#most of these hcs are me world building

[arsonistmoth]

Aight takin a quick com break to share my ideas on the KITTY FAMILYYYY <3 (aka my take on Forneus and her kits) Headcanons under cut cuz some of them are sAD and also I tend to blather on.

Forneus has always wanted kits of her own, though perhaps not a Tom in her life to get them (She is content as she is, a traveling merchant who sees so many faces, so many stories in a day). So, by the power of a one-night stand with some dashing tall tom, she gets her wish. Albeit bittersweet when her kits come stillborn. She prays and prays to the god of death, begging, pleading for her babies to come back to her but its not Narinder that hears her fervent prayers first. She's given a choice by the god of war...Bury them as is her right, or give the kits to them. They will take them to death's gate where they just might know a shadow of life. She leapt at the chance. Not one day goes by where she doesn't think of her two little toms and how they must have grown. She knows, in her heart, they will return to her somehow..and she will know them by sight and scent the second she sees them. Aym and Baal grew up in the gateway with their master. They were a gift to a lonely god and in them he found some semblance of company and...love. Of course we all know Narinder is not the besssst of influences and it shows in the two young toms. They are fiercely loyal, quick to temper (in aym's case), and deadly in combat. Though it wasn't always so. Kits must learn and they must grow... Accidents are bound to happen- (perhaps like being given a new sharp pointy weapon only to hurt yourself immediately thereafter and have the god of death pinch your scruff between two claws to make you stop squirming as he heals you) Though their cloaks are nice and warm, the pair have only ragged tunics beneath it. After all, not many dead arrive with a) nice clothes and b) clothes big enough for the toms. Its fineeee. they're fineeee. After the events of the game, Aym and Baal choose to stay with the cult to be close to their mother and Master. Baal eventually finds himself a mate and even settles down, having a litter of twins with his orange tabby queen named Fion <3 Aym is content for a time, staying with his family and his new niece and nephew...but eventually wander lust grips him as it gripped his mother. He heads out into the world and, though he sends a sparse letter here and there, he has not been seen since. Lamb think's he's crossed the sea. Hopefully he finds whatever hes looking for. to end this on a happy note: Forneus loves her grandkits and would die for them. She has also slapped Narinder. Once. (you dont call yourself a poor father figure to kits you took care of. not around her. "You were all they had! They love you and cherish you do NOT spit in their faces so!"

#goat draws #cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl aym #cotl baal #cotl forneus #most of these hcs are me world building #cuz yep theres a fic in the work #it will see the light of day eventually #i also had a fucKIN FIT WHEN I REALIZED THE QUEEN AND CROWN CONNECTION OK? #im totally normal #Blood of the covenant au

[nailtagyuri]

when i was 12 this was the coolest most mindblowing shit ever i was genuinely so obsessed with it I'd read it very day like the bible. I would die for a version of this with the post 3D world content over my country

#i hve vs super mario bros on my switch bc i wanted to chronologically play through the storied hero timeline and i couldnt find a rom #I think it has the same appeal as spid.erverse kinda except instead of multiple different people filling the same role as sp.iderman its #the same guy it's still mario but the changes come from things going differently at certain points in his life do you GET ME!! #LIKE!!!!!!!! MOST OF IT'S DETERMINED BY WHAT HAPPENS IN YOSHIS ISLAND AND THERES ALTERNATIVE PATHS IF HE WINS OR FAILS!!! GAME OVERS HAVE #CONSEQUENCES THAT BRANCH INTO THEIR OWN TIMELINES MARIO CAN END UP WITH DIFFERENT PARENTS ITS SO COOLLLLLL #and i love how each of the major branches has their own theme like “action hero” is the one with all the gameplay-focused #mainline titles “storied hero” is the one with all the M&L rpgs and more plot-heavier stuff and “blue collar hero” is this third one #with all the donkey kong titles and wackier/arcade titles WHERE i might add his design had a blue shirt and red overalls #and the tl builds off of those games into nsmb so i like to hc that he kept his early 80s design well into the later games <-autistic sorry #AND how thetimelines represent how their different backstories have influenced their personalities and thought processes a little like #what happened to mario in the blue collar branch like he either becomes EVILL!!!! and kidnaps donkey kong leading to dkjr or #divorces peach and has a self isolation arc after nsmb2 whats going on w him... #and i LOVE how all of them have a sort of common event where bowser invades the mushroom kingdom and in each timeline its #represented by a different variation of the original super mario bros game with action hero's event being represented by smb itself #which is fitting since thats the branch where mario and luigi ended up with their intended parents and everything went as planned #and i think a general theme here is that the more things go against intention the sillier it gets dont even get me STARTED on the time #travel shenanigans in bottom right which lead into the handheld remakes i love this so much its unreal #i do wish paper mario wasnt explained away as a dream but like thats its whole other world and art style and itd be difficult #to fit it into one of the major branches so i get why it was done. i probably wouldve just given it its own isolated bubble in the corner #at that rate i probably wouldve added so much more shit to the main tl im talking game&watch games i look at this and i see a pitch #for a full feature length autism production you understand

[h-harleybaby]

this might be slightly boring but i saw it on another blog and it’s been plaguing my mind ever since

making out hcs w with Butters, Kyle and Kenny pls? 🥺 it does something feral to me man idk

Making out hcs with Butters, Kyle, and Kenny

Butters

• Butters kisses are usually really soft and gentle, y'all don't often make out because he gets too embarrassed

• He's pretty nervous but that's probably just because you're the first girl he's ever made out with and he wants to get it right for you

• He loves making out with you tho, whenever y'all do he swears sparks fly

• Turns out it just wasn't a good idea to make out in abandon building with bad wiring because sparks actually DID fly. Technically he was right tho

• He doesn't often take the lead with making out, he prefers to leave it up to you

• Butters is probably the type to accidentally moan in the kiss and feel really embarrassed about it and hope to god you didn't hear it

• You did. But you also really liked it and you encouraged him to do it more often/not hold back. He practically melted when you said that-

• He really likes it when you bite his lip while you're making out but he'll never admit that, he's scared you would think it's weird

• He's really physical, he just needs to have his hands on you. So often times he'll cup your cheeks or have his hands slightly under your shirt (only to hold your hips, he wouldn't dare go any farther without your permission)

• He also really likes it when tug on his hair a lil while y'all make out, he can't explain it for the life of him it just feels really good

Kyle

• Making out with Kyle is really sweet, I swear! He's just really awkward about it

• But it's honestly really cute <33

• He gets so scared because he's thinking "What if I kiss weirdly?? What if they don't like my kisses?? WHERE DO I PUT MY HANDS-"

• Ya know, that kinda stuff. You probably have to guide his hands to your waist or something so he'll stop mentally freaking out and sweating

• Hear me out, Kyle probably gets so nervous that his hands start shaking, and when you put his hands on your waist his finger literally will not stop tapping you. It's a nervous habit he has, like tapping your fingers on a desk

• Once he gets in the hang of it and stops freaking out he probably thinks he died and went to heaven. You gotta be an angel, right?!

• He's probably the type to smile into a kiss and whenever y'all separate he looks at you with heart eyes

• Although at first, kissing made him really nervous once he gets used to it, it probably calms him down and makes him act like a complete simp

• The world around him disappears because now all he can think of is you and your kisses

• He just can't get enough of you <3333

Kenny

• Kenny's really passionate when making out, and tbh he's always trying to make out with you

• He can't keep his hands to himself either, so they're gonna be everywhere

• He's also the kind of person who smirks into a kiss and literally grabs your waist to pull you in closer

• He loves when you have your hands in his hair when y'all make out, it just makes him more eager

• Y'all are probably a little light headed at the end of at least one kiss because he doesn't wanna let go

• Most of the time kisses between y'all end in making out, no matter where you are, even if it's just a lil peck

• Can you really blame him for wanting more?

• Hear me out on this, Kenny probably smokes and he accidentally got you addicted to his kisses because of the nicotine in the cigarettes he smokes

• Kenny feels really bad about it and he tries to quit smoking

• But he isn't complaining too much, it also means more making out for him

#south park x reader #h harleybaby needs help #south park x reader headcanons #butters x reader #butters stotch x y/n #butters stotch x reader #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle x reader #Kyle broflovski x y/n #kenny mccormick x reader #kenny x reader #Kenny McCormick x y/n #Harley’s anons <33 #harley’s requests!

[most-creature-vibe-tournament]

FINALS!!!

Propaganda:

Taylor Hebert (Worm (webserial by Wildbow))

Human girl who has superpowers that let her control bugs. She shunts all emotions off into her swarm of bugs, leaving her totally blank and stoic. She outsources sensory-input to her bugs, so she never looks or reacts to anything. In a fight, she reacts to opponents there is no possible way she could see, because she sensed them with her bugs. Overall has virtually no facial tells and moves in a way that makes her seem like she isn't a person. very creature <3 she is just a bug girl

shes such a FREAK. shes completely human (tho with an eldritch alien creature extradimensionally attached to her mind) but God does she not act like it sometimes. she has the superpower to control bugs and uses it to become the worlds most terrifying hero slash villain slash warlord slash apocalyptic threat. she has her bugs crawling all over her all the time. she uses a swarm of flies to scout out areas and then leaves flies in everybodys hair so she can keep track of where they are. she practiced having her bugs make noises until she figured out how to combine their noises into human speech so now she can talk through her swarm. she makes decoys of herself out of large pillars of bugs. once she was concussed and in the hospital and subconsciously calling her bugs to her so she was just covered in insects while the doctor tried to help her. then there was ANOTHER time she was hospitalized and got bored so she made a bunch of bugs so a little dance on her chest. whenever she's in costume and talking she has her bugs make noises to distort her voice and make her sound more scary and she doesnt even realize shes doing it anymore. she surrounds herself in a swarm to disorient her enemies. she doesn't even notice when her hair covers her eyes or anything like that because shes scouting out the area using her bugs so she doesnt have to see. she once used a tide of bugs to clean herself off and dust off her dress after having sex.

#she views herself as more of a swarm of bugs with a girl-shaped computer to control them than a girl herself#her body is just an extension of her bugs which is large and inconvenient but ultimately part of the weapon

#taylor “dissociates into bugs” hebert#taylor “keeps bugs in her hair” hebert#taylor “choke them with bugs” hebert#taylor “no one could ever love me” hebert#taylor “violence is always the answer” hebert

#normally i would want a worm character to win#but#bdubs is a strange little man. he's unusual.#Taylor's just got the 'tism.

she literally is a walking superorganism comprised of one human and a lot more bugs to the point where she frequently moves her head as if she can see through walls (with her bugs, she can), talks through her bugs, has been described like a corpse whose ghost is living on in her swarm, keeps functioning thru her bugs even when her human body is out for the count, et cetera. no disrespect intended but genuinely what in the world are you talking about. She cleans her pussy off with bugs after fucking. Her pussy. With bugs. And she thinks it's normal. Because the bugs are part of her. Is this thing on. I reiterate that she literally requires an emotional support cloak of bugs. She is so dissociated from being an actual person that she treats her human body like an inconvenience and her bugs like the primary operators. Is This Thing On.

#now i told myself i wouldnt comment anything on the rb... but#“She cleans her pussy off with bugs after fucking. Her pussy. With bugs.” CHAT IS THAT FUCKIN REAL??? IS THAT CANON???#cause if thats just a hc thats wild and i dont know if its better or worse if its canon#propaganda

this is indeed canon! there is a scene where, after fucking her boyfriend in an abandoned building, she stands up and cleans dust/etc off her naked ass body by having her bugs run across her and clean her, which presumably translates to "they are eating the dirt/sweat/etc off her." her boyfriend smiles affectionately at this, because he also has something wrong with him. she also does things like use bugs and spider silk to deliver her toothbrush straight to her hand in the morning while monologuing about "checking in on her hive" (her hive is the people in her villain territory.) she is a walking panopticon. her friends sometimes talk to bugs under the assumption it's taylor watching them and they're always right. at one point she confusedly asks someone if he's arachnophobic because he doesn't want her 10k black widow spiders to live in his apartment with him. she is basically like if a cockroach was a girl. I would never lie to you about Taylor Hebert, Unsung Champion of Polls About Weird Characters.

#taylor ofc#wait hey those are my tags as propaganda!! cool!#i stand by it#anyways yeah one of her main character traits when looked at by an outside perspective is just how WEIRD she is#everyone thinks she's a freak#even when you're reading her POV you sometimes have to stop and be like 'hey girl what the fuck'#one time she put bugs on her boyfriend's dick

She also turns into a bug monster at one point. Not all on her own, but she very much turns into a bug monster. Literally And Physically.

And she uses this to survive like a cockroach, she had Just Been Ripped In Fucking Half and thrown in the ocean to die and BOOM. bug monster transformation (with a little help) climb out and keep fighting, against an opponent so vast and powerful a human couldn't even comprehend his true form (not eldritch cognitohazard, just planet-sized + multidimensional), who could kill her in an instant. She's always surviving against the odds she's so cockroach coded (affectionate!) #@ pollrunner if you're still accepting propaganda please take the 'turns into a bug monster' as propaganda#the rest can be ignored or trimmed to 'she's always surviving she's so cockroach coded' but pleamse. the Time she Became A Bug

#she's such a freak!!!#she kills like it's the only thing she was built how to do#she kills people and things like it's chess and she's a grandmaster#as soon as the violence is off she's just a fucked up offputting little one woman panopticon

One of my favourite descriptions of Taylor from someone else's POV, from Interlude 14.

“A figure stood behind Yan. Her costume was barely recognizable—She wore a short cape of tattered black cloth over her body armor, a skintight black suit beneath that, and there were folds of black cloth draped around her legs like a dress or a robe. The entire fabric seemed to ripple and move. It took Sierra a second to realize it was crawling with a carpet of insects.”

“The disconcerting part was the girl’s face, or lack thereof. Her expression was masked behind a shifting mass of bugs that moved in and out of her hairline. Sierra couldn’t even tell where the bugs ended and the scalp began, as the small black bodies crawled into and onto the black curls. There was a hint of something like glass where Skitter’s eyes were, but the bugs ventured far enough over her eyelids and around the frames that nothing was visible in the way of goggles, glasses or skin.”

“Skitter hadn’t made a sound as she entered. She hadn’t spoken, and her footsteps had been quiet.”

#taylor “driving while blind wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be” hebert#taylor “hangs out in superpowered darkness for a long time without being at all worried” hebert#taylor “fools a near-perfect lie detecting hero by offloading her emotions on her bugs” hebert#taylor “figures out how to communicate with the Dog Autism girl like right away” hebert

#taylor hebert kill them with your self-sustained insectoid dehumanity!

Jonny d’Ville (The Mechanisms)

Since we’re not technically human

He’s so feral hes canonically committed every single crime theres a name for i think he deserves to have a tail that flicks around when hes being mischevous. perhaps some horns or fangs as well. as a treat

Idk why but he's a feral creature

Have you seen the man? Especially in that one picture where he is fully on the wall.

absolutely no canon implications that he isn't human, but that man* absolutely has a tail. and sharp teeth. and creature ears. he purrs but he pretends he doesn't and if you bring it up he'll bite you. he's had rabies more times than you can count.

#Just sayin#Johnny eats people and says it's not cannibalism if you aren't human

#DID LYF SING THE PART IN SLEEPING BEAUTY? NO. VOTE JONNY

#Jonny’s a creature#vote Jonny

#sorry for that Hermitfans but my boy Jonny is feral and i think he is a creature

#chat vote jonny#HES LITERALLY JUST A LITTLE CRITTER PLEASE

#look at that face#he’s a creacher

#it's jonny d'ville i don't have any more to say

All crimes but sex crimes, because Jonny isn’t a MONSTER

#JONNY#i'm so sorry pearl you are too well adjusted for this#he's got devil in his name#(that he gave himself because he's a huge fucking nerd)

#LITERALLY LOOK AT HIM THE GREMLIN ENERGY IS OFF THE CHARTS

#voted jonny for the rabies

also. hold up. the pearl propaganda is saying to vote for her because she's an alien and a bloodthirsty fighter? BOY DO I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU ABOUT JONNY FUCKING D'VILLE

five am pearl this five am pearl that, jonny's just like that all the time

#please vote jonny. i know we're pitting two bad bitches against each other but jonny has tried to eat a guitar

#CMON GUYS VOTE JONNY D’VILLE HES SUCH A CREATURE#HAVE YOU SEEN HIM??? HAVE YOU HEARD HIM TALK ABOUT THE OCTOKITTENS???#VOTE JONNY

#Jonny is such a creature

#jonny is literally THE creature

#come on vote Jonny that thing is creachur incarnate#and he can sing#his fave food is human flesh and more violence

Jonny man entire existence is teeth claws belts and trauma

#that guy is so feral#just vote jonny#also there was this one time where he found a half dead dude on the moon and brang it home to show to his gay pirate friends#just sayin#and also this harmonica solo over his father's dead body in one eyed jacks#iconic#anyway vote jonny

#literally jonny bites people and eats them regularly

#taylor hebert #worm web serial #jonny d'ville #the mechanisms #final round #tumblr polls #polls #creatures fight!

[moonsaver]

Moonsaver… may I ask for any hc’s, scenarios, thoughts, or opinions on a rivalry between Sunday and Aventurine for reader’s affections…

Ohh... tension... let me see what I can do!

Regardless of whoever had their eyes set on you first, it's undeniable that neither of them are backing out just because they now know they have competition.

Sunday's always masking a polite, tight smile whenever Aventurine is around with you. Makes an effort to sneak in jabs, and sometimes doesn't even hide them. He may even pull you aside and subtly ask (or directly, considering how much frustration would build up in him), if you really want to appear with someone like Aventurine. Oh, yes, he's aware. Yes, that gambler with the generous mark on his neck from the Amber lord. The.. signoian who can't seem to keep his sleazy hands off of you. Yes,he's aware. Oh, you think he's a sweetheart? Well, Sunday believes he can be so much more sweeter than that. Follow along, now. You have much better things to be doing than.. going around with that peacock.

Aventurine is getting a kick out of this, mainly because he doesn't believe he'll not have you. So he treats it like some toddler trying to steal candy from him, a lazy smirk on his lips, poorly hidden remarks about touchy subjects like the.. real dreamscape that his family has worked oh so hard on. Seems he's ruffled a few feathers, hm? How delightful. Another gamble and another round to win. Easy. A lazy hand drapes itself across your shoulder, and a know-it-all smile is plastered on his face as he informs Sunday he has you booked for the entire day. You swear you can see a vein pop out of Sunday's forehead as Aventurine emphasizes it's a usual occurrence between you two, and how delighted he is that you've chosen solely him time and again for.. collaborations.

