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dilfartist · 1 year

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A foolish endeavor

Pairing; Yandere Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You manage to snag Miguel’s gizmo and escape to another universe. How long will it take before he, or the spider society, find you?

Word count; 2.8k

Reader description; Female/GN

TW; kidnapping, probably terrible spanish (i did use sources Spanish-speaking users suggested), non-con touching, yandere themes, dark writing.

Notes; {if i mistranslated any of the spanish please do contact me in my DMs. I wanted this fic to be better but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Did not proofread.}

Midnight coated New York in a dark blue hue. Most nights the city lights illuminate the darkness, providing the ability to see. However, the motel you find yourself ambling to is the more isolated part of the city.

Rain poured down heavily, producing cacophonous echoes of raindrops slamming against the concrete. Clad in a drenched hoodie and damp black yoga pants, you scurry to the other side of the street just in time to avoid being hit by the passing truck.

Cigarette smoke and frigid rain overwhelm your senses, mainly due to the cigarette buds scattered on the motel parking lot.

The motel is okay looking. By no means does it look nice, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Guess this is where I’ll sleep tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You take a brief glance at your surroundings. Night overcame the sky, giving the atmosphere a dark hue but the lights gave you a clear standpoint.

Numerous lights hummed irritatingly, not even a minute passed and you found yourself obtaining a headache. You navigate the main office, which is on the left side of the horseshoe-shaped building, and a blue neon sign points in the direction of the office. You started sauntering over, putting pep in your step when the cold rain declined heavier than it did the last five minutes.

Six months ago, you wouldn’t be having this problem. At least that’s what you believed. You could’ve been at your apartment, catching up on a show you’ve failed to complete thanks to your busy work schedule.

Unfortunately for you, doing a task as simple as watching your television, in your home, was truly impossible. Why? Because the earth you roam isn’t yours, to begin with. Your apartment isn’t yours. The job you work isn’t yours. You aren’t certain you even exist in this universe.

You can’t find the strength to complain. Honestly, you’re delighted to be away from the man who stole you away from society.

Miguel O’Hara.

Otherwise known as Spiderman 2099. You know, the superhero.

It must be confusing to hear that a superhero kidnaped a poor civilian. Superheros don’t normally commit unforgivable acts. Regardless, Miguel didn't care. Miguel is aware he is different from other heroes given his beliefs. Abducting you was just one of the many wrongs Miguel fulfilled.

You just wished you knew his motives at the beginning. If you did, you wouldn't have to search for sanctuary. You wouldn't have to lie low in a different universe.

Before Miguel, you lived a decent life that included a decent job. It was a Tuesday afternoon with sunny weather and clear skies. Your friends invited you to a picnic at the park and, for once having a clear schedule you agreed. You recall the sun beaming down on you, overheating your body to the point shade was a necessity. You moved from the picnic blanket to a nearby bent tree. One moment you're enjoying the shade, the next you're falling. Then something transpired. You jerked in the air, something white clinging to the front of your shirt. You felt your body floating in the air, legs thrashing in fear when your body conceded it was in mid-air.

You must have fainted because you have no recollection of what transpired next. What you do remember was watching through bleary eyes as four strangers hovered over you clearly disputing. Currently, you know them by Jessica Drew, Peter B. Parker, the iron spider, And Miguel O’Hara.

The accountability for your well-being somehow landed in the hands of Miguel. In the beginning, Miguel had such a short patience for you, not that he didn't possess an attitude with anyone else, he just happened to have a really short fuse with you.

His explosive temper with you was undeserving. You hardly gave him any reason to blow up. Your presence alone just pissed him off, at least it appeared so.

You avoided him as much as possible; Departing a room when he entered. Ensuring any errands were accomplished before he arrived home, so you didn't have to leave your room to aggravate him.

Then he began to seek you out; popping up wherever you were in his apartment. Alone watching television on the couch? Not anymore. Miguel joined you on the other side silently watching as well. Sitting silently in the dining room eating lunch? Miguel enters with a bowl of cereal, starting a conversation about the day’s news. Enjoy video games and decide to play by yourself? Miguel grabs a controller and questions the rules and certain controls.

For someone who was as snappy at you as a feral dog, he sure did like to invade your solitude.

By the second month of staying at Miguel’s, he found solace in your presence. He became relaxed. Nice even. And then by the fourth month, you became friends. You never visualized being anything other than friends, but unbeknownst to you, Miguel did.

When you first caught the news of Peter figuring out what universe you belonged to, you were ecstatic. After all, the mystery of your universe's number had been the sole reason for crashing with Miguel and not immediately returning home.

You turned to Miguel, asking when was the appropriate time to drop you off. To your astonishment, Miguel’s brows furrowed, and his lips morphed into a grimace, “you will not be returning.” he affirmed.

Miguel shocked not only you, but everyone witnessing the scene. A gauche silence conquered the atmosphere.

You and Miguel stared at each other for a beat, then you voiced your perplexity. “What do you mean “I will not be returning?” Miguel, I need to go home.” you took a step closer to Miguel.

Miguel gazed at you with an uninterested stare. “What I say goes, (Name). And I say you're staying here.” he spun around, returning to whatever he had been working on before. “We all have a busy schedule and dropping you off will only alter it.”

“It’s not worth it,” he said like he was ending the conversation.

“Okay, then Peter can take me home when he needs to drop off Mayday.” you insisted, looking over at Peter to see if he’d be alright with your plan.

No expression was needed for you to catch on to the attitude Miguel began to gain. “(Name), I won’t tell you twice. The answer is no. Now, Peter take her back to my apartment. We’ll speak about the matter later, at the moment there are more important issues happening.”

You found it laughable. To think the minute you stepped into the man's sight he wanted you gone, but now Miguel was fighting you to stay with him. Ironic, isn’t it?

That night you and Miguel, the very moment he came inside his apartment, quarreled for an hour in a half. Your argument being you did not belong to him and could do whatever you pleased. Miguel’s argument was the insignificance of the matter to him.

You detected Miguel’s temper was starting to get out of hand. The way his fists began to clench, the way his brows creased, and the frown deepened after every sentence he uttered. You’ve seen his strength. His fierceness. And you’d rather leave than have any of his tantrums directed at you. Doing what any rational person would do, you attempted to leave the room. You advised him to de-stress before speaking to you again.

Miguel was having none of it. Not even a second passed before you were yanked back by the forearm.

You’re face-to-face with Miguel. Miguel towered over you, looking down at you with his signature red piercing stare. He bends down, momentarily staring at you until he finally speaks. “I can't allow you to leave.” The way he talks is low and if the room weren't already quiet, you wouldn’t have heard him. “I love you,” he confessed, voice cracking, closing his eyes as if it pained him to say it. He opened his eyes again. “And I won't allow myself to lose any other person I care for.”

Pulling twenty dollars out of the torn-up wallet you found on the side of the road, you slide it forward on the mahogany brown table. The fatigued receptionist glances at the money, then gazes at you with an irked expression.

“This isn’t enough.” She states matter-of-factly. She slides the twenty back to you.

You purse your lips, staring down at the cash. Twenty dollars is all you had. What were you to do now? The next nearest motel could be miles away; it was a miracle you made it to this.

Your eyes flicker back to her. You take two fingers pushing it back to her, giving her your best puppy eyes. “Please! I don't have anywhere else to go tonight. If I can’t stay here I’ll have to sleep on the streets.”

You were lying. You would’ve taken off by dawn, needing to be on the move after getting rested.

Her hardened expression softens. She takes a deep breath, eyes studying the money. Shaking her head, she takes the cash. “One night only, alright?”

You propose to her a smile, nodding with gratitude. She allotted you a key. A small golden-greenish key, with the number five engraved on the head. Tonight you’d sleep on the grounded floor of the motel.

The inside was decently prepared, having a dingy tone that gave off a haunted vibe. You hum in displeasure. Two queen-sized mattresses are positioned on the right side of the wall. They appeared stiff, and the blankets laying upon them looked thinner than a sheet of paper.

Sighing, you softly booted the door shut. Flopping down on the nearest bed, you groan at the sensation of the rough mattress.

When tomorrow comes you’d have to find a fresh location. Miguel could continually find your locale, thanks to not only Lyla but the whole Spider society. Perhaps you postponed his search this time. His watch or gizmo- whatever the hell it was- rests on your wrist.

Shifting your head to the side, pulling your hand out of your pocket, you glance at the gizmo.

Tightly clutched in Miguel’s hold, you stare quietly at the ceiling. You debate acting on your next actions. There were times Miguel slept lightly, aroused by creaks in the floorboard. Other times when the sound of glass shattering did not bother him even a little.

Glancing down at the arm wrapped securely around your midriff, you endeavor to gradually lift his arm up. He unconsciously retaliates, arms consolidating, resulting in a small gasp slipping from your lips. You’re quick to rub his arm, to offer him comfort, and to calm him.

It works. Miguel grumbles, his grasp faulting. You carefully move his arm aside, then unhurriedly get up from the bed.

Before leaving the room you observe Miguel. Miguel sleeps soundly, an angry expression inscribed on his face. But he is asleep, so you take your chance while you are able.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, you immediately spot the gizmo on the marble counter. Compared to the technology you have at home, it was top-notched, a huge improvement. Of course, he lived in the year 2099. Obviously, there would be a difference in technology.

You grabbed the gizmo, examining the complexity. From monitoring the spider people using them, you know it’ll take you wherever universe you request. Great. However, you weren’t a spider person. If you teleported in the middle of the air, you couldn't grapple on the closest object with a web. Or claw your way down a building

Fuck it.

If dying meant escaping him, then so be it.

You didn’t really mean that. Every time you went to teleport to a different universe, you cringed retreating your hand.

“Jesus! Alright, I'm doing this!” you softly berated yourself. Bracing for the impact of the possible fall you might face, you shut your eyes tight and twisted the gizmo. “Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground!” you cried.

How long would it take them to find you? How far could you get?

God, being on the run was stressful.

Your eyes flutter closed, plush pillows luling your tired mind. ‘I should get some sleep’ you thought. Warmth spread throughout your numbing body, as you finally permitted yourself to sleep.

When you awake gasping for air, almost as if you’d been suffocating. Instantly you arise, a hand rushing to your chest confirming it still thumped with a beating heart. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat, making your clothes uncomfortably cling to your body. “What the fuck?” you barely uttered, mouth arid.

Suddenly you had a gut feeling to check the window. You stand, groggily walking toward the large window adjacent to the front door. Pinching the hem of the curtain, you haul it aside.

The night is still pristine, the stars glowing in the dark sky. Nothing seems out of place. And yet you continue to have that gut feeling. Look outside, there’s something outside. Your eyes move to the parking lot.

You see it.

Blue and red. Something blue and red is making its way toward the motel. Squinting, you can make out what it is. Miguel. It's Miguel!

“Oh, shit!” you expressed, dropping the curtain. Wasting no time you locked the bottom and top locks. You veered around, frantically searching for a place to hide. You are no fool. Locking the door was simply a distraction; Miguel would tear the door off its hinges in a second.

Hiding underneath the bed is a childish strategy. That and hiding underneath the covers. Still, you drop to your knees, squeezing underneath the bed, using the blankets to cover any spaces revealing you. Pressing the palm of your hand against both your mouth and nose, you listen closely to everything around you.

At first, all you hear is the air conditioning blowing cool air, and the people next door’s baby weeping. Then you hear it. The doorknob oscillation. Your eyes widen, fear causing your breath to hitch. When the door refuses to open, the person behind the door commences kicking in the door. One kick achieves them access to the room. The door slams against the wall, shaking the ground, sending a vibration under you.

“¿Qué carajo?” you know that voice anywhere. It’s Miguel speaking in his native language. A habit Miguel has when he’s angered or stressed. “¿Dónde está ella?” Miguel snaps, striding into the room with anger-powered steps.

You can see through the tiny slit in the blankets, Miguel turning to the table where you placed the gizmo. Miguel picks up the gizmo, putting it back on his wrist.

He shifts his concentration to finding you. He calls out your name, malice dripping from the way he shouts it. He disappears from sight, presumingly moving on to the bathroom. Many things are heard being tossed around. Miguel probably was looking for evidence of you staying here, apart from the gizmo.

You gather the courage to, oh, so carefully stretch your leg out, then proceed to quietly shuffle from under the bed. You waste no time, rushing out the door, feet bare without socks or shoes. The gravel burns the soles of your feet, scraping and imprinting on the skin.

