#but it's unhealthy to do the opposite of yeah too much too so like. gotta find a balance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yindelune · 2 years

Text

PAC: a reading about your person

so this reading is about your person - their energy/traits, how they see you, and something that you need to hear regarding this connection.

before you start picking your pile:

this is a reading for the collective so there are details that might not feel right for you. it’s normal. take what resonates and leave what doesn’t.

this is a timeless reading so even if you see this weeks, months, or years after i posted this, it’s meant to be relevant to your current situation.

reblog and likes are very much appreciated! as well as your written feedbacks! if you think this reading can also help a friend or a loved one, you can send them the link to this reading. thank you!

how to pick your pile:

what you have to do first is to center yourself, take 3 to 5 deep breaths, and as you do, think about your person.

after that, you can pick one of the photos below. pick the one you feel the most drawn to.

it’s okay if you feel attracted to more than one pile, it might just be that there are messages you’re meant to receive from other piles.

Let's begin!

pile 1

your person's traits/energy: the devil, ace of cups, 4 of swords

this person is disciplined and can seem too rigid but has lots of love to give. they could also be someone who feels like they have a lot of responsibilities (could be a capricorn). i can also see that this person is well equipped, like no matter what battle it is, they are going to fight ready. this person is intimidating at first and is very guarded, and almost like a tough nut to crack. but somehow, i feel like you've managed to make them feel comfortable with you. this is someone who's more often serious than joking, although they're not completely stoic. honestly i’m really having a hard time getting more information about them so yeah definitely a very guarded person... i need the help of my clarification cards 😭 it's not that they're not approachable because i feel like they're always open to be of help. i think they're just reserved. very reserved. and they keep things business.

i think the reason this person has become more closed off is because they've just come out of an unhealthy cycle (possibly a relationship/connection with a narcissist) that left them feeling all betrayed and/or drained. there's a bit of ego included here, like while they were in a relationship with that person, the way they subconsciously survived was to inflate their own ego. now that they're out if that relationship, or whatever connection that was, they're beginning to realize things and be more retrospective so they may want to spend a lot of their time alone. just by themselves. at first i thought this was a masculine energy, but now actually i'm feeling more of a wounded feminine... regardless of gender. they are isolating themselves right now as they believe it'll be easier to face their issues alone. and this time this is a conscious choice that they made. they know what they're doing is what the cards want me to say. they may be isolating themselves now and you're worried, but this time what they've made is a conscious choice to be alone, because, as i've said, they know and believe they have to face their issues alone.

for some of you, this could be someone who's the total opposite of what i just described. i feel like this person is sooo loving and dreamy and easily influenced that it was so easy to find themself trapped in an unhealthy habit/cycle. and, same thing, i think they are also in the “i gotta deal with my issues alone” phase. that's just for some of you, though.

how they see you: 2 of pentacles, queen of swords, the wheel of fortune

they see you as someone who's very smart but doesn't know what they're doing 99% of the time, or doesn't believe in their capabilities 99% of the time. i feel like you're always stumbling and all chaotic on the outside so other people in general may see you as the kind of person who's just...messy and has no direction (sorry for that), but this particular person knows you're smart, knows your potential, and knows that you can do so much better. and this isn't in a degrading way, by the way. because they can also see that you're trying, and they believe you will get there. another thing, this person sees you as someone who is absolutely capable of leading, of commanding a whole room. this person believes in you. they also feel lucky to know you. i feel like you make them laugh and amuse them even without intending to. despite being in some kind of a hermit phase, they actually like having you around. oh, and they find you adorable sometimes. while they're the negative polarity, they think you are their positive counterpart. you just shine in their eyes. i can feel how much they admire and adore you, and wish you would stop doubting yourself.

advice: 8 of pentacles, the fool, queen of wands

okay, so this is definitely a soulmate connection. one where you two will help each other go out of your respective comfort zones. but that time isn't now. this person need time for themselves. this part, you have to let them do this alone. right now i don't see anything romantic, actually. but this is a deep connection. so if you have romantic feelings for them, i would advise you to maybeee tone it down a bit. not only for them, but also for yourself. this person definitely trusts you, though. but right now they really need to focus first on themselves and stand back up in their power by themselves. they really don't wanna depend on another person anymore to make themselves feel complete. right now they don't need a lover, they need a friend who understands that most of the time they would prefer to be alone. one who won't change the way they treat and interact with them despite the low-maintenance thing going on. i feel like this connection right now is moving slowly, and it will be this way for a little bit longer, but they'll come out feeling ready to take risks again, and you will come out with a sturdier self-confidence and self-esteem.

