!reader

Summary: You've been dating Harry Osborne for three years. You love him...but maybe not as much as you once did. Maybe not enough.

AU Where Norman isn’t as sick- he’s just an asshole- and Gwen didn't go to Oxford. Harry is functioning as an apprentice at Oscorp (He graduated with a master's in two years because of his studying abroad). You, Peter, and Gwen are all seniors at ESU. Because Peter isn't Spider-Man and Norman isn’t dying, the whole “Goblin” thing is scratched from the record, so Peter and Harry are besties.

Prompt: Based on an ask for my 200 Follower celebration

Word Count: 5.3k

Content Warnings: Swearing, Implications of sex

Previous | Chapter List | Next

As you walk in, Peter can tell that you are clearly irritated. You move stiffly, and your brows are furrowed slightly. To anyone else, they may believe you were just thinking about something, but Peter knew you really well.

He met you about four years ago in the campus library. It was finals, and the building was packed with students pulling out their hair and silently sobbing at tables crowded with colourful worksheets and laptop charging cables. He had almost tripped over you, walking through the shelves on the third floor. You were hunkered down in the 150s of the Dewy Decimal System. Papers and textbooks were fanned out around you, and you typed away on your laptop, oblivious to the world as a soft melody spilled from your wired earbuds.

Your head shot up when you noticed a foot land on a piece of paper before quickly hopping off, but still leaving a large, dirty footprint on your notes. You pulled out your headphones and looked up, ready to use all of your pent-up frustration and stress to rip the offender a new one, but before you could even start, his panic started spilling out.

“Oh, Jesus. I’m so so sorry. Shit, uhhh lemme just…” He picked up your notes and tried to wipe them off, but the dirt just smeared. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. You can have mine.”

The boy standing above you was tall, his curls flopping over as he moved his head around. You could tell he was lanky under his layered shirts and baggy jeans. He was pretty. You blinked a few times, breaking your train of thought to focus on what he said.

“Are you taking Intro to Psychology?” You asked.

His face reddened slightly, “...No.”

You quirked an eyebrow at the strange man. “Then how could I borrow your notes?”

His mouth opened and closed a few times before a dry chuckle left his lips. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

Your irritation melted at the sight of this awkward man. He obviously didn’t mean any harm, and it’s not like your notes were ruined, just dirty.

“What’s your name?”

“Parker- er, I mean Peter.”

You laugh at his uncertainty.

“Did you get a concussion on the way over here?” you tease.

Again, the man flushes, “No.”

“So which is it?” You ask, “Parker or Peter?”

He blinks a bit, pulling a face like he’s trying to solve a riddle, “Both.”

“You’re name is Parker Peter?” You ask, your confusion only building.

He buried his head in his hands, shaking it side to side, then pulls his hands away and sighs.

“Can we start over?” You nod your head, and he does a little spin, reappearing with a smile splitting his face. “Hi, I’m Peter Parker, and I’m so sorry for stepping on your notes and then making it worse by smudging everything and being incredibly awkward.”

You chuckle, then tell him your name.

“Cool, well, it was nice to meet you (Y/n). I’ll leave you alone forever now.”

He turns to walk away, but you call after him. He turns with a look of surprise on his face.

“You can join me if you want. There’s not many places left to study, and if you’re working, it’ll keep me from getting on my phone.”

Peter smiles at you and takes you up on the offer. You sit in silence for about two hours before Peter gets a phone call. You are only mildly annoyed by the interruption, and Peter looks embarrassed to have disturbed the peace. He gives a “Harry” directions to find him and begins packing up his stuff.

A few minutes later, you noticed a shadow cast over you and looked up to see crystal blue eyes. You hold each other’s gaze for a moment before he finally speaks.

“Hi, I’m looking for a really annoying know-it-all with a skateboard.”

His smile gleamed in the light as he stood over you in a well-tailored dress shirt and slacks.

“Hey! I’m right here, asshole.” Peter exclaimed.