You practically succeeded in leaving the lot until you caught a glimpse of what stalked behind you. On all fours, Miguel sprinted at you, claws scuffing the concrete, like a predator running after its prey.

“Holy shit! What the actual fuck!” you panic aloud, taking your eye off what was in front of you, your mind solely focusing on the man hunting you. Big mistake on your part. A concrete parking block is in your way, but you don’t see it. You jolt forward, tripping over the block, your other foot catching you before you hit the road.

Just when you thought you still had the chance of running away, you’re sorely mistaken. Miguel pounces on you, and the clash of your bodies colliding results in Miguel tumbling down the road, you secure in his arms.

The tumble ends; you’re struggling not to vomit, head resting on Miguel’s firm chest. The world spins. It’s easy to forget your position when the urge to throw up is fresh.

Miguel holds your head, pressing a myriad of kisses on every part of the skin visible, muttering with his eyes closed. “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.” He sounds so frantic, reciting those same words, his tongue stumbling over the utterances.

His eyelids raise, uncovering his red orbs. He presses his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s a domestic stunt that makes your stomach churn. “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.” he huffs, then continues, “I’m happy you’re alright. I don’t know what I'd do if I lost you, mi alma.”

Taking your hand, he places a soft kiss on the back. “Had an anomaly harmed you, I would have ripped their fucking throat out!”

————————

Translations

- “¿Qué carajo?”/ what the fuck?

- “¿Dónde está ella?”/ where is she?

- “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.”/ I should be furious with you, but I'm not.

- “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.”/ thank god you’re okay.

- mi alma/ my soul

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ambrozjas · 4 months

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hiiii could i request sfw sleeping w/ dallas or just relaxing w him in bed 😛

“can you, like, crank your body temperature lower? you’re like a fuckin’ furnace.” a thick new york accent hit your ears, an accent that could belong to someone no other than dallas winston. despite his snarky comments and jabs, he had you snug against his side with an arm wrapped around you and his head turned to the side, his one act of compliance. he knew you hated when he blew smoke in your face.

“i’m not a robot, dal.” you stated calmly, your eyes still closed as you didn’t feel him stiffen under you. if he really had a problem with it, he would’ve shoved you off a while ago.

he simply huffed. you hummed as it got quiet for a bit, the only noise radiating off of the small television in the front of your room as it played an old recording of ‘the andy griffith show’, which dallas only sat through because you liked it so much.

even though he had claimed to hate the show, it never failed to have him sat in front of the tv with his eyes glued to the screen. he claimed it was because, “there’s nothin’ to do ‘round here” but you knew dally. that was just a ruse, another way of accepting a part of you into his life slowly but surely, breaking down the walls he had so carefully placed after sylvia had penetrated them with her unfaithful behavior.

dallas always had an itch, an itch he could never scratch. he wasn’t sure what for or how this itch developed. all he knew was that he needed to scratch it. one way to look at it is; just like someone who couldn’t put sunscreen on their back, dallas could never reach this itch. no matter how much he smoked or stole or got thrown in the cooler, he could never scratch it.

dally could also never shut up.

“at least change this thing? i can’t stand watching—“

you groaned and flipped over out of his grasp, covering your ears and returning back to your fetal position as he chuckled. dallas liked making you tick. it was like a dog cocking its head at a strange noise, he watched you with intense eyes as he studied your facial expressions. dal always took mental notes, even if you didn’t think he did.

dallas leaned back against the assortment of pillows you had displayed on your bed, eyes still glued to you and a smile still evident on his face. maybe you could scratch this itch that dallas always craves to scratch, maybe you can complete the empty space that remained in him. maybe he’d actually give you a chance, he thought.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ stip because why do i always add these metaphors that don’t maje sense in my writng

kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

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lowgothree · 11 days

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 ❞ 𓄼˚ ▍ K.M.

❛ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ━━ insomnia often plagued kate and she swears you’re the remedy. ❜

❛ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 ━━ reader is lowk me coded!! sorry!!! ❜

❛ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 ━━ 625 ❜

❛ 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ━━ this is supa shortttt ❜

YOU COULD STILL VAGUELY FEEL HER LIPS attached to the crease of your neck even posterior to her detaching them from your smooth flesh. her chest pressed against your back, a movie neither of you are really watching playing in the background. you’re two lovebirds wrapped in each other's warmth, her pelvis against your butt as she pulls you even closer. kate’s curious fingertips managed to case their way underneath your sweatshirt to rest over your abdomen –– toasty hands over your cold skin. sometimes, you could forget how tactile kate could be: she could never keep her hands off of you.

“you look so pretty today.” every syllable earnest and for you. the familiar scratch in her voice met your ears and it settled a warmth across your skin. also familiar. kind of like the feeling of her hands on your hips or breath against your face when she stares into your enamored eyes. you feel yourself crawling away from the feeling she forces you into –– that lovey dovey, allconsuming feeling. eyes screwing shut before their focus lands on the television again. your heart pounds in your chest like it’s trying to escape to meet her half way so you swallow it down and prepare your lips for a snarky remark. so i didn’t look pretty yesterday?

“don’t even say it –– you know you look pretty every day.” she reminds you yet again of how well she knows you. instead of just two bodies, you are two sets of hands and harmonious, parallel minds. you chuckle, the sound eliciting her to bare her teeth to you in an enraptured manor. “thank you for coming…”

you breathe out a gentle laugh, pad of your index tracing over her knuckles. “turn over…”

she obeys, albeit reluctantly. your hands meet both her cheeks, feeling how they grow warm underneath your devoted stare. “i’ll be there anytime you need me, kate. even if you just want me to tuck you in.”

“okay that’s not what i asked.” her words provoke laughter to escape the aperture of your lips, leaving a benevolent smile in it’s place once the laughter subsides. “and i actually need you here. cause you’re the cure.”

“the cure?” tender and inquisitive hands knead in her blonde locks, trailing within them and savoring the softness against the pads of your fingertips. her eyes flutter shut, drowning in the waves of her own personal heaven you craft for her with just your touch.

“yeahhhh.” she elongates, austerely shrugging as if what she’s saying makes perfect sense, as if you truly could be the remedy for all her problems –– including her insomnia. “i can sleep when you’re here.”

you don’t argue, instead, opting to humor her. “so somehow me bein’ here will put you to sleep?”

“mhm…” she continues her ministrations, kissing at your neck again with ardent lips. “you always put me right to sleep.”

“that sounds…vaguely sexual.”

“shut up.”

you laugh again, reaching for the forlorn blanket at the edge of the bed, no doubt tossed there as a result of her frustration from not being able to succumb to slumber on her own. you could hear it in her voice when she called you; undeniable vexation.

“i love you.” her voice is barely audible, enervation spreading across her all over. kate licks her lips, barely able to awake long enough to hear you say it back. her languid eyelids slowly rise and fall, letting you know that she’s falling asleep. her arm, slipped underneath you in order to keep you in lovely proximity, will surely be numb tomorrow. she pushes her face into your chest, she’ll never let you go. you don’t mind, nuzzling against the apex of her head.

“i love you too. goodnight, kate.”

#kate martin x reader #❪ 𓈒 𝗷𝗷'𝘀 ━━ 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘀 𓈒 ❫ ✹ꯣ

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curtsycream · 4 months

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hiiiii

i saw your requests are open

Can you do poly price x reader x simon where they all get into an argument (Reader is lonely while they're deployed, she's not getting on their case, just expressing it) and the boys get really defensive and take it a little too far, resulting in reader staying in the guest bedroom for the night bc she doesn't wanna cry in bed next to them. The boys come to their senses and realize they fucked up and there's make up sex? Lots of reassurance and whispers of how much they love you?

Feel free to ignore, just figured I'd pop in :)

Could You Understand?

John Price x F!Reader x Simon Riley

My first COD request I hope I did right. I’m still getting down their personalities and such in writing but it’s a fun challenge. Kinda base level smut. Ps. Would never ignore ❤️

warning: mentions of anxiety (described?), light stomach bulging (I mention it twice I have a problem), double penetration, not proofread at all

Confrontation was never a strong point for her, the idea of accidentally starting a conflict made her cautious with her words. Nibbling at her lower lip she adds the final dish to the washer before closing it. Turning it on she leans against the counter with folded arms. Many times has this feeling of loneliness crossed her mind. Whenever they were gone it was a constant reminder of the fear she felt. She always found herself holding back the words. But it was as if a dam finally broke and she couldn’t help but let them spill.

Making her way into the living room she wraps her arms around herself. It was a first defense similar to showing a dog that you’re not a threat. Her eyes fall onto the two men she loved with all of her being. They sat together with the television on but it was clear they weren’t entirely focused on it. They spoke in rushed tones as if forgetting the rule of leaving work at work. It wasn’t much but it was enough to ensure they wouldn’t dwell on work-related stuff.

Clearing her throat she realized just how hard it was to speak up. It was an odd feeling as she usually found herself talking without much of an issue. When they turned to look at her the words felt stuck, unable to claw their way out of her throat. “We need to talk,” she finally uttered. The words felt hard and cold when she said them.

John was the first to speak though the way his eyebrows creased seemed to verify his confusion. “About what, sweetheart?”

The gruffness of his voice was enough to make her hold the subject off. To instead crawl into his lap and give him a kiss or two. But she knew that wouldn’t solve anything let alone reassure her.

Simon on the other hand said nothing but his eyes were focused on her. And that was enough, it was always the simple things with him. His attention was always undivided, “well..I’ve been thinking a lot while you were both deployed. I just feel alone, you know? It terrifies me knowing you’re both out there and not knowing if that’s the mission that will end with me living my life without you. I—I’ve spent so many nights worried about how or if you’ll make it back to me. Maybe I’m just thinking too much on this but I can’t help but think that way. It’s like my brain won’t allow me to think positively. Like there’s this sense of impending doom when nothing bad is really happening,” she explained.

It was silent for a moment that is until Simon scoffed, the sound seemed to echo in her mind. “And you think it’s any easier on our end having to leave you here? It’s not a friendly thought knowing we’re miles away while you’re here by yourself,” his tone was defensive. It was as if he assumed her words were to evoke a change or start an argument.

“I’m not denying that Simon, I just get so worried that-”

“We understand that you get worried sweetheart, but we can’t change our profession. We spend just as many nights worrying about whether we’ll make it back or not. We have to live through that not you,” John spoke up.

Whether he meant to or not his words seemed to cut her deeper. It was as if her attempt at getting through to them was blocked off by their defense. “I know I don’t have to live through that, but it still worries me when you leave this house. I feel so helpless for lack of a better word when I know you’re miles away and I can’t help.”

Simon shook his head, “how would you even help? You can’t help, you can barely help yourself.”

His words were sharp like that of a knife willingly piercing her heart. Maybe that’s why it hurts more hearing words like that from someone you love.

“I’m not trying to argue with either of you, I wanted to get my point across,” she said simply.

“Then why even bring this up, you always dance around what you’re feeling. We’re not mind readers, there is only so much we can do when you won’t even say what you feel. It’s exhausting,” The words left John's mouth without much of a thought.

Opening her mouth she closes it, her eyes flashing with hurt from their words. “I know you’re both probably just tired from your mission and that’s why you’re acting like this. Just forget I said anything,” she tells them.

She had walked away quicker than she meant to not wanting to say another word to them. She knew deep down if she had she would have started crying.

Placing her hands on her chest she holds back the tears that are brimming in her eyes. She holds off until she makes it into their guest room upstairs. The second she closes the door she lets out a low sob. Sitting down on the bed she wraps her arms back around herself. It was a horrible feeling as if she’d been yelled at. Having people you love downplay your emotions when you finally speak upon them.

Lying down on the bed she curls up her arms still wrapped around her. It was as if she was protecting herself from what was already done. Sobs racking her body as she found no use in calming down.

It wasn’t until they made their way upstairs later into the night that they realized. Simon assumed she would be in bed, their bed. Yet the absence of her presence in the room was like a punch to the gut. His eyes found John’s in the darkness as they stood in the space.

They didn’t have to think before they made their way towards the guest room. The door ajar allowing John to slowly push it open. There she was in the middle of the guest bed curled up. She looked smaller than she should have as if closing in on herself.

John to a step forward which turned into a few then a few more before he was sitting on the bed beside her. His hand cupping her cheek, wet with tears, “Sweetheart..” The utterances of the pet name seemed to work as her eyes opened slowly. Groggy from crying so much as well as sleep she stared at him. It was easy to tell that was what she was doing in the darkness. The tears not yet split made that easy to notice.