After a few more chance encounters with the other as you hang out with one, the frustration between them starts to rise. Sunday insists on taking you to the most beautiful sceneries in the Dreamscape, gifting you all sorts of luxuries and helping you to the most beautiful hotel rooms Penacony has to offer, even gifting you expensive and sought-after items that he commissions personally from high-ranking representatives from other worlds, that are eager to get on his good side. He insists on helping you with putting of the gifts on like jewelry, compliments you well, and guides your hands to his soft wings, telling you all about the newest champagne bottle he's just been waiting to try out with you, his hand now ungloved, gently tracing circles in the inside of your wrist as he listens to you with half-lidded eyes, pressing gentle kisses into the middle of your palm as he lists all the reasons why he's just better. He doesn't feel the need to insult Aventurine anymore, he just needs you to see that he's better.

Aventurine, on the other hand, is almost desperate. His smug smile is still on, of course, and doesn't let his mask slip for a second, especially around that chicken boy. He buys you all sorts of unique things, mainly matching trinkets like sunglasses, keychains, bracelets, and if he's feeling bold, rings. Takes you to casinos with him, betting on extremely risky terms, and winning flawlessly. To him, this is basically like showing off just how much more happy and fun it would be to have him around. Ugh, Sunday's too much of a stickler, isn't he? Isn't it so much more fun with him? Sunday can't make you laugh the way he does. Takes you out on many, many adventures, too, making your heart rush for the nth time, laughing at the end before dropping you off with care, making sure there's no bruises or scratches on you, and kissing your hand, trying to squeeze his way into your hotel room to try and elongate his stay with you.

#moonink #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr sunday #honkai star rail sunday #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x you #hsr sunday x reader #hsr sunday x y/n #hsr sunday x you #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail aventurine #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x you #aventurine x reader #star rail aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x gender neutral reader

[ereawrites]

Hey gurl✨ I’m in my wife era rn so maybe some Shisui and/or Tobirama husband/jealous husband hcs?🫣 I loooovee your writing and tbh your thoughts are my thoughts so no pressure😩 If you not feeling it feel free to ignore me babe🧚🏻‍♀️

YOU HAVE FED ME SO GOOD MISS GIRL! under the cut for length

shisui

this isn't too relevant but I have to include it. it's too cute. I definitely see shisui getting married pretty young, like early 20s. if he finds his person he's going for it. probably gets a lot of shit for it from his family, but he doesn't care

loooong honeymoon period. in part because they're still a young couple but also... shisui is just a really devoted husband. he loves the married life. insists on kissing her goodbye every morning, eating together every night, stuff like that

LOVES DECORATING THEIR HOUSE are u kidding me. let's say they get a kinda shitty place right after they get married, and put a tonne of work into doing it up. he gets so into painting, building the furniture, even starts up a little herb garden in their kitchen

finds so many ways to drop his wife into conversation lol. he's down bad even after the honeymoon period ends, so he wants to show her off. his FAV is when she swings by his workplace to bring him his 'forgotten' lunch. he turns around to the rest of the guys like. yeah. that's my WIFE. isn't she hot.

very much a believer in keeping the romance alive. he wants to keep making the effort with her until the day he dies. veryyyy good at remembering anniversaries, scheduling regular date nights, etc. always makes sure she has fresh flowers in the house

obviously it isn't all perfect though. especially while they're young (and presumably both still active, high-ranking shinobi) their schedules keep them apart a lot. and this hits shisui really hard tbh. he hates coming back to an empty home after a long mission, knowing he might not even see his wife before he has to leave again

work is probably where most of their arguments stem from, actually. I don't see it being a regular thing, but it's easy for resentment to build in those kinds of situations. shisui is very torn between his love for his village, and his love for his wife, and the fact he can't prioritise both. thankfully shisui is a good communicator so they make things work.

in terms of jealousy... I don't see it being a common thing. maybe before they get married he tends towards it a bit more, but once she's his wife, why would he worry? she's his entire world and he knows she loves him just as much

the only way I rly see him getting jealous at all is if they're going through a bit of a rough patch for the reasons mentioned above. maybe they haven't seen each other in weeks, and they both get back from a mission on the same day. and there's some kind of event/function that evening that they have to attend

so they barely have a chance to acknowledge each other, before they're pulled apart again by the crowd. so if shisui sees some random guy getting a little too close and flirty with her, he gets more annoyed than he'd like to admit

even then though.. he's not necessarily jealous as much as he is upset. like goddamn just let this poor man have his beloved wife to himself for a night. in this situation he's more likely to behave more rashly than usual, and he might just make some excuses and take her home lol. he gets a little bit pouty until she gives him some attention

overall, though, he's very chill. he trusts her implicitly, and expects the same from her. they need to have a very honest, respectful relationship if he's going to wife her up

god okay and in old age they're so cute together. I bet they have a bunch of kids (probably accidentally tbh lol) so then they end up with a whole squadron of grandchildren. he's that fun grandpa who sneaks them sweets when the parents aren't looking. all the grandbabies want to sleep over at their house. and they LOVE it.

to sum up: very good husband. very relaxed, communicates well, makes her feel loved every day. why did he have to die I want to throw myself off a bridge.

tobirama

first of all. good job to this woman. wrangling tobirama into marriage is not an easy job. he's so fucking ANNOYING. it probably takes him years to confess he even has feelings for her, let alone ask for her hand in marriage

but once he gets there. it's pretty cute. he doesn't really act very differently for the most part - he'd already decided his heart belonged to her well before they married, and wholly committed. so his behaviour doesn't change much, and there isn't much of a honeymoon period. sorry. he's like marriage is just a contractual agreement why would it change anything between us

he does make a few little indulgences though. he gets this smug little look every time he introduces her as his wife. he's actually just a lot more prone to 'showing her off' in general, and more likely to show some physical affection in public. for tobirama that's maybe a peck on the cheek lol. but it's progress

he's definitely a lot.... gentler?idk. with her once they're married as well. he makes an effort to be more patient and less snippy, and shows his appreciation for her in a lot of quiet little ways. for example, he'll be sure to leave work on time no matter how busy it is if he knows she's putting a lot of effort into dinner that night. or if she spends a second too long looking at a new dress in the store, he's buying it for her

on that note. tobirama is such a provider once they're married. he does have that traditional idea of providing for his wife. he'll probably ask her if she wants to become a stay at home wife tbh. if she says yes, he still expects her to get out in the community of course. he'd love if she did volunteering work, maybe at the hospital or with kids or something. but he's also equally happy for her to keep working. power couple vibes very strong

they have a nice, quiet little house away from the village where no one bothers then and they loooove it. especially tobirama, his wife and their home are his sanctuary. everyone else gtfo

other than that, not much is really different from before their marriage. they probably actually lead quite independent lives, to the point where people don't even know they're married until tobirama drops it into conversation a few months later. they're very private and lowkey.

unfortunately for her, tobirama's paranoia also persists. he's a bit delulu sometimes lol and she knows this going in. but it does inevitably cause some issues, especially if she's headstrong (which is definitely the type of woman he ends up with)

he trusts his wife more than anything. he would never doubt her for a second. but other men? the enemy. not to be trusted. they're all dogs. it drives him absolutely batshit crazy to watch them ogling her, or god forbid trying to flirt with her. which is actually kinda common bc they're such a lowkey couple, so people assume she's single

tobirama isn't one to make a scene per se, but this definitely leads to a few awkward situations in public, and she probably ends up embarrassed a few times. and there's 10000% arguments behind closed doors. I don't see either of them being good with this lol. he acts like she's his political enemy he's ridiculous

but because he loves her so much, and he actually really wants to put work into the longevity of their marriage, he'll come around. he's a lot softer and more willing to compromise when it comes to her. but she can't point that out because he's mortified

over time, he chills out a lot more. they're one of those couples that just get stronger and better with time. they grow a lot together, and although they probably continue to disagree a lot throughout their marriage, it's always in a way that leaves their relationship stronger. and he only gets softer for her. people (hashirama) even start to point out how devoted he is and he can't even deny it. cute

overall a kind of difficult husband, because he is an exceptionally difficult man, but my god he loves her so much. he would do anything to make her happy.

#this was so much fun #I HAVE TWO RING FINGERS MY BEAUTIFUL BOYS #naruto #naruto x reader #shisui #shisui uchiha #shisui x reader #shisui uchiha x reader #tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader

[bigfatbimbo]

you ask me to talk about any of the vees?

why of course. and yes it’s vox i want to talk about.

okay hear me out here…i hc him as obviously a bottom, a sub, and definitely someone needy for their partner. i want more clingy Vox!! we’re talking quadruple-texting, clinging to your side, asking to shower together purely so he can be with you, always running behind you as you flit around town running errands, etc etc.

but this side of vox obviously translates into the bedroom as well.

picture him, dick or boycunt (both are delicious), just absolutely clinging to you as you fuck the shit out of him.

we know this man has a mommy kink at this point, but just picture how well you could play to his clinginess, edging him breathless and then ruthlessly overstimulating him again and again as he clings to you, unable to form coherent words, only “mommy, please!”

and the aftercare…ohhhh, the aftercare. poor baby wouldn’t even want you to leave to get him a glass of water. you’d have to pry yourself off him just to get what you need to care for him, and even after that he’d cling to you, sleepy and needy, falling asleep atop you like a cat, rendering you unable to move for the next few hours.

anyways yeah, vox. we love him.

warnings — smut, unorganized, actually just a long ass ramble, your going to want to kill yourself by the end, dom reader, use of mommy, NOT PROOFREAD

summery — A terrible ramble because you got bimbo all worked up about clingy subby vox. Also this isn’t a drabble or headcanons, but a secret third thing (a mess.)

I AM IN SUCH A VOX MOOD RIGHT NOW!! Who’s surprised? Anyways, let me jibber jabber about this for the next few messy, unorganized paragraphs.

So I love your idea, and so i’m going to take it and put in into a more canonical in-character little ball. Let me start off with getting Vox to this point and how it would take literally forever.

Because even if he trusts you, he still wouldn’t be overly clingy or submissive. I mean, obviously he’s submissive, but in a harder to break, bratty kind of way.

Well, let’s think about this; what would it take for us to get a clingy, subby Vox? It would take lots of time, and lots of building of, not only trust, but reliance. Say you’ve been dating for a while, he’s obviously subbed before, but still in that entitled power bottom kind of way.

Now, we all know his job is stressful, he’s a CEO and his coworkers aren’t the most relaxed people in the world. He’s stressed out and things go wrong. As per usual, he bitches to you about it.

But here’s where we start to break down his walls. Giving him a back massage while calmly giving him actual advice on the situation. Carefully recommending him ways to solve the problem, while relaxing the tense muscles in his neck.

Thats more than simple trust, like I said before, that establishes a small undertone of reliance. He’s independent, a control freak, but fuck, your ideas were good and now he can finally calm down. Now there’s a newfound trustworthiness that you’ll be there for him when he’s too angry or bugged out to think of a strategy.

Maybe you do little thoughtful things for him too, make his coffee the way he likes it, leaving little sticky notes around the house with sweet things on them. He thinks it dumb, probably laughs in your face about it, until he doesn’t. Because on some days, his fragile ego has taken so many hits that he needs your unconditional support and love.

That’s when we see him get more clingy. Even still, it would only show after specific situations, but it’s there. You are his source of comfort in his hectic, exhausting, businessman life. He wants to be powerful and dominant all the time, that’s a given. But it’s the fact that with you, he doesn’t have to be.

Okay enough character analysis, let’s make this interesting. Quadruple texts are very in-character because of his attention seeking tendencies. He’s texting you all sorts of things, while probably watching you on his cameras. Especially if you’re talking to someone else, then he blows up your phone to take the attention off of them.

Clinging to your side would probably only happen alone, but he would try to be so slick about it. Oh you need to get up and get water? Here, he’ll do it— oh, ouch, oh no! His back hurts. Could you maybe stop what you’re doing and come rub his back until it’s better?

Showering with you is a given. Walking behind you in the city while you’re running errands is interesting, however. Because I don’t think he would walk behind you, that’d make him look like some stupid lapdog. No, no, he’d keep up the pace perfectly, maybe even walk a little faster.

But he’d try to be slick about following you around too. Like, oh, you have errands to run? Well, wait up. Coincidentally something just popped up for him as well.

Okay, everyone shut the fuck up we’re gonna talk about sex now. Because once you get him to trust and depend on you this much, he is so needy all of the time.

I’ve talked about his mommy kink before, but this shines a new light on it. We know he’s desperate for validation, attention, and overall someone to stroke his ego, making him the perfect candidate for a praise kink. However, this paired with the fact that he’s not surrounded by the most supportive people in the world, and he’s normally stressed out of his mind and dying to be taken care off but too prideful to do anything about it mommy kink city.

And because, as we’ve established, he trusts and relies on you so much, making him super clingy, also gives him that extra ingredient to fuel his mommy kink. He wants you to take care of him and make him feel loved (fantastic when degrading him because it makes it all 100x more effective.)

So I actually think him being super clingy and needy, with zero to no reciprocation let’s be real, would for very well with this.

Imagine pegging him, as Vox sits in your lap, arms slinked tightly around your neck as his nails dig into your back while you fuck him rough. He’s came several times already and the cities power is long gone, but he thinks he’d genuinely die if you stopped.

His screaming out for you, clawing at your back while shouting anything he can think of. ‘Mommy— mzzz—more!’ ‘Don’t stop, ‘ve been so good.’ ‘Fuck, call me your g—gzzz—good boy.’

Too much praise and too much degradation both make him sob his eyes out and lowkey fucks with his wiring. If he’s getting strapped up good enough he’d probably electrocute you, all while moaning and whining for his mommy.

Sub-top Vox with a mommy kink also does something to be, ask me about it, I dare you.

And he’d be the cutest during aftercare. Still coming out of subspace, hiding his screen in your chest while you rub his back softly, wincing when you get too close to his neck where all the bite marks are.

But he’d be totally collapsed on top of you after you clean him off a little, and because of his sleepiness he’d probably still call you mommy.

a/n — this was lowkey my good night post because i’m too tired to do anything else. Looking forward to reading your Vees requests though, and writing hate sex Lute!

#hazbin hotel x reader #inbox open #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #dom reader #vox x reader #sub vox #vox x you #vox smut

[djljpanda]

(you have made a grave mistake accepting the self aware au /j)

With the crk self aware au, I've always thought that different places would think you were a different entity.

I HC that the baker is a more recent thing, some bizarre entity that appeared, seemingly leading Gingerbraves kingdom, advising battles all from the shadows. People would undeniably have questions.

(I'm going through a bunch of locations, so sorry if this is a long read lolol, you can stop here and get the point--)

The Modern Vanilla Kingdom are kind of confused, but overall wouldn't push forward with finding out what MC is, they've been friendly so far, so they don't try and pry or come up with theories. Overall, they're in agreement you're some kind of fae.

Hollyberry Kingdom would have the most range in opinions, some would think you're a witch, knowing their obsession with dragons they might coin MC as some really powerful dragon, overall, all the opinions of the other locations bleeds into here.

The Dark Cacao Kingdom would undeniably think MC is some Deity of War or Battle. You've advised way too many fight not to be- heck! They saw it with their own eyes!!

(Dragon Valley probably agree ^^^)

Although not much is known about Golden Cheese and her Kingdom yet, they probably think you're a deity of wealth, seeing as Gingerbraves kingdom always has an extreme surplus of resources and wealth.

Creme Republic has some differing opinions based on religious beliefs. Paladins will be quick to call you a celestial, while some of the lower city, influenced by the Pastry Order, might seem you a witch, there are probably others that suspect you're some extraterrestrial that, through the ways of dimensional magic, is able to contact and interact with their world. Many of this final belief what to run experiments on the land Gingerbraves kingdom falls on, after all, it's got to be some kind of epicenter for your magic!!

(this final belief is probably in Parfaedia too)

I don't know City of Wizards lore well, but they might thing at long last one of their creators have returned, but I could see them agreeing with Parfaedia too.

+(Also bad at Tearcrown lore, so on your own with that one)

It's been such a long time I've talked abt the self aware au lmao, feel free to build on this- if at all, however you want, If I come back, can I come back as Hydrogen Anon? (If you have anons)

Cheers!

You are so creative. I like the idea of how no one really knows what Mc is and it's not like they're gonna tell them any time soon.

And how they all have their own theories is awesome. And how they just recently popped up during the era of Gingerbrave I can see why some would be curious and scared.

Like how we have the four horsemen here, I can see how some may think that it's a sign of the end.

I would love to build more on this concept because I love the self aware Au.

Thank you for sharing this with me Hydrogen Anon (yes I do accept anons), I hope I can see more about you in the future. Cheers!

#crk self aware #self aware crk #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run x reader #Headcanons #ask #Hydrogen Anon

[unholycringebirther]

john doe with a gn partner with bad period pains?

JOHN DOE X GN!READER [PERIOD HC’S/SCENARIO]

SUMMARY: You’ve got some mighty bad period pain, but both luckily and unfortunely, John’s right there to help!

WARNINGS: PERIOD PAINS, MINORS DNI

WORDS: 1,266

A/N: Friendly reminder from a real-life enby, periods aren’t just for women! I get a period, and I am a very proud Bigender individual, Trans-men get periods, and those are %100 without a singe doubt, real men, if you still think otherwise, get the fuck off my blog. :)

HC’S:

 -Oh, he’d be so very worried about you! Especially if you, rightfully of course, are loud about your displeasure, he’d be hovering anxiously over you for hours.

-He’ll get anything you want him too, although he really has no idea what he’s doing, and will likely get most orders wrong, you’ll be seeing a example of that soon.

-Doesn’t like leaving you alone, his separation anxiety is already horrible on a good day, but when you’re in pain? In discomfort? He’ll cling to you like the world is ending, and honestly, if you’re in pain it does feel like his world is ending.

-He’ll give you lots of snuggles and whatnot, he’s usually quite touchy but he’ll only worsen during this week, especially if you’re cramping, but since he smells wet and raw you’re enjoyment could vary.

-You’ll notice his hair will move to try and smother you while he cuddles you, almost like it’s alive..

-Since he can’t cook, you could convince him to let you go for just a few minutes to go grab some takeout, he’ll be reluctant to leave but if you’re starving, well that comes first, but expect him to bring home something extremely strange.

-He talks a lot, but with while he frets and panics over you, it’ll become almost babbling, sometimes completely incoherent as he violently worries about you.

-His body is weirdly warm and cold at the same time, so if you’re looking to warm up or cool off, he might be able to help.

-If you’re like me and sweat a lot during cramps, don’t expect the sheets to be changed, he absolutely loves how your natural odour smells, though he’ll (very begrudgingly) change and wash them for you if you have a leak-through.

SCENARIO:

You moaned, clutching the heat pack to your uterus as the warmth of it starts to dwindle.

Its a tight pain, your uterus tensing achingly as you hunch more into yourself, sweat and tears of excretion building on your skin and in your eyes as a sharp stab shoots throughout your stomach.

Sounds of pain escape your mouth despite yourself, and you try to keep it quiet since your boyfriend was asleep in the other room.

It was a rare occurrence, you figured out as much when you awoke every morning to his comically large eyes staring down at you, small hearts in those even smaller pupils.

It was the only time you got some relief from his presence, not that you didn’t love your eldritch lover, but with his constant clinging and presence pressed against you, stemmed from his separation anxiety, it could get a little suffocating at times, something John didn’t seem to really understand.