The polished man only broke his eyes away from you then, walking around you and looking to Peter with a teasing smirk. “Oh! Hey Pete. Sorry, I didn’t see you past this beautiful woman.”

Peter slugs him in the arm, and they hug.

Boys, you think as you roll your eyes.

“And this ‘beautiful woman’,” Peter says, “is (Y/n). I stepped on her notes and then made a complete fool of myself. She took pity on me and let me study here.”

You stand as graciously as you can with your left foot asleep. “Yeah, he even offered to replace my notes for a class he doesn’t take.”

Harry laughs, and then his eyes roam over your body. It’s a quick scan, but it makes your heart race.

“Psychology?” He asks.

You look between them, a little surprised. Peter matched your expression. “Yeah, Intro. How’d you know?”

“You hunkered down in the physiology section,” The blond says with a coy smile, “...and I think I’ve seen you in class before. Room 3304 with Professor Markle, right?”

You confirm his memory, and he extends his hand to you. “I’m Harry.”

That day you formed a little study group. You agreed to meet at the campus coffee shop on Wednesdays. You met Gwen, who seemed really nice- albeit a little too put together. You guys all got closer, and you brought up the idea of trying different coffee shops until you found one you all liked.

That summer, you discovered Cafè Luna, Harry’s last name and its significance, about Gwen’s dreams of studying abroad, and that Peter had really good taste in music. You guys would get together and have Harry get you into different bars to see the local shows and drink. Eventually, it became just your and Peter’s thing, as Gwen wasn’t big into the music, and Harry couldn’t get behind the whole “eat the rich” message as much as he wanted to.

Slowly you grew to be very close with Peter. You began to confide in him, and he, you. You learned about how his uncle had passed, and that it was just him and his aunt. You told him about growing up in Brooklyn. You were invited to Hannukah and Birthday dinners. May also had a Christmas dinner, and Harry kissed you under the mistletoe after months of heavy flirting. It was a good year.

And now, Three years later, Peter knew better than anyone when you were peeved. Especially when you dramatically plopped into your chair next to his, letting your bag drop to the floor next to you. Peter also knew that asking you what was wrong was dangerous. Sometimes you snapped, denying there was any problem at all, or you would rant for hours on end (that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but regardless) until you were blue in the face. And with your arms crossed firmly across your chest, he thought it would be more of a snapping response.

He also knew that there were a lot of things that could cause your sour mood. Sometimes it was a simple fix, like a greasy cheeseburger or a walk in the park, but sometimes it was much more complicated. He sincerely hoped it was a simple fix.

“Hey, Led Head.” He tried, testing the waters. This was a nickname he gave you because you love Led Zeppelin.

“Hey, Pete,” You said with a slight bite, but it didn’t feel directed at him. You could’ve been explaining the difference between fettuccine and fusilli, and the chill would remain the same.

“How’s your day goin’?” His Queens’ accent dripped into his words.

He didn’t miss the sarcasm in your “Swell, how’s yours?”

“Eh, can’t complain,” Peter shrugged, tapping his pencil on his desk, “but it looks like you can.”

Just then the professor walked in, and any remark you could have made was silenced as you all tuned into the upcoming lecture.

You try your best to focus on taking notes, but Peter notices the way you’re constantly fidgeting, one hand scribbling and the other tugging on your shirt, your skirt, your socks, etc. This goes on for the whole duration of the lecture, and after watching it go on for thirty minutes, Peter can’t stand it anymore.

You feel a nudge at your arm and look up to see Peter hunched over his desk, leaning in towards you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You huff slightly, annoyed and not wanting to get into it right now. You still had another hour left of class, and you just wanted to get through it.

“Come on, Heartbreaker,” Peter said, charm skating off his tongue. He was pulling out the big guns now. Calling in the “this nickname always makes you feel special, but only certain people can use it, and I’m one of them” nickname. This was a nickname he gave you because you loved Led Zeppelin, that song specifically. “You know better than to try and lie to me.”

Your shoulders deflate as you give in.

“I’m just…uncomfortable.” you settle on.