With crossed arms, Simon makes his way over to him, “We shouldn’t have—I should have said those things to you.”

She seemed to perk up, it was a first for Simon to say something like that. Not that she expected him to do so often but it was refreshing. “It’s fi-“

“It’s not fine, the things we said to you were uncalled for. You didn’t deserve any of that especially when all you wanted to do was express your feelings. We took our frustration from the mission out on you,” John told her. His thumb caressed her cheek a touch she leaned into without hesitation.

“You do so much for us even when you don’t think you do. Most don’t expect to be greeted at home with a smile and a warm meal. You do everything you can to make sure we’re okay. It’s time we do the same,” Simon says.

Sitting up a bit she looks between the two men with a puzzled look. She didn’t catch on until she had John’s lips on her own. The smell of tobacco and pinewood was strong as she wrapped her arms around his neck. It was comforting yet sensual as she felt Ghost behind her. His lips feverishly trailing kisses along her neck and shoulders.

Her mind seemed to move slower than her actions which was evident when she found herself naked between them. Her hands rested on John’s chest as he lined himself up with her sopping-wet hole. Eager wouldn’t describe what she was feeling especially when he finally thrusted into her. He was always attentive and careful at first, “how’s that feel, sweetheart?”

The words didn’t come but a simple nod followed by a moan was enough for him. Resting his hands on her hips he set a slow and steady pace. One that seemed to draw on the moans leaving her body. “Still so tight for me,” he grunted against her warm skin.

The gentle touch along her spine was enough to remind her of Simon’s presence. The way he was looking down at her caused her to squeeze around John’s cock. A swear left the older man’s lips due to the feeling. Keeping her eyes on Simon she spoke up, “want to feel you both..”

It was new territory something she hadn’t done before. But she wanted to be closer to them in a way soft touches wouldn’t do. “Are you sure, lovie?”

She nodded her head right away at Simon’s words as he seemed to be silently communicating with John. Looking between them she waited for an answer as John continued to thrust in and out of her.

“Okay.”

That was all Simon needed to say before she leaned against John. Her arms were around his neck while her fingers curled around the hair at the base of his neck. Simon held her hip as he pumped himself in his hand before lining himself up with her stuffed hole. It was already a tight fit with John’s cock inside. Willing himself forward he groaned when his cock began to slide inside of her pussy.

Digging her nails into John’s back she muffled her noises on his shoulder. “That’s it sweetheart, such a good girl wanting to take both of us.”

John’s words seemed to calm her down as she felt him pull out some to allow Simon room to fit. She wasn’t fully prepared when she felt both of them inside of her. Neither of them moved, letting her adjust to the new feeling. Resting her hand on her stomach she moved it a bit lower feeling the bulge there. The subtle reminder of just how big John was in girth.

“Oh—please move..” her voice was a gasp barely above a whisper. She had never felt so full before, but oh did it feel perfectly right. Moving his hands up to cup her breasts Simon thrusted into her. At the same time, John pulled out before slamming himself back in.

Groaning from the feeling of John’s cock rubbing against his own as her pussy squeezed them tightly left Simon on edge. “Feels so good,” he breathed the words out.

Her mouth opened letting out a flurry of moans as their paces varied. While John was moving steadily, Simon’s pace was almost erratic. “Fuck—just like that,” she begged no one in particular.

Yet her words seemed to set both men off as they moved in tandem. Their pace seeming to match both went faster pistoning their cocks in and out of her. “So good for us lovie, always so good for us.”

The words of affection caused her to whimper before she felt his lips on hers. The kiss was dragged out and slow only fueled by John’s lips on her throat. The light prickles of his beard on her skin were comforting in a way. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Always so caring and sweet for the both of us,” John’s voice vibrated against her soft skin.

She knew she wouldn’t last long from their affectionate words to their unyielding thrusts. Breaking the kiss between herself and Simon she whines, “So close, please.”

“Please what, lovie?”

The teasing tone he took on made her clench around their cocks. The action caused both men to groan as their cocks rubbed against her gummy walls. “Please let me cum, I’ll be good..”

“You’re always good, sweetheart,” John assured.

“Go ahead, lovie.”

She didn’t need to hear more as her eyes screwed shut. Her mind felt fuzzy as the warmth in her lower stomach began to spread. Gripping John’s shoulders she let out a cry as she came around their cocks with a tremble. However, they didn’t stop not yet at least as they were chasing their highs. To her, it felt like minutes but it only took seconds before they reached their own. Gripping her hips firmly John thrusted his hips up before releasing inside of her. Simon wasn’t too far behind as his cum mixed with that of John’s and hers.

Sighing breathlessly she shifted her eyes to the bulge in her stomach she had forgotten about. She could still see the outline of John’s cock against her lower stomach. But it didn’t last long as she felt both men pull out of her. Leaning back on Simon she watched as John left the room. Her eyes were concentrated on his back before they trailed to Simon.

“Lovie I-“

Shaking her head she leans up her lips pressed against his shoulder. “I’m fine, I guess I just worry a lot when you’re both not here. It’s scary to think something can happen on a mission and I wouldn’t know for a while until the mission ends.”

Simon noticed how shaky her voice was as if the thought of them getting hurt lingered in her mind. Placing his hands on her cheeks he leaned forward until his nose was touching hers. “It is scary, I couldn’t imagine having to stay home and wait for us to return. But I can promise you this, with everything in us we will always try our hardest to get back home to you. That’s how much you mean to us,” his words melted into her mind.

Keeping her eyes focused on his own she nodded her head, “I know you guys will. You always do and I’m grateful for that.”

“And we’re grateful for you,” John chimed in as he walked back into the room. He went straight to her using the towel in his hand to clean her up before pressing a kiss to her stomach. “We will always be grateful for you, I couldn’t picture myself loving anyone else besides the two of you.”

It was comforting to hear words like that from the men she loved. “I love you,” she said her words directed to both men. Pulling her close Simon kisses her forehead as he lays behind her. In front of her was John who also delivered a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, sweetheart. Don’t be afraid to tell us when you’re worried or scared. We promise to think before we speak,” John’s words reassured her.

The same way that Simon’s touch did as his thumb rubbed her hip. “I love you, now get some sleep it’s almost four in the morning.”

That was all it took before she was closing her eyes allowing the feeling of both men beside her to lull her to sleep. She felt safe and protected between them, no longer as fearful as she was before.

#poly!reader #x reader #fluff #poly fanfic #cod 141 #cod smut #cod x reader #john price #price x reader #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #simon riley smut #john price smut #ghost smut #captain price smut #poly 141

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theycalledhimastar · 3 months

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SIMON RILEY ICKS SIMON RILEY ICKS SIMON RILEY-

(Not really icks, just more weird stuff bcs this is funny)

☄. *.

Simon has like the worst acne ever around his eyebrows and nose you won't ever change my mind because I know for a fact he does little more than rinse his face with soap and water. Not even facial soap, man uses body wash or hand soap and thinks that's enough. Like he doesn't wear a nasty balaclava and eye black whenever he's out on mission.

Speaking of which, his mask stinks. Like really bad. Man is sweaty and dirty and gross and those things are not easy to clean when you're constantly busy, so they smell like sweat, dirt, and the worst kinds of bad breath. You have no clue how he wears these when they smell that rank.

Buys off-brand everything because he doesn't really care one way or another and that wouldn't be so bad, except it's literally everything. His toothpaste, shampoo, body wash, deodorant. Man literally doesn't consistently smell like any one thing because he just cannot be bothered.

Like he's loyal as hell to you, but not loyal to any kind of brand. So his smells clash and you swear that mask has made him scent blind.

Baby isn't lazy when it comes to hygiene, like he washes well, just with a new scent and brand literally every time he gets more shampoo.

He has more important things to worry about, okay? Like you.

He has really bad sense of privacy, and by that I mean he doesn't care. When it comes to you, he will literally piss with the door open and not care, even if you walk in. Or, you could be taking a shower and man will literally go in to use the toilet, brush his teeth, and then leave with the door wide open.

he doesn't see the problem, either. Like babes, we live together, may as well be comfortable, right? You're just showering, he's gonna see it all sooner or later.

not to say he doesn't respect your privacy if you tell him its important to you, he still has his private moments too, of course. Truth be told, he just likes being near you even when he's literally using the bathroom. The weirdo.

Looks like he isn't paying attention to the television when you put it on, but literally, he knows more about the show than you do and you don't even realize it. Like he doesn't miss a thing despite not even looking up at the screen.

silly goose, that's because his love language is learning absolutely everything about stuff you like so that he can talk about it with you. Except he accidentally becomes more fluent in it than you because he goes overkill. :3

*This isn't weird, but i know Simon gets grumpy when you call him cute lil nicknames (in moments that aren't serious, of course.). Like his face when you call him ridiculous nicknames (ironically), is so perfect. It's like he knows you love it. (He probably does.)

"Hey Pookie?"

... >:(

He's literally precious sometimes.

#cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #Simon Riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #Crack fic

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dreamescapeswriting · 2 months

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A Gamers Apology ~ HJS

WORD COUNT: 0.9K (I’m so sorry its so short T-T)

GENRE: Angst? Fluffy, reader and Hannie in their own bubble, non idol au, han being cute af, established relationships

PAIRING: Jisung x GN!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - March 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

You sat cross-armed on the couch, your eyes fixed on the television screen where your boyfriend, Han, was engaged in a fierce battle on COD. Your character lay motionless on the virtual battlefield, a victim of Han's relentless skill and precision. You clenched your jaw, your frustration growing with each passing second. How could he do this again? Every time you played the game he would only think of his own missions and take over yours, killing all of the enemies you'd done all the damage to and taking the points for himself.

"Seriously, Hannie? Again?" You finally blurted out, breaking the tense silence that had enveloped the room. Han turned to face you with a puzzled expression, the game playing in the background as both your characters died and it went to a game screen.

"What's wrong, babe? Did I do something?" Your glare intensified.

"Did you do something? You stole all my kills! I was this close to completing the mission, and you swoop in and take them all. It's not fair!" Han's eyes widened in realization and a slight blush began to settle on his cheeks, he hadn't realised until it was too late.

"Oh, is that what this is about? Come on, Yn, it's just a game. I didn't mean to—"

"Just a game? You don't understand," You interrupted, your frustration bubbling over. It wasn't that he'd done it just this once, it was all the times you played together he would do this shit and it was starting to get under your skin.

"You always do this. You always prioritize your own score over everything else, even if it means ruining my experience." You realised you probably sounded childish talking about it but you didn't care.

"Like Pokemon last week, you kept stealing every fight and every Pokemon I wanted and didn't care that I ended up with nothing," You mumbled under your breath, getting up from the chair and heading to the kitchen, needing some space. Han sighed, following after you and reaching out to gently place a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean to upset you. I guess I got carried away in the heat of the moment." You shrugged off his touch, your expression still icy as you slowly turned around to face him.

"That's the problem, Hannie. It's always 'heat of the moment' with you. You never consider how your actions affect others, especially me."

Han hung his head, feeling a pang of guilt wash over him. He hadn't realized how much his behaviour was affecting you until now.

"It's just a game." He grumbled at you, you scoffed a little and turned around to face the window ignoring him. Clearly, he didn't care but you did.

Your frustration boiled beneath the surface as you began to give Han the silent treatment. Despite his attempts to apologize and make amends, you couldn't shake off the lingering feeling of resentment.

Han watched you from across the room, his heart sinking with each passing moment of your icy silence. He had hoped that your argument would blow over, but your continued distance only made him feel more helpless. As the tension in the room became unbearable, he stood up slowly, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to break the suffocating silence, but the words caught in his throat. You stared at him waiting for him to say anything but he just sighed and made his way to the door, pausing for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob, but he couldn't bring himself to turn back to you.

Without a word, he walked out of the door.

Later in the day, Han returned to the apartment, a sense of determination guiding his steps, he'd been thinking of a way to make it up to you all afternoon and he knew how he was going to do it. You'd been begging to go to the Pokemon store for almost a month now to get the new Vulpix plushie they bought out but you'd never had enough time so he bought the biggest one they had. In his hand, he carried a plushie alongside it a bouquet of flowers, a small token of his affection.