He only went to sleep after you assured him you weren’t going anywhere, and that everything was fine, and his grip was tight when you tried to shimmy out of it.

It was true— everything started out fine, your stomach felt a little off but you figured it was because you hadn’t eaten yet, but shortly after you felt the tell-tale feeling of a wetness between your legs.

It lead you to laying in your bed, clutching your now empty stomach as you’d already thrown up the contents, your warm bed helped soothe your tensed muscles where the heat pack couldn’t, and your arm thrown over your eyes protected them from the light streaming through the window.

It was time to roll over onto your back, your right side getting sore where you rested all your weight on it, its been a cycle of side to back to other side for about half an hour now.

With a grunt of effort, you adjusted onto your back, the light trying to burn your retinas now removed, you remove your arm from your eyes.

You jerked violently when you met familiar wide eyes, staring down at you in concern, and if the unblinking gaze wasn’t enough to convince you of his worry, in your peripheral vision his shirt had shifted to a frowning face, how’d he even get in without you noticing?!

It was hard to see the frowning shirt as he was leaned in so close, his face only inches from yours, and because of that, you’re glad when he kept his voice down when he spoke, as a shout might’ve burst you eardrums.

“Dearest, you look so sad! Did somebody upset you?! Tell me who, tell me tell me tell me tellmetellmetellmtell—“ 

He was gripping your shoulders, panic and upset at your clear discomfort, the frown on his shirt melting downwards in the midst of his stress.

“John, calm down.” Your voice was a little gravelly even to your own ears, rumbling out more than you’re use too, and its only once you move to grip his shoulders does he stop babbling, “Its just period cramps, don’t—!“

You inhaled through your nose, you curl into yourself slightly when your stomach almost lurches at the stab in your uterus, and a small wail leaves your mouth.

You can feel John scramble, clutching desperately at you as his anxiety spiked, he didn’t like seeing you in any pain, and was always quick to remove anything or anyone causing you any sort of sting.

“Love!“ his voice grew in volume, and the air around you shifted, dropping in temperature with his worry, you tried to pull yourself together the best you could, the heat pack you’re clutching now ice-cold like the room around you.

“Fuuu.. I’m alright, ergh,” your noises didnt convince him, and his four fingers are still holding onto your shoulders tightly, he’s even more tense than you are, “Can you just, ugh, heat up my pack? It’ll help.”

He snatches up the rice-filled bag you hand to him, eager to help, though you can see how reluctant he was to leave you, rushing off to the kitchen.

You relaxed back into the bed, you and the sheets surrounding you probably stunk of sweat, but fear not, you knew for a fact you’d find John burying his nose in them later, proclaiming how good you smelt, you didn’t know which was more embarrassing.

John might be clingy, reliant and a little odd, but he truly did care, always trying his hardest to please you and make you happy despite not understanding that most people don’t want to be gifted organs, he tried.

You loved him, and he made it quite obvious how much he loved you back, his sharp yellow teeth always bared in a grin whenever his large eyes were on you, and they were always on you, whether you realise it or not.

And you kept that swirling in the back of your mind when the sound of the fire alarms blare, your stomach cramps painfully when you jump up from bed.

Running through the door, you hunched over and kept your arm around your uterus as you made way to the kitchen, desperately searching for your boyfriend.

And there he was, unharmed thankfully, leaned over a sizzling frying pan, your heat pack catching fire where it rested against the smouldering metal, the smoke wafting straight into the alarm on the roof.

“Dearest!” He cried while he turned to you, ignoring the newly-fiery heat pack cooking like an egg, “What’re you doing up?—“

He cut himself off with a loud, feral hiss when water shot down from the roof, he launched for any sort of cover from the offensive roof rain while making deranged cat noises.

Maybe next time, you should just suck it up and get it yourself, less you want your house burnt down.

#john doe x reader #john doe x you #john doe game #john doe horror game #john doe

[paused-waterfall]

Can I gush about some connections between hc!Philza and q!Philza that we saw on display today? Not all the god lore, nothing nearly that important. I wanna gush about Phil's love of exploration.

(This was definitely inspired by @greaterspawnislands' post about hc!Phil, which solidified for me a bunch of things I'd half-noticed from watching some of the Hardcore series.)

So, cc!Philza's playstyle in Hardcore and QSMP are radically different. Most of Phil's time in HC is spent working on giant builds over the course of months, interspersed with fishing and zoomies breaks around his existing builds. He spawnproofs all areas that he spends time in so meticulously that you might almost forget he's not in peaceful mode, and he doesn't venture outside his established projects very often.

Meanwhile, on QSMP, Phil is constantly fighting mobs and exploring new chunks. And, of course, hanging out with other people. But underneath the extremely different mechanics, cc!Phil is actually choosing to express the same genre. hc!Philza's story isn't about building; it's about discovering the creations of the gods that inhabited the world before him. Both q!Phil and hc!Phil absolutely love exploring, documenting, and preserving their worlds.

And then we get to today. And there's a bunch of important lore stuff yeah yeah yeah but what about the OCEAN MONUMENT? The silly little outing meant to pass time and maybe blow off some steam. In which Phil did exactly what he has always loved to do in HC: He explored a majestic piece of architecture, of history, and found a way to return a bit of its former glory. But there was one huge difference between this expedition and those of Hardcore: Fit was there.

In QSMP, time and time again, we've seen Phil carefully pick people to bring to his discoveries. When he finds something incredible, he decides which of his closest friends and family would like it the most, and gifts control of the expedition to them. It's just such a wonderful little evolution of his exploration practices in Hardcore, and every time I see it happen, it makes me smile.

#philza #qsmp #hc!philza #⏸️

[khryptid]

It’s International Asexuality Day today!! but more importantly I want to share my hc that the entire Strawhat crew is some form of ace (I’m big on them being demisexual bc I am and also the ✨Power of Friendship✨is real big with them).

For the breakdown:

Luffy: ace, like all the way (but not sex repulsed). Meat and adventure are the only things on his brain.

Zoro: most likely grey-ace; sometimes he feels it, more often not, but between protecting the crew and training for his dream, he’s got other things to care about.

Nami: could easily flip flop ace (sex repulsed) or demisexual. She knows how she looks and will use it to her advantage, but I think with her origin story, she would be incredibly careful on who she is vulnerable with.

Ussop: 100% demisexual. My man’s befriended one person as a kid and that’s who he’ll simp for the rest of his life. (It’s Kaya, I’m incredibly sappy for childhood friends to lovers)

Sanji: demisexual; for all his flirting ways, he wants a meaningful connection that could potentially last a lifetime. (I feel between the little moments of protecting the crew and watching each other’s backs, Zoro could easily become that lifelong connection)

Chopper: ace; he’s a baby and focused on being the best doctor. (Could change when he’s older bc sexuality is fluid, but he’s got years to go)

Robin: grey-ace; while her own feelings only pop up once in a blue moon, she definitely takes the chance to ask about the romantic/sexuality culture and it’s effects on society of whatever island they’re visiting when she can.

Franky: ace (sex positive); he’s always more interested in building ships/new gadgets or modifying his body, but he’s not against sharing a moment with someone he cares for. (Maybe Robin-Idk I can see them as an aunt and uncle to the younger Strawhats but Morticia and Gomez Addams style)

Brook: when he was alive, demisexual, but now, definitely ace. Even with his running panties gag, he doesn’t actually feel anything and does it more as a way to lighten tension or humanize himself in the eyes of those who might be afraid of a talking skeleton. (Brook’s thought process, “they can’t be screaming at me in terror if they’re berating me for being a pervert”)

Jinbe: grey-ace; back in the day he was more into it, but honestly, he’s got a crew to look out for, enemies to fight, and freedom to share with the world so who has the time or the energy to think about it.

#one piece #one piece fluff #found family #black leg sanji #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #monkey d. luffy #luffy #roronoa zoro #zoro #cat burglar nami #nami #ussop #ussop one piece #tony tony chopper #one piece chopper #robin nico #nico robin #franky one piece #soul king brook #brook one piece #jinbe #zosan #frobin #nami x vivi #ace #international asexuality day #demisexual #grey ace

[bit-dodgy-innit]

We're Not Here to F*ck Spiders

Summary: You were the oldest Spider-Girl the society had ever encountered, therefore, Miguel took a special interest in you. He wanted to know if your life would correspond with his and the other Spiders’ canon, or whether you had a completely different canon you were forging on your own. After an offhanded comment about reviewing your canon with Miguel outside of headquarters, your relationship with Spider-Man 2099 is forever changed.

Set in between ITSV and ATSV.

Pairing: Marc x OC Female!Reader

For context, Reader is an alternate, grown-up version of Mayday due to personal reasons (personal reasons being I’ve been obsessed with Mayday Parker since I was baby child)! No real use of Y/N, though Miguel does refer to the reader as "May" twice and Peter Parker nicknamed her Mayhem. Peter B.'s daughter is Mayday.

Word Count: 10.2k words (see why this took me forever?!)

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI!!

CW/TW: An obscene amount of world-building, parents and kids fighting, mentions of a loss of a child, everyone being hot for Miguel, rough-ish sex (both partners are superheroes, come on), our boy is HUNG, dirty talk, a bit of cocky dom!Miguel, oral f!receiving, a lil bit of both m and f!receiving nipple play, PIV sex, riding, a quick spank, creampie, felching, and perhaps most intense of all, Miguel’s fear of commitment.

A/N: hahahahahaha this movie is nearly a year old and I FINALLY got around to writing a fic for it! Trust that I've been working on this on and off for a while now, but life has been nuts and writing more and more for work (yay!) but wanted to get this out while I had a slow week for everyone to enjoy!

Also, due to more personal reasons, my HC for Reader's parents are Peter and Mary Jane from Sam Raimi's masterpiece in 2002. But no presh if that doesn't jibe with ya!

I MADE A PLAYLIST FOR THIS FIC AND I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE PROUD OF ANYTHING

“Careful, Mayday!” you fondly called after the child who was literally bouncing off the cavernous walls of HQ. Yeesh, were you this energetic when you were her age? Probably. It never ceased to be weird, hanging out with an alternate baby version of yourself, but you could manage if you pretended she was your little niece, or sister, or something like that. 

The alternate baby version of Mayday Parker in question didn’t heed your admonishment at all (which tracked), so you called again, “Oh noooo…I’m gonna have to come up there and get ya!”

Mayday squealed in delight at your “threat” and only zipped around quicker. However, you had a couple decades on her, so your reflexes were more attuned. It didn’t take long for you to capture her in your grasp and tickle her. However, little Mayday wasn’t going to give up that easily. She squirmed out of your hold and began scaling the nearby wall at a dizzying pace. 

“Okay, missy, let’s settle down,” you announced, shooting a web to meet the infant on the platform she’d crawled onto. You continued to speak as you swung, “you know how Miguel is, we can’t get too carried…away.”

You nearly threw yourself back off the platform when you were met with the sight of Miguel himself standing before you holding May. 

“Oh, hi,” you gestured to the squirming girl in his hands, “thanks. I was right behind her.” 

“What am I like?” He asked, an inquisitive arch in his brow. 

“You’re…you run a tight ship that’s all,” you wished a portal would swallow you whole. “And it’s great! We need it.”

“Are you supposed to be anywhere?” Miguel prodded further as he passed you May. 

“Me? No, it's my day off.”

“Then why are you here?” 

“Because you put Peter B. on a mission and it gives me anxiety when he takes her.” 

“You and me both,” he huffed. 

“That being said, anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah actually, I have new sequencing to go over with you.” 

Though the multiverse was ever-expanding, you were the oldest Spider-Girl the society had ever encountered, therefore, Miguel had taken a special interest in you. Since you were a second generation Spider, Miguel wanted to know if your life would correspond with his, your dad’s, and the other Spiders’ canon, or whether you had a completely different canon you were forging on your own. You initially found the whole concept fascinating, yet that interest waned pretty quickly when Miguel informed you that he was going to have Lyla analyze your entire life and have you expound on your experiences so he could compare you to the other Spiders. 

Not that there was anything you were particularly ashamed of, but some of this stuff was embarrassing. Unlike baby Mayday, whose powers had already emerged, yours didn’t make an appearance until puberty. Reviewing your awkward teen years wasn’t exactly your ideal way of spending time with an unfairly hot guy, let alone the head of Spider Society.  

“Oh okay, yeah,” you replied. “When Peter gets ba—“

“MAYDAY! WHERE’S MY PUMPKIN?” Peter’s voice echoed across the room. 

No sooner had Peter spoken did Mayday websling herself off of the platform and into her father’s arms. 

Shit, there went your excuse. A nervous chuckle escaped you, “Convenient.” 

“Sí. Follow me.”

You did as Miguel said and trailed behind him to his…office didn’t quite describe it. Work station? Lair? You lasted all of forty-five seconds before your gaze dropped to his sculpted backside, a new record for you. 

It really was unfair that the intense, ornery leader of the Spider Society had to be so damn fine. You were a superhero and a consummate professional, but at the end of the day, you were a mostly heterosexual human woman with eyes. Miguel was stupidly sexy. His shoulder-to-waist ratio, that chiseled face, and of course, perfectly round ass had been the topic of a few hushed, giggly conversations between you and the other Spiders that liked boys. 

It was only ever cheeky whispers however. All of you knew better than to catch any real feelings for Miguel. One, it was majorly inappropriate. And two, he’d built emotional walls higher than the tallest skyscrapers in Nueva York. 

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander every now and then…you blamed it on your latest breakup. Spider-Girl duties had yet again claimed another potential partner. You suspected that was the reason it was more and more difficult not to fantasize about Miguel lately. Like sure, he was probably an animal in bed in the best way, but it was the prospect of not having to hide anything from him that appealed to you even more. 

“Lyla, bring up the latest sequencing,” Miguel ordered. 

If it weren’t for your spider-senses, you would’ve collided with his impossibly cut back, you were so deep into your thirsty thoughts. 

Suddenly, you were back on Earth-982A in your childhood bedroom. Or at least, that’s where you appeared to be. The virtual surroundings would’ve been comforting if it weren’t for the particular event that Miguel had wanted to revisit. 

Your father was forbidding you to use your powers. Again. You gazed at the rendering of your teenage self with compassion. Now, your father was fully supportive of you following in his footsteps, but the journey there had been rough. 

“You know, most parents would be happy if their kid wanted to do something to help the world!” 

Your dad scoffed. “That doesn’t matter - I’m not most parents and you’re not most kids!”

“Yeah and whose fault is that?!” Virtual you fired back. “I was born like this because of you! Dad, you’re always telling me that ‘with great power, comes great responsibility’ and now when I discover I inherited that great power, I can’t use it!?” 

“Pause,” Miguel’s voice spooked you back into the present. When you finally shook yourself from the memory that was playing before you, you found his eyes on yours. “Okay, there. Define ‘always’.”

“Quantitatively?” 

“Preferably.” 

“That’s impossible.” 

“Qualitatively, then.” 

“I mean, it's one of those things he said so much that I can’t remember the first time I heard it.” 

“When did your dad first hear it?” 

“His Uncle Ben told him during their last conversation together.” 

“Checks out. And how old was he?” 

“He was a senior in high school, so like seventeen, eighteen?” 

Miguel nodded. Even though x-ray vision nor telepathy weren’t in your powerset, you could practically see all the comparisons and calculations he was making in his head. 

“So using your powers to help people, that was your instinct when you inherited your abilities.”

“Yeah.” 

Miguel nodded again. 

“It’s different, isn’t it?” you asked him. He didn’t reply. “My dad told me he entered some god awful cage-match-wrestling-thing to get enough money to buy a car and impress my mom before he officially became Spider-Man.” 

Miguel was seemingly too busy with entering his latest data to respond. Instead, he barked at Lyla, “Resume sequence.” 

The holographic version of your dad lurched back to life to argue, “May, you are my great responsibility! So if I say no powers, no powers! I did this a lot longer than you! ” 

Tears streamed down your adolescent face. Thankfully, you’d lost some of the baby fat since.  “I hate you! I HATE YOU DAD!!” 

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This wasn’t easy to live, let alone re-live. So, as a Spider, naturally you made a jaunty, off-handed comment. “Wow, you really know how to show a girl a good time.” 

“Qué?” 

“Nothing.” He fixed you with his signature scowl so you elaborated, “Seriously, nothing. Though, maybe if we did this in an environment where I had access to alcohol and carbs, this would be less um…less unsettling for me.”

Miguel stared at you blankly. “But the simulator is here.”

“Right, of course.” Ughhhh, why was he so damn pretty?! “Forget I said anything, Miguel.” 

He dropped it, but before the simulation could start again, your gizmo beeped. Benji’s basketball game started in twenty. 

“Actually, sorry, I have to go.” 

“But we just got started.” 

“I know, but I haven’t been able to catch one of my little brother’s games yet this season, and it’s almost the playoffs.”

“Won’t he under–”

You interrupted Miguel. “You realize spider-stuff is not a viable excuse with my family, right? Besides, it’s my day off. I’m only here out of the goodness of my own heart and my commitment to the Spider-Society.” 

He rolled his eyes at your remark, but couldn’t help a little half - nay, quarter - smile from forming across the lips you had fantasized about kissing one too many times. “Things are quiet for once. We should knock this out now.” 

“We should,” you conceded as you created a portal, “but trying to have some semblance of work-life balance is Spider-Girl canon.”

And with that, you hopped back into your world, before you could change your mind or say anything else stupid and/or unintentionally flirty to Miguel. 

You re-appeared in your apartment with just enough time to throw on clothes and swing over to the middle school. Your mom was waiting as you hurried into the gym right as Benji and the other players were taking the court. 

“Look who made it,” MJ observed wryly. 

“Ha ha,” you fired back humorlessly, but pulled your mom into a hug all the same. “Where’s Dad?”

The ref’s whistle signaled tip off and the beginning of the game, momentarily distracting you two. You were thrilled to see Benji starting – he really wanted to make JV when he started high school next year, and this was a step in the right direction. 

“Go Benji!!” MJ cheered before answering your question, “He hit traffic coming from the station. He’ll be here soon.” 

Your collective attention was pulled to the game unfolding in front of you, then MJ asked, “What have you been up to today?” 

“Me? I was at the society for a bit, helping with the baby.”

You didn’t need to see your mother to know that she tensed at the mention of the Spider-Society and Peter B.’s Mayday. It, understandably, weirded her out. 

“How can it not be strange to care for–”

“It would be if we were closer in age,” you pointed out. “But it’s just like babysitting with Mayday right now. And trust me, after all the versions of Dad I’ve met, hanging out with little me is nothing.” 

Despite being weirded out, your mom always tried to empathize, so she switched gears. “Anything interesting happen?” 

“Ugh, just more sequencing with Miguel - today was a tough one.”

“Why?”

“Fights with Dad from years ago that I know we’ve moved past, but still suck to watch.” 

Your mom took your hand in hers, a much-needed grounding gesture. “Well, you’re back in the present, in your corner of the universe now, sweetie.” 