Peter props his head on his hand dramatically, waiting for you to expand.

“I had a sweater, but now it’s stained– probably forever– with my latte that I didn’t get to finish this morning, and my breakfast is probably still sitting in the middle of the road covered with tire tracks, and my tits are out, and my clothes are tight, and it’s cold, and I feel like I can’t breathe!” You harshly whispered all in one breath.

Peter stifled a laugh, and you slugged him in the arm, now unable to suppress your general irritation any longer.

“Alright, alright,” He says, pushing you away slightly.

“We can get you some food and caffeine after class, but for now,” He pulls off his jacket and hands it to you. “You can wear this.”

You gladly take it, and as soon as you bring it over your shoulders, you’re almost overwhelmed by the smell of his cologne seeping into the fabric. You take an unashamed, long sniff.

“Peter, what cologne do you use? This smells fucking amazing.”

Peter doesn’t answer, just shaking his head with a quiet laugh.

“Seriously,” You say more to yourself than your desk mate, “I need to get Harry some of this stuff.”

You turn your head and see him giving you an “I can’t believe you,” look- a “You say the darndest things” look- and you start snickering. In turn, Peter also starts snickering. This exchange compounds exponentially until you’re both swallowing down full bellows of laughter. Your hand is over your mouth as a few choked snorts seep through the cracks of your fingers. Peter’s fist is pressed firmly against his lips, trying to seal the leak of laughter.

“Excuse me.” Your heads raise, and the laughter in your throat dies at the pointed glare from your professor. “If you’re done flirting, I’d like to continue my class.”

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, embarrassment flooding you as you sank into your seat and pull Peter’s hoodie tighter around you, as if to hide. Peter mumbled out a sorry, seemingly just as embarrassed as you. Your professor looked as if she was holding back an eye roll before turning back to the rest of the room, and continuing her lecture.

You weren’t flirting. Of course you weren’t. And certainly not with Peter, one of your best friends and the best friend of your boyfriend since childhood. And he definitely wasn’t flirting with you. He was in a happy relationship with his high school sweetheart, who was truly an amazing girl- even if you two weren’t particularly close. The mere notion of you two flirting is laughable, improbable, and downright preposterous.

You refused to look anywhere other than the screen your professor projected her slideshow on. You couldn’t focus on the presentation she had no doubt slaved over. You could see from your peripheral Peter looking over at you. You couldn’t meet his gaze.

You were consumed by a tight feeling in your chest and a thought that made you sick. It was just there for a moment; it didn’t mean anything. It flashed across your mind the same way a “That’s a cool shirt” or “Do we need eggs?” might, but you felt guilty regardless.

I want Peter to flirt with me.

It rang through your head- echoing and shattering the contents within. Your hand reached up towards your neck, where a thin ‘H’ rested above your heart. The metal felt warm to the touch; the edges feel sharp enough to slice your skin.

I want Peter to flirt with me.

You didn’t, obviously. That would be weird. It would ruin your friendship. It would ruin your relationship. You didn’t see Peter like that. Sure, he was pretty, and smart, and kind, and a tried and true “momma’s” boy, but you were never into him. And you’re not now.

You took the jacket because he’s your friend. And as your friend, he offered it to you. To make you feel better, because that’s what friends do. They help each other and make sure they’re comfortable. And you were laughing because Peter made a silly face. And it’s funny when you’re friends make a silly face. It meant nothing more. Your professor called it flirting because she was upset, annoyed. Not because it looked like flirting. Not because anyone thought you were flirting. You certainly didn’t. And Peter obviously didn’t think so either. Because he wouldn’t do that. Because you’re just friends.

The kind of friends that would force the other to sit down at a diner nearby because they have the best burger in town. And he’s completely right. Nothing in this world compares to Benny’s Burger Palace.

You've probably seen a place like it though- a retro diner with rounded chrome trimmings on all the counters and tables. Checkered tiling, slightly yellowed from the years. Red, patched booths with the softest cushioning and well-worn vinyl. Benny’s got great shakes, is open twenty-four hours, and always sells breakfast. But they also sell- you guessed it- burgers.