You were sat on the couch, your gaze fixed on the television screen but your mind still lingering on the earlier argument, you began to feel guilty, after all, he was right it was just a game but everytime you tried to call him you'd chicken out of it. You were flicking through the channels when you heard the door open, you glanced up, your expression guarded.

"Hey," He smiled at you, walking in your direction and grinning,

"I bought these for you," Your eyes softened as you took in the gifts he was holding, your guilt only weighing you down more.

"W-What for?" Han took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say.

` "I understand why you were annoyed earlier," he began, his voice filled with sincerity.

"I was selfish and thoughtless, and I hurt you. I'm really sorry." You whimpered a little, tears springing to your eyes as you shook your head.

"I overreacted a little. B...But I appreciate the apology." You sniffed as he sat down beside you, your hands clutching onto the plushie as Han smirked at you.

"I did good?" He arched a brow at you and you smiled,

"Baby, you did more than good. I love this," You whispered before kissing him softly.

"I love you, I'm sorry I overreacted Hannie," You breathed out, his arm wrapping around your shoulder as he brought you closer to his chest.

"It's in the past." He promised you, both of you relaxing completely on the sofa together.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lenfilms @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @myyouthdonut @extrhotjne @ca11me3mily @elissasimp @xakx @sleepb @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @kpopmenace143 @minhosify @loveforred @b1nn1e-1s-cut3 @royallyjjk @parkjennykim @piercedddriver

#skz #skz x reader #skz imagine #skz imagines #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids imaginem #stray kids imagines #jisung #jisung x reader #jisung imagine #jisung imagines #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagine #han jisung imagines

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btsugarush · 1 year

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Tracing Your Tattoos | jjk [teaser]

summary: you never expected to reunite with the ex that broke your heart years ago after he disappeared on you during your pregnancy, but here he was in the the flesh, asking for a place to stay.

pairings: ex boyfriend!baby daddy!jungkook x f!reader

warnings: smut, angst, alcohol addiction (jungkook is a recovering alcoholic), exes to lovers, brief violence, fluff, 18+, minors dni

warnings for teaser: DV, strangulation

word count: 922

You let out an airy sigh as you enter your home, relieved to finally kick your shoes from your aching feet. You peel off your jacket, hanging the denim on your coat rack. You notice Jungkook still sitting on the couch, just as he was when you left for work this morning. “Hey, honey.” You greet the brunette. “Hey.” He mumbled, his eyes staying glued to the tv screen. You furrow your brows at his lackluster tone, finding his unenthusiastic attitude off putting as he usually greets you at the door, but you chose not to dwell on it. “Where’s Junior?” You keep the conversation moving, venturing towards the kitchen.

“Asleep. Where else?” He says with agitation in his voice, subtly hinting that he wasn’t quite in the mood for talking. He takes a sip from a plastic red cup that you hadn’t spotted in his hand until now. You sense the hostility in the room, so you decide to address it. “Is there a problem?” You ask the brunette, who still refuses to look away from the television. “No,” he burps. “Do you want one?”

You scoff, throwing up your hands as you refuse to argue with him and his random act of rudeness. You focus on the mess that was left in the kitchen, rolling your eyes. Leave it to Jungkook to make a mess and not clean it up. You grab the garbage from the counter, stepping on the peddle of your trash can, the lid popping open.

You notice an empty glass bottle sitting atop of the heap of garbage, and a frown forms your lips. You throw the trash in your hands back to the counter before you grab the glass bottle from the trash, reading over the label. ‘Jack Daniels’. Your cheeks heat up with rage, and you stomp over to Jungkook, slamming the bottle on your coffee table. “What the fuck is this?!” You shout angrily.

Jungkook finally pulls his gaze away from the tv, looking from the bottle to you. “A bottle.” he replies in a snarky manner. “Yeah, that much I fucking gathered. What’s it doing here?” You cross your arms, giving him the 3rd degree.

“I had a friend from my sobriety class come over, and we had a little drink. So what?”

“So what?! You drank the whole fucking bottle, Jungkook. You’re not supposed to be drinking at all, you’re a recovering alcoholic!” The brunette scowls as though he didn’t need your reminder. “I know that.” He slurs a bit, his voice nonchalant. “Then why the hell are you drinking with your sobriety buddy when you should be attentive to our five year old?”

“You know I’ve had a tough week, so give me a fucking break.” He takes another swig of what was in his red cup, which you could only presume to be the rest of the Jack Daniels. “That better not be alcohol in that cup.” You point to the red solo cup. “And if it is?” He glares at you, his eyes glossy.

You huff, stepping around the table to snatch the cup from his grasp but Jungkook is too quick, moving the cup away from you. “Jungkook, give it here.” You demand, reaching for it once more, though it was all to know avail. Fed up, you smack the bottom of the cup, watching it fly out of his hand and hit the floor. “What the fuck is your problem?!” He bellowed, abruptly standing up from the couch.

“No, what’s yours?!” You size him up, not backing away just because he towered over you. “You promised me you changed, but here you are drunk with our son only in the next room! You’re fucking hopeless!”

“I’m hopeless?” He chuckles. “If I’m hopeless then you’re pathetic. Having that damn kid when you know I never fucking wanted him in the first place!” He spat. You felt a pang in your chest, your eyes watering a bit. You refused to let them fall though. Instead you pull your hand back and slap Jungkook across the face. The brunette’s head turned upon impact, and you could see him bite down on his lip ring.

Before you’re able to process what you’ve done, Jungkook lunges at you, knocking you down onto the couch. He straddles you, his hands flying around your throat. You struggle to get him off you, your fists pounding against his chest. The struggle only makes him squeeze tighter, your eyes watering as you lose oxygen.

“Daddy?” The sound of your son’s voice rings in your ears; Jungkook’s grip suddenly loosens, and he finds himself pulling away from you. The look on his face is a look of terror, shame, and sadness as Junior stands there in confusion. Though the child didn’t understand what was going on, it was the mere fact that he was witnessing his father strangle his mother, and that made Jungkook sick to his stomach.

Jungkook looks from the five year old, to you, lying there trying to catch your breath. He runs his fingers through his hair, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He shakes his head, standing up from the couch and darting to the front door. He puts on no shoes, or jacket, just opens the door and leaves you there alone with Junior. You sit up from the couch, the tears you wouldn’t let fall finally did so.

Junior approaches your shaking frame, looking up at you with worried eyes. “It’s okay, mommy.”

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fuckyeahisawthat · 11 months

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If you see Good Omens s2 as a bridge between the end of s1 and a s3 plot that, it seems, will revolve around [spoilers below]

Aziraphale and the second coming (in a parallel to s1 being about Crowley and the Antichrist) then a lot of things make sense, and actually I think this is one of the only routes they could have taken that would seem remotely plausible.

Because how the fuck do you get Aziraphale back in Heaven after the events of s1? Both you (a writer who wrote s1 as a self-contained adaptation of an existing work, having no idea if there would be future seasons) and you (Heaven within the world of the story).

In the book verse, I could see this playing out as a sort of “you thought you were happily retired and then they pulled you back in for one last job” situation, and I think that could have worked. Because book Heaven and Hell seem to end the story basically agreeing to forget Aziraphale and Crowley’s numbers out of sheer embarrassment, and that works in the world of the book because Heaven, in particular, seems to forget Aziraphale exists at least 80% of the time anyway. Book Heaven is mostly notable for its absence. We recognize their hypocrisy in claiming to be the good guys while mostly doing the exact same shit as Hell with better PR, but in the book Hell seems like the side that’s more dangerous and actively intrusive in Crowley’s life.

But TV Heaven and Hell are terrifyingly, oppressively present in Aziraphale and Crowley’s lives, and both of them very recently (in immortal being terms) tried to execute their respective agents for treason, and still don’t understand why they failed. This raises the stakes and the threat to their relationship enormously, which works great in a television drama where their relationship is much more of a focus than it is in the book. But it also makes it much more difficult to imagine either of them going back to their respective sides after the events of s1. They made that choice already.

So what do you (writer now trying to solve this problem for s2 and potentially s3) and you (Heaven, trying to come up with a way that Aziraphale would walk back into his former prison willingly) do?

You offer Aziraphale the one thing he can’t refuse, the thing he still doesn’t have, even now after Armageddidn’t and surviving the trials and 4 (?) years of living more or less openly with Crowley around. You offer him safety. Safety for himself and Crowley, together.

We know it’s a trap. We know what Heaven is offering is not safety, but control. But Aziraphale hasn’t gotten there yet. We understand why Crowley sees it as a rejection and an insult. But to Aziraphale it’s an offer better than he ever thought was possible to receive.

He thought, all of s1, that he would have to choose between following Heaven’s orders and saving the world and his relationship with Crowley. And he made his choice. Now someone is telling him he can have both? Love and acceptance from Heaven for him and Crowley, and the power to make things better? And when he realizes Crowley won’t come with him…well, maybe at least from Heaven he will still be able to protect him, even if he’s not by his side.

And you know what? I bet, in the short term, this is going to only make him double down on his “it was just a few bad angels” justification for the way Heaven behaved. Because this offer is coming from the literal voice of God. Maybe it even reinforces the idea that God didn’t want Armageddon to happen at all, that Aziraphale and Crowley and Adam and the Them actually were doing her will by stopping it. Because now Aziraphale is being invited back in, with more authority than he ever had before. And they invited Crowley (who he always believed was Good) back in too.

He doesn’t get it yet, that Crowley is right. That you can’t reform Heaven from the inside, because it is not and never was the good side. Because there is no good side.

Aziraphale hasn’t figured that out yet. But he will.

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens s2 spoilers #aziraphale #heaven

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youledmehere · 2 months

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THE ONES WHO LIVE EPISODE FOUR: WHAT WE

[WRITTEN BY DANAI GURIRA]

-> Vulture: After some tedious lies and deceptions, in Michonne’s words, they needed a time-out. That’s exactly what they get in one of the best stand-alone episodes in all of The Walking Dead. (…) It’s like watching a two-person play, which makes sense, as the episode’s writer, Danai Gurira (Michonne herself), is an acclaimed and Tony-nominated playwright (…..) “What We” is not a bottle episode. Multiple sets in a single location, two characters with an internal conflict, and the special-effects budget make it a “Suitcase” episode. Editors Rating: 5 stars

Bloody-Disgusting: Andrew Lincoln once again showcases a masterclass of acting as Grimes cycles through his damaged psyche, desperately trying to figure out how to connect with Michonne. Gurira matches Lincoln’s emotional performance, evoking Michonne’s desperation and anger with authenticity. Letting Gurira take over writing duties for this specific episode proved extremely beneficial given the emotional legwork the character trudges through in this particular installment. If there’s anyone who can understand Michonne the best, it’s Danai Gurira.

The Hollywood Reporter: As the writer of the episode, Gurira felt she clearly understood Michonne’s arc, but she wanted to make sure her co-star and fellow executive producer Lincoln had enough meat to sink his teeth into, as well. “You want to give an actor like him everything you can,” she says. “Andy’s such a fantastic actor who throws everything into it. I was keen to give him that workout.” Lincoln added to THR, “It was thrilling to do all of this with friends, but Danai had one heck of a role as well as showrunning the fourth episode as an added responsibility. I thought the work she did on that was an astonishing testament to her skills, especially because apparently she only needs two hours a day to sleep.”

Den of Geek: To call it a bottle episode is dismissive. Certainly, there’s one major setting, and most of the episode contains little in the way of special effects (by the standards of the average Walking Dead Televisual Universe show). However, most bottle episodes aren’t this interesting, or this gripping. “What We” feels like The Walking Dead taking a stab at doing a spinoff of the Richard Linklater Before trilogy, not wallowing in the usual zombie action or soap opera frippery. It’s almost certainly going to be polarizing, but it’s one of the most captivating, emotionally-deep episodes of television from this universe, and it’s all down to the powerhouse that is Danai Gurira.

SpoilerTV: “What We” is a captivating exploration of love’s transformative force. Rick and Michonne shed their pretenses, abandoning deceit to forge a profound reconnection. Andrew Lincoln’s performance brilliantly resurrects Rick from the abyss of a living man who is dead inside, courtesy of Danai’s masterful writing.

Bleeding Cool: But it’s Gurira pulling double duty that deserves all of the attention and tons of praise. Proving that she knows this couple and their dynamic better than anyone, Gurira presented us with what felt like a real couple going through the problems with real reactions- even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. I know that reviews can sometimes go to the extremes-positive or negative- but in the case of “What We”, we have an easy contender for one of the best single episodes of the franchises run.