You gave her hand an appreciative squeeze and took her words to heart, focusing on the basketball game in front of you. It didn’t take too long to put the earlier events from headquarters behind you – Benji scored a couple baskets and you took it upon yourself to meticulously document the game on your phone for memories and possible future blackmail. 

When your Dad did join you and MJ, you couldn’t help but hug him tightly. You buried your face into his coat, which smelled like a mix of smoke from the streets and his aftershave. 

It was Peter’s mix of spider and paternal instincts that prompted him to ask, “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” you assured him, giving him some space. “I just–I love you, Dad.” 

“Love you too, Mayhem.” Where Mayday was Peter B’s moniker for his daughter, Mayhem was your dad’s nickname for you.

The game ended in victory for Benji’s team, the Midtown Mavericks, and you three waited for the youngest member of the Parker family to emerge from the locker room. 

Benji’s face when he saw you made any lingering discomfort you had leaving Miguel one thousand percent worth it. “You made it!” 

“Wouldn’t miss it!” you pulled Benji into a hug - however reluctant he was to it since he was a ~teenager~ now. “Dude, you put up points tonight!” 

But Benji had gotten distracted, so instead of responding to you, he murmured “Woah, that guy is swole.” 

You turned around to see who he was talking about and your jaw nearly hit the floor. 

It was Miguel. 

Even more incredibly, he was in civilian clothes. It wasn’t until you witnessed him in dark wash jeans, a henley, and a well-worn bomber jacket that you realized that you’d actually never seen Miguel in anything other than his spider suit. 

He called your name and you acknowledged him with a wave, flabbergasted. Even more astonished that you knew this very attractive hunk of man was your brother, “Wait, you know him?!”

“We work together,” you said quietly. 

“At the paper?” Benji was confused. 

“No, at my other job.” 

“Oh,” it clicked for him. “That makes sense. Man, I hope I get that jacked when I get my powers.” 

“Shhhh, be cool Benji,” you urged him. 

“Um, I’m not the one you have to worry about,” he harrumphed. “Oh shit, you like him.”

Though there was more than a decade between you and Benji, your little brother was still your little brother.  “No! He’s the head of the Spider-Society and he’s–you’ll see.” 

You took a step forward to greet Miguel before anyone else from your family could get to him. “Hey! What’re you doing here?” 

“I wanted to finish our work today, and since it’s your day off, I decided to come to you.” 

“Miguel O’Hara making a compromise? How not canon. Wonder how big of a hole that’s gonna tear in the multiverse.” 

“Shut up,” he ordered you playfully. 

“Miguel, good to see you!” Your dad strode over and pulled the younger spider-man into a handshake. 

“You too, Dr. Parker.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how oddly deferential Miguel was with your dad. He’d met Peter first, when he was establishing the Arachnohumanoid Polymultiverse. Miguel was stunned to discover that this Peter was not only retired, but had a full-grown daughter who’d taken up his crime-fighting mantle. Apparently your dad’s canon was particularly important and central to the greater Spiderverse, which meant Miguel would pester you with questions about him constantly. 

“Is everything okay?” Peter asked, “You don’t usually make house calls.” 

Before Miguel could explain, an elbow nearly sent you into careening into his broad chest. Mom. 

“Miguel, this is my mom, Mary Jane.” 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker,” Miguel dutifully offered his hand to her. 

“The pleasure is mine,” your mom gushed, “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

Benji was right. He was not the person you had to be worried about. A rip in the multiverse to swallow you whole would be rather convenient right about now. 

Miguel’s brow creased. “You have?”

“She hasn’t,” you intervened. “Like two or three things in passing, max. Promise I haven’t broken my NDA or you know, the superhero code of secrecy or anything.” 

Mercifully, Miguel let it slide for the time being. He turned to your brother. “And you must be Benji.” 

“Yeah,” Benji confirmed, doing a terrible job of pitching his voice lower. “‘Sup, bro.” 

Jesus Christ. At this point, you were ready to rip the fabric of reality yourself to end this. 

“Congrats on the win. Hate to do this, but I need to steal your sister for a bit.” 

“No problem, I know she’s fine with it.” Perhaps Benji needed a reminder regarding which sibling had the super powers. “Also, what’s your workout–”

“Well, as fun as this all is, we should probably get back to work.”

Your family didn’t put up much of a fight – thank God – as pleasantries were exchanged and you and Miguel took off. You hoped Miguel didn’t catch when your mother mouthed “So handsome!!” to you as everyone said their goodbyes. Finally, it was just the two of you walking down East 36th Street. 

“Sorry about them,” you began. 

He looked at you, puzzled. “Why?” 

“My family. Embarrassing.” 

“They’re not embarrassing. They’re…they’re nice,” there was pain behind Miguel’s eyes. “It’s interesting. Your brother hasn’t experienced any spider-abilities, has he?” 

“No,” you confirmed. “Not yet.”

You two slowed to stop on the corner. Miguel looked at you expectantly. “So, where to?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You said you wanted to do this in an environment where you ‘had access to alcohol and carbs’.” 

“Oh! Right. Hmmm, where are we?” you looked up at the cross streets above you. “36th and 3rd? I know a place.” 

You took Miguel to a little hole-in-the-wall Italian spot nearby. Since it was so close to Benji’s school and your old middle and high school, you had spent many a week night at their tables, either working on homework or chowing down after basketball practice. 

Therefore, the staff knew you – it was a family owned spot, you’d basically grown up with the owner’s children, Maria and Chris. Though you graduated from Midtown Charter a looong time ago, they still took care of you. Maria had even let you use their first aid kit once, no questions asked, after a nasty Spider-Girl skirmish nearby. You didn’t suspect she knew anything, but even if she did, you could trust Maria to be discreet. 

At least, you thought you could trust Maria, but when she showed you and Miguel to your table, and Miguel made a pit stop at the restroom, she very indiscreetly asked, “Daaaamn, girl. He your boyfriend? Because you–”

“No!”

“You getting dicked down by him?” 

“No!” 

“Can I get dicked down by him? He single? Does he like the ladies?” 

“Maria, he’s a colleague. Actually, he’s my superior. So no…unfortunately, no.” 

Maria cackled with delight. “That’s a pen worth sticking in your company ink. I’ll bring you some garlic bread.”

“And a glass of red wine,” you added. “no, a bottle.”

“That’s my girl!” 

In theory, you had thought that reviewing sequencing outside of headquarters would’ve been less awkward, but in reality, it was more so. You couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of Miguel in normal clothes, the intimacy of having a meal together when usually your interactions were so sterile and professional, plus there was a little voice in your head screaming that THIS WAS BASICALLY A DATE on repeat.

“So should we pick up where we left off?” Miguel asked. The question brought you back down to Earth. Despite that little persistent voice in your head oohing and ahhing at him, it was clear that Miguel didn’t think this was a date. This dinner was a means to end, nothing more. 

“Let me get a little wine drunk first,” you bargained. 

“Yeah, but you have sped-up metabolism, so that’ll take at least–” 

“That was a joke. Miguel, when was the last time you went out to dinner?” 

He seemed to truly consider the question, then, “I don’t know.” 

You’d never heard Miguel say those three words in that order before. 

“I promise you I will go over my cringe teen years with you, but can we eat some garlic bread and not get drunk off this very nice bottle of wine first?” 

“You’re worse than Lyla,” his eyes narrowed. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“She’s always trying to get me to take breaks.”

“You should! There’s only so much self-flagellation a human can take, even if they’re a superhero.” 

Miguel’s response was a very inarticulate grumble. Maria dropped off the wine, bread, and took your order. You didn’t know what was more insane – the amount of food Miguel ordered or how unabashedly Maria was ogling him. 

“Let me guess, Lyla’s the one who suggested the field trip to my home dimension?”

Another grumble, this one in the affirmative. 

“Classic,” you remarked with a snort before taking a gulp from your glass. “I love that your AI is smarter than you.” 

“Of course she is, she can access all of the multiverse’s knowledge in a nano-second.’

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” 

“Can we not talk about me for a second?” 

“Why?” 

“Because…because, I don't know, I was hoping doing this in a more casual environment would–it’d make it feel more like a conversation.” 

“We are having a conversation.” 

“Jeez, Miguel,” you took another sip of wine. “It’s not easy digging through my past like this. A lot of the time it feels more like an interrogation.” 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah. And don’t get me wrong, I want to help you, help the Spider-Society, but the one-sidedness of this is exhausting.”

“Exhausting.” He sounded dubious. 

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll take care of the bill and see you tomorrow, and we can go back to reviewing the sequencing like we normally do. I should know better than to complain to you.” 

Miguel looked at you if your words had stung him. “You can complain to me.” 

“No, I can’t,” you disputed. “You’re the most self-sacrificing Spider out of any of us–which is really saying something, by the way–and I feel lame talking about my feelings with you.”

“And that’s why our reviews feel like interrogations,” he was putting it together. 

“Yeah. Sorry to drag you out of HQ.”

Miguel scrutinized you with a long, unreadable look before announcing, “I’m not leaving before I have my bolognese.”

You didn’t know whether to smile or scream. Miguel may have lacked the traditional spidey precognitive sense, and the signature spider sense of humor, but he definitely had the stubbornness you all seemed to possess. 

You shot him a sidelong glare. “Why did you come here?” 

“I told you - I wanted to finish sequencing and Lyla suggested coming to you.” 

“But you didn’t have to take her suggestion.”

Miguel’s large frame shifted in the chair that suddenly appeared too small for him. “Like you said, she’s smarter than me, so I did. And yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve gone out to dinner.”

You didn’t know how to react to that. Right before the silence became intolerable, Miguel spoke again, “You still with that gu–’

“No.” The last thing you wanted to talk about with Miguel was your failed relationship with Gene, and you’d once discussed the correlation of getting your first period could’ve had with your powers emerging with him.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, you get it.”

Miguel at last took a sip from his glass. “All too well.” 

“The price of being a hero, right?” you sent him a small, sympathetic smile across the table. “Or at least that’s what I tell myself.” 

“Your parents seemed to have figured it out,” he pointed out. 

“Well, that took like decades, and according to you, they’re canon, right? So it was meant to be. I guess that’s one of the comforts of having a canon-confirmed soulmate.” 

“Yeah, if you're Peter Parker.” 

Your heart sank at the implication. “So that means if a Spider isn’t Peter we’re meant to die alone?” 

“I don’t know,” Miguel’s eyes were averted. “Maybe only if you’re a Miguel O’Hara.” 

“Stop, you could get anyone in this restaurant to sleep with you,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “Our waitress has to resist climbing on top of you whenever she passes the table.”

He swatted away the implication as if it were a pest. “That’s different.”

“You know, it might help with the stress.”

“What?”

“Letting someone climb on top of you.”

Miguel glared at you, “Don’t.”

“See? It’s not fun being on the other side of the questions,” you smirked. Your conversation was briefly suspended when Maria returned with your entrees. After thanking her, you refocused back on Miguel, “Can I ask you something else?”

“No.”

“DADA!” A child, who couldn’t have been more than three, screeched happily from a neighboring table. 

Miguel froze. For the first time in the several months that you’d known him, you saw his face soften. The warmth that filled his eyes at the sight of the toddler was undeniable. The fond expression hardened back into his stoic facade within an instant, yet Miguel couldn’t fully conceal the anguish that clearly still haunted him. He never could. 

“Sorry,” you said softly. 

He shook off your condolences. “What’d you want to ask me?” 

“Have you tried seeing anyone after…” it felt forbidden to say Gabriella’s name out loud. 

“What’s the point?” Miguel shrugged. “I don’t have the time, even if I wanted to.” 

“Right,” you hedged. 

Eventually, you and Miguel were able to find things to talk about outside of work and your respective traumas. You compared notes on the lamest villain you’d each encountered rounding up anomalies, discussed the idea of a nursery for spider-babies, or as Miguel insisted on calling them, “second-generation Spiders” – Peter couldn’t keep taking his kid on missions, plus Jessica Drew had just learned she was expecting – you even got Miguel to open up about his teenage days some. 

“Makes sense you were a rebel,” you chuckled, taking one last bite of the tiramisu Maria insisted was on the house.  

“Yeah? Why?” Miguel prodded.

“Because you-re so uptigh–upstanding now.” 

You were treated to another rare grin from Miguel, this time a half smile rather than a quarter. “Nice save.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you contended with put-on innocence. 

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t always like what I have to do, you know.” 

Your gaze locked directly with his for a breath-taking second, his eyes garnets in the low light of the dining room. “We should get going, I've taken you away from headquarters for long enough.” 

“You act like I’ve never left HQ before, and if anything, I took you away from your family,” Miguel parried, yet stood up nonetheless. You followed suit, only mildly disappointed he didn’t argue with you about leaving. As awkward as this dinner initially was, you’d actually ended up enjoying it. “I’ll take you home.”

Miguel’s words stopped you in your tracks, “You know I’m the protector of this city, right?” 

“Obviously, I—” he huffed as you waved goodbye to Maria and exited back onto the street. “Mierda May, I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

Oh. Oh. Did Miguel think this was a date too? Date was too strong of a word – did Miguel think this was a not-entirely-work-related-hang too? 

You struggled to keep your face blasé. “Ah, okay. We taking the subway or are we swinging?” 

Miguel shot you a look as if the choice was obvious, which is how you found yourself traipsing across the city with Spider-Man 2099. You’d traveled by web plenty of times with Miguel before on missions, but there was something about it being the two of you, in your city, that made it feel just a little bit special. 

And to be honest, you’d never get enough of watching Miguel’s body hurtle through the air – despite his bulk and brawn, he was agile and lithe as he swung from building to building with you. You nearly plunged into traffic on Sixth Avenue after your thoughts had wandered to what those bulging muscles looked like unencumbered by that skin-tight suit of his. 

When you arrived at your apartment in Morningside Heights, you were suddenly self-conscious. You’d never brought a Spider to your residence, and Miguel was likely the hardest to impress of them all. 

He studied your modest one-bedroom with the same intensity as he did his screens at the Spider-Society. 

“It’s not much, I know,” you began, “and with Spider-Girl stuff, I don’t have the time to keep it as tidy as I'd like to.”

“It’s perfect,” he mumbled before catching himself. “I mean, it’s perfect for you.” 

“Yeah, I don’t need much, but it gets good light during the day and was the highest floor I could afford at my price point,” you removed your mask as you babbled on. 

“Makes sense,” Miguel nodded. 

You had no idea where to go from there – what on Earth was the man playing at? Should you offer him water, another drink, the best spot to portal back to HQ? He was lingering in your space, seemingly fascinated by the framed prints on your walls, the photos on the coffee table and credenza. 

“Um, do you need to use the restroom or something? Because it’s right through there,” you motioned to the appropriate door. 

“I’m good for now.”

THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE? You hollered in your head. Externally, you kept playing hostess, “Let me get you a glass of water then–”

Yet Miguel caught your wrist before you could retreat into your tiny, galley kitchen. You weren’t proud of how your heart leapt and your breath hitched at the contact. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?” 

He shrugged, “I should, but–”

“But what?” 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said…about letting someone climb on top of me.” 

You gulped, “Sorry, that was so inappropriate of me–”

“It was. Inappropriate, that is, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea,” he tugged you closer to him. You could barely stand to meet his eyes, alight with desire, while your heart was pounding embarrassingly fast. 

“Um, judging by the–uh, do you want me to climb on top of you, Miguel?” you were always so much smoother in your daydreams about him. 

His lips hovered dangerously near yours. “Do you want to climb on top of me?” 

The closer you got to Miguel, the faster your brain turned to scrambled eggs. His large, sure hands had settled on your hips. 

“Uh huh,” was the best you could muster before he crashed your lips together. 

Miguel’s kiss was searing and all-consuming – it felt as if the longer your mouths moved against each other, the more your body melted into his. He was tall, so tall, and even for a superhero like yourself, it was difficult to keep yourself perched on the balls of your feet to reach his skilled, hungry mouth. 

He seemed to sense your struggle, and without breaking your liplock, he scooped you up into his arms. It was foreign but not unwelcome – you were so used to being the strongest, the person who held others, the hero. Therefore, being held so effortlessly in Miguel’s arms was nothing short of exhilarating. You weren’t the strongest person in the room anymore, you could surrender. You loved it.

Miguel pressed your back into the nearest wall, causing an emphatic moan to leave you when your hips became flush with his. You could already feel him – hot, hard, and big – between the flimsy fabric of your spider-suits. Instinctually, you canted your heat against his, delighting in the way he seemed to grow hotter, harder, not to mention unbelievably bigger, when you did. 

“Bedroom?” he gasped between harsh, ardent kisses. 

You managed to fling a hand in the correct direction, and next thing you knew, Miguel was depositing you onto your bed. You propped yourself up, leaning back on your palms to take in the man towering over you at the edge of your bed. In a flash of color and light, his suit disappeared from his strapping physique, and the sight of Miguel naked intoxicated you more than alcohol ever could. 

His shoulders seemed even broader without the unstable particles of his suit covering them. His pecs were massive, which made a delectable ratio when his chest tapered down to a chiseled abdomen and slim hips. Slim hips that framed the biggest cock you’d seen outside of porn – hell, maybe even including porn. He was long and thick – it made a dark thrill race down your spine when you contemplated how the hell that was going to fit inside of you. 

Miguel noticed you marveling at his package, misinterpreting the rapacious glint in your eye as unease, “I’ll prep you, I won’t hurt you.” 

“Oh, I’m not worried” you glanced back up at his face coquettishly. 

“No?” Miguel cocked an eyebrow and advanced toward you on the bed, a jaguar stalking its prey. He nudged you onto your back and pinned your wrists to your comforter, “maybe you should be.” 

You muscled out of Miguel’s grip and switched positions so you were straddling him. Only then did you lean closer and whisper into his ear, “I can take it.” 

Miguel growled, and within an instant, you were on your back once again as he pawed at your suit. Unlike his costume, your spider-suit was made of plain old fabric, so there was a bit of fumbling, cursing in Spanish, nervous giggling, and a mumbled comment about ‘making you a suit like mine’ from Miguel before you were nude as well. 

He splayed you out against your mattress as if you were a feast before him. Your first instinct was to try and cover yourself but Miguel’s dark gaze froze you. A pleased groan rumbled from his chest and then his large hands flew to your breasts. “Such full, perky tits.”

You moaned in response to his ministrations. How was this real? You and Miguel were touching each other – naked – and you hadn’t woken up yet. 

“It’s all for you,” you mewled, relishing his hot palms on your sensitive buds. 

Another growl ripped from his chest before he swooped down and sucked one of your nipples into his warm, wanting mouth. You keened, a pathetic, high-pitched sound, and you wove your fingers into his dark locks as he gorged himself on your tits. 

The pull of Miguel’s mouth on your peaks was made only better when he snaked a hand between your legs and ran a finger along the seam of your sex. You bucked at the touch, your reaction causing Miguel to lift his head from your bosom. 

“Mmmm, you like it when I play with your pussy, cariño?”