Benny had unfortunately passed away in the eighties. But since then, his son had taken over- Lenny- and the recipe was well preserved. Lenny was a big man with a shiny bald head, and a black apron folded in half and tied around his waist. He was always at the grill with a bright smile readied for every customer and a deep laugh that rattles through your chest. He recognized you guys as soon as you walked in and immediately threw some patties on the grill, telling you, “Your booth is open.”

Your smile was lukewarm, though still appreciative. Lenny, of course, didn’t notice a difference. Peter did. You hadn’t said much since earlier when your professor called you out. You were very vocal, with your joy and your rage, so your near-silent brooding was nerve-wracking. The last time you were this quiet, you disappeared for a few days, then returned with bangs and a new tattoo. Then there was the breakdown a month later that resulted in you breaking up with Harry for two months. Neither of you liked to bring it up, and if anyone asked, you guys had been dating for three years. Peter didn’t even know why you had broken up. He just knew that you were mad, and you ended it.

He had tried several times to spark a conversation with you and was confused as each attempt failed. You met each statement with a half-interested grunt or hum. And now he sat across from you while you played with your sleeves and stared out the window.

“Hey, are you alright?”

You sighed, knowing he was eventually going to ask. You were never very good at hiding when you were in a bad mood. And your mood had worsened since that interruption in the classroom. Peter was your friend, but you realised you didn’t want to tell him what was on your mind- especially when you didn’t know what it meant.

“Yeah, I think I just needed to eat something.”

Peter didn’t quite believe you but accepted the answer, for now.

“And some caffeine?” He offered.

You gave him a small smile and nodded your head. Peter immediately flagged down your waitress to order a pot of coffee.

She returned with a youthful pep in her step, ponytail bobbing and smile gleaming. Her eyes never left Peter as she dropped off the coffee and a small bowl overflowing with creamer, and then she reached across the table to move the sugar towards him. Peter politely thanks her, and she hangs around for a few awkward moments before she finally moves onto another table.

You reach for the (single) mug she brought to the table, tucking your knees up to your chest as you fix your coffee. Once satisfied, you take a sip, the warmth travels from the inside out, and you can tell it’s a strong brew from just a small taste.

You finished your first cup in silence, which was only broken now, by Peter, as you struggled to open more creamer cups.

“So…is there something particular bogging you down…or is it just…a bad day?”

You pause in your stirring, thinking through the best answer.

“Norman stopped by, unannounced, for dinner last night.”

You took a sip, feeling validated by Peter’s sympathetic wince.

You told him all about him ogling you and every passive-aggressive (and not-so-passive) insult he threw your way. You told him about the fundraiser and the fit he threw over the food you had made. When you got to the “Adult Film” comment, Peter interjected.

“Yikes! What did Harry say?”

Your face twisted like you had eaten something sour, and in a way, it felt like you had. As you spoke, you felt the bitter taste the words left on your tongue. You cleared your throat, making sure to “speak with your chest.”

“He didn’t say anything. He watched the food for me so I could go upstairs and change.”

Peter made a face of disgust, but just then your overly bubbly server returned. She placed each burger in front of you, and you ignored that Peter received more fries than you. Again, she tried to speak a little while longer, trying to ignite a conversation not realising she was trampling over the coals already set ablaze.

You took a bite from your burger and you can taste the love and history seared in. As juice starts to trickle between your fingers, you get lost in this perfectly flavoured, flame-grilled patty. It’s so good you could eat it plain. But you don’t because you’re not a psychopath that eats plain patties.

You’re so lost in your delicious burger that you don’t see the distracted way in which Peter is picking at his fries. There’s a question hanging from his slightly pouted lips; confusion resting on his brow. He lets you enjoy a few bites before eventually he decides that he did hear you right and that he needed clarification.

“Wait…Harry didn’t say anything?”

You shook your head no as you swallowed your bite.

“He didn’t say anything?” Peter asked again.