pile 2

your person's traits/energy: the stars, 9 of pentacles, 8 of swords

right off the bat, i feel like this person is a chill, laid-back one, but not the kind that takes everything as a joke. i can feel almost this quite rational and sensible energy from them, like they know which battle is worth the fight and which isn't. they are independent and low-maintenance, and they're also good with people (they're probably an air sign, specifically a libra). they must really be thriving when it comes to finances, too. i feel like an opportunity or a potential new beginning has recently been presented to this person, and they're just not sure if they should take that risk. maybe this is about a person, like they're not entirely sure if they should take the risk of making a move on them. but they definitely want to try. i feel like they've been taking a break from all romantic endeavors for a while, but now, oh wow they're definitely interested ;) they're really considering welcoming love again, and allowing themselves to be happy with someone. they've done their work to achieve independence and stability within themselves, and i think they're pondering if it's time to give romance a chance again.

i guess their fear mainly stems from the fear of this new love ending up being just another unhealthy cycle again, as well as the uncertainty, but daaamn, they really can't help feeling the butterflies even if they wanted to help it. whoever this person has been talking to, they really do be enjoying this person's company. like, really. almost like talking to them and being with them brings them back to the heart-fluttering parts of their teenage years. i cannot tell yet that their person is you, but we'll figure out soon enough. but yeah, they're just really beginning to develop these deep feelings for someone. your person easily opens up, or at least very open to their friends. i think. i feel like instead of telling me more about themselves, they're really just telling me about their cute little crush it's so adorable! they might be a taurus crushing on a libra/aquarius, or vice versa.

how they see you: the hierophant, the hanged man, justice

okay, first of all. JUSTICE CARD. NEED I SAY MORE??? LIBRA!!! i feel like this person sees you as someone who's very orderly and organized. someone with self-discipline and self-control, who values fairness and balance! the cards feel serious and matured, so i guess that's how they see you. they like that their laid-back-self found their serious, kinda intense counterpart in you. in their eyes, you just have a lot of depth and wisdom! they really look up to you and they listen to everything you say because they feel like you can guide them and teach them how to be more perceptive and self-reflective, and that you can really help them grow.

they also may see you as someone who's a bit traditional/old-school, and they REAAALLY love that. this feels like having a crush on an older person whom you know can protect and guide you 🥺 they really trust you. this person was definitely intimidated by you when you first met, though. maybe even until now. they think you've got a lot to put on the table, they're just so impressed by you that they can't help but want to impress you, too. maybe that's what the 8 of swords was about, too. they do not have any idea how to impress you and they're just stuck there not knowing what move to make. you might be their senior, or boss, or you might simply be older than them. at least that is what i'm getting. i feel like in a social/professional setting, you are really good at putting on your "don't mess with me" facade, but i also feel like this person has gotten to know the you that lies beyond this facade. and it just fascinates them how you can act so stoic when you're actually so fun to be with. they definitely see you as someone with so much stability within yourself, and so much stability to offer. they feel like you've gone through a lot of things and that's why you are so wise and mature now.

and oh my GOD. YOU'RE DEFINITELY THE PERSON THEY'RE TELLING ME ABOUT ON THE FIRST SECTION OF THIS READING. LIKE THEY CONFIRMED IT THEMSELVES BY HAVING THE CLARIFICATION CARD I PULLED FOR THEM EARLIER JUMP OUT JUST NOW. I CANNOT. i'm really getting excited for this reading please wtf is this JUST GET A ROOM IDK.

but yeah you make this person feel sooo excited, like a teenager crushing on a really smart, disciplined and attractive teacher. I KNOW BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I FEEL RIGHT NOW 😭 they don't only have a crush on you, they look up to you and admire you! i'm getting a sense that you're actually their ideal type, omg. are you smiling rn? pls tell me you're smiling right now because I AM EVEN SQUEALINGGGGG.

advice: 7 of pentacles, king of swords, the fool

i feel like you're someone who naturally takes their time with things, especially making decisions, but if you also like this person, definitely make a move. it doesn't have to be this groundbreaking move! subtle ones will do. again, make a move. you may be someone who naturally leans more towards logic and maybe even practicality, but i feel like this situation doesn't require logic as much as it does feelings. does this person make you happy, too? yes? go for it. after all, i can sense that you also feel dulled by your repetitive daily routine. you desire something that will excite you again, and i feel like this is exactly what this person has to offer.

another reason this person's hesitant to make a move may be because they are not sure if you'll be comfortable with it, because they love what you currently have - friendship, i guess? or just something casual. as i have said, you tend to be a bit stoic in public so being a casual friend to you already feels like an achievement to them. i also said that your moves can be just subtle ones, so it can be as simple as maybe showing them that you'll be fine with them making moves? if that makes sense. because this person, i can see that they're definitely ready to do everything to prove to you that they're sincere about you, and to wait until you're ready. they just need the go signal. if you want them, too, play your part and give them the green light! this person really is head over heels for you, i feel like they take a lot of your pictures, or take many pictures with you. i also feel like you've talked to your very few friends about this, asking for their advice. and this person also talks to their friends about you 😭

lastly, give them a call. GIVE THEM A CALLLLLLLL!!! let them know you're thinking about them or something. just. MAKE MOVE. GIVE THEM THE GREEN LIGHT.