At this point words had all but left you so you nodded and whined in the affirmative. Miguel’s digit parted your folds, tracing up and down, then found your clit and rubbed slow, tortuous circles into the nub. 

“So wet for me, bebita,” he observed, maddeningly casually, while he played you like an instrument. “This is all for me, huh?”

Your head thrashed back and forth on your comforter with a sob, both from pleasure and bashfulness. Now there was no downplaying how horny Miguel made you. 

“Shhh,” he cooed at you, taking one of your hands and bringing it to his groin, “feel what you do to me.”

This time your moan was unabashed as your hand circled around his girth. “Fuck, you’re so big.” 

“I know,” he grunted. Normally, such braggadocio from a man would be an immediate turn off to you. But Miguel wasn’t being arrogant, not when he was referring to the thick, pulsing hardness you were currently caressing. “Gotta get you ready for me.”  

He guided your hand away from his member, even despite your protests, to wrench your thighs wider and bury his head between them. The realization alone that Miguel O’Hara was about to eat you out almost made you come, yet actually feeling his tongue on your needy cunt was infinitely better. He licked a stripe from your perineum to your clit, tearing another ragged moan from you when his tongue focused in on the bundle of nerves. 

Miguel chuckled against your folds at your enthusiastic praise and redoubled his efforts. Your fingers reflexively tangled in his inky locks once again as he continued his delectable assault on your pussy. The way Miguel tasted you matched with how he seemed to approach everything – he was vehement and determined to bring you pleasure like how he was when he worked. He managed to just stay on the right side of rough as he slurped at you..though perhaps that was a bit different than how he fought.

He speared his tongue into your hole, affording you the opportunity to grind your clit against his prominent nose. In your pleasure-filled haze, you briefly fretted that you were suffocating Miguel, but when you tried to scooch away and give him some air, the man grunted and pulled your hips closer to him.

You keened again when one of his thick fingers joined the fray as he prepped you. After all the sexual tension, all the self-denial, and all the excitement the night had held, it felt so good to clench around something. He was again methodical with his preparation, allowing you to adjust to one digit before adding another, and another. It couldn’t have made a starker contrast with how he was devouring your sex. Even in the bedroom, Miguel O’Hara was full of contradictions. It didn’t take long for your breaths to become more shallow, for your cries to reach a higher pitch as you climaxed around his hefty fingers. The combination of the penetration and the stimulation of your clit with his mouth was too good to resist. 

You were slightly relieved that Miguel remained nestled between your legs while you rode out your peak. The orgasm he’d given you was much too good to be able to control your facial expressions. 

He at last came up for air once you’d begun floating down from your peak. A primal pride surged through you at the sight of your juices smeared all over his lips and chin. You couldn’t help but smash your mouths together, eager to sample the combination you two made. It was all too easy to get lost in a kiss with Miguel, yet as you plundered his mouth with your tongue, your hand crept back down his groin. 

This time it was Miguel who moaned into your mouth as you returned him to full mast with feather-light, teasing touches. 

���I need to fuck you,” he gasped between kisses. 

“Finally,” you bantered back. 

A growl from Miguel and then he tackled you back flat on the bed. You couldn’t help the giggle – partly from nerves, partly from anticipation – that escaped you at his actions, despite the visage of a hulking, intimidating man hovering over you could be frightening in another context. 

“Do you have protection?” 

You hesitated. You kept a box of condoms in your bedside drawer, but given Miguel’s size, they’d be inadequate. 

“None that would fit you,” you confessed, stealing another glance at his large erection. It was truly a sight to behold. Miguel deflated slightly, fearing penetration was off the table, and usually it would be. You were firmly a two methods of contraception girl, but there was no way you were going to pass up this chance to have sex with Miguel. “Don’t worry Spidey, I’m on the pill.” 

“Gracias a Dios,” he muttered, then wasted no time situating himself between your hips. He drew yet another mewl from you when he slapped the tip of his cock a few times on your clit before lining himself up with your entrance. 

He found you looking at him expectantly. And though Miguel mostly saw desire in your eyes, he could see the glimpse of unease too. He assured you, “I’ll go slow.” 

You nodded, you trusted him after all, but nothing could prepare you for the stretch of when Miguel finally pushed into you. Just the tip was already splitting you apart more than Gene, or any former lover for that matter, ever had. 

“Breathe,” Miguel rasped. You couldn’t tell if he was advising you or himself though. It struck you then that you’d perhaps achieved the damn-near impossible – disarming the notoriously closed-off Miguel O’Hara. He looked beautiful, biting his plush lower lip as he slowly rocked more and more of his huge cock inside of you. 

Your back arched off the mattress of the sensation of being progressively speared on the monster that Miguel called a dick. It was too much and not enough all at once, and your fingers dug into your comforter below you. He tried to distract you from any potential pain, Miguel’s index finger returning to your barely-recovered clit. 

“That’s it, open up for me,” he husked. Your head swam at the mix of his enormous manhood stretching you to your limit and his tender, in-control tone. The realization hit you harder than a punch from an anomaly. In that moment, fear skittered down your throat and pooled into your stomach, resting right above where you two were joined. He’s going to ruin me for other men, isn’t he? 

You couldn’t think any further since not only was Miguel fully seated within you, he had asked you a question. Your eyes glassy and pupils blown, found his, and he repeated himself. “You okay? Can-can I move?”

“Yes,” you gasped. In case your breath affirmation left any room for doubt, you added, “please.”

Another grunt from your lover and Miguel at last began to thrust into you. Your arms flew from the bed to his impossibly wide shoulders, your nails digging into the caramel, taut skin there. You couldn’t tell exactly when it’d happened, lost in the deliciously lewd sounds you were making between the slap of your bodies, your labored breaths, and his determined staccato grunts while Miguel railed you, but your hips had begun to meet his. 

“M-more Miguel,” you urged him as you dragged your fingertips down the expanse of his back. Each of your hands grabbed a fistful of that glorious ass and squeezed to drive home your point. 

“You sure?” 

You moaned. It was as if he couldn’t give it to you hard or faster enough. You used your grip on the globes of his perfect rear to try and force him to increase to the pace and force you needed him to fuck you at. 

Miguel laughed. A dark and stirring sound that made you involuntarily tighten around his girthy length. “Alright bebita, but remember…you asked for this.” 

His words ignited something defiant within you. You pulled Miguel’s head from where it had fallen into the crook of your neck so you could look him in the eyes when you said, “I’m not some pillow princess from Nueva. I’m just as strong as you are, I can go just as hard you can, and I want you to fuck me.” 

Your lover’s eyes darkened at your demand. The growl that ripped from his throat was your only warning before Miguel unleashed the full force of his strength on you. You keened in pleasure as he all but drove you through your bedframe and the wall behind it. Miguel captured your wrists once more and restrained you against the mattress as he absolutely pounded into your pussy. 

His drilling drew another ecstatic cry from your mouth. Miguel glared down at you, his eyes nearly crazed, his face barely lit in the ambient light from the street. It truly was infuriating to you how beautiful this man was. You watched his brow furrowed in concentration – not on his stupid screens for once – and his dark hair shift in time with his thrusts.  Your features contorted in pleasure when Miguel switched from drilling into you to swiveling his hips to stuff you with his cock. His movements were deliberate and slow, he was trying to get as deep inside of you as he could. You almost went cross-eyed at the feel of his bulbous cockhead punching against your cervix. 

The criminal undulations of his hips extracted a little yip from you each time he pistoned into you. He grinned down at you wolfishly. Equal parts indignation and arousal bloomed within you. Also, was the first time you'd ever seen Miguel smile? Not a little half-smirk or a humorless quirk of his lips, but an unabashed smile?

“Want me to back off?” 

Oh, there was no way you were going to take that lying down. Even if Miguel’s pubic bone was perfectly grinding into your clit. 

You let out a growl of your own and summoned all the power in your core muscles to wrestle Miguel back and claim the high ground. Out of breath when you found yourself seated on Miguel’s dick, his large, muscled body prone beneath you, you braced yourself on his rippled abdomen.

“Is the itsy-bitsy Spider-Girl gonna ride my cock?” he taunted you. If Miguel didn’t wear that arrogant, playful smirk so well, you would’ve wiped it from his lips. 

You slid your hands up the length of his chest and leaned over, your face hovering over his. “That depends. Can 2099 handle it?” 

Miguel answered you with an impatient buck of his hips up into your sex. You giggled as you straightened up again, tweaking one of Miguel's nipples as you went. You relished the little shudder it sent through him. “Alright, but remember baby, you asked for this.”

He snorted out a laugh, which you quickly silenced once you began riding Miguel like the stud he was. “Hnnn–shock, bebita.”

“Ah,” you sighed as you bounced on his prick. Before sleeping with Miguel, you had assumed the term “feeling him in your guts” was hyperbole. Not with him. “Fuck, you’re even bigger like this.” 

A large hand traced its way up one of your thighs, now lightly covered with a sheen of sweat, past your sex, split apart by his shaft, to where Miguel’s manhood made the slightest bulge in your lower belly. His smile became wider and even cockier. “It’s good, no?”

You gave him a nonverbal, but enthusiastic, reply. He smacked your ass in satisfaction, “Yeah c’mon, cariño, ride me. Wanna watch your tits bounce.” 

You officially hated Miguel and his big, thick, perfectly sized cock. Where as with other partners you’d smack them right back with a zinger, all you could do was moan again. His naughty, domineering words did nothing but excite you. There was something about him and the way he fucked that made you incapable of doing little else than enthusiastically submitting to him. You leaned back, your fingers clutching onto Miguel’s thick thighs to stability as you changed angles and gave him a better view of your breasts jiggling in time with your motions. 

“Ay, sí bebita,” Miguel’s hands flew to your hips to intensify the frantic mashing of your bodies together, “Ven aquí.”

He gathered your torso in his hulking arms and pulled you closer so that he could coax a breast into his mouth again as you rode him. 

“You gonna come for me Miguel?” you panted.  

“No,” he sounded as winded as you were. “Not yet.”

You clenched around him and snickered. “Are you sure?” 

“¡Coño!” Miguel snarled at the feel of your already blistering, tight pussy suffocating his dick further. “¡No más – basta de esto!”

The vision of your bedroom swam when Miguel lifted you off his pulsing member and dropped you back on your stomach onto the mattress facing the foot of the bed.. You could hear him shifting behind you, and you blindly groped for the lower metal railing of your bedframe’s footboard, only vaguely aware what was to come. 

A grunt from Miguel, and the next thing you knew one of your pillows was stuffed under your lower belly and his massive hands were back on either side of your hips. Your lover didn’t give you any notice before shoving his fat erection back inside of your already tender pussy. 

You shouted at the feeling of his cock stuffing you to the brim once again. Miguel’s hands appeared above your head where you held on for dear life as he impaled you on his prick.

“Ahhh!” you clamored, desperately trying to pull enough air in your lungs to function as Miguel squatted behind you. “I’ve never been so full! Oh God, Miguel, it’s so much…so much…”

Miguel responded with a pleased growl, and merely rammed into you harder. You were peripherally aware of the clanging of the pieces of your metal bed frame clanging together in protest at the vigor of your and Miguel’s coupling, but there were too many sensations overwhelming you at once to focus on one in particular. Not even when the metal groaned and the angle Miguel fucked you at changed did you pay attention to what was actually happening. You merely pushed back onto his cock as much as you could, your fingertips scrabbling into the folds of your comforter. 

Your eyes screwed shut at the barrage of stimuli - the unrelenting stretch of Miguel’s hardness,  his harsh but steadying grip on your hips, the light scratch of fabric beneath you on your skin, the little puff of warmth on the back of your neck from Miguel’s labored exhalations. You were sure this was better than any high any drug could provide. You hadn’t tried many, not even Rapture, and but nothing could top being thoroughly fucked into your mattress by Miguel O’Hara.

Miguel’s dogged grunts morphed into shouts when he at last found his release, spurting rope after rope of hot, creamy cum into your welcoming cunt. You found yourself crying out along with him as he emptied his load, your walls bearing down around his length as you both rode out his high. Miguel flooded your pussy with his seed and before you could even try to adjust to the feeling, he withdrew his cock from you, tearing a quite pathetic-sounding whimper from your mouth. 

Miguel pulled your ass cheeks apart to examine your stretched, puffy pussy leaking his cum. His chest rumbled with primal delight. “Hermosa.”

You’d barely had a chance to catch your breath when Miguel dove back in for more, this time his eager, demanding tongue again invading your channel. You whimpered again, your pitch jumping an octave at Miguel’s needy tongue not only collecting his spunk from your pussy, but flicking the muscle against your clit. He was a man possessed, he ate you out as if he needed you to orgasm one more time for his survival. 

You gave him what he wanted (how could you not?), and once the crest of your pleasure had subsided, you lightly pushed him away from your gaping, abused cunt. 

The first thing you noticed when your wits returned to you was how much closer the ground had become. 

“Oh my God,” you put it together and turned to face your partner, "we broke the bed.”

Miguel arched a brow from where he leant back into the pillows. “Are you surprised?”

You frowned at him.  

“I’ll fix it,” he promised. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m going to…” you trailed off your gaze floating to the bathroom.

“Do your thing.”

“Can…can I get you anything?” 

Miguel glanced down at his crotch. “A towel?” 

You nodded. “Say no more.” 

You ducked into your en-suite, and once you were sure the door was firmly closed behind you, you proceeded to have a freak out to yourself in the mirror. You scarcely believe your own appearance – lips kiss swollen, hair a veritable bird's nest, your mascara smudged into rings around your eyes. Miguel had destroyed you in the best of ways. 

The thought sent a little aftershock of pleasure through you. You didn’t dally any longer — you relieved yourself, washed your hands, ran a brush through your hair and splashed water on your face. After dampening a washcloth for Miguel, you returned to the bedroom, where your bed frame was properly vertical again. 

You glimpsed the glow of Miguel’s distinctive red webs holding the broken metal rods together. The other Spider was reclining on your mattress, a sheet haphazardly tossed over his groin to preserve his modesty. Even so, the sight of him made you go weak in the knees. He really did remind you of some sort of a large cat given the odd grace in which he lounged with, the evidence of his power and strength so poorly hidden under the surface of his skin. 

“Get a new frame and expense it to Spider-HQ,” Miguel's baritone snapped you out of your reverie. 

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” You tossed him the towel. 

His eyes raked over your naked form. But instead of the desire you’d found there earlier, his gaze was full of concern. “You okay?”

“Yes. Very okay. A little sore but good sore, ya know?” 

“Good,” Miguel busied himself with cleaning up. 

“I mean, what’s the point of having superpowers if you can’t enjoy extra rough sex?” you joked. 

“Yeah, about that,” Miguel refused to meet your eyes. “As um…great as all this was…I think we–it should be a one-time thing.” 

“Um, duh.” He looked up at you hastily and you continued, “Miguel, neither of us are anywhere close to ready or in the right place for a relationship.” 

Your heart disagreed with your words, but you uttered them anyway. Not because it was how you truly felt, but you knew it was what he wanted to hear. Miguel associated any sense of closeness or vulnerability with weakness and danger. Trying to get him to see otherwise was a fool's errand, and it was easier on your heart to convince yourself into concurring with him. 

Oddly, Miguel didn’t seem to relax at your assurances. He looked dubious. “Are you sure?” 

“Oh my God, you are so cocky!” you accused him with a playful slap to the broad, tan chest. “Spare me the fake worry 2099, you may be amazing at sex, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to be professional with you at HQ.” 

“Amazing at sex?” Mirguel parroted you with a smirk. 

You slapped him again. “Of course that’s the only part you heard.”

“Sorry but those are very distracting,” he claimed, his gaze focused on your exposed breasts. 

You scoffed and grabbed a pillow to temporarily cover yourself. “Hang on there, Spider-Man. Yes, you are…not terrible at showing a lady a good time, no, you don’t have to worry about me being clingy at work, and yes, I’m sure so stop looking at me like that!” 

You tossed the pillow away and straddled him. “Now I don’t know about you, but it’s only midnight. If this is indeed a one-time thing, I say we make the most of the night and the fact that no one has bothered us with some multiversal emergency yet.” 

Miguel finally let it go, choosing to focus on your very nude body on top of his. His hips moved on their own accord, grinding his cock, already stiffening back up to full mast, against where you were still so nice and stretched for him. 

“Vamos, bebita,” he whispered into your ear. His fingers dug into your sides possessively in a way that almost let you believe he was doing it because you were his. “Wanna fuck you on the ceiling.” 

***

You shouldn't have been surprised that Miguel didn’t stay the night. You were honestly shocked when he collapsed beside you after the hours you’d spent vehemently fucking. Your bed was now held together by a mix of both his and your webs, one of your framed photos on the wall lay shattered on the floor to be dealt with later, and the ceiling now sported a dent that was going to be very difficult to explain to your landlord. 

The memory of Miguel leaving was hazy at best. After so many rounds of deeply satisfying, intensely athletic sex, you felt like you could sleep for a week. Yet the shift and dip of Miguel’s large frame exiting the bed was enough to wake you. You could sort of recall a small flash of light and chirpy voice which must have been Lyla…and you also had a vague memory of him replying in a hushed rumble as if not to wake you up. Or was he telling you he was heading out? Everything jumbled together under the fog of sleep. 

Either way, you had to tell yourself that the sensation of a large hand caressing your face and then tenderly stroking down the sleep-warm skin of your back was a dream. Not for Miguel’s sake, but yours. 

Thanks to super-spider stamina, you only really needed a couple extra shots of espresso to function somewhat normally the following day at headquarters. You were angry at your instinct to avoid Miguel. You both were adults that had an adult, mature conversation that last night’s activities were merely a form of stress release that didn’t mean anything. It was hard to believe however, when you could still feel the phantom shape of him inside of you. 

Besides, it’s not even like you could avoid him if you wanted to. You were scheduled to go over more sequencing today with Miguel, and you were dead set on not blinking first in the post-sex-awkwardness stand-off. 

“Hey, Miguel!” your voice reverberated in the vast space. 

Several agonizing moments later, his platform lowered enough for you two to start conversing. If he was at all bashful about seeing you, the man didn’t show it. 

“Good. You’re here.”

“Yep.” 

Miguel was all business. “I want to go back to the fight you had with your father. Lyla, take us to timestamp 46:90:45.”

Damn, and here you thought you were good at compartmentalizing. You did your best to hide any disappointment from reaching your face, playing along as if he hadn’t seen every crevice of your body the night before. 

***

Days turned into weeks, and you eventually, reluctantly accepted that Miguel had told you the truth that night. What you two had shared was really just a one-time lapse of his frighteningly strong self-restraint. 

You were enjoying a rare night in, parked on the couch, takeout boxes strewn about the coffee table, your favorite trashy reality show playing on your TV. You’d gotten injured taking down a Doc Ock variant a few days ago, and Miguel benched you to recuperate. You were all too happy to take a break, from him and Spider-Girling. Despite your complicated feelings for the man, he assigned a recently displaced Spider, Spider-Woman 1357, to pinch hit for you in your dimension while you healed up. It was the first time since you became a hero you had a day off with peace of mind. 