You nodded your head, quickly grabbing a napkin to wipe and cover your mouth.

“What do you say to that? ‘Hey! Don’t say that!’” You scoff, “Like Norman would listen.”

Peter gave you a sad look before muttering a “Yeah, I guess,” before encouraging you to go on. You told him about the rest of the night (or at least the rest of Norman’s stay), before skipping to this morning. You told him about the outfit conundrum and the coffee-breakfast fiasco and when you finished, Peter let out a sigh, letting your words wash over him.

“Damn,” he finally said, “That sucks.”

You hummed an “mh-hm” as you bit into your burger, then insisted that he share about his day around a mouthful of cheddar, beef, tomato, lettuce, and some in-house sauce you desperately wanted the recipe to, but knew you would never get.

As you ate, Peter told you all about how Gwen is getting ready for England- about how stressful it is to get her ready in just six weeks. But also how sad it is knowing that one of his favourite people would soon be living in a different country for a year, and the best he could do was visit.

He told you about how he needed to find a roommate, and he was considering Ned, someone he met at the Bugle, who was apparently pretty cool. He told you about his nightly phone call with May, which was funny, to you, because they saw each other all the time. Seriously. If Peter wasn’t home or at work, he was with May: helping her out with groceries, with the laundry, or fixing anything that squeaked in the house. It was really sweet.

Peter then starts talking about other things, and you chew along as you follow his train of thought down every broken track and blindsiding curve. You honestly feel a lot better with food in your stomach. You forget just how hangry you can get.

But as helpful as that burger was, you knew it was the company you shared that made you feel better. Peter Parker had once again worked his magic, and you felt loads better. He’s making you smile and laugh, helping you forget all the shitty hours before now. Time is now at a standstill. There’s nothing here but you and Peter, in your own little world.

You feel a nudge at your foot and Peter wears a face of faux-indignation. You make your own face that reads, “What do you want?”

Peter fights back a smile, “You weren’t listening.”

You swallow your bite, “Yes I was, you were talking about your essay on some bacteria in the metabolism.”

“No,” he says kicking your foot again, “I was talking about the differences between Acrocanthosauruses and Carcharodontosauruses, but you were too lost in your burger to care.”

He breathes a dramatic sigh, imitating “every woman in a period piece ever” and the very reason he refuses to watch any of them with you. You smack his foot, breaking him from his false wallowing.

“Was there a reason you were ranting about dinosaurs again?”

Peter returns the smack with a kick of his own.

“Well, you would know that I was studying prehistoric plants in my botany class right now if you were a good friend.”

His words hold no ire, instead, they are spoken in a nasally, mocking tone. You kick him back, defending yourself anyway.

“I am a good friend! I’m paying for lunch and letting you rant about dinosaurs uninterrupted.”

Peter kicked your foot again with dramatically furrowed brows but a smile he couldn’t hold back, “I give you dinosaur lessons for free. You should be grateful for all that I share.”

You return the kick, “I am! I loved last week’s lesson on cephalopods-”

“The Nautiloids, specifically.” Peter corrects, swatting at your foot again, “Cephalopods include a lot of things, such as squids, octopi, and cuttlefish.”

You roll your eyes at Peter’s triumphant grin. With no whitty remarks left you smack his foot again, this time a little harder, and stick out your tongue. Peter takes that as a declaration of war, and soon, a game of footsie breaks out. Towards the end of it, your pumping both of your legs as if biking while Peter does the same.

You call a truce when Peter notices the waitress coming back over. Her uniform had changed since you first walked in. Now she wore her hair down, the chestnut waves falling over her shoulders. Her apron was folded over, much like Lenny’s, and her shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show she had cleavage without really showing it.

“Hey, just wanted to check on you.” She says through a smile with way too much teeth, to Peter. Not you. She has only been looking at Peter, this whole time, who is of course, oblivious.

“I think we’re ready for the check.” You say shortly.