pile 3

your person’s traits/energy: 7 of cups, 4 of pentacles, 5 of pentacles

idk why but i feel like this person's kinda selfish... ;~; like they've been through a lot, and in the end they came to this resolution to just always put themselves first. even if it means letting others down, or harming those who are in their way. not only selfish, but i'm sensing greed, too. i feel like everyone who gets too close to them, who trusts them, this person leaves them with a broken heart and broken trust. i really didn't expect this about this person, actually, especially considering that the pic i used for them was THAT pic. but then again, before i began this pile's reading, i imagined them to be benevolent, it felt wrong. so simply put, they prioritize themselves the unhealthy way. it's the way that harms other people. i feel like that's the image they want others to see. the selfish, greedy image. almost like... they purposely do that to push people away? i can sense that this person has some serious inner child work to do... their energy, i can compare it to a kitten who was beaten up and left to die, but they lived. now they're a stray, and because of the trauma they got, they're always hostile to people who try to approach them, not because they're a bad person, but because they're actually afraid. (ok the selfish and greedy part makes more sense now. it's almost like this, "better hurt you first before you get to hurt me" kind of energy). even though the first cards to jump out are totally throwing me off, the clarifiers are actually nicer.. which is why i think they're throwing people off on purpose. they're so hard to reach, honestly, i'm not even gonna lie i'm having a hard time reading them. it's also like even they themselves are confused about who they really are. i also get the feeling that they have thought of themselves as a "lost cause", so they don't even really try anymore. something's also telling me that they're always moving??? they're always working so they won't have to talk to people, and so people won't dare talk to them. so much fear is being masked by the "bad person" facade, and they've gotten used to acting like a bad person that they've lost touch with their authentic selves.

how they see you: 2 of swords, the moon, the sun

okay, i had to do the shuffling over and over again here because it just seemed like your person really didn't wanna spill and was doing their best to confuse my ass!!! they're really STUBBORN ngl. okay, so here we go- actually i been wanting to say this since earlier, but i think this like a twin flame journey... if you believe in that, haha. if not, then it's definitely a soulmate connection. but not just any other soulmate connection. this one is really strong. i also think only few people would pick and truly resonate with pile 3 because this is such a unique connection... there's a lot of depth here. they definitely see you as their counterpart and mirror. that's like the highlight of what they're saying to me. i feel like they see you as someone who also has internal struggles and when they met you, they felt less alone. like they have found a friend in you, a friend that's veeery similar to themselves, and they take comfort in that. i hate to say this because this line is really common when it comes to twin flames and it sounds a bit cliche, but this person feels like you mirror each other in ways that they can't really describe. and even though you make them feel less alone, they also kinda fear having to physically be with you or to even just have a thought of you (and really, i think they been thinking a lot about you) because it makes them more conscious and aware of what's going on inside them and it forces them to face it. as i have said, you mirror them, and that includes seeing in you the same struggles they've been having, so facing you also means facing their fears and wounds. thus, whether they're aware of it or not, in a way, you trigger their healing process (you could be a scorpio). and honestly, i feel like they fear confronting it. also, you shine so much in their eyes. you just stand out. this connection really has some heaviness to it but not really in a bad way. it's more that it has substance. they fear you and yet, they also find comfort in you.

because of your strong impact on them, they're really compelled to have ALL their guards up when it comes to you.

advice: three of swords, knight of wands, 2 of cups

alright, this is surprisingly short, but it's straight to the point. this person is obviously bearing a lot of wounds. they need love, and lots of patience. if you know you can't give it to them, just keep your distance for now. even if you want to but you know you would be pouring from an empty cup, don't do it. if you are to make a move, though, make sure not to rush them. as i have said, they need lots of patience. and love. it may take time before they can show improvements. they really just need to feel loved and worth fighting for, to feel that people are willing to stay for them. so if you know you can, if you know you are stable enough to be the person they can depend on for a while, then please love them and fight for them. show them they're worthy of such an effort.

Alright, that’s it for this reading!

Thank you for taking your time to see and listen to what the cards had to say! And also, thank you for the love that my very first reading received (and continues to receive). I really appreciate it. It only encourages me to be better at this, and to help enlighten more people through my tarot reading.

Again, thank you!

Always,

Yin ♡

#tarot #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick an image #pick a photo #pick a card #spirituality #divination #tarotblr #tarot reader #pac #advice #spiritual #tarotonline

503 notes · View notes

harrysgloves · 2 years

Text

Welcome to the family.

story summary: Florence and Harry meet your family.

warnings: Dumb brothers / Language.

a/n: Absolutely HATE editing so that didn't happen. A quick blurb to get back into the swing of writing again since it's been a long time. Always love having ideas for the throuple so if you have any don't be shy! It takes me forever to write but I do read them all, promise! x Trish

REQUESTED:

>>><<<

Your thumb tapped against your pointer finger, then your middle finger, then your ring finger, over and over again in a never ending loop while you counted silently to yourself.

One, two, three… three, two, one.

"What happens when they ask you about your futu-"

Shut up. Stop worrying.

One, you tapped your thumb firmly against your pointer.

"What if they only approve of one but not the other one?"