Just as you started another episode, a tingle raced down your spine. Your spider-sense. Something was about to happen. Out of all the possibilities of what could have followed, a portal opening in your living room and Miguel walking through was the last thing you would’ve guessed. You leapt up from the sofa. 

You instantly regretted your appearance - messy bun, no makeup, and ratty sweatpants. Miguel, as usual, looked immaculate in his skintight spider-suit. 

“Hey.” 

“Is this a booty call?”

“No.” 

“Don’t bullshit me–”

“It’s not, I swear! Coño, I came to check on you.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you could have messaged me on my gizmo. It’s your preferred method of communication after all, ever since the last time you were in my apartment.” 

“May–”

Lyla appeared over his shoulder. “He missed you, that’s all.”

Miguel growled at his AI. “I’m going to sentence you to robot death via spreadsheets.” 

Lyla wasn’t threatened in the slightest. “Thank me later.” She disappeared before Miguel could try and make another retort. 

“You missed me?”

“No,” his denial was instant. “I just…I–”

“This is a booty call!” you crumpled up a napkin and chucked it at his large form. “Go home, Miguel!” 

He didn’t budge. “It’s not a booty call. I…what are you watching?”

“The Realest Housewives of Manhattan. What, don’t judge me!”

Miguel couldn't keep his face straight. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Seeing his eyes crinkle with amusement was infectious. You threw another napkin ball at him and then composed yourself. He wasn’t getting off the hook this easily. “Why are you here? Be honest with me. It’s the very least I deserve.”

“I wanted to see the shocking expensive bed frame you expensed to HQ for myself.” 

“You said I could and you didn't set a spending limit.” A wicked little grin pulled at the corners of your mouth. The bed frame from Restoration Hardware had been your own private form of revenge. “And I’m supposed to believe you wanting to see my bed – my bed that you broke–”

“Hey! We broke the bed–”

“--is not your thinly veiled excuse for seeking another roll in the hay? Enough with goddamn mind games Miguel.” He tried to speak but you pushed on, “I’m tired and this is the last thing I need.”

Miguel sobered. He hung his head. His mouth seemed to fight the words as they left his lips.  “Alright, fine. I missed you.” 

You ignored your heartbeat’s sharp increase and schooled your features to maintain a neutral appearance. “I have some extra Pad Thai if you want.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“So this may not be a booty call, but does anyone other than Lyla know you’re here?”

“No.” 

You nodded. “Come. Sit. I just started the episode where Beverly throws her poodle a forty thousand dollar birthday party.” 

“Nothing you said just now made sense,” Miguel protested, but took a seat on your couch anyway. 

A/N: Hope y'all enjoyed!! Miguel has fully rotted my brain so I thought it only fair to share the horniness. Of course I have more imagined in this AU, fingers crossed I can find more time to write (comments and reblogs and likes help!)

Translations:

Mierda - Shit 

cariño - dear

bebita - baby

Gracias a Dios - Thank God

Ven aquí - Come here

¡Coño! - Damnit!

¡No más – basta de esto! -No more, enough of this!

Hermosa - beautiful

Vamos, bebita - Come on, baby

Taglist: @plethora-of-imagines, @itdobe-liza @absolutelybloodyhopeless @ninebluehearts, @oscarissac2099 @trinthealternate

#miguel smut #miguel x reader #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x you #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac fanfic #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfic #we're not here to f*ck spiders

[most-creature-vibe-tournament]

Semifinal 1

Propaganda:

Taylor Hebert (Worm (webserial by Wildbow))

Human girl who has superpowers that let her control bugs. She shunts all emotions off into her swarm of bugs, leaving her totally blank and stoic. She outsources sensory-input to her bugs, so she never looks or reacts to anything. In a fight, she reacts to opponents there is no possible way she could see, because she sensed them with her bugs. Overall has virtually no facial tells and moves in a way that makes her seem like she isn't a person. very creature <3 she is just a bug girl

shes such a FREAK. shes completely human (tho with an eldritch alien creature extradimensionally attached to her mind) but God does she not act like it sometimes. she has the superpower to control bugs and uses it to become the worlds most terrifying hero slash villain slash warlord slash apocalyptic threat. she has her bugs crawling all over her all the time. she uses a swarm of flies to scout out areas and then leaves flies in everybodys hair so she can keep track of where they are. she practiced having her bugs make noises until she figured out how to combine their noises into human speech so now she can talk through her swarm. she makes decoys of herself out of large pillars of bugs. once she was concussed and in the hospital and subconsciously calling her bugs to her so she was just covered in insects while the doctor tried to help her. then there was ANOTHER time she was hospitalized and got bored so she made a bunch of bugs so a little dance on her chest. whenever she's in costume and talking she has her bugs make noises to distort her voice and make her sound more scary and she doesnt even realize shes doing it anymore. she surrounds herself in a swarm to disorient her enemies. she doesn't even notice when her hair covers her eyes or anything like that because shes scouting out the area using her bugs so she doesnt have to see. she once used a tide of bugs to clean herself off and dust off her dress after having sex.

#she views herself as more of a swarm of bugs with a girl-shaped computer to control them than a girl herself#her body is just an extension of her bugs which is large and inconvenient but ultimately part of the weapon

#taylor “dissociates into bugs” hebert#taylor “keeps bugs in her hair” hebert#taylor “choke them with bugs” hebert#taylor “no one could ever love me” hebert#taylor “violence is always the answer” hebert

#normally i would want a worm character to win#but#bdubs is a strange little man. he's unusual.#Taylor's just got the 'tism.

she literally is a walking superorganism comprised of one human and a lot more bugs to the point where she frequently moves her head as if she can see through walls (with her bugs, she can), talks through her bugs, has been described like a corpse whose ghost is living on in her swarm, keeps functioning thru her bugs even when her human body is out for the count, et cetera. no disrespect intended but genuinely what in the world are you talking about. She cleans her pussy off with bugs after fucking. Her pussy. With bugs. And she thinks it's normal. Because the bugs are part of her. Is this thing on. I reiterate that she literally requires an emotional support cloak of bugs. She is so dissociated from being an actual person that she treats her human body like an inconvenience and her bugs like the primary operators. Is This Thing On.

#now i told myself i wouldnt comment anything on the rb... but#“She cleans her pussy off with bugs after fucking. Her pussy. With bugs.” CHAT IS THAT FUCKIN REAL??? IS THAT CANON???#cause if thats just a hc thats wild and i dont know if its better or worse if its canon#propaganda

this is indeed canon! there is a scene where, after fucking her boyfriend in an abandoned building, she stands up and cleans dust/etc off her naked ass body by having her bugs run across her and clean her, which presumably translates to "they are eating the dirt/sweat/etc off her." her boyfriend smiles affectionately at this, because he also has something wrong with him. she also does things like use bugs and spider silk to deliver her toothbrush straight to her hand in the morning while monologuing about "checking in on her hive" (her hive is the people in her villain territory.) she is a walking panopticon. her friends sometimes talk to bugs under the assumption it's taylor watching them and they're always right. at one point she confusedly asks someone if he's arachnophobic because he doesn't want her 10k black widow spiders to live in his apartment with him. she is basically like if a cockroach was a girl. I would never lie to you about Taylor Hebert, Unsung Champion of Polls About Weird Characters.

#taylor ofc#wait hey those are my tags as propaganda!! cool!#i stand by it#anyways yeah one of her main character traits when looked at by an outside perspective is just how WEIRD she is#everyone thinks she's a freak#even when you're reading her POV you sometimes have to stop and be like 'hey girl what the fuck'#one time she put bugs on her boyfriend's dick

She also turns into a bug monster at one point. Not all on her own, but she very much turns into a bug monster. Literally And Physically.

• And she uses this to survive like a cockroach, she had Just Been Ripped In Fucking Half and thrown in the ocean to die and BOOM. bug monster transformation (with a little help) climb out and keep fighting, against an opponent so vast and powerful a human couldn't even comprehend his true form (not eldritch cognitohazard, just planet-sized + multidimensional), who could kill her in an instant. She's always surviving against the odds she's so cockroach coded (affectionate!) #@ pollrunner if you're still accepting propaganda please take the 'turns into a bug monster' as propaganda#the rest can be ignored or trimmed to 'she's always surviving she's so cockroach coded' but pleamse. the Time she Became A Bug • #she's such a freak!!!#she kills like it's the only thing she was built how to do#she kills people and things like it's chess and she's a grandmaster#as soon as the violence is off she's just a fucked up offputting little one woman panopticon • One of my favourite descriptions of Taylor from someone else's POV, from Interlude 14.

“A figure stood behind Yan. Her costume was barely recognizable—She wore a short cape of tattered black cloth over her body armor, a skintight black suit beneath that, and there were folds of black cloth draped around her legs like a dress or a robe. The entire fabric seemed to ripple and move. It took Sierra a second to realize it was crawling with a carpet of insects.” “The disconcerting part was the girl’s face, or lack thereof. Her expression was masked behind a shifting mass of bugs that moved in and out of her hairline. Sierra couldn’t even tell where the bugs ended and the scalp began, as the small black bodies crawled into and onto the black curls. There was a hint of something like glass where Skitter’s eyes were, but the bugs ventured far enough over her eyelids and around the frames that nothing was visible in the way of goggles, glasses or skin.” “Skitter hadn’t made a sound as she entered. She hadn’t spoken, and her footsteps had been quiet.”

Goodtimeswithscar (Hermitcraft / life series)

Scared for life

I must say that scar, who is a vex and an elf, wins this one.

He was also a witch, but was so busy building an airplane he didn't even notice it. Probably because he is so used to shape changing, having also been a pirate, wizard, trader, superhero, and imagineer.

There were also some rumors about him being a mattress store but those have been debunked.

#taylor hebert #worm web serial #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft #life series #semifinals #tumblr polls #polls #creatures fight!

[underdark-dreams]

Request from @smolpocketmonstercoffee that I accidently deleted when I was trying to kill a spider (fucking wish I was kidding 😭)

🖤 HCs: Dammon / Rolan as new dads 🖤

Dammon:

Dammon seems like the type to want a family, probably a large one, and let’s be honest fatherhood would come SO naturally to him

After everything he’s been through in Elturel and Avernus, the challenge of raising a child doesn’t phase him one bit

Much more elated than he is nervous about the prospect

When Dammon holds his baby for the first time, he wants you to be right beside him. Pulls you close so you can look at this beautiful new little life together

He might say something a little sappy (“Look at what we made, love”), but coming from him it is somehow 100% sincere and extremely sweet

He’s that type of dad to have a conversation with his baby whenever they’re fussing/crying

“Oh dearest. Oh darling. What’s the matter? Hush, little one, I’m here—”

He would rock his baby to sleep with stories about Elturel and their people's history. Even when they’re still too little to understand, it’s very important to him that your child learns about their culture and where they came from

You both do a great job at alternating the night shift duties during the first months. Dammon offers to generously take more than his share, even when he's running on 2 hours of sleep already. But you know he needs all the rest he can get since his work takes a lot of energy

During the day he wears one of those baby slings to keep your child wrapped safe and secure against his chest, even while he's at work in his forge

You're a little skeptical about it until you glimpse your baby’s eyes closed fast asleep against Dammon even as he loudly tempers a sword with his hammer. Truly their father's child. It's the most adorable picture

As a dad, Dammon would place a lot of weight on teaching your child the difference between right and wrong. He encourages them to be thoughtful and kind to others always

And he's a very kind father himself. When your little one gets hurt, they run to Dammon 90% of the time over you for comfort. He's the resident expert at kissing it better

He makes them feel secure they can come to him with anything, even when they messed up/did something bad

Sometimes Dammon is too much of a softie and lets his child get away with little things. Many bedtimes are extended when Dammon is left in charge. He just doesn't always have the will to resist their little hands grabbing his face to ask please

And he’s so easily distracted whenever his kid wants to play. He’ll abandon his work for hours to take them on walks to the park, build with toys, wrestle, all of it. You find them out in the yard playing knights a lot 

Dammon loves when they’re old enough to go for rides on his shoulders, little hands holding on to his horns for balance. He takes them around the city and plays ‘say what you see’ to help them learn their words

---------

Rolan:

Of course, he is overjoyed when you tell him. But something tells me Rolan’s next reaction to finding out he’s going to be a dad would be a very focused and existential freakout

There’s so many things he has to do, you and he have so much to prepare for, he wants his child to come into a perfect world & feels responsible for making it that way

Bit of a panic attack dad. You have to encourage him to breathe & relax & take things one day at a time

Late at night though, you just know Rolan’s lying awake wondering what if you two didn’t pre-pre-register for the absolute best preschool in Baldur’s Gate?

They’re his child, so they’re bound to be a magical prodigy. And he is determined to give them every advantage he never had growing up

When holding his baby for the first time: the first thing he feels is a sense of overwhelming protectiveness

Rolan has experienced some dark, unfair shit in his life. He knows the world can be a very harsh and unforgiving place, especially to Tieflings

Rolan always thought of himself as a more instinctual, look-out-for-yourself-first type. But looking at this tiny bundle in his arms, he would give anything to protect them 

He's overwhelmed with love at every detail: tail no longer than his palm, ruddy skin the same shade as his, little golden eyes blinking up at him

"They've got my eyes!" He tells you in pure excitement, smiling and tearing up at the same time

Rolan is surprisingly natural with all the infant care things: changing, feeding, putting down for sleep, etc. He picked up a lot from growing up in foster homes and taking care of Cal and Lia when they were all young

That doesn’t make him any more conscious when it’s his turn to wake up in the middle of the night. He will rise from bed like a zombie, eyes barely cracked open, tending to his little one’s cries guided by an overwhelming force of instinct

Although he's got a lot of responsibility on his shoulders as master of Ramazith Tower, Rolan insists on splitting up childcare duties evenly so you can get your own work done. Balances your little cooing Tiefling baby on his hip while he’s giving his pupils their evocation lecture

They all respect him too much to say anything about it (ok Rolan is still pretty intimidating too)

If and when his child shows their first signs of magical talent, Rolan is completely overcome with emotion. He might have to excuse himself for a minute to collect his feelings alone 

He was hoping this day would come, but he could never be sure. They will have the best, most patient, most dedicated teacher in all of Faerûn

He’s an excellent teacher with other things, too. Rolan always wants to hear about what your little one learned in school today & he’s always ready to help with homework or extra tutoring

And when it comes to babysitting, Cal and Lia are lifesavers. They make it possible for you and Rolan to slip away for some alone time at least once a week

#rolan bg3 #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon #dammon bg3 #bg3 headcanons #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #underdark-dreams #smolpocketmonstercoffee

[thecreelhouse]

accident prone

part one - cold-blooded and drifting away

Paring: Steve Harrington x fem!OC - Francesca “Frankie” Amato

Summary: five years after leaving Hawkins, Steve is still searching for answers on how to manage the pain the Upside Down permanently left him with. What’s only meant to be a mundane trip to the coffee shop and yet another doctor appointment turns into more thanks to shaky hands and unfortunate yet perfect timing, giving him hope, for the first time in a long time.

WC: 8k+

Includes: angst, hurt/comfort, ableism, language, PTSD, discussions of chronic pain/illness and disabilities, brief mentions of comorbidities, brief mentions of medical gaslighting, etc.

series playlist ⋮ masterlist 

tether - chvrches

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“will we ever get away from this place? / it’s an image that’s burned on my chest / for a moment you need me to stay / cold-blooded and drifting away”

A/N: I touched on this more in the masterlist, but basically, this is a HC I’ve had since ST3. After all of the physical/mental trauma Steve’s endured, I imagine he’d end up with some sort of chronic pain disorder/illness/disability. May is Fibromyalgia Awareness Month, so I feel now’s a good time to share this. This will be 3 parts, and more Steve centric. This was easier to write with an OC than reader, so I hope y’all will still give this one a chance despite that. There’s not enough disability/chronic pain rep in fics imo— so chronic pain babes, this one’s for you. ♡ (Also s/o to @stevenose for the help, feedback, and encouragement!)

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It’s another brutally beautiful winter morning in Chicago, and that means it’s another morning Steve dreads leaving bed. Not the common, casual dread most folks talk about when coming back to work after a long weekend off. Or how people dread meeting their significant other’s parents, when they really mean they’re just nervous.

Steve feels dread deeply on the days he needs to get up, but can’t find the energy, or motivation, or a two for one special of both. There’s a certain way his stomach turns over and drops with this kind of dread, and it makes his aching joints just hurt more.

It’s simple, really— Steve hadn’t been himself since 1983. It’s not surprising for anyone from Hawkins to not be themselves for a while now. For Steve Harrington, though, it’s been rough, to say the least. 

It began with nightmares. His mind started taking on massive amounts of a very specific type of trauma no one should ever face, especially not as many times as he had. He was awake more often than asleep in the beginning, terrified to shut his eyes and find himself back in the tunnels with the demodogs, or trapped far, far below Starcourt Mall, struggling for his life, relying on a child to save both him and Robin. 

Steve didn’t even want to acknowledge the events of 1986, leading up to Hawkins transforming into hell on earth as the Upside Down bled into the sleepy little midwestern town. He refused to talk about it, or even think about it while he was conscious. 

Now, it’s 1991, and the world continues to spin; people Steve graduated with were getting married, having babies, starting their own families… things he quietly longed for, even after confessing to Nancy that’s what he wanted with her. 

Years later, Steve still regrets confessing anything to her. He’s happy she’s happy, with Jonathan, both of them career driven and building their life together with some sort of plan.

He’s happy for them, really, he is.

 But Steve still longs to find someone to share a life with— a normal, long, happy life. And he’s tried, but there’s always some shitty excuse to stop things before they start with someone new. He never expects anyone he first meets to be The One, nor would he just settle; Steve wants that dream with someone who clicks perfectly with him, someone who doesn’t shame him for the mental anguish and physical pain he’s been burdened with from the trauma. He wouldn’t want that with someone who wouldn’t want to understand him, and love him unconditionally, while he returns that love to someone he truly adores.

 Robin tried setting Steve up for blind dates, introducing him to new people, but he slowly lost interest in the process of getting to know someone. What was the point if everyone left the first night they slept together, and he had a nightmare? Or the moment something triggers a flashback, he’s left grounding himself alone. And when his joints lock up, or the haze in his mind gets too thick, he’s seen as a burden. 

A liability. 

Unworthy of love for something out of his control.

 Why bother with any of this if it would just waste Steve’s time and energy in the end?

“No, Rob, I don’t want their number.” Steve grumbles into his scarf, turning another set up down as he’s dragging his feet along the sidewalk. He and Robin make the trek a few blocks away from their apartment to a nearby coffee shop. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he’s shivering and shaking, despite being bundled up. “This shit’s just draining any enjoyment I had in a social life.”

“Steve, the only social life you have is seeing doctors regularly.” Robin bluntly points out, and shrugs off the side eye Steve throws her way. She’s not excessively bundled up the way her best friend is, nor is she violently shivering. “Dude, you could’ve stayed home, I would’ve grabbed your coffee.”