The girl doesn’t say anything, just nods her head and promises to be right back. You pull out your wallet, card ready for when she returned. She passed the check to Peter when she returned, once again, ignoring you completely. Peter made a confused face before passing it to you. While you filled out the receipt the waitress tried once again to drum up conversation.

“I’m Margot, by the way.” she stutters out.

Peter is polite as ever, offering his name and his hand to shake.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard you talking about dinosaurs.” You notice the way she’s leaning forward, all but shoving her boobs in Peter’s face. “I just think they’re so cool. What’s your favourite one?”

You felt an anger rise within you. Margot looked to be a few years younger than you, maybe eighteen or nineteen. She’s young and pretty and way too obvious. Couldn’t this girl just leave you guys alone? Were you just fucking invisible? Why couldn’t you just talk to your friend in peace?

Before sweet, oblivious Peter could answer her, you snap, “He’s taken.”

The young woman looks at you with a sort of horror on her face as she straightens back up. She looks between you guys a few times as her cheeks begin to redden.

“Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t realise-”

“No, not by me!” You almost shout.

You want to slam your head against the wall. Why is it that everyone thinks you’re a couple, or want to be? Is being friends so crazy?

“Just in general. He has a girlfriend.” You lamely explain. “Who isn’t me, but is very real.”

She looks at you with a look that could be confusion but you take it as disbelief.

“...okaayyy…” she says as she awkwardly steps away from the booth. You fell back against the cushioned seat, sipping on your coffee as you avoided Peter’s wide eyes. You couldn’t avoid his laugh though. He very obviously thought your behaviour was hilarious. In fact, he voiced just how funny it was that you “defended his honour.” That you chased off the waitress he was too oblivious to notice was flirting with him, all on his behalf.

“You pulled a ‘me’ at the bar!” he choked out between gasps of laughter, clutching his stomach as he fell deeper and deeper into the seat of the booth, referring to all the times he’s had to step in when a guy just couldn’t take a hint.

You didn’t say anything, just stomped his foot under the table until he got the message. You weren’t truly cross with him, merely embarrassed. But Peter got that, because he always did.

And you were always grateful for that. Especially now as your walking Peter back to class as he tells you all about the dinner May is planning next weekend. She was making a five-course dinner to celebrate Gwen getting into Oxford and was super excited about it. It warmed your heart to hear Peter’s impression of his Aunt as she insisted all of his friends were in attendance.

“Seriously dude,” Peter says with wild eyes and a finger pointed in your face, “you have to be there, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You swat his hand away with a laugh and check his shoulder as you walk across the street, and passed the library. Peter laughs along with you and he’s happy to see you feel a lot better.

Your smile is back and radiant, and your sass has returned. Along with that twinkle in your eye, the setting sun makes your irises glitter like river stones. There’s a slight rosiness to your cheeks from Jack Frost’s ruthlessness in these November days. And Peter was tracing the constellations he found on your face- mesmerized by the fables they told.

Halfway through the story of when you stopped believing in Santa Claus, you got a call and both of your wonderment was broken. You can see the health and science building in front of you. But you feel it. A force that pulls you. Like a marionette on a string, you pull your phone from your pocket.

“It’s Harry.”

You don’t know why you sound so sad when you say it. You didn’t mean to say it like that. Through a dead sigh and slumped shoulders. With a subtle drag at the corners of your mouth and a tightness in your chest. But you do feel bad, for not being excited to talk to him. You should be.

You tuck your phone back in your pocket, deciding that you just like spending time with Peter, your friend, and you haven’t gotten to do that often. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to your boyfriend, you’re not avoiding him, you just didn’t want to say goodbye to Peter just yet.

“He can wait,” You say more for yourself than Peter, but you feel like you’ve made the right decision as his smile stretches across his face.

Peter beams and gives you a small thank you as you continue to walk Peter up the stairs. Once to the top, you stand across from one another, just smiling. You wrap your arms around your friend and he returns the favour. You bid him farewell, promising to see him next weekend and he promises to text you later.