Two, thumb against your middle finger again.

"What if they think our relationship is weird or unhealthy? Will I care? I always care about what they think but does it really matter when I lov-"

"Love?" Harry sighed, his hand squeezed the inside of your thigh, calling your attention to him. "Gotta get out of your head, yeah."

"Know, H."

"Gonna make Flor nervous if you're like this when she wakes up."

You quickly glanced over your shoulder to make sure the very sleep-deprived blonde who stayed up half the night worrying about this trip, was still sound asleep in the back seat. A small sigh of relief left your lips when you saw her eyes were still closed shut, her chest softly rising and falling.

"Fuck," You mumbled under your breath, your hand gripped tightly around the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, I just- well, I've never had anyone meet all of them before."

He barely had a moment to breathe before you were anxiously rambling off every anxiety-ridden thought that was running through your mind.

"And it's not like this is necessarily a standard relationship and I don't want anyone to be rude on accident and hurt your or Flor's feelings."

"They won't, kitten."

"They probably will."

"And if they do, we'll deal with it." Hjs fingers dug deeper into your thigh for a brief moment, trying his best to softly reassure you from the passenger seat. "We're both really excited to meet them all, everything is going to be fine."

You sighed, hoping that your family could keep it together for one meal. Three hours tops of you being there, maybe less if you could get away with it.

>>>

"About time!" You heard your brother yelling out to you before you had a chance to put the car in park, your middle finger raised high in the air as your car came to a lurching hault.

"That one's Jason, right?"

"Yup, youngest and dumbest one." You rolled your eyes as the hoard of now adult children came filtering out of the house. You were sure talk of you bringing your partners to dinner was the only topic they'd been talking about all day.

"We can leave anytime you want to, okay?"

Your words were meant to be assuring, but they seemed to have the complete opposite effect. Her pretty face deflated at the sound of them. The corners of her lips turned down, deep. That fleeting flash of worry painted her face as well as Harry's. Though, he was much, much, better at hiding it.

"Do you- uhm, do you think they're not going to like us?" She asked through a small voice.

You'd never seen her really, truly, doubt herself before. She was always confident, not in a snobby way, but she was sure of herself. She never needed to worry before, never caring for too long if someone did particularly like her.

Until now.

To Florence, this felt like one of those make-or-break moments in a relationship. After meeting your family, you'd both meet hers, maybe a vacation to see hers and then Harry's in one trip.

Maybe then they could convince you to give up that crummy apartment that you were a bit attached to. You three could have a life together, beyond squeezing in time whenever possible, and it'd start right here.

"No, Flor, of course they're going to like you. I'm just worried that someone will say something really insensitive. Especially, Raph, he can be a real dick when he wants to be."

"Just go in and be yourself. They'll love you." That toothy smile you loved so much spread across his face making his dimples pop. His ring-fingered hand laced through Flor’s soft and delicate thin fingers, pulling them to his lips to kiss lightly. "And you, stop worrying so much, it's going to be a good time."

"Awe, our sweet little voice of reason.” You teased, his green eyes rolled at your comment, an unamused chortle leaving his lips.

“You’re just upset that I always got to calm you two down.”

“‘S right?”

“Yeah.”

“H, what about the Men’s magazine saying you weren’t the most fashionable guy of the year?” Florence questioned from the back, that honey-sweet voice not for a second masking the venom in her words.

“Oi!” The look of complete betrayal painted his face, his voice rising to levels you didn’t know it could go to had you laughing in the seat beside him almost uncontrollably. “You both said we wouldn’t bring that up again.”

“Shouldn’t say we need to be calmed down all the time then.” Florence snipped back but that hint of a playful smile still played at the corner of her lips as she quickly checked her purse to make sure nothing fell out on the drive. “Now come on before I have another freak-out.”

>>>

The house had been the same for as long as you could remember. Your dad, as great as he was, never really got into decorating.

The same red oak hardwood floors that lined the house when you were a child still ran through the entire first floor, up the stairs that you slipped and busted your lip on when you were 6 years old. Over and up onto the second floor where all your bedrooms were when you were kids.

The place was filled with memories, the walls of the house held onto so many stories, both good and bad. You wondered one day if the next person who lived here would question why the piece of trim beside your bedroom door was completely gone or who had drawn a treasure map in the linen closet.

You could have gotten lost in the nostalgia if it wasn’t for the cold sweat of anxiety that laced itself through the front of your hair. Your hands gripped tightly onto both Harry’s and Flor’s as you led them through the front entrance towards the kitchen where you could hear the usual boisterous laughter and chatting from the hoard of siblings you had.

“Finally!” Jason yelled through the noise of everyone before your foot even hit the tile flooring. The complete silence that followed as they all one-by-one turned their heads to your direction made your throat dry.“Thought you three were going to stay in the car the whole time.”

“Leave them alone.” Your dad mumbled as he moved across the kitchen to where you three were standing. Both hands in yours tightened against your own.