 Steve’s shaking his head, but Robin can’t tell if it’s from the cold or if it’s his response to her. “Doc said I gotta “keep my joints movin’”. Easy for him to say.” Steve flatly points out.

“Yeah, maybe, but I am proud of you for getting out of bed. I know that hasn’t been easy.” Robin has been one of the very few people in Steve’s life who has held space and empathy for him and his pain. She tries helping more than he lets her, but he feels bad. It’s Steve’s battle to fight, not hers. Robin has already had her fair share of trauma, she doesn’t need to try to juggle any more flashbacks or nightmares outside of her own.

 “Thanks, Robin.” He’s quiet, but sincere. It really does help, even a little, to hear words of encouragement. Because without those, his own mind is just on a constant cycle of negative self-talk. It’s something he’s still working on in therapy.

 If Steve was being honest, there was a lot he was working on in therapy.

 It wasn’t long after that the two of them arrived at the coffee shop, groaning in unison when they realize the line was all the way to the door. There’s just enough room for them to squeeze right at the end, directly by the doorway. Steve keeps his scarf up against his face, shivering each time someone exits the cafe.

 “When’s your appointment?” Robin asks, unable to take her eyes off the massive line of customers.

 Steve, unfazed, replies, “Three hours from now. I planned for this, don’t worry.”

Robin finally turns around, shooting him a puzzling glance. “You plan your doctor visits around getting coffee?”

“… You don’t?”

“I see my doctor, like, once a year, maybe.” Robin shrugs.

 “Must be nice.” He grumbles, burying his face further into the fuzzy warmth of the scarf. 

Robin winces before giving a soft, “Sorry.”

A loud conversation at the front of the line grabs Steve’s attention, wondering what the commotion was about.

“Isn’t today your day off? The hell are you doing here?” One barista asks the customer, who he can’t see beyond the crowd behind her.

Another barista barks a laugh, occupied with the macchiato they’re making. “She can’t make coffee to save her life.”

“I can! It’s just… not good.” The stranger admits, response growing quiet towards the end in embarrassment.

The playful tones make it obvious they greet each other like this often. Something about the banter brings a tiny smile to Steve’s face.

 “Usual, I guess? You’re sick if you say yes.”

 “Why is it socially unacceptable to enjoy a fresh iced coffee in the middle of winter?” Steve chuckles to himself at the comment. “And yes, Cade, with extra sprinkles, pleaaaase.”

 “Yeah, yeah, get outta here, ‘Key. You owe me that Dinosaur Jr. tape, better bring it next time, or I’m charging you real life, adult dollars.”

Walking out of the line, she makes her way over to the opposite end of the counter to wait for her order, shooting Cade one quick smile. “No Monopoly money? Dang.”

 Steve’s gaze lands on her, eyes clinging onto the sight before him with no intention of peeling back. She has to be close to his age, but he immediately notices the cane she’s using, moving in time with her feet while walking. He’s in awe of the casually cool aura she seems to radiate, despite being mostly bundled up in layers, hiding any defining features besides the cane and a worn jacket, countless patches and pins covering most of its surface.

Robin snaps her fingers in front of Steve’s face. “Quit being rude.”

 “I- huh? I’m not!” He retorts in a hushed tone. The line moves up a bit, and Steve’s grateful to be heading towards the warmth, and away from the frigid cold by the door. 

“You were staring, dingus.” 

“I wasn’t trying to,” Steve’s face flushes red, but it blends in with his winter wind-dusted cheeks. The bonus of the scarf still pressed against his face helps, too. “I just- I never see anyone our age using mobility aids.” He tries sneaking another glance at the woman, but Robin steps in front of Steve’s line of vision. 

“Quit it. I know you mean well, but I know how much you hate when people stare when you’ve got your knee brace on.”

 Steve didn’t think of it like that; he squeezes his eyes shut as he nods with embarrassment. “Right. Shit. Yeah. Got it.”

“Thanks, Rhi, I owe you too.” The stranger’s voice floats above the chatter amongst others, not with volume, but a distinct warmth and sincerity. Then, voice turning up, she shouts towards the cash register, “I’ll get your tape tomorrow, Cade, promise!”

 The line moves up, and Robin steps back in to move, too. Steve can’t help peering over again, and the timing is perfectly unfortunate; the woman only makes it about two steps before her hand violently jerks, sending the coffee flying forward forward and onto the tiled floor. 

The room doesn’t fall completely silent, but it does settle into hushed voices, with some concerned onlookers, but mostly nosy and judgmental. Steve doesn’t miss the way some people in line feel the need to say something, like it’s their business. As if these strangers know her. 

“She deserves it for being so obnoxious.”

Steve feels his jaw set, immediately bothered by the unnecessary comment.

She’s frozen for a moment, staring down at the mess, pooling around her boots. One of the baristas, Rhi, calls out to the back for someone to take over before rushing over to the scene.

 “Hey, you okay?” Rhi asks her, to which she nods silently, carefully bending down with the help of her cane for balance while pulling napkins out of her pocket, trying to sop up the puddle of iced coffee. Rhi throws the towel down that was in her back pocket before reaching for one of the napkin dispensers on a nearby table.

 “What the hell is she using a cane for anyway? She can bend her knees just fine.”

 Steve’s fists clench in his pockets, and somehow Robin can still notice that; she’s reaching out to touch his coat-shielded arm, almost holding him back as she whispers “Steve, hey, don’t.” He bites his tongue, wondering how ignorant people can be when it comes to any of this; it’s always those who are able bodied who act like a disabled person’s struggle is an inconvenience to their own lives. Makes them feel high and mighty, like they themselves are invincible. 

What a hard lesson that’ll be for them to learn, Steve thinks. 

If life doesn’t disable someone, through accident or injury or a bad hand of cards dealt, lying in wait, it’s age that usually changes everything. To this day, it still shocks Steve that people just don’t get it.

Or maybe, they just don’t want to.

 “Great, now we’re gonna have to wait even longer.”

The woman is kneeling on the floor, cane leaning against a table while she does her best to clean what’s in reach from the spot she ended up in; her hands continue to tremble, jerking involuntarily every so often. Tears well up in her eyes while shaking her head silently. 

 “Hey, it’s okay, I got this, babes.” Rhi continues soaking up napkins with the coffee; she tries consoling her friend before realizing how many people were staring. “Hey, haven’t your mothers taught you to mind your business?!” 

Some customers scoff, others leave, but not before spitting rotten comments at the pair of them. The rest in line have common sense to mind their business, going back to talking amongst themselves.

”Well, at least the line’s shorter.” Robin murmurs, trying to look on the bright side. Steve wants to go over and help, but he’s torn; he doesn’t want to come across as if he’s pitying her, or trying to be a good guy for some kind of backwards recognition. He just knows how it feels when a health ailment gets in the way of your daily routine, and he really knows how hard it is to go without coffee when you’re looking forward to it.

 “Great job, Rhi, you drove half the morning out.” An older woman scolds her from behind the counter while she's scurrying to catch up on orders. Rhi looks furious, but holds herself back from challenging the unnecessary comment further. 

“Hey, I’ll make ya’ a new one, on the house,” Rhi offers. “Don’t listen to her, Cade and I would rather you be comfortable than deal with those assholes. Bet they actually make and like their shitty coffee, too. They’ll be back.”

 Laughing softly, her friend sniffles, wiping her eyes, “Can I mop or something in return? You don’t need extra work ‘cause of me.” Rhi shakes her head, linking arms with her as she rises to her feet, pulling the woman up, too.

Rhi throws a thumb over to an empty nearby seat, “You just chill here, I got this under control, no sweat.” She gives her a quick side hug before hurrying to the back to grab cleaning supplies. Steve hears an audible sigh; the woman sounds defeated for the day, and it’s only 9 in the morning.

 It’s a sign of defeat and fatigue Steve knows all too well, but he pushes down the desire to talk to her, knowing this isn’t the time. Plus, what would he even say as an introduction? 

Hey, I’m Steve, and I’m disabled, too—

 He shakes the thought from his mind, embarrassed he’d even think that was appropriate at all. He’s bummed that the first time he runs into someone else his age that’s disabled, is truly at a perfectly unfortunate moment in time.

 When it’s Steve’s turn to order, he pushes every thought involving the stranger to the back of his mind.

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If Steve had a dollar every time someone ignorantly told him, “You’re too young to be in pain like that!”, he’d certainly have enough money by now for a better treatment plan. This is one of the very few things in life he wished his parents would actually help with; it’s not the easiest to juggle several jobs and still barely get by, with the bonus of always playing “catch up or drown” with medical bills.

It’s even more of a challenge to keep up with medical bills when jobs constantly let him go for the very few sick days he has to take, and it leaves him wondering, “Doesn’t the ADA protect against that kind of discriminatory shit?” except he never has the energy to research it.

Every doctor visit is the same routine; arrive with a list of symptoms, turning from nuisances to roadblocks in his quality of life. Telling them what he’s been feeling, or what he’s become numb to, physically and mentally. Or that the cons of his medications have started to outweigh the pros; it’s a struggle trying to find a combination when you need several kinds of medication, and it’s even more of a pain in the ass to change even just one, restarting the process all over again.

When one of the countless doctors he saw finally believed his pain, he was left with what a lot of medical professionals believe to be a last ditch diagnosis: Fibromyalgia.

Steve felt validated, for the first time since seeking help years after the traumatic events that plagued Hawkins for so long. He also felt lost, because what the fuck was fibromyalgia? Any time he’s heard anyone talk about it, it was mainly in judgment and criticism; even with the most life-altering of fibromyalgia cases, the majority of able-bodied people and doctors considered it to be a phony condition.

It’s been six months since his diagnosis, and Steve still feels just as lost and clueless since day one. It doesn’t matter how many packets and pamphlets the doctor gives him with handy information on what his chronic pain is, or what he can try as treatment, because nothing seems to work. Taking different vitamins and medications, trying physical therapy, trying out yoga— because everyone seems to think that one’s a cure— if you’ve mentioned it, he’s tried it. 

There’s still no clear answer on where or how it starts; genetics, trauma, depression, sickness triggering something more long term? No one, no medical professional, or his own fruitless research with late nights at the library, can give a solid answer.

As time has flowed forward, all of the years of serious damage and injury from Hawkins and all its demons, supernatural and human, he wouldn’t be surprised if the trauma theory was true. His parents are fine (at least, on the surface, but they’ve got too much pride to ever say otherwise), so cross genetics out. Depression? Yeah, no shit Steve’s depressed.

 Refer back to answer 1.

It’s a never ending cycle, and now that he’s aware of it, Steve is constantly wondering if this is how the rest of his life will be. Waiting rooms and lab work that tells him nothing about his pain? Humiliation with every doctor he sees, who tells him it’s not that bad, as if they live in his own damn body and know. Making a choice between using the last of a paycheck on another co-pay for another dismissive specialist, or on the medication he’s been on to help him at least live some kind of life, knocking some symptoms or comorbidities off the list.

Today, Steve’s in a waiting room where the fluorescent lights are too damn bright, pushing him onto the brink of a migraine. It’s quiet, which he’s grateful for, but he wonders if that has anything to do with the doctor, if they’re really any good, or he’s excluded from a local secret everyone else is in on. 

The room is relatively plain; fake plants, small tables with outdated magazines, a handful of health PSA posters are scattered along the walls, and the chairs are much more uncomfortable than they appear.

Steve basks in the silence, at the very least; usually waiting rooms are too noisy, and it sets off his fight or flight instinct. That’s one he still has to get to the bottom of, but he had to push off therapy for a while with his tight budget. It was that, or skip this appointment he waited months to get in for.

That blissful silence doesn’t last long, of course, knowing Steve Harrington’s shit luck. With a swing of the office entrance’s glass door, the little bell dings, along with the clunky sound of shoes, faint against the basic carpet lining the floor. His head tilts up, and to his surprise, it’s someone that’s not decades older than him.

“Kid, what did I tell ya’ about those cursed platform boots?” A voice scolds from behind the receptionist’s desk, where this person is leaning against the counter, elbows on the surface, head in hands with a soft giggle.

Wait—

“Dad, my outfit begged for these boots today. Told me it’d die without ‘em.”

“Yeah, and one of these days, you’re gonna croak with those death shoes on.”

Steve can’t help the small, amused smile that graces his face, recognizing the woman from the coffee shop earlier.

“Kiddo, you still gotta sign in.” The receptionist pushes the clipboard towards her, not sounding annoyed, more so familiar with her presence.

“You better be saving all of these, Betty. Someday those autographs will be worth something.”

“Yeah, just as much as my 3 hour old coffee.” Betty teases; she’s an older woman, grey and silver hair in a perm that frames her face. Steve can tell the banter and chit-chat is a normal occurrence.

“Yeah, well, you enjoy that coffee, Bets. I dropped mine in the coffee shop and was too embarrassed to let them make me a new one.” She rolls her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “It had those cute, crystal-lookin’, sugary, sprinkles too.”

Steve felt bad, remembering how flustered she seemed. He couldn’t help replaying this morning’s accident over and over in his head again. The end of her conversation with Betty floats over Steve’s head as he’s lost in his thoughts.

Spinning around, the woman’s eyes land on Steve immediately, confidently striding over in platform boots, cane working in tandem with her steps. She keep a respectful distance, one chair over and across from Steve. 

Steve blushes, realizing he’s finally seeing her face completely as she smiles at him; it’s not filled by forced positivity, not like the ones all the healthier and able bodied folks give him. It’s warm and familiar, like sunshine on his skin; no pity, no fake empathy, none of that shit. 

The contrast of her smile against her outfit, one that resembles something at the crossroads of 90s grunge and cute and cozy, with a hint of mall goth somewhere in her style, is something he admires. Her wild, black hair is tied into a messy side braid, hanging over her shoulder, with a thick, blonde streak interwoven in the braid.

“There’s never anyone in here that’s younger than 30. It’s kinda nice to see someone my age.” She admits in awe, then backtrack while her face falls. “I- not that it’s nice to see— oh my god, you’re probably not even chronically ill, I’m just assuming like a jerk. I’m so sorry.”

Steve’s unsure where to begin, but he returns the same warm smile back her way, hoping it offers reassurance. “Don’t apologize, I- yeah. I am, actually. It’s… kinda nice to see someone my age too, for once.”

“Lemme guess, you get told all the time you’re too young for this shit.”

“Kid, language.” Betty scolds, but she waves a hand at her, unfazed. “You better have a quarter for the swear jar, kiddo.” Betty closes the little glass partition, clearing her throat loudly.

“Right, introductions would be helpful, I guess,” She extends a hand out towards Steve, “Name’s Frankie Amato. Or, well, Francesca,” She cringes at her full name. “But everyone calls me Frankie.”

That explains why one of her friends at the shop called her ‘Key’ earlier, Steve realizes.

 Steve takes a moment to reach back, observing all of Frankie’s tattoos and painted black nails, jelly and beaded bracelets colliding on her wrists. He shakes her hand, the contact pulling himself out of his daze, “I- I’m Steve, Steve Harrington. Sorry, didn’t mean to stare, you just— ”

“Oh, it’s okay, I know I dress like someone who tripped into their closet and left the house with whatever ended up in the outfit that day.” Steve snorts at the joke directed towards herself. 

“It looks… cool.” Cool? Seriously, Steve? What is this, middle school? “ I- words. It’s. You- You look really cool.”

She stifles her giggles lazily, coming out as a snort, “Brain fog, huh?”

It shocks him to hear someone his age use the term. “How’d you know?”

“It’s like staring into a mirror right now, except you’re dressed way nicer than me.” She jokes, nodding to his cozy cable knit sweater, and Steve shakes his head, even though he’s smiling.

“Nah, no way, I’m still kinda dressing how I did in high school.”

“Oh, you think I dressed normal in high school? I was even more mismatched than this.” Frankie enthusiastically gets up with the support of her cane, twirling to show off today’s outfit. Her overall ambience is a kind Steve had never seen exude from anyone else before.

Tripping over her own feet, she yelps, losing the grip on the cane before losing her balance. Instead of hitting the floor, though, Steve catches her awkwardly, lunging out of his chair with his arms planked out in front of him. The rapid movement and odd position are doing no favors to his already irritated joints, but he wasn’t going to just let her fall over like that.

Frankie laughs, as if she wasn’t a foot away from cracking her head on the concrete underneath the thin, corporate-esque carpet. Steve’s so perplexed by her entire character, but he’s curious, wants to learn more. 

“Are you okay?” Steve’s asking as he guides her into the chair next to her. She’s laughing, face flushing with embarrassment. 

“Are you? I’m so sorry for that. Got a little too excited, I guess.”

“Or, it’s those damn boots.” A booming, yet mellow voice comes from the doorway leading into the doctor’s office. A tall, burly man with olive toned skin, and a scruffy salt and pepper beard with hair to match, holds the door open while giving her a look. “Francesca, quit trying to make that poor boy dance with you.”

“I was not—”

“Steve Harrington?” The doctor comes over to them, shaking Steve’s hand. He introduces himself formally with his name, following up with, “Dr. Amato. It’s nice to meet you.”

Before today, Steve knew the doctor’s name, but he’s just making the connection now that Frankie and his new doctor are related.

What a small world.

“He’s a stick in the mud, but you’re in good hands, promise.” Frankie murmurs, and her father rolls his eyes. 

“What, did you forget I’m right here? I can hear you.” Dr. Amato deadpans. “Also, that’s biased of you to say, you’re my child.”

Steve’s honestly amused by the lighthearted banter between the father and daughter duo, that for a moment, he forgets why he’s even in this office to begin with.

“Don’t you have a job to do?” She shoots back, but there’s no venom in her tone. The teasing banter seems to be something she has with everyone she’s close with.

 Her father narrows his eyes at her before turning back to Steve, waving his hand back towards the office door. “C’mon back, we’ve got a lot to cover from the files I could get from your previous doctor.” He doesn’t say it like Steve’s a burden, rather it sounds like the doctor actually wants to comb through the younger man’s medical history and help where he can.

As the two men head back into the office, Frankie settles into her chair, kicking her feet up and over the chair beside her before flipping through a crumpled magazine. Steve can hear Betty slide the partition open and scold her, “Kid, get your damn boots off the chair.”

 “Oooh, that’s a quarter for the swear jar, Bets!”

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 For once, Steve’s leaving a doctor’s office with hope. Genuine, solid hope. This isn’t like the false hope most doctors gave, if any at all. “There’s studies saying a cure’s not too far off.” and “This should be what helps, but if it’s not working for you, you must be doing something wrong.” That kind of medical gaslighting bullshit he’s unfortunately so used to by now.

Dr. Amato kept things honest, telling Steve whoever said a cure was on the horizon was a terrible liar, and doctors shouldn’t ever produce false hope like that. He told Steve he was doing everything right, and that sometimes, unfortunately, you can do everything right— physical therapy, a good night’s sleep, medication, eating well, drinking water, even caving in and finally trying yoga (which Steve loathes now)— and your body can still work against you.