You can’t fight the smile on your face. Not when you open your phone again to see four missed calls and two text messages from Harry. Not when you pick up the phone and he lightly scolds you for not answering. Not as he tells you he has the driver circling around the campus because he got out of work early, and wanted to surprise you by picking you up. You can’t fight it when you finally get in the back seat.

Harry grabs at the side of your neck once you’ve settled and pulls you closer to lay a strong kiss on your cheek.

“Did you have a good day?” He asks.

You can’t help but laugh as you tell him that you actually had a terrible day, “But I got lunch with Peter and that made up for a lot of it.”

Harry agreed, “Ole Petey Boy can turn any day around.”

You laughed along, “He sure can. It’s a gift.”

Before you can tell him what went wrong in your day, Harry is telling you about the amazing breakthrough they had at oscorp with a regenerative plant species. You don’t quite understand what he’s saying, but you know it’s good because of how excited he’s getting. And it’s rare to see him express excitement.

He stops talking and looks to you for a response. You gasp, then tell him all about how amazing he is and how smart he is. He smirks, thanking you but trying not to let you see the compliments inflating his ego in real time.

In an attempt to not look so big-headed, he said, “Well, I couldn’t have done it without my researchers- Gwen included. Which reminds me…My father wants to host another gala next weekend, to promote our breakthrough and announce the Marathon.”

Suddenly everything is bad again and you wish life would give you some kind of warning before your neck breaks from the whiplash. Harry notices the way your face falls and offers you comfort in his arms. You curl up against his chest as he absent mindly strokes your hair.

“I’m sorry dear,” he offers, “I know you don’t like the Galas.”

“No, No, it’s not that,” you say with a sigh. “It’s just….May wanted to have this dinner, for Gwen, and she really wanted all of us there. And I promised I would.”

You rest your chin against his chest, batting your eyelashes over your hopeful gaze.

“I’m sorry dear, I’ll be sure to send her flowers and a nice Piedmont.”

Your hopes are dashed. It seems you're going to a gala instead of a Parker family (and friend) dinner.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @andrews-lovr, @barbecuetiddy @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @preciousbabypeter, @princesskittycatofmeowland, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @supernerdycookietrashblr, @tayswiftlovebot, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

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ethereousdelirious · 2 years ago

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Final day, let's GOOOOOO

Sicktember 2023 Day 30

Prompt: Patient Zero

Fandom: Pok.émon

Characters: L.arry, H.assel, R.ika, G eeta

Notes: P.oppy is mentioned a few times as the aforementioned "patient zero" but does not feature in the story

A plague had come to the Paldea League.

Poppy had been the unwitting carrier, drawing them all in with her big, wet eyes and adorable little sniffles. And they were all a bunch of suckers: picking her up, fussing over her, making sure she was as comfortable as possible before her parents arrived to pick her up.

The drama had put them behind schedule on all the work they'd been procrastinating and dammit, it really had been the perfect storm. Overwork, deadlines, and poor time management combining to leave them all helpless targets.

Larry closed his eyes against the glare of his computer screen and coughed into the tissue he'd been holding against his nose.

The coughing had been nonstop, if not from him then from one of his compatriots packed in their sorry excuse for an office. The thin cubicle walls separating them were a joke, offering only the barest suggestion of privacy.

An ear-splitting alarm joined the symphony of coughs, rattling Larry's brain.

"Hey," Rika said hoarsely, "who has the meds?"

Larry sniffled and considered his desk, where a half-empty bag of cough drops gaped at him. "What meds?"

"Uhhh..." A long pause, filled by Hassel's booming dad sneeze. "Fever reducers."

"I have them," Hassel said, and sniffed. His head popped up over the cubicle walls followed shortly by Rika's.

Larry stood as well and regretted it when the room rocked. "Can I grab a couple?" he asked, steadying himself on his desk. Damn. This sucked.

Rika, who had already taken the bottle from Hassel, nodded and shook two pills out into Larry’s hand.

Larry, seeing that he was out of tea, dry swallowed them. “How’s Patient Zero?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Don’t call her that,” Rika said weakly from behind a tissue. “She’s doing better.”