#acting was amazing. writing was amazing. 10/10 #richonne #the ones who live #rick grimes #michonne #andrew lincoln #danai gurira #*

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the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 9 months

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The Only Tally Mark

Ship: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: The 'You Suck' tallies are getting pretty high, but there's a girl in Scoops Ahoy who knows Robin in wrong. If she can just get the courage to open her mouth, Steve's luck is about to change.

Word Count: 7,250 words

Warnings: Robin's a bit mean, she also has no filter, pining, Steve's failed flirting attempts, blatant staring/pining, implied confession, first kiss

Note: Set pre-s4 and the day Dustin comes back, before the Russian code is cracked.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

July had only just begun in Hawkins, and you could already tell it was going to be a hot one. Less than twenty-four hours in, temperatures had already hit record-breaking highs—at least, that was according to the weatherman on the television you were sat in front of, sweating and feeling relief from the heat only when the fan beside you swiveled back toward you.

“Every July is this hot,” your father said from the kitchen, where he was drinking his second glass of water in five minutes.

“Oh, sure, but never this early,” your mother retorted. “It’s only the first, and already we’re melting out of the house.”

Sensing an irritable argument birthed from the nearly unbearable heat, you left the living room and headed up the stairs to your bedroom. You picked up the phone you’d begged your parents to let you have years ago, dialing the number of your best friend of four years: Robin Buckley, the band dweeb to your theatre kid.

It was her mom who answered the phone, several dial tones later. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Buckley—is Robin home?”

“Oh, hi, sweetie! She’s at work right now, her shift ends at seven.”

You stopped yourself from swearing. “Oh, right, I forgot. Thank you!”

“No problem, dear,” Mrs. Buckley said before hanging up.

You leaned against the wall. How could you have forgotten? Robin had been telling you about her new job in the mall—and the sailor’s uniform she had to wear. You’d seen her get ready for work once and had burst into giggles the moment she put the hat on her head.

You glanced at the digital clock next to your bed, checking the time. There was still several hours before the mall closed. You might as well visit Robin and abuse your friendship to get some free ice cream at the same time, right?

So you grabbed your wallet and shoved it in your pocket and bounded down the stairs.

"Hey, I'm going out!" you shouted to your parents.

"Where do you think you're going, young lady?" your father asked, appearing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen.

"To the mall? Robin works there and I'm going to visit."

"Don't spend too much, dear!" your mother called.

"Sure, Mom!"

You hopped in your car and headed for the mall, following the thick cluster of traffic that always lined the streets leading to the mall, passing through the streets lined with empty, hollow shops.

~❊~

The mall was crowded, as busy as it had always been since the day it opened. You pushed your way through the crowds gathered around storefronts and display windows, trying to remember which floor Scoops Ahoy was on.

You took the escalator down to the first floor and scanned the shops surrounding you. When you spotted the sign for the ice cream store, you headed toward it, maneuvering past a group of pre-teens cackling about manipulating the store's workers into giving them free samples.

There was no one at the counter when you walked in. A majority of the tables were occupied by groups of teens. As you approached the register, you could hear faint bickering from behind the pebbled glass windows, Robin's distinct voice floating out to you.

"...do the job you're supposed to do, I've been scooping so much ice cream my hand's cramped," she was saying.

You stifled a giggle and tapped your hand lightly against the bell in front of you, wincing when it was a little louder than you had been expecting.

The swing door on the left opened with a bang, revealing the back of a boy who was gesturing at Robin, who was quite literally pushing him out the door. She disappeared before you could catch her attention, and the other attendant took up his place in front of the register.

"Ahoy, sailor! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captain, I'm Steve Harrington."

You blinked at him. "Is that company policy like the hat and the outfit?"

He stared at you. "I'm sorry, what?"

You shrugged. "I'm a friend of Robin's, she complains about the, and I quote, stupid company rules that make everyone look stupid."

He stared at you. You stared at him. Awkward silence settled between the two of you.

The introduction hadn't been necessary. You had spent most of your high school experience listening to Robin complain about Steve Harrington and his stupid perfect hair and his stupid easy charm and his stupid actual stupidity. The Steve she'd painted matched up perfectly with the kid you'd seen around in the halls, dressed in his ironed polo shirts and pleated khakis or that stupid basketball uniform and letterman jacket—and Nancy Wheeler on his arm.

You and Robin had watched his life crash and burn with malicious glee—and all the while you had tried to ignore that this was the very same boy you'd crushed on in middle school, and had been so shocked to find out had changed so much when you got to the high school, a year after he did.

Steve cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the register, firmly away from you. "Um. What can I get you?"

"Uh..." Every ice cream flavor you had ever liked instantly disappeared from your head. It wasn't like the usual mind-blankness that came from being asked a question about your favorite anything. It was like your entire body had stopped, freezing in the pretty face of Steve Harrington, ridiculous as the uniform was. Especially with the hat, which Robin hadn't told you about.

The door swung open again. "Jesus, Steve, what's taking you so damn long?" Robin froze where she stood. A smile lit up her face. "What are you doing here?!"

You grinned. "Visiting!"

Robin hip-checked Steve out of the way. Steve glared at her while she grabbed the ice cream scoop from the pocket at his side.

"Jesus, do you have to be so brutal?" he snapped.

Clearly fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Robin turned back to Steve. "I'm sorry, would you please get out of the way so I can serve my best friend? Thanks," she said, her customer service smile plastered to her face.

Muttering under his breath, Steve pushed away from the counter, leaning on the sill of the window behind him. He crossed his arms, still staring resolutely at the floor.

Robin grinned at you. "I wasn't expecting you to—"

"Be here?" you finished. "I called your house before I realized you were working, so I thought I might as well come visit."

"Glad you did," she said. "You would not believe how much of a headache it is working with dingus over there."

You glanced over her shoulder at Steve, his pink lips forming a pissy pout. Oh, yeah. Still pretty, still a bitch.

"You didn't tell me you worked with him," you said under your breath.

Robin shrugged, shooting you a knowing smile. "Yeah, well, I knew you'd show up and find out for yourself eventually." Her eyes slid to the corners, as if she could see Steve sulking behind her. "We'll talk about him later. What ice cream do you want? On us."

You giggled. "How did I know you'd say that?"

She snorted. "Oh, so you're abusing our friendship for free ice cream?"

"Maybe," you said. "Just this once."

Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed an ice cream cone. "Here—I'll grab your favorite."

And, without you needing to remind her, she lowered the scoop into the tub of ice cream that you got every time the two of you had gotten ice cream after going to see a movie, back before the mall. You wondered how you could have forgotten, until you looked over Robin's shoulder again and found Steve looking up, lips parted and eyes fixed on you. The minute you caught his gaze, he blushed and looked away.

You took advantage of his embarrassment, admiring the pink in his cheeks and how he awkwardly licked his lips. He toyed with the watch on his wrist, crossed and uncrossed his legs. Was he nervous? An even better question—had you ever seen Steve Harrington nervous before?

While you studied Steve, Robin made a second cone of ice cream, a different flavor than yours.

Robin looked behind her. "Hey—man the counter, will you? I'm going on break."

Steve spluttered. "You just came back from break!"

"No, we just finished our lunch break. I still have my federally-required thirty minutes to take. So I'm gonna take 'em." She shoved the scoop at Steve's chest and stepped out from behind the counter.

The pair of you took an unoccupied table near the counter, in case she was needed.

"Should you be leaving him to do it by himself?" you asked, glancing back at Steve one last time.

"What, are you worried about him? He'll be fine," Robin said. She shrugged with a sigh. "He's...he's not as bad as we thought he was in high school. He's less of a douche now, at least."

"Just a dingus?" you asked with a smile.

She nodded. "He's still as stupid as we always thought."

You turned your attention away from Steve at toward your ice cream. "Why didn't you tell me he worked with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Let's not have that conversation while he's here, okay? For your dignity's sake. I know he's far away, but he's got impressive hearing." She shrugged. "Blame it on four years of listening for gossip, I guess."

Your gaze shifted back to Steve as he raked a hand through his hair, stretching enough for his shirt to lift. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you crossed your legs. Now that he wasn't surrounded by assholes who mocked you and Robin and your friends for their own personal entertainment, it was easier to appreciate how he'd grown into himself since middle school. Taking care of himself had made him a whole new level of handsome.

Robin giggled. "Yeah—that's why we're not gonna talk about this while he's around. You still have a thing for him, don't you?"

Steve relaxed against the countertop, fixing his hair and putting the hat back on with a scowl. You cleared your throat.

"I was hoping you'd forgotten about that."

"Me? Forget about you having the most embarrassing crush on him for years? Only to get to high school and find out he'd become a dick? Never."

You groaned. "Oh, stop rubbing it in!"

A gaggle of girls walked into the store, four of them giggling and talking and rolling their eyes. Immediately, Steve stood up a little straighter and fiddled with his uniform.

Robin snorted. "Oh, watch this. He's been failing catastrophically with every girl that walks in. I keep count."

"You keep count?"

She nodded gleeful, pointing with her chin in the direction of the counter.

"Ahoy, ladies!" Steve said, leaning on the counter. His attempt to be attractive failed dismally, however, when his hand slipped off the side and he lost both his balance and his composure for a moment.

One of the girls giggled with her friend. Steve's cheeks darkened.

"I'm Steve Harrington, I'll be your captain on this ocean of flavor. What can I get you lovely ladies today?"

You glanced at Robin. "I don't see what he's doing wrong."

"That's because this is scripted," Robin whispered back.

The first girl stepped forward. "One scoop of chocolate and one of vanilla, please."

Steve tried a debonaire smile. "Oooh, classic, I like it. I'm all for vanilla myself, you know, all the time."

You winced. "Was...was that supposed to be a double entendre?"

"Yep," Robin said, popping the p with a smirk.

"I see what you mean now," you said. The girl was making a face that said she caught Steve's drift and found it rude. Steve cleared his throat and moved on, scooping ice cream into a cone and handing it to her with a mortified whisper of "here you go." His gaze flicked over to you and Robin, at which point his mortification seemed to grow.

You watched the exchange grow steadily worse. Steve stumbled over his words and tripped over his feet and dropped an empty cone twice. Customers who had already gotten ice cream became onlookers who left, one by one, as the secondhand embarrassment grew.

"God, he's hopeless," you whispered. "Whatever happened to the Steve in high school?"

"You mean the one with a new girl on his arm every week? I'd say that stopping can be blamed on one Nancy Wheeler," Robin said.

You rolled your eyes. "While they were dating, obviously. But now? One relationship shouldn't make him incapable of flirting with a girl."

Robin watched the girls leave, snickering behind their hands. A moment later, Steve groaned, wiping a hand over his face. "You know what I think his problem is?"

"What?"

"He's trying to flirt all of them into submission, not just one girl he likes out of the group."

You nodded slowly. "Sounds about right. I mean...if he flirted with me one minute and then you the next, I don't think I'd want to jump his bones, exactly."

Robin rolled her eyes. "What are you talking about? You've always wanted to jump his bones."

"That was middle school, and that was before any of us gave a shit about sex."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Robin teased. "I saw how you looked at him during gym class."

You shrugged, trying to hide your face behind your hair. Robin knew your expressions better than anyone; your embarrassment was going to be obvious the minute she caught sight of you. "It's gym class! Guys don't wear shirts ninety percent of the time, they practically invite girls to stare." Your gaze slid back to Steve, who was once again staring at the floor. His cheeks were still red, and that pretty mouth of his had once again formed a pout. "Jesus, I don't think I've ever seen him so...despondent."

"He's like that at least five times a shift," Robin said. She played with a small red plastic spoon she had pulled from her pocket. "You know... You could come work here with us. Then you'd get to see Steve every day."

"Robin, you're constantly complaining about how much you hate working your, and I quote, pitiful minimum wage job."

"Yeah, but you like Steve, and eye candy makes the day go by faster."

You swatted her arm discreetly. "Don't objectify him!"

She rolled her eyes. "Hey, Steve!"

Steve looked up so quickly you swore you heard his neck crack, even with some distance between your table and the counter. "What?"

"Come convince her to work with us!"

You glared at her. "Robin, I already have a summer job!" you protested, trying to stop your heart from racing as Steve approached the two of you. You looked anywhere but him, knowing a soft smile and a well-timed flutter of his eyelashes was all it would take for Steve to convince you to do anything he asked.