“It’s so nice to meet you both, finally.” That warm smile wide on his face, a hint of amusement in his eyes as they traveled down to where your fingers were tightly laced together. “Thought Y/N was never going to bring you ‘round.”

“Dad.” Your eyes widened, giving him the silent sign to stop saying things like that, even though you knew this conversation would be far from over.

“What? It’s true!”

“Yeah, Y/N it’s been six months. We were pretty sure you were lying about them dating you.” Tomás snickered from the other side of the room, adding fuel to the flames.

“You’ve picked her up at Harry’s house before.” Jack rolled his eyes, shoving a piece of food down his throat.

“So?” Tommy questioned, his eyebrows raised as he stared Jack down. “She could be a crazy stalker fan for all we know!”

“She’s definitely crazy.” Raph chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yeah, don’t you remember the time in 6th grade when she-” Jason started, the little shit, you knew he’d been dying to lay out your embarrassing stories for weeks now.

“Okay!” You yelled out before the story could continue.

“No, wait,” Florence piped up from your left side, her hand leaving yours as she glided across the room to the available seat at the breakfast bar. “I’d love to hear that.”

“Me too, actually.” Harry smiled down to you before letting go of your other hand, your dad seizing the moment to clap a hand around his shoulder in the typical dad sort of way as they both walked off to join the rest.

>>>

It had been 3 hours, 3 hours of tale after tale of every questionable moment you had in life blasted out with no care about how mortified you were.

“Then she decided to eat it!”

“Oh no!” Florence whined in disgust, her beautiful eyes judging deep into your soul as Harry laughed wholeheartedly from the other side of you.

“It was a birthday cake!” You reasoned back.

“Made of mud, Y/N.” Raphael stated, your face blistering with heat as everyone giggled again.

“Not that this isn’t great but…” Jason drew out, your heart instantly dropped to your ass at his tone. This was the moment you were worried about. “Aren’t we all supposed to start grilling you two at some point?”

Your pleading for this to not happen at family dinner was drowned out by Florence and Harry’s agreement.

Why the fuck would you agree to this? Was what you were hoping your disbelieving look to both of them conveyed, their hands rested in unison on your thigh, giving reassuring squeezes. Harry’s half shrug and Flor’s sweet smile tried to calm you down but you knew that wasn’t possible, not with your nightmare crew of brothers all patiently waiting to metaphorically pounce on the opportunity to run them off.

“Right then, how does sex work?”

You choked on the air you were breathing, coughing profusely as your face heated. Desperately, you chugged the glass of wine in front of you to stop the fit of shock and the urge to strangle Jason.

“¡Pendejo!” Tomás yelled as an uproar started around the family dinner table.

“I was just asked what everyone was thinking!’

“No one was thinking that!”

“That’s our fucking sister! The last thing I want to think about is her sex life!”

“Is it always like this?” Florence asked from beside you, her face leaned in close to yours to keep everything more private, which was super unnecessary since your brothers were now yelling in multiple languages as loudly as possible.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Is Jack speaking Italian?” Harry leaned over to whisper from beside you, not a hint of being embarrassed or uncomfortable anywhere in either one of them.

“More like cursing but yes.” You quickly reached for the bottle of wine that was in the middle of the table, trying your best to not cause too much motion and catch their attention.

“Why couldn’t you ask them something normal?” Raphael actually stuck up for you, a moment that didn’t happen often. “Like when are you moving in together or are you going to make Y/N finally get her own cat and stop stealing her neighbors.”

“You guys leave Marshmallow out of this!” You jumped forward in your seat, not wanting them to drag that poor cat through this fight. You’d guard him with your life.

“Yes.” Harry’s calm and collected voice broke lowly through the sea of argument.

“What?” You asked, wiping around to see them both wordlessly communicate with each other the way they always had.

“Yeah, we want to get our own cat, eventually.” Harry clarified for the group. Each brother gently sat back down in their seat, eyes wide with curiosity, lines of questions waiting to pour from their mouths.

“Mhm,” Florence hummed, her glass of wine in her other hand sat down on the table in front of her. “Maybe name it Graham Cracker and take it to visit Marshmallow when we finally get this one to agree to move in.”

Your eyes widened, emotions you had a hard time processing bubbled deep within you. You were always too scared to ask where this went past 6 months, a year, 5 years. A part of you assumed, especially since they have both separately told you they love you but you still feared, still had that doubt in the back of your mind.

“What about you know… long term?” Raphael asked, cutting off the welling tears trying their best to build up in your eyes.

“Haven’t forced her to have that conversation yet, she’s a bit skittish.” Harry joked, lightening the mood slightly but you didn’t want to get off-topic, maybe you’d finish this conversation in the car and this was the door that needed to be opened in order to be more vulnerable with them.

“What happens when Y/N gets her next movie deal and has to travel for work?” Ralph the detective asked again but your eyes were constantly bouncing between the both of them. Each one sat cool and calm like they’d known the answers without having to think about them, without having to search for anything to say because the answers were already written into their own hearts.