“Kids bounce back fast,” Hassel said, and ducked his head to sneeze behind his cubicle wall.

“Unlike us,” Larry rasped. He swallowed thickly around the sensation of knives in his throat, then glanced down at his monitor. Even after reducing the brightness and maximizing the font size, looking at it still made his head throb like a Machamp was squeezing it. “I need more coffee.”

“You don’t need coffee,” Hassel said. “You need water or a nice herbal tea.”

“I’m sick of herbal tea,” Larry said. He’d never been much of a tea drinker and he must have had at least two gallons of Hassel’s chamomile blend today. Every time he blinked, there was more in his cup, syrupy with the amount of honey added.

“You’re definitely sick,” Rika said, and gave a laugh that was as weak as the joke.

“You guys want anything?” Larry asked. The break room had never been well-stocked, but there was still plenty of tea and honey.

“I’m good,” Rika said, sinking into her rolling chair. She leaned her head against the cubicle wall, looking extra pale and sickly in the cool fluorescent light.

“You look good,” Larry muttered. “Hassel, anything?”

“Please.” Hassel passed over an empty mug. “Could you get me some water?”

Larry would have nodded if he hadn’t been so lighthead. “Got it.”

He picked up his own mug and took a few cautious steps away from his desk. His aching body protested even that slight movement, but he pressed on. Slow, slow, slow. That was the key. Otherwise, he’d surely topple over.

Despite his precarious balance, he took the long way around the mass of desks and cubicle walls in the center of the room, picking up his feet so he didn’t trip over any of Poppy’s toys. She hadn’t had the energy to pick them up yesterday and damned if any of them were going to nag her.

She’d worsened so fast it had been kind of scary to watch-- one second she’d been a ball of energy like usual, the next and she’d been crying, red in the face.

Actually, yeah, it made sense they’d all caught it. There’d been a lot of snot and coughing.

When he finally reached the door to Geeta’s office, he paused to catch his breath. Geeta had made herself scarce after entering late in a storm of breathy, half-muffled coughs. How she was getting through this misery without anyone to complain to, Larry had no idea. She'd barely emerged from her office all day.

Tucking an empty mug under his arm to free up a hand, Larry knocked on the door. Geeta usually kept an open-door policy, but she’d sequestered herself away today.

“Come in,” she said, sounding just as raspy and stuffed-up as the rest of them.

Opening the door revealed more or less exactly what Larry had been expecting: Geeta, her skin a waxy olive color, sat upright at her computer as though nothing was wrong. She wore this shared affliction like an extra bit of clothing, like it was an aesthetic alone.

“Hey, boss,” Larry said, leaning on the doorway.

Geeta continued typing, her screen flashing in the reflection of her glasses. “Hello, Larry,” she said coolly, though her voice was shredded. Pausing, she looked up at him. “How is everyone doing?”

Larry had to double over and cough before he could answer and behind him, Hassel and Rika echoed the sentiment. “Peachy,” Larry choked, wiping his streaming eyes on the back of his tie.

“And Poppy?”

“Rika said she’s doing better already.” Unlike us, he added silently. It really wasn’t fair that the one who’d infected them all was already doing better, but it was Poppy. It wasn’t like Larry could really begrudge her a quick recovery. It had been so heartbreaking seeing her come down sick.

“Good.” Geeta smiled briefly before schooling her expression. “Is there something you needed?”

“M’making a run to the break room,” Larry said, gesturing with the mug in his hand. “Want anything?”

Maybe it was that Geeta’s mask had slipped a little or maybe the fever had sharpened up Larry’s perceptions, but he saw the conflict on her face, the split second of consideration that gave way to her usual stoic smile. “No, but thank you, Larry.”

He surveyed her desk. Cough drops, a half-empty water bottle, some sort of poisonous-looking all natural energy booster drink. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Earlier,” Geeta said vaguely, and resumed typing.

That was as clear a dismissal as any.

Larry turned and resumed his slow walk to the break room.

#ethereous writes #sicktember 2023

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