Steve pulled a chair from the other table for two next to you, spinning it unnecessarily in his hand and dragging it to the edge of your table. He straddled it, leaning his arms against the backrest. Your heart climbed into your throat.

Steve's eyes met yours and every thought melted from your brain. Brown had never been such a pretty color. Although his eyes weren't just brown, they were hazel, mottled with soft greens and blues and greys. You'd never seen such beautiful eyes before, so expressive and kind and interested and attentive and—

"Tell her why she should come work with us," Robin said, breaking your focus on Steve's eyes.

You rolled your eyes. "Robin, I already have a job," you repeated. "A job I like that pays well that I can work at year-round."

Steve snorted, shaking his head absentmindedly. "Then don't come here, that's for sure. The pay is shit, the job is just as bad, and nobody likes ice cream in the winter."

Robin glared at him. "What part of convincing her do you not understand?"

Steve shrugged, ignoring her. "But, then again, you'd get to work with Robin and you might alleviate my boredom from dealing with her all the time." He jerked his head toward Robin. "You wouldn't believe how mean to me she is."

You stifled a giggle as Robin huffed. An easy grin reminiscent of the king he once as slid across Steve's face. You felt slightly giddy, knowing you had been the one to put it there.

More people walked into the store and Robin shot to her feet. "Come on, dingus. We have a job to do." She dragged him to his feet, ignoring his hiss of complaint. He shot you an apologetic shrug as she pulled him behind the register again.

While the two of them got back to work, you sat back in your booth table and finished your ice cream. Once you were done, you discreetly snuck out of the store, leaving a note for Robin at the counter promising to call her after her shift.

As you wrote the note and taped it to the register, you failed to notice Steve pause where he was scooping ice cream to watch you, or that his gaze stayed on you until you left the store and Robin had to snap him out of his reverie.

~❊~

Though it seemed utterly impossible, the next day was even hotter than the last. You lasted all of two hours at the community pool before you got tired of the screaming children and moms flirting with Billy Hargrove and you went home.

You changed out of your bathing suit, dressing more consciously than you had since the eighth grade semi-formal. You selected your jewelry carefully before hopping in your car and heading to the mall for a second time that week.

Scoops Ahoy was significantly less busy when you walked in. Robin looked half-asleep where she stood at the counter, but she brightened when you walked in.

"You just couldn't stay away, could you?" she asked, leaning on the counter with a grin.

You shrugged. "It's hot, ice cream is a solution."

She studied you for a moment. "The pool didn't solve that?"

You scoffed. "Hell no. It's full of tiny children and middle-aged moms and girls who only go so they can take up space and stare at Billy."

"And there's no Steve there, is there?" Robin teased.

You rolled your eyes. "No," you admitted. "Or you."

Robin scooped your ice cream and passed it to you over the countertop. "He'll be back soon, his break ends in a minute. He went to go grab us food."

"He what?"

Robin shrugged. "Yeah, he does that a lot. I hate to say it, but he's actually a nice guy. I think we might have been wrong about him."

You grinned. "So I was right back in middle school! I told you."

Robin rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you did." She cleared her throat. "Behind you."

You heard Steve's footsteps approaching a split second before he said, "Hey, you're back! Applying?"

Turning to face him, you snorted. "Absolutely not. I'm here for ice cream and ice cream alone."

Steve frowned. "What are we, chopped liver?" he asked, gesturing between himself and Robin.

"I'm surprised you know that phrase," Robin said.

Steve made a face. "I do know some things, Robin." He turned back to you. "I told you she's mean to me."

You laughed. "She's mean to everyone sometimes, it's nothing personal."

"Yes it is, dingus," Robin said, and you remembered she had plenty of reasons aside from Steve's years mocking her and her friends to be angry with him.

You just shrugged at him when Steve looked at you for guidance. He copied your shrug and passed Robin a plastic bag that smelled heavenly.

"If I'd known you were coming to visit, I would have gotten you something," Steve said apologetically.

"Oh, it's fine," you promised. "I've got ice cream." He smiled at you, his laughter shining through. "Honestly, I'm surprised you two don't exist off of ice cream."

"We used to," Robin said.

Steve nodded. "It got pretty tiring after a week. It's like when they told us in health class that energy from sugar doesn't last very long. Or something like that."

Robin squinted at him. "You can't remember enough of high school to get to college, but you can remember health class?"

"I remembered enough to graduate," Steve mumbled, cheeks turning pink once again. You were starting to get used to Steve's embarrassment. It was as cute as he always was.

"Stay and eat with us," Robin said, turning back to you. "I'll split my fries with you. You did remember the fries, didn't you, dingus?"

"Of course I remembered the fries," Steve snorted. He dropped the Closed for lunch! sign on the counter and held the swinging door open for you. You thanked him as you walked by, aware of his eyes following you.

You sat in the seat Robin pulled out for you and finished your ice cream before stealing some of the previously offered fries.

"I think we're closing early, Robin," Steve said, glancing out the cracked window. "We've had, what, three people all day?"

"Four if you count the Radio Shack employee across the way," Robin said. "But I don't, because they get it for free."

You frowned. "Do I not count as a customer because you give me ice cream for free?"

Steve shook his head a bit too quickly. "No, you count, Robin just doesn't like the Radio Shack employees."

"Because they're rude," she complained. "They complain about everything and change their minds three times—but always after you've already started scooping, and even when you're done, they don't like it!"

"Sounds like a regular day in customer service," you said, feigning cheerfulness.

"Yeah, a shitty day," Robin said.

"Where do you work?" Steve asked. "I don't think I've ever asked."

"The record store down on Main," you said.

"You know, the one I said I had been planning on working at," Robin said. "But Scoops hired faster."

"Maybe we should switch jobs," Steve muttered.

Robin snorted. "Yeah, like that'll go over well."

"The store won't hire more people, anyway," you cut in. "It got rid of most of the staff, especially the new people, to cut costs because of the mall."

"Is there a record store in here?" Steve asked.

"No, but there is a Sam Goody and a Camelot Music in the mall. We used to have a partnership with the Sam Goody on Main, but then it closed due to the mall, and we started losing business to the one in the mall." You sighed. "I hear about it all the time. It's all the owner ever talks about these days."

Steve munched on a fry, staring at you as you spoke. His eyes were stuck firmly on you. You tried not to squirm under his intense gaze.

Robin leaned back in her chair. "One of these days, I'm gonna visit you at work instead."

You rolled your eyes. "If you ever have a day off," you said.

"Kinda hard to have a day off when we're the only two working here," Steve said.

You nodded. "The constant problem of being short staffed."

"That would be solved if you just came and worked here," Robin muttered into her wrap. You rolled your eyes again, stealing another one of her fries.

"No, Robin."

Robin harrumphed and took a bite of her sandwich more viciously than twas strictly required.

Steve faked a pout. "You just really don't like us, do you?"

"She doesn't," Robin agreed, smirking. You knew that smirk; she was going to do her best to guilt trip you—using Steve, which was perhaps the only way to guilt you into doing what she wanted.

You rolled your eyes. "It's got nothing to do with you, I promise."

"Ouch," they said in unison.

You frowned. "What are you, the same person?"

They both shrugged.

"Alright, that's just weird," you sighed. You glanced down at your watch. "How long does your lunch break last?"

"Thirty minutes. Why?" Steve asked.

You shrugged. "Wouldn't want you to get fired because I'm here distracting you."

Steve propped his head up on his hand. Stray curls of hair fell into his face. Your heart twisted in your chest. He was beautiful. How could he be so beautiful?

Robin watched as you and Steve stared at each other. You were aware of her gaze bouncing back and forth between the two of you, observing the way you were melting under his gaze, your lips parting the longer he looked at you, the barriers you'd put up slowly crumbling. Steve was no better, staring at you with open, asking eyes. He moistened his lower lip with his tongue and it took everything in you not to whimper.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the look on Robin's face—the look of disgust that crossed her face every time she was disgusted by public affection from straight couples. Your heart did flips at the sight of her expression.

"Would you guys stop that?" she groaned, getting up from her seat.

"Doing what?" Steve asked, still looking at you. You tore your eyes away from him and back to the half-empty container of fries.

"Making eyes at each other," she said. Steve spluttered, instantly losing the lovey look in his eyes.

"Making eyes— Robin, what are you talking about?"

You cleared your throat. "Hey, um, what's the board for?" You hoped your question would steer the conversation away from the feeling bubbling in your chest at the sight of Steve.

Steve groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

"I told you I was keeping score of Steve's failing dating life. This is my scoreboard."

You nearly choked. "You keep track of it on a whiteboard at work?!" You looked at the neatly drawn board, the 'You Rule' and 'You Suck' columns divided by a line.

"Actually, I have to put the one from yesterday on here."

Steve groaned again, cheeks burning very red. He looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and stay there.

You watched her add a line. "Robin..."

"She's right, I suck," Steve sighed. "My luck's been pretty shit recently."

"You don't suck, she's just being mean," you said. You sent her a look, shaking your head slightly. She just shrugged.

"You don't have to be nice about it," he said. "I know how bad I am at this. I haven't gotten laid in months."

"Okay, too much information, Steve," you said with a little laugh.

"Oh, so this suddenly isn't a safe place to talk about all our life troubles?" he teased.

You laughed fully. He smiled, and the room seemed to light up with the glow emanating from him.

"Get a room," Robin groaned.

Steve turned around. "I'm not flirting, Robin!"

"Yeah, right," Robin smirked. "It's just working this time."

You coughed. "I, um, I have to go."

They both turned back to you, as if they'd forgotten that you were even there.

"Shit, hang on," Steve started, but Robin cut him off.

"No, wait, I didn't mean it like that—" Robin said, realizing she'd practically told Steve you liked him.

"Yeah, right, I know, I just have, uh..." You fumbled for an excuse for a minute. "I have to go drive a friend home! I'll call you later, Robs!" You rushed out the swinging door just as the bell at the counter rang.

Steve pushed his hands through his hair. "Shit."

"Oh, no," Robin whispered. "Steve, ignore that, ignore all of that, I screwed up, I shouldn't have said anything, she's going to be so pissed. It's just that she's liked you since middle school and it's gotten worse now that you're not a douchebag—" Robin clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I won't tell her you said that," Steve said quietly. "Oh, Jesus, Robin..."

"I'm sorry—"

"Stop apologizing to me," Steve said. "If you hadn't said anything, I never would have realized."

Robin made a face. "See, that's why you suck, not because you're bad at flirting with girls. You've just been flirting with the wrong ones, because you're oblivious of the ones that actually like you."

Steve was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. Thanks for pointing that out." He peered out the window, watching you leave the mall, wiping at your eyes and pushing your hair out of your eyes.

Simultaneously, Steve and Robin whispered, "Shit."

At the counter, Erica Sinclair tapped the bell again. "Hello? I want some samples!"

They shouted, "Shut up!"

Steve slammed the glass doors shut.

~❊~

Steve unlocked his front door, stepped inside his house, and put his back to the closed door. He slid down the door with a heavy sigh.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath. All he had been able to see since you left Scoops was your stricken face, horrified and embarrassed that Robin had spilled your biggest secret. (Which Robin had told him after, in bits and pieces, while they closed up the store.)

Steve couldn't believe it. How had he never noticed? Granted, he hadn't been the most observant for, well, the majority of his life. And his middle school years had been fairly dull, unmemorable. But wouldn't have noticed if you—you, out of everyone in Hawkins Middle—had been crushing on him?

To his utter shame, the most Steve remembered of you in middle school was how you had been a good friend to him, long before any of his high school friends knew who he was, and that he'd ditched you once he got to high school. You'd helped him study a few times, too. He wasn't sure what year it was, but he knew you'd helped him pass both English and History in the same year.

He'd shared a handful of classes with you, too, when classes had been so small they'd mixed grades. Sixth grade science, when the two of you had worked on a minor chemical project together. In seventh grade, you'd had two classes together. Gym, which had been downright brutal so early in the morning, especially when the teachers split up the teams as boys against girls. He remembered you had gotten nailed in the head with a basketball once, and that he'd been asked by your teacher to take you to the nurse. Then there had been math class, where he'd sat behind you, asking you questions and begging you to explain the concepts he didn't understand—even though you didn't understand it much more than he did. Eighth grade history, where Steve had done a presentation on his grandfather's experience in the World War, and you had been the only to actually raise your hand to ask a question.

Steve got up from the door and went up to his bathroom, stripping out of his uniform to take a shower. While the water soaked his hair and skin, warming him up, Steve's mind turned back to you—not that it had ever really left you.