“We’ll figure it out, just like we’re figuring out how to deal with the media, tour dates, and family. Not going to be easy, but…”

“We’ll figure it out together.” Harry finished the sentence Flor had started and suddenly, it felt like you were the only three in the room, the words leaving your mouth without a single care about your family hearing you declare them.

“I love you.”

“Welcome to the family, you two.” Your dad’s joyful voice plopped you back into reality, your brothers all agreeing with the words he’d said but you could only think of one thing: You couldn’t wait to tell them over and over again, ‘I love you'.

246 notes · View notes

nanaminokanojo · 3 years

Text

[10:00 PM] Ryomen Sukuna

LOG 14 OF MY JUJUTSU KAISEN TIMESTAMP DRABBLES

collection masterlist

photo/fanart credits to @/Natsushio on Weibo

"Baby."

Sukuna knows you heard him. Still, you continued walking as if you didn't, going ahead of him about ten paces ahead, your posture and the overall attitude in your gait speaking volumes of your current mood. He easily kept up with you, placing an arm over your shoulder, but much to his surprise, you shrugged it off you and walked the remaining expanse of sidewalk towards your shared apartment. He just watched in annoyance as you walked into the lobby and got into the elevator before him.

"Trouble with your princess?" this nosy grandma, who lived at one of the units at the first floor, asked.

Sukuna just smiled awkwardly, bowing slightly as he passed her by on his way to the elevator. When he finally got into your unit, he found your coat lying on the hallway, picking it up only to see your jeans a few steps ahead then your shirt. He finally found you in the kitchen already wrapped in a robe which you didn't even bother tying up, agitatedly pouring yourself a glass of wine, the cerise liquid sloshing around the glass violently.

You were behaving rather out of character, making a mess out of your clothes when he knew just how much you hated it when he leaves his things scattered about. On top of that, you left the cutlery drawer open with the corkscrew you used on top of the counter, droplets of red wine littering the granite top. You just passed him by without saying anything, refusing to look at him on your way to your bedroom.

I see how it is, he thought, taking long strides to the direction you went. He eyed you sternly, having had enough of your attitude. "Y/N, what's going on?" he demanded.

You flinched visibly at the way he addressed you. He doesn't call you by your name unless he was dead serious about something. "It's nothing. Don't mind me."

"Woman, don't tell me it's nothing when –"

Before he could finish, you walked into the adjoining bathroom, turning on the tap to the tub to tune him out. You were evidently being passive-aggressive now, and he detested it when you did that.

"Just go back to your party. I'm sure everyone's wondering where you've gone," you told him, picking up your glass from the dresser top. "Especially Miss Hanako." You shot him a sardonic smile before taking a swig out of your wine, the way you said the woman’s name dripping with vitriol.

And then it hit him. You've been dishing out barb since you told him you wanted to leave the company party he was partly hosting for his department. You did so when the secretary to the president arrived and started chatting him up. He was now thinking your behavior thereafter had something to do with it. You were fine before that so it could only mean one thing.

He didn't know whether to laugh or what at the thought of it. When he decided to pursue you, he didn't have qualms about it even if you were a good six years younger than him. He knew how problematic it could get having an immature partner, but that's where you were different. You held yourself with such confidence, grace and equilibrium way beyond your age, you shared the same pragmatic mindset he had and you didn't seem to have a proclivity for drama like others your age. You hardly ever fought because of petty things and he loved that about you.

But then, you're still young and he didn't hold it against you that you're suddenly acting like a brat. If anything, he was happy about it because you were never ever jealous. It sometimes made him doubt how you felt about him when you yourself would be pointing at other chicks for him to look at while saying things like, "Baby, look at her ass. Damn, she's sexy." And now that the green-eyed monster is rearing its head to the surface, he couldn't say he didn't like it.

"What about her?" he asked cautiously, making you jump the hoops.

You sneered, the action very intimidating despite your angelic features. “Oh, I don’t know, Sukuna. You tell me. You seemed to be enjoying her company. Don’t stop at my expense.”

He leveled his expressions to you. “Well, she is something, isn’t she? Smart, too.”

“Yeah, you deserve each other,” you hissed, the anger flaring up in your eyes making him stir alive.

“But she’s married.”

“All the better!” Seeing through what he was doing, you turned towards the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He didn't hear you lock it so he followed suit.

"If you're jealous, just say so already!" he told you. He wanted to hear it out of your mouth.

"Why would I be jealous? She looks like a bad rip-off of 80s Brooke Shields!" you spat, confirming his thoughts. You climbed into the bathtub sulkily, eyes on the bubbly water.

Sukuna knew he shouldn't even be thrilled about the prospect of it. If you were jealous then that means you were kinda doubting him in terms of his loyalty to you, and he should not like that, but at the same time, you were also being possessive which you rarely do. He couldn't help it.

Loosening his tie, he began shedding his clothes off, stripping naked before you, revealing the tattooed expanse of his skin and his impressive musculature as he tossed one garment after the other.

"What are you doing?" you asked as he approached, the way you mumbled the words causing him to just sigh, feeing defeated at how endearing you looked hugging your knees to yourself. "I thought I told you to go back to your party."