 “It might take some time, a long time, but if you’re willing to keep trying and work with what we’ve got, we might be able to find some kind of relief from your pain. It won’t be perfect, and studies are too new for fibromyalgia to determine cures yet, but with what I’ve learned from fibromyalgia patients over the years, every single body is different.”

 Hearing that was already refreshing. Finally, a doctor understood that treatment for invisible disabilities like Steve’s weren’t easily helped with a generic, one size fits all, treatment plan.

 “It’s a lot of trial and error, and that can be exhausting, as you already know. But getting to the root of the cause is crucial, I think. And judging off of your medical history, and what you’ve shared from what you’ve endured in Hawkins, I’d say a lot of it is both a physical and mental response to trauma. If you’re ready to face that, I believe you can find your way in time. Regardless, your pain is incredibly real. Anyone in the medical field who says fibro isn’t real is a quack.”

 Steve wasn’t leaving with any solid answers, but this was the most reassured he felt for his future and well being in… well, ever, honestly.

 After setting up a follow-up appointment with Betty, Steve begins to leave the office, when a light tug on his sleeve stops him in his tracks. Turning around, he locks eyes with Frankie, wearing that warm smile that feels like sunshine all over again to him.

 “Steve, can I talk to you quick?” She asks softly, and Steve nods before he’s pulled into the hallway, closing the door behind them. “I’m sorry if I came off strong earlier. If that, like, totally didn’t scare you off, I was wondering maybe if you’d wanna hang out sometime?” Her words begin to turn into a nervous ramble as she finishes. 

Steve smiles, but can’t think of a proper response. Damn brain fog. Just say yes, idiot.

 “That was probably uncalled for, huh? I’m sorry—”

 “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I- I’d like to hang out too.” Steve answers sincerely.

“Yeah? Okay, cool.” She smirks as the last word leaves her lips, silently teasing him. Frankie’s digging through her messenger bag, hoping to find a pen and some paper, even an old receipt would work; nothing of the sort comes up, so she pulls out her pencil eyeliner, waving it between her fingers. “Can I? It washes off easily, I promise.”

Steve’s brows furrow for a moment before he gets it, “Oh, yeah, no problem, that works.” He hopes he’s not coming off as too eager, but he truly is looking forward to hanging out with someone who just… gets it.

Awkwardly, Frankie takes Steve’s hand into her own, writing her phone number with the eyeliner on the back of his hand. As she scribble the digits, three things stand out to him.

The way she holds his hand is soft, but certain. Any awkwardness she had at first is shaken off while she finishes writing.

She’s got fingerless gloves on now, which he’s always found them funny; what’s the point of a glove if it doesn’t cover everything?

The tips of her fingers are tinged more pale than her skin tone. Her hands, even with the warm fabric, are fucking freezing.

They weren’t cold when he shook her hand earlier. “Your hands are cold,” He murmurs, kicking himself mentally for how blunt and invasive he must sound. Pulling away, she snaps the cap back onto the eyeliner, giving a lazy smile.

“The Windy City ain’t too kind to those of us with Raynaud’s,” The shrug Frankie gives plays off how much the winters here affect the disorder, and how much of an inconvenience it is to one’s daily routine. “I should really use full gloves, but they make it hard to grip stuff sometimes… I mean, I guess the cold does too, but I’d rather be cold— Jesus, I never shut up.”

“If it helps, once I get to know someone well enough, I never shut up, either.” Steve hopes the poke at himself eases her concern, and judging by the smile she gives him, he thinks it does.

“Well, I look forward to not shutting up with you, hopefully soon.” Frankie teases, reaching for the door. Looking back at him, she says with sincerity, “Get home safe, Steve.” 

Before she can head back inside the office, Steve gives a nod and a warm smile, hoping it’s at least a fraction as warm and sunny as her own.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Robin!” Steve pushes the apartment door open, rushing in with excitement. “Robin, guess what, hey, guess, just guess—“

She looks up from the magazine she’s leafing through, sitting sideways on the recliner with her legs hanging over. Her eyes are wide with shock at his energy.

“You won a million dollars?”

“What? No. I mean, shit, I wish. But no.” He ends up on the couch, sighing happily to be sprawled out after a long day. If joints could cry, they’d probably be crying tears of joy right now. “Remember the girl from earlier? At the coffee shop?”

Robin nods, “Yeah, what about her?”

“Get this— her dad’s the new doctor I’m seeing, and she happened to come in when I was in the waiting room.” Lazily setting the scene, he plunges into his usual rambling. “We got to talking before my appointment, and she— her name’s Frankie— anyway, she’s just… she’s so cool, Rob. I- I don’t think I’ve met anyone like her. And Dr. Amato is really nice, like… kinda like Hopper, if he was nicer… and a doctor.”

“Hey, don’t talk shit on Hopper—“

“I’m not! I- don’t distract me,” Steve grumbles. “Anyway, it was weirdly… refreshing? Like he didn’t sugarcoat anything, or try telling me there’s a ‘cure on the horizon’, or some shit like that. But he wasn’t a dick, either. I don’t think I’ve met a doctor with that much empathy yet. And it wasn’t any of that bullshit about taking up yoga—“

“Why does everyone seem to think that works?” He’s been suggested this so many times, even Robin’s beginning to get annoyed for him.

Steve snorts, “Wish I fuckin’ knew.” Then he quiets down a bit, emotions hitting him. “I don’t think any doctor’s been this understanding, or validated my pain like this. He even said it’s common to still be in pain even if you do everything right… he- he told me it’s not my fault. Being sick isn’t my fault.”

There’s a pause, because Steve’s not sure if he’s even believing the words leaving his mouth, not after being gaslit by medical professionals for so long. 

Robin throws the magazine aside to sit next to her best friend, throwing an arm over his shoulders for a side hug. “Of course it’s not your fault, you never asked for any of this.” She takes notice of the tears building in his eyes as he tries rubbing them away. “Even if you didn’t try everything out there, it’s not your fault. No one should have to suffer the way you have.”

“Especially everyone back h—“

Steve stops himself, still coming to terms that Hawkins is gone. Everyone in the group is safe, living better lives wherever they ended up on the map after the disastrous effects of the Upside Down bleeding into the real world.

“It’s cool, I get what you’re saying.” Robin tries to move the conversation forward before Steve can get hung up on the dismal facts. “Everyone in our group has damage one way or another… none of us deserved that.”

With a sigh, Steve nods before continuing, “He wants me to come back in a month, gave me some options for treatment to look into, see what works, what doesn’t, but he wants to find out why something might not work. Not just brush it off and move onto something just as useless. I really, really don’t want to get my hopes up yet, but it feels so validating to not be treated like a lost cause.”

“None of us are lost causes, ‘specially not you, Dingus.” Robin looks down and notices the eyeliner on Steve’s hand that you left behind. “What’d you get on your hand?”

“Huh?” He looks down, “Oh! That’s Frankie’s number! That—“ The digits are smudged. Some he can slightly make out, but the majority are swept away into a black, blotchy stain on his skin. “Shit. It was her number…”

“Eyeliner? Rookie mistake.”

“Hey, she couldn’t find a pen, or paper.”

“And she didn’t go back into the office for some?”

Steve’s dig back fades away as he wonders the same thing. The pair were right outside of the office. Why didn’t either of them—

Oh. Right.

“Probably brain fog… least for me it was. I couldn’t even think to reply when she asked about hanging out.”

“So call the d—“

“No. That’d be weird. So fucking weird. And wouldn’t it be against the hippo thing?”

“The what?”

“You know, the oath that doctors take, or whatever.”

“Oh my god, Steve, the Hippocratic oath?”

“Yeah! Close enough.”

“Not even, but I’ll give you this one today.”

Steve groans, sinking further into the couch. “I finally meet someone who fucking gets it, and lose their number immediately. She’s gonna think I’m avoiding her.”

The two are silent for a beat, until Robin gets an idea. “One of Frankie’s friends mentioned something about her owing him a Dinosaur Jr. tape, when we were getting coffee this morning.”

“Robin, what the hell do dinosaurs have anything to do with this?”

“No, the band, not the— oh my god,” Robin puts her head in her hands, sighing loudly before she continues, “My point is, there’s a record store next door to the coffee shop. Maybe she works there.”

Steve’s face lights up, but he stops his excitement, “Isn’t that also weird? Just… showing up where she works?” 

“Maybe a little, but it’s better than guessing numbers, or ditching her, or trying to ask your damn doctor—“

“Okay, okay, okay!” He huffs. “You’re right. I should go tomorrow, maybe before work.”

“Uh… that’s the other thing—“

Steve’s heart sinks; he already knows what’s coming. It’s happened enough where he can spot the pattern from a mile away.

“They called, huh? Told you to pass the message along? Cowards. Can’t even fuckin’ fire me in person.”

“I tried bringing up the ADA to them, but they gave me some bullshit about the decision to let you go wasn’t related to your health.”

“I worked there for barely a month, and never took a day off.” When this happens, Steve’s on the fence between rage and depression, and right now, he’s angry, rightfully so. “I asked for a goddamn chair to rest between helping customers. That’s all I asked for. I did my job, I was nice, I— This is so fucking… so… so,”  Steve can’t even find the words for how angry he is, fists clenching, nails digging into his palms while he screams internally. 

“Steve, you’re worth so much more than being treated this way. You know that, right?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees while he runs his hands through his hair, letting his head hang low as his throat tightens with the threat of crying. 

“I appreciate you trying to fight it, but employers only get a slap on the wrist for discrimination, if that. Half the time, nothing is investigated. It’s so fucked. Can’t even keep a shitty retail job just for requesting an accommodation.”

“They’ve got a lotta’ nerve for a shitty grocery store.”

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.” He tries joking it off, but it’s useless. “Like, it’s no loss to get fired from some stupid retail job, but Christ…” Steve picks his head up a bit, mouth still covered by his hands. It’s muffled, nearly missed when he mutters, “I’m so fucking tired, Rob.” His voice wavers, cracks, “I’m so goddamn tired of this.”

Robin knows nothing she says can make him feel better, not right now. She just uses the arm still around his shoulders to give a comforting squeeze, a tiny sign Steve isn’t alone.

At this point, Steve will take any empathy from anyone he can get.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The next morning, Steve wakes up with nothing but fatigue pushing him deeper into his bed, despite sleeping for nine hours. He was already struggling in a flare up, but then remembers he lost another job, and it just weighs heavy on his already shit mood.

Does this ever get any better?

He should be happy he was finally heard out by a doctor. He should be glad his best friend defends him. He should be excited he met Frankie, someone who understands first hand how hard it is to exist with a chronic illness.

Instead, Steve just feels numb inside. Outside, everything hurts. He knows he should get up, eat something, start the job search all over again. He also knows if he pushes himself too hard, he’s down for the next several days.

There’s no winning when you’re always sick.

The more time separates Steve from the traumatic life he had back in Hawkins, the more he finds himself wondering if any of this is worth growing from. Sure, everyone in the party had long lasting PTSD— that alone could be debilitating— but no one else ended up with an illness considered fake by most of the world. Even chronic pains and ailments anyone else were left with weren’t as baffling as Steve’s battle with fibromyalgia.

Days like today make Steve feel like sinking into the mattress, and disappearing forever. He talks about it in therapy, and it helps, for a moment. Then when he’s mistreated for his health condition, something out of his control, he feels useless.

Back in Hawkins, Steve was able to at least look out for everyone. Protect his friends. He’d do anything for them if it meant keeping them happy, or safe, preferably both. He put himself last, always. There’s never any regret over taking care of others first, but if he knew it would’ve led to the deterioration of his health, maybe he’d have been a little more selfish and put himself first where necessary.

Jesus, I wish therapy wasn’t at the end of the week.

Rolling over into the pillow face first, he groans, remembering he wanted to stop at the record store, in hopes Frankie would be working and give her number out once more. And he does. He does want to go, he wants to see her, wants to get her number so they could eventually hang out.

Yet Steve can’t find the motivation to get up today. Not even for Frankie. Now, instead of feeling numb, he feels guilt seeping through his heart. Rolling back over to face the wall against his bed, he stares at the sunlight peeking through the blinds, dancing slowly across the wall as time continues on. 

That might be one of the worst parts of being chronically ill— no matter how sick you are, the world never stops spinning, never waits for you to catch up. Time just… continues on. And if Steve was being honest with himself, he’d need years to catch himself up to speed.

Fatigue envelopes him, pulling him back into a deep, weighty sleep.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Winter’s nightfall comes before Steve can wake back up, and when he does, he feels even worse. Resting didn’t help, leaving him just disoriented and somehow more tired. An entire day, wasted to fatigue; just another day that could’ve been used to catch up in life, slipping through his fingers. 

The phone rings, but he can’t get up. He can’t bring himself to roll out of bed, walk a few feet to the phone on his dresser to answer it. So, it rings. And rings. And rings. And rings—

As the shrill sound abruptly stops, Steve allows his eyes to fall shut again, until there’s a knocking on his door. Groaning, he pulls the blankets over himself, murmuring the weakest, “Go away.”

Rather than politely wait and try again, the door is pushed open; Steve pokes his head up, squints as light pours into his room, with Robin standing in the doorway. 

“Oh, shit, wait, do you have a migraine? Fuck, dude, I’m sorry—“ Robin scrambles for the door, about to rush out, but Steve shakes his head, leaning up a bit.

“No, but if I did, I’d kill you right now.” He winces at how miserable he sounds. “Sorry… uh, what’s going on?”

Robin squints around his room, keeping the lights off for his sake, until she finds the phone. She grabs it, grateful the wall jack is long enough to bring the telephone over to him. Setting it down on his nightstand, she replies, “S’for you, Dingus.” Robin leaves it at that before exiting the room, closing the door behind her.

Steve sighs, picking the handset off the receiver with an unenthusiastic, “Hello?”

“Bad day, huh?”

He immediately recognizes Frankie’s voice, perking up a little as he sits up further. 

“How’d you get my number?”

“Robin gave it to me, she stopped by the shop earlier. Told me all about the eyeliner smudging off— I’m so sorry, that was such a dumb idea.”

At first, he smiles faintly, but curiosity gets the best of him. “Okay… why was Robin there? I— I swear, I didn’t ask her to— I was going to come by, but it’s been a hard day—”

“Steve, it’s all good. You don’t owe me an explanation, or anything. I’m glad she told me, though.”

“…. What else did she tell you?”

She giggles softly, “That you two saw me fling my coffee like a damn frisbee yesterday morning, and that you were planning on stopping in, but when I told her you never came by, so she figured you had a bad pain day. Y’know, she seems like a great best friend.”

Steve falls back onto the pillows, phone pressed against the side of his head while he runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, she is—“

“Damn right I am.”

Steve jumps at the sound of Robin’s voice cutting in from another phone in the apartment. “Robin! Get off the— hang up!” Frankie’s laughing hysterically on her end of the call, listening to Steve sigh dramatically as a click! sounds out, signaling Robin finally leaving the line. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, I needed the laugh,” Her voice settles into a deflated tone, but only for a moment, leaving Steve curious, but he doesn’t pry. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Heart pumping wildly at the simple question, Steve answers truthfully before he can filter himself, “Well, nothing, now that I lost my job.” He cringes at himself, about to apologize for being so blunt, but she speaks first.

“Good! I— well— okay, not good about being fired, that fucking blows, but,” Steve’s unsure who is better at rambling and word vomiting, Frankie or him, but she’s on a roll. “We’re hiring, y’know. And by we, I mean me, ‘cause I’m the only one left running this place and reallyyyyy can’t do it alone.”

“Wh—“ A scoff of a laugh escapes him. “I don’t think I’d be the right person for that.”

“Why not? You listen to music?”

“Well, yeah, but,” Steve’s dizzy from how fast this conversation is moving. “I- I don’t know a whole lot, I just like whatever’s on the radio, sometimes other stuff, but— you barely know me. Why are you offering me a job?”

“Steve, I’m not offering you a job. You gotta have an interview first, duh.” Frankie’s teasing is lighthearted, playful, and keeps a smile on his face despite feeling confused about everything. “Look, no pressure, but if you’re interested, I’ll be there tomorrow. Or if you just wanna hang out, that’s cool too— unless you don’t wanna hang out, that’s totally fine—“

Steve breathily laughs, “Frankie,” into the phone, bringing her rambling to a halt. “I’ll be there.”

“Oh, okay,” He can hear her smile over the phone through her nervous giggle. “Okay, cool. See you tomorrow, Steve.”

“See you t— wait!” An idea pops into his head. “Don’t get coffee tomorrow.”

“Huh? Why not?” Then it hits her, “Oh, dude, don’t— you don’t have to—“

“Too bad, I remembered your order anyway.” He blushes at his own admission, wondering if it comes off creepy.

She still laughs, just as genuine as every other time Steve’s heard so far. “Yeah, we’re definitely alike if your brain fog fucks everything up except remembering someone’s coffee order. I’ll just have to memorize yours eventually, too. G’night, Steve.”

His cheeks hurt from smiling so wide for the first time all day, “Night, Frankie.”

The first time he’s felt something outside of guilt or numbness all day, and it’s all thanks to her.

… And thanks to Robin, being the nosy best friend she is, but he won’t admit that and let it get to her head.

#steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x fem!oc #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #sorry i’m using these tags the other ones are so dead 😭 #my fics #accident prone

[elli3luvs]

Can I please req hcs for Ellie w a Reader who needs a lot of reassurance like always asking “are you mad at me?” Because I am the most sensitive girl in the world I fear 🙁

a/n: so real im also so sensitive it's crazy idk how ive made it this long LMFAO

ellie is kinda rough around the edges there's no changing that

she tries, and i mean really tries, to be softer around you but during high stake times she can kinda snap

not really at you just more at the situation at hand

but being sensitive, you do not take it like that

it takes every fiber in your being to hold back the tears and keep the heavy feeling in your chest at bay

"you could've gotten killed! what would i have done without you, huh?" she rants as she walks out of a random abandoned building

you may have seen a clicker and tried to kill it without making a fuss

you didn't want to burden ellie as she was searching for supplies

but it didn't go down without a fight

thankfully ellie heard your screams from downstairs and ran to handle it

"i tried. i fought really hard," your voice is wobbling as the tears well up, "are you mad at me, els?"

you hear her sigh before she's turning back to look at you

her face softens at the pitiful look that's gracing your features

"no. i'm not mad," she reaches out and pulls you into her arms. you relax at the comforting feeling of her near you, "you scared the hell out of me though. don't know what i'd do without you."

shes rubbing her hands up and down your back in a soothing motion

the pit in your chest feels a bit lighter now that you know she's not angry

"i just wanted to feel like i could do it on my own." your voice is muffled by her shirt

you feel her shake her head, "you will never have to do it on your own, shouldn't have to. i'll always be here so lean on me."

ellie feels like crap every time she makes you sad

she works on it as much as she can

but she is also more than happy to give you the reassurance you need

nothing makes her happier than feeling you relax in her arms

#ellie williams imagine #ellie williams scenario #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie headcanons