You had been his first crush. Well, his first real crush. You'd been pretty, even when you were young and curious and a year younger than he was. Most of his friends had said that the younger girls were cute, but embarrassing to like. So Steve hid that he liked you. It wasn't until Nancy in high school, when it became cool, that he dated anyone younger than himself.

He wished he'd said something to you then. Would it have saved him a world of hurt? Or would it just have been an even worse broken heart waiting for him?

Steve recalled the way you had looked at him earlier, your eyes practically sparkling and your lips stretching into a gorgeous, content smile. It had stopped his heart to know that he was the reason you looked so happy, that he had brought that smile to your lips and that he had made those smile lines around your eyes appear and that he had been the reason your pupils were blown wide.

Steve shut off the shower and pulled on a new pair of boxers, flopping onto his bed with a content sigh, which matched the happy smile on his face.

You liked him.

Feeling like a teenage girl, Steve rolled until he could hide an excited squeal in his pillow.

You liked him again.

Steve was certain that's what made him so giddy. You'd liked him before he'd become King Steve, before the popularity made him interesting—and you liked him again, now that he'd changed and learned and grown up. Now that he'd learned to be himself without a care in the world for anyone else's opinion.

It was like redemption, but it felt so much better than that.

A sudden feeling overwhelmed Steve.

The next time he saw you, he needed to tell you how he felt about you. He needed to make it clear that Robin's slip-up had not ruined the slow banter, the friendship the two of you had been dancing around.

Resolved, his thoughts stopped spinning. He turned off the lamp on his nightstand and shut his eyes.

Please come back tomorrow, he thought, before falling into a gentle sleep, full of dreams of romanticized meetings, confessions, and kisses.

~❊~

You avoided Scoops for several days, choosing to tough out the warm weather in the overcrowded community pool until your mortification subsided. Robin had called repeatedly to assure you Steve wasn't weirded out or annoyed or embarrassed by your crush on him. In fact, she almost made it sound as if he was pleased by it.

But you still couldn't make yourself go to Scoops Ahoy. Even the mental image of walking in and seeing Steve's face twist with some kind of disgust made your stomach twist.

But a girl could only take so much of Billy Hargrove. So, after nearly a week, you drove to the mall instead of the pool. It still took you nearly ten minutes to force yourself out of your car.

You had thought seeing Steve and Robin in their sailor uniforms had been strange, but there was a far stranger sight directly ahead of you: Robin at the counter, staring in absolute confusion, and Steve jumping with joy at the sight of the small child in the front of the store.

"Henderson!" Steve's smile was huge. The sight made you smile, albeit a bit more confused. "Henderson! He's back, he's back!"

"I'm back! You got the job!"

"I got the job!"

And then, just when you thought this strange scene could not get any weirder, Steve mimed playing a trumpet and both he and the child did a strange miming handshake, giggling all the while.

Robin leaned forward. "How many children are you friends with?"

Steve's overjoyed smile slipped from his face. He gestured to Robin with a strained look on his face, as if he were signaling See what I have to deal with?

"You mean there's more children?" you asked, walking up to them with a shy smile, almost embarrassed to make your return. Your stomach dipped as Steve turned to you, but his smile was back.

"Hey, you're back!" Steve said. "I thought we'd never see you again!"

You shrugged. "Yeah, well, I got tired of Billy flirting with me."

"Max's brother?" the child asked.

You stared at him. "I don't know who that is. Or who you are, actually."

"Oh, I'm—"

"This is Dustin," Steve interrupted. "Dustin Henderson. He's, uh, he's one of my friends." He went behind the counter and started making an ice cream sundae.

You gave Dustin your name and offered him your hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"How do you know Steve?" Dustin asked.

At the same time, both you and Steve pointed to Robin. She waggled her fingers at him.

"I'm going on break," Steve said, handing the sundae to Dustin. "Your turn to man the counter. Come on, Dustin, my treat!"

The two of them slipped into a booth. You leaned against the countertop with a heavy sigh.

"There's like...five or six of them," Robin said. "Kids, I mean. That he's friends with."

"Jesus," you muttered. "How old are these kids?"

"Like...thirteen, maybe?"

"Oh, boy."

Robin giggled. "Looks like you gotta share your man with children now."

You choked. "He's— He's not my man, Robin!" you hissed, your entire body burning. You glanced at Steve, but he was too engrossed in whatever story Dustin was telling him.

"But that's why you're here, isn't it?" Robin asked. "You came back because you're ready to talk to him again, knowing that you like him and he likes you."

You glanced over at Steve. While you observed him, Robin slipped out from behind the counter, quietly humming to herself as she worked.

"Yeah, I mean, sure," he was saying to Dustin. "It's not really a good idea for me though, gotta keep in shape for the ladies." Was it just your imagination, or did his eye stray over toward you?

"Yeah, and how's that working out for you?" Robin teased.

"Ignore her," Steve said quickly.

"She seems cool," Dustin said.

"She's not," Steve said, even quicker. "But, uh, the girl you just met? She's cool. She's really cool." A smile tugged at your lips. You pushed it away as you looked down at the floor, completely missing Steve's lovestruck glance toward you.

Dustin, however, missed nothing, and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really, Steve?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Anyway. So, uh, where are the other knuckleheads?"

"They ditched me yesterday," Dustin said.

"No," Steve said, his face falling. Your heart squeezed at the sight of his empathy. The Steve from high school never would have cared about a kid whose friends had abandoned him, but this Steve did.

"My first day back! Can you believe that shit?"

"Whoa, seriously?!" Steve demanded, incredulous. Your heart warmed once again.

You turned back to Robin. "In answer to your earlier question," you said under your breath, "yes, that is exactly what I'm here to do."

She giggled. "I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" She paused. "Was Billy Hargrove really flirting with you?"

You nodded. "I guess he doesn't really care about high school social status, as long as he gets laid." You shuddered. "I've never felt more objectified in my life, and I pranced around on stage in fishnets and a bodysuit in front of the entire school last year during Chicago!"

"I'm still convinced that was our best show," Robin said.

"I'd like to know how we got the rights to it," you snorted.

"I'd like to know how we convinced Principal Higgins to let us perform it."

You snorted. "Yeah. Has anybody heard anything about next year's shows?"

"Nothing yet," Robin said.

You harrumphed, your gaze sliding back to Steve and Dustin and found them talking in hushed tones. Steve's face was fixed into an expression of embarrassed confusion.

"Oh, got customers, hang on," Robin said, and served them while you moved off to the side, watching Dustin speak behind his hand. Steve just blinked at him and told him to speak up.

"I intercepted a secret Russian communication!" Dustin said, far too loudly.

The entire store went quiet. You and Robin exchanged a glance.

"Jesus, shhhh!" Steve hissed. "Yeah, okay, that's what I thought you said."

Business as normal resumed and Robin's customers headed for their own table.

You cleared your throat. "Well, I guess I should head out—"

"No, no, no, wait! What about Steve?"

"He's busy, Robs," you said, gesturing to him. Your stomach did flips at the cute, teasing little expression on his pretty face as you caught him saying American heroes. You weren't sure you wanted to know what mischief they were getting into. "I'll just...come back tomorrow."

Robin sighed. "Fine. As long as you let me play matchmaker!"

You rolled your eyes. "You've been doing that for the past, what, four years?"

"Yeah, but this time I might actually be successful!"

You shook your head with a smile. "Catch you later, Robin. Bye, Steve!" you added as you walked past.

Steve's head snapped up. He scrambled up from his seat at the booth. "Hey, wait, wait, where are you going?" He caught your arm and your eyes darted to his fingers on you. Every possible excuse was wiped from your head. "I thought you were gonna stay and...hang out for a little while."

You smiled apologetically. "Yeah, I was going to, but your friend just came back, so I figured I'd just come back another time. So you don't have to...divide your already divided attention, y'know?" You gestured back to the counter.

Though there was understanding in Steve's eyes, he still looked disappointed. "Oh...um... Would you—" He cleared his throat, his cheeks gaining a deep pink shade. "Would you maybe wanna hang out together—" He stopped again. "Would you wanna go on a date? With me? Sometime?"

You couldn't stop the smile that stretched across your face. "When?"

"Oh, you know, whenever you want? If you want to, I mean."

You stopped his rambling with a finger against his lips. His eyes widened. "I want to, Steve. I really, really want to. I always have."

He beamed. "Really?"

"Really," you promised. You patted his chest. "Even in this stupid little uniform."

He laughed. "What do you say to...two days from now? Meet me here at the end of my shift so Robin can make fun of us like always—" You laughed with him. "—and then we can go see a movie?" His thumb caressed the skin of your arm. That single touch alone sent butterflies through your stomach, not to mention the beautiful, sappy look in his eyes.

"I'd like that," you said. "I'd like that a lot."

"And, um, if you'd like, there's a little dinner about ten minutes from here with awesome milkshakes we could go to after."

You beamed. "Oh, Steve."

"Yeah?"

"You're absolutely perfect," you said to him, cupping his cheek and smoothing your fingers over his skin. He hummed happily. "Steve?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I... Do you... Can we kiss? I know it's soon, it's just... I've wanted this for a long time."

Steve beamed. He leaned in, cupping the back of your head and pulling you into him. His lips touched yours, and you swore your body crackled with electricity. A feeling similar to pins and needles, but far more pleasant, spread throughout you.

He made to pull away. You brought both your hands to his cheeks and held him to you, kissing him for all you were worth.

In the booth, Dustin's mouth dropped open. A grin spread across his face.

At the counter, Robin, who couldn't see the kiss but saw your hands slide into Steve's hair, pulled out her whiteboard and added a singular tally into the 'You Rule' column.

She glanced back at you and Steve. Steve had broken the kiss to tug you close to him, hugging you to his chest. You twisted your hand into his hair, smiling over his shoulder, your eyes closed against the rest of the world.

Robin grinned; she guessed the 'You Suck' tallies didn't matter anymore. Steve had found the one his charm worked on.

☞ ❊ ☜

Stranger Things // Steve Harrington

part 2 coming soon!

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the S.H. taglist!} @ohatropa@nix-rose@live-the-fangirl-life

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fxrmuladaydreams · 2 months

Note

HAPPY OSCAR WEEKEND!!

Could I request some tooth rotting fluff where the reader shows off Oscar and he gets all flustered 🫶🫶

!! oscar weekend requests are now closed !!

note: i’ve finally reached the end of my oscar weekend requests. i’m so sorry it’s taken so long to get them all out, but life’s been stressful lately

Oscar wasn’t shy, he was more introverted, happy to keep his private life private. He had no problem showing the public small bits of his life, he knew he’d have to if he wanted to be a Formula One driver. He occasionally posted about you and your relationship on Instagram, he always held your hand in the paddock, he even kissed you in front of the cameras after races. He’d gotten used to having control of what was shown to others.

He feels nervous now though, as if that sense of control is slipping through his fingers. The collar of his shirt feels too tight around his neck, his hands are clammy, and he feels an uncomfortable knot in his stomach.

“Os, are you almost ready?” You ask, stepping into the room.

You look like a dream, with a soft pastel sundress on and a bright smile when you look at him.

“You look so handsome.” You tell him, fixing the collar of his shirt, leaving the top button undone. You run a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame his dark waves.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” He says quietly.

You look up at him, confusion evident in your face. “What do you mean?”

He sighs. “I mean… What if they don’t like me? What if this all goes horribly and they hate me and we have to break up?” He rambles. His words stop in his throat when he feels you cup his face.

“They won’t hate you. They’ll love you just as much as I do.” You squish his cheeks. “Maybe even more.”

Oscar lets out a shaky breath. He never imagined he’d be this nervous meeting your family. Sure they’d known about him for a while now, having seen him on television and seen clips of you accompanying him to race weekends, but they hadn’t actually met yet.

Your parents were eager to suggest you bring Oscar to a family brunch that had been planned a little while ago. You agreed, happy to finally let your family meet the man you’re almost certain you’d spend the rest of your life with.

You let him drive the two of you there, figuring that him being behind the wheel would give him a sense of calm. He takes your hand in his once you’re there, practically gripping onto it, making sure you can’t leave him to fend for himself.

Your mother fawns over him, going on and on about how much you talk to her about him. Your father looks him up and down and gives him a stiff handshake, but quickly eases up once they get to talking about Oscar’s career.

“He’s so handsome.” Your mother whispers to you.