He didn't say anything as he went into the tub, sitting opposite you, but it wasn't long before he was pulling you towards him, positioning you between his legs so your back was pressed against his hard chest. He then began planting hungry kisses on your neck, down to your shoulders, his large hands wandering all over your body, one already having found itself on your breasts while the other coaxed your head to turn towards him so he can kiss you, his movements urgent yet languid and gentle.

"I'm all yours," he breathed against your lips, grinning. "You know that, right?"

"I know." You shrugged, facing forward again. “I don’t like the way that witch was touching you though. And you were all smiles about it, too.” You smacked him on the thigh, eliciting that deep laughter you adored no matter how mad you were at him. “Don’t laugh! It’s not funny.”

“It kinda is.”

“If you even think for a second that anyone can have you, Ryomen Sukuna, you’re wrong.” You looked him in the eyes, your dark orbs boring into him while your hand touched the side of his face, your crimson-painted nails looking like claws against his cheek. “You’re mine.”

He wrapped his arm around you, kissing you on the temple before placing his chin on your shoulder. "Jealousy is ugly, baby," he whispered in your ear, "but I gotta say, you wear it so well."

-END-

Okay. Before I get another "untimely (and unsolicited, if I'm allowed to say) lecture" about the etymology of the word "Ryōmen (両面/りょう)" meaning "two-faced/two-sided" and not a surname or given name , let me say it now, I KNOW, but thanks anyway. Sukuna and I are neighbors, just 4 hours by train. Geez. However, I am using his whole name in literature form, so if I do switch it up and use it as a surname for him (cause heaven forbid, the Kamigami rain hell on me) it's all for fun and literary creativity. No need to get too pressed over it.

No more fighting on my comments to point this out @fushigummy @kenkinori XD

And I have nothing against the 1980s or Brooke Shields. *waves at her fans*

It's established. I love bathtub scenes although I detest the idea of stewing in my own filth. But yeah, look forward to more bathtub drabbles.

I say too many things. Bye.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

496 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Button by Button

Prompts: (I’ve never requested anything before, so I apologize if I’m not doing this right) Would you be willing to write something where Janus (nervously) goes to Remus because he wants to get clean from self-harm, but realizes that he needs help/can’t do it alone? - anon

If you’re still taking requests, can you write a side (preferably janus, but anyone works) having a pretty rough time and resorting to unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with it, and then one (or multiple) other sides help him? Love your works! - anon

Ah yes more of these. Y'all know what time it is!

CHECK POINT TIME MY DUDES~

unclench your jaw roll them shoulders back drink something go to the bathroom eat something look away from the screen for three goddamn CONSECUTIVE seconds

okay cool now you may proceed love you very much

Read on Ao3

Warnings: implied/referenced self-harm. Very brief description of scale removal

Pairings: platonic dukeceit

Word Count: 2187

It’s when Thomas catches him with one of his scales missing that he knows he needs this to stop.

The problem is that he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Not until it’s too late. One of his fingers will just…accidentally catch the wrong edge of a scale and then he’ll slip his fingers under it and pull and…off it pops.

Well, it doesn’t really pop off.

If he’s being honest—heh—it’s part of the reason he started wearing the gloves all the time, not just when he has to go and perform for the rest of them. If he could hide his nails beneath the fabric then maybe it would be more difficult to pop them off.

But the seams of the fabric are even better at snagging on the uneven scales. He swears they were built to find the little ones that didn’t sit quite right with the others. How wonderful.

Most of the time he can hide it.

Not all the time.

It’s when Thomas starts frowning at his hand halfway through filming a video that he snaps.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just—“ he waves to the glove— “there’s a—you got something there, bud.”

Janus glances down and notices the stain.

Shit.

“I’m sure it’ll take you by surprise to know that Remus is far from the paragon of cleanliness,” he remarks dryly, waving the hand out of sight.

Virgil snorts. “Uh-huh.”

Roman rolls his eyes. “Did he at least use the plastic tarps I dropped off?”

“Oh, there were supposed to be tarps?”

“You know, that’s enough of an answer.”

The conversation steers back on track but Janus keeps his fist clenched out of sight.

Too close. Thomas is not allowed to know. Janus may not be able to hide as much as he would like from Thomas but this Thomas will not know.

And…alright, maybe the feeling of too-raw skin rubbing against the inside of the glove is getting a little unbearable.

Maybe the fact that he has to keep his face turned away at all times is starting to grate on his insecurity.

Maybe trying to stop picking at his hands makes it difficult to keep the gloves on even though they’re the only thing keeping him sane some of the time.

…maybe he needs help.

Janus looks down at his hands, shakily pulling on his gloves and standing. He glances in the mirror and winces. Even for him, he looks like he’s trying to hide something. He makes a point to avoid the living room at all costs.

Remus’s door is ajar but the room is dark. He glances up and down the corridor, maybe Remus has gone into the Imagination. Then the toilet down the hall flushes and he sighs.