You smile and nod. “He is.”

By the end of the meal Oscar seems to have relaxed quite a bit, opening up, turning into his usual witty self again.

“This was fun, thank you for inviting me.” He tells your parents at the door.

He gets pulled into a hug from your mother. “It was a pleasure to finally meet the man who Y/n fell in love with.”

“Mom!” You feel your face flush.

“Good to meet you Oscar. Take care of my daughter.” Your father says.

“Yes sir.”

“Come back over whenever you’d like dear, you don’t even have to bring Y/n.” Your mother tells Oscar.

“Okay, thank you.” He laughs.

Back in the car you give him a smile. “I told you they’d love you.”

#oscar piastri x reader #formula one x reader #oscar weekend

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roz-ani · 4 months

Text

As someone who was absolutely thriving while watching episode 5 and being a huge fan of Alastor being a dad/mentor/godfather figure to Charlie, I think one thing needs to be made clear: Alastor doesn't see her as his daughter. He is, however, meant to slowly warm up to the idea of the Hotel and to the people living it. The thing that holds the audience back from fully grasping that idea is the show's pacing. As Al continues to be the best-written character in the show, I wanted to focus more on his motivation and actions in light of the events of episode 5, while also being aware of how much work the audience has to do to fill in the gaps created by the show's writing.

As fun and entertaining as the idea of Charlie and Alstor having this kind of bond is, it is not without its flaws.

Where did this idea of Al being supportive of Charlie's idea even come from? Obviously, the pilot. The Radio Demon shows up at the doorstep and offers his aid. He claims he's doing it for himself, but hey, he's still helping, right? Well, technically. The moment the Princess asks him if he believes in her cause, he laughs it off. He doesn't support her dream and does not necessarily want to make the Hotel work in the sense that he would like to see it succeed. Alastor is fully convinced it's a lost cause - hard work that doesn't pay off. He wants to see it function. He wants ongoing entertainment in the form of sinners failing to redeem themselves. Well, he doesn't get to watch that much if you look at how much redeeming there's actually going on it the show.

He provides the staff, renovates the building, even gives it its official name, and agrees to make the commercial to promote the establishment. The only issue he has with the last thing is the form of the promotion. If Charlie asked for a radio advertisement, he would definitely go out of his way to make it appealing. Would it actually work? Who knows? Probably not much, and we need to remember that no one can be forced or manipulated to stay at the Hotel.

Let's stop here for a moment, though. Now that we know that someone (Lilith... or maybe Eve, but let's leave that for another post) has Alastor on a leash, we can take a different look at the Demon offering Vaggie his help with the commercial. He was most likely sent to help with the establishment because Lilith does want to see Charlie's idea work. Alastor's contract most likely requires him to help and protect Lilith's daughter. Still, he wants to do it on his own terms. So the only requirement he makes is that he will not be involved with television in the future, even if it would help the cause.

Here we face our first problem. This is everything he does for the Hotel in the show. There is literally nothing more we see him do due to the limited number of episodes. We don't even see Charlie and Alastor talk. The last time they had a proper conversation was in the pilot.

Now, here we can notice what made people see Alastor as Charlie's father/mentor figure. In the pilot episode, and especially during his song number, Alastor goes out of his way to touch Charlie and even dances with her. He makes the building look more appealing, showing the owner he's capable of making her dream come true. He does that again episode 5.

Vivzie did say they have a good relationship. The Radio Demon actually likes Charlie's personality and appreciates her artistic talents. Unfortunately, we don't see it in the show itself. We just fill this gap by ourselves. If you want to understand better, put yourself in the shoes of a person who only saw the pilot, which is becoming less and less canon now, and immediately started watching the show without any behind-the-scenes information. Ask your friends to watch this show, like I did, and you'll see what the issue is.

But back to the main topic. Personally, I see Alasto as more of Charlie's (fairy) godfather. Just like the fairy in Cinderella's story, Alastor uses his powers to make the protagonist's dreams come true. He fulfills her requests, like the commercial, but adds his own twists, like the Hotel's name and the deal with Vaggie. I still remember he doesn't actually care about the cause, but it's still entertaining to see him working. Well, again, it would be, because we don't really see him doing that in the show itself.

So, time passes and Lucifer shows up. Now, if looks could kill, this episode would last less than 5 minutes. Alastor IMMEDIATELY hates Hell's boss. His eye starts twitching the moment he hugs Charlie. I would even argue the way he smiles while observing the preparations is much more sinister. He knows who's coming and he doesn't like it.

It doesn't take long before these two start their petty argument. I've seen people come up with a few main ideas for Al's pettiness towards Lucifer:

He hates that yet another power figure didn't recognise him. Partially. We know that Alastor's ego can be easily hurt. He's been gone for seven years and still thinks he's all that. Sure, he's still powerful, and he proves that in the episode, but he's not as relevant as he thinks he is. There is one issue with that argument, though. This is the first time these two meet, and Alastor shows his aversion to Lucifer the moment he arrives. I would say Charlie's father not recognising the Radio Demon just adds insult to the injury.

Alastor had an abusive father, and he hates Lucifer for acting similarly. Possibly. If we want to fill the gaps ourselves again or treat it as a headcanon. We don't know much about Al's childhood, only that he had a good relationship with his mother. If that is the case, we have yet to see it in the show.

Lucifer is the reason why Alastor is on Lilith's leash. Now, that's more likely. My guess is that after losing to Vox, Al made a deal with Lilith and the two of them were gone for 7 years. We have yet to learn what they were doing, but Lilith eventually sent the Radio Demon to help her daughter, while he saw his return as a chance to reestablish his position in Hell's hierarchy. Now, one could argue that was not necessarily hinted at in the episode as well, and I do agree. Yet, I do believe this is the most likely answer, as it would fit the plot and is the most likely part of Al's character to be explored in the future.

Alastor sees Lucifer as a threat to his work/an obstacle. That's an idea that popped into my head recently, and it's strongly connected to the previous theory. Alastor definitely knew that Charlie's dad was… not very supportive of her work. If he somehow managed to dissuade her, it would mean the Demon failed to fulfil his task/hold his end of the deal. It would not only absolutely ruin his ego but also have contract-related consequences.

I think we may explore this issue the future if the show is given a chance to do so. For now, I believe it's safe to say that the main reason for Alastor's aversion is his contract and personality.

But why the pettiness? Why the whole act about being Charlie's biggest supporter? Because Alastor is petty. His ego is quite fragile. We saw that when Carmilla dismissed his return or when Husk warned him about Mimzy. Just like Lucifer, he doesn't believe in Charlie's cause, but Lucifer makes Alastor's aversion even stronger by just straight-up insulting him and his work.

And if Al is willing to send a guy flying because of a coat (that's already torn at the bottom mind you), he's absolutely going to put such a person in their place. The thing is, he can't. Not in this case. We're talking about the King of Hell. Despite his mental state, he's still more powerful than any overlord. We can joke about Vox wishing to have this kind of rivalry with Alastor, but we do see the Radio Demon and the Fallen Anger going head-to-head during their song number. But if Lucifer is so powerful, how can Alastor "beat" him? Simple, by manipulation.

Here we come to the whole father-daughter relationship issue. Everything Alastor does and says is intended to piss off Lucifer. He keeps touching Charlie and talks to her in a way we have only seen during the song number in the pilot. While he does that, he gives her biological father a sinister look any chance he gets. "See? I'm winning. I can give her whatever she wants. In her eyes, I'm just like you if not better."

Now, we need to remember that Charlie is fully aware of Alastor's intentions. She knows he's aiding her for selfish reasons, so why isn't she completely taken aback by his sudden flow of affection and praise? Because it's Charlie we're talking about. In episode 3, she "confessed" that she loves the Hotel residents despite not being that close with them in the first place, and, well, she does have daddy issues. Whenever Alastor looks at her during the song, it feels like he's forcing Charlie to believe what he says and does. The Radio Demon is truly giving the Princess everything her father has failed to provide, and she falls for it.

Remember, Alastor enjoyed watching children suffer after the Stock Market Crash of 1929. He is not a father material. Mentor? Sure. Father? Definitely not. That's why it feels so weird when he says he wishes he had a child of his own. He has never acted this way toward Charlie. He is willing to say anything to make her and Lucifer believe his intentions because he simply wants to win this argument, and he just happens to be in a position that allows him to exploit other people's insecurities.

It makes sense, right? It sure does if we apply the suspension of disbelief notion here. Again, we haven't seen Alastor do any of the things he mentions in the song. The last time he and the Princess talked was in the pilot. We just assume they get along. I think this is especially visible when we stop to think about the fight near the end of the episode. Charlie claims Alastor is protecting the Hotel. It definitely looks like it at first, and we could argue that this is something he signed up for. However, Alastor basically admits that for him, this is a chance to show everyone why he still should be feared. He treats this as an opportunity for a power display. Not because he cares about the Hotel. The writers WANT us to believe that's the case by making Alastor send Mimzy away right after the fight is over. Nothing indicates he cares more about the Hotel. That's why people are not sure if we should treat Alastor's talk with Mimzy seriously.

The show has already done that before, especially in episode 3 with Carmnilla and Vaggie. We know nothing of these two, and we are just supposed to bond with them and understand their way of thinking and actions. Some of that is even in episode 4, when Husk says what everyone's main deal is - Sir Pentious being insecure, Vaggie hating herself, Charlie wanting to resolve other people's problems instead of her own, and Angel Dust putting on an act. We haven't seen any of those people, besides Angel, talk to Husk before, and there was very little time to establish whether all those issues were actually the case. The only reason why we can believe Husk is because we know all that information from the crew, wiki trivia, and because the episode proves Husk was partially right about Angel, whose character act is probably the second-best established one in the show. We know we're meant to fill in the gaps, but there are moments when we're just confused once we turn on critical thinking.

So, Al's argument with Mizmzy is supposed to feel like he's starting to care more about the Hotel because Charlie tells us so and because we can guess that this is most likely Alastor's main character act. Paradoxically, the reason it's not so clear-cut is not just Hazbin Hotel's bad pacing, but Alastor being the best-written character in the show. We learn more and more about him, but there is still some mystery to his motivation. It is never laid out for us like it is with Vaggie (damn, she really is getting the short end of the stick). We're never told, "Hey, this is his deal".

This show is genuinely held back by its format. The writers pick the best, most relevant moments and put them together to create a narrative that ultimately feels incomplete. Interestingly, I think the people who realise it (and are not out there to absolutely tear the show down) are not exactly mad but disappointed. They tend to feel ambivalent or find it hard to care about the characters unless they choose to ignore the missing parts. I believe the show's redeeming qualities, like the voice acting, songs, and its heroes' personalities, make the problems easier to handle, but that doesn't change the fact that it's simply getting more and more frustrating.

Nowadays, writers are left with two choices: severely changing their story or opting for bad writing/pacing to fulfil their vision. Hazbin Hotel's creators clearly went for the second option. We don't know what exactly was changed because of the budget and the show's format, but the main premise is just not present in the series. We're not observing much redeeming, and the whole deal with Heaven feels like a season 2 plot idea. Are the writers doing their best with what they have? It depends on what we consider "doing your best." Personally, I understand they want to make the series entertaining. They want people to be intrigued and interested in the premise, but the execution is just hopeless. Just because you can do more doesn't mean you should. What looks good on paper is not always going to work in a different medium. Show, don't tell.

You can't expect the audience to fill in the gaps for your sake all the time. What you think is intriguing may be just another reason for people to realise how lacklustre your creation is.

I know it sounds like I'm just blaming the crew, but I am fully aware that they're not Benioff and Weiss. They would absolutely accept more episodes. Just like with Charlie, their efforts are futile when they're not fully in control. Still, that doesn't change the fact that the final outcome is deeply flawed. As an audience, we can't just keep saying, "Well, they wanted to do more, but the studios didn't let them." Yes, that is the whole problem. Yes, studios shouldn't have so much power over someone's creation. Hazbin Hotel's writers are trying their best, but not with the pacing. They are making everything else redeem the issues with the story progression. While the show is genuinely enjoyable, it is mainly so when you, as a viewer, decide to turn a blind eye to the pacing. When you convince yourself that as long as something fun and plot-relevant happens, the show is well-written. I don't want Hazbin Hotel to be perfect. I want it to realize that some things should be prioritised.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #alastor #charlie morningstar #lucifer morningstar #lucifer hazbin hotel #roz writes #mine

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