“Don’t tell me,” he says as Remus emerges, “you’ve ruined your own bathroom again?”

“I wouldn’t say ruined,” Remus chortles, “it’s a masterpiece! I just can’t use much of it right now.”

“Thrilling, I’m sure everyone will be glad to hear it.”

Remus just waves him off. “What’s up, Jan-Jan, haven’t seen you in ages.”

Janus blinks. “You saw me ten minutes ago.”

He rolls his eyes. “The point, Jan, is that you don’t come around anymore and I’m bored.”

“Well, if you’re so easily bored…”

“Hey, nuh-uh, you just showed up, no leaving!”

He pretends that Remus dragging him into his room is the opposite of what he wanted.

“Take a seat,” Remus sings gleefully, plopping down onto the floor and wriggling around like a worm on a string. Not far off. “Talk to me!”

Janus sits, doing his best to avoid whatever that is and folding his hands. He drums his fingers nervously against each other.

“What’s going on, Jan-Jan,” Remus asks, and ah, Remus has figured out something is wrong, “are you okay?”

“I need your help,” he decides on eventually, “to hide something from Thomas.”

Remus quirks an eyebrow. “You know that’s not anywhere near my specialty right?”

“And here I thought you were the picture of subtlety.”

“What’re you trying to hide?”

Janus swallows. Then he shakily peels off the glove and offers his hand to Remus. Remus takes it, frowning at his face before he turns to examine the scales. He runs his thumb gently over the places where scales meet flesh and turns Janus’s hand over.

He sweeps a finger down the scales and his nail catches a rough one.

Janus flinches.

Remus’s eyes widen as he takes in the patchwork of missing scales and sucks in a breath. “…Jan?”

“Thomas can’t know,” Janus bites out, “I have to hide it.”

Remus fixes him with a look. “And what else?”

“What else?”

“No lies,” he reminds, harsh tone a sharp contrast to the gentle movement of his thumb on Janus’s hand, “that includes lies of omission.”

Janus’s hand twitches in Remus’s grasp and he takes a deep breath.

“I can’t stop it,” he whispers after a moment, “I need your help.”

“Okay.” Remus gives his hand a tug. “Come closer.”

Janus shuffles forward on the floor, shame burning his cheeks. Remus tuts and raises a hand to pat his face.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Snakey,” he says quietly, “this is hard. Talking about it is hard for most people, it’s gonna be harder for you.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Don’t say that. You’re not perfect. It’s hard. And you lie.”

“A lot.”

“A lot,” Remus agrees, laying Janus’s scaled hand in his lap, “so it’s gonna be hard.”

Janus takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “What do I do?”

“First off, stop looking like I’m about to have you executed by a pack of hyenas with machetes.” Remus raises an eyebrow. “I’m not mad at you, Snakey, and I don’t exactly have any authority over you.”

Janus huffs.

“Jan, look at me.”

Janus looks. Remus’s expression softens a little.

“Hey,” he says softly, “I’m not mad at you, it’s okay. You’re gonna be fine, we’re gonna deal with this. This is hard, this is mean. It��s okay.”

“…you don’t think I’m being a hypocrite?”

“If you are—I said if, bitch,” he says when Janus huffs again, “you’re far from the only one here and you’re far from being to blame for it.”

“What?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Have you met the other people we live with?”

“…fair enough.”

Remus squeezes his hand. “It’s not gonna be easy, Jan, but it’s okay. I’m proud of you.”

Janus scoffs. “What on earth do you have to be proud of me for?”

“Okay first, don’t like the way you said ‘me,’ second, this is hard, Jan, admitting you need help and coming to find it? That’s not easy.”

Oh.

Janus swallows the lump in his throat and squeezes Remus’s hand back. “…so what do I do?”

“First, do you actually want to stop?”

Janus’s head snaps up. “What?”

Remus doesn’t waver. “Do you actually want to stop? ‘Cause this is only gonna work if you do.”

Does he want to stop?

It would be bad if Thomas found out. It would be bad if the others found out. He would have to deal with their looks and their whispers and he doesn’t want that.

If he grew all his scales back, if the scars faded, would it be like it never happened? Then he…then it would just be gone. He wouldn’t have it anymore. The scars hurt to get but something…something about them tugged on the string in his gut that made him feel safe.

Was that slight tug worth it?

Was it worth the gloves? The worry of someone finding out? The stinging showers? The look on Thomas’s face?

“…yeah,” he mumbles after a while, “yeah, I want to stop.”

“Okay.” Remus gives his hand another squeeze. “I’m real proud of you, you know that, right?”

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles, still ignoring the heat in his face, “that’s enough.”

Remus laughs and pulls him closer. “Gimme a hug, Jan.”

“Fine.”

Surely Remus can’t tell how much he really wants to hug him by how tightly all of the arms wrap around him. Remus chuckles into the crook of his neck and he definitely believes that Janus is being forced into this hug and there’s no way he’d be doing it on his own.

Remus definitely believes him.

“Hey, hey,” Remus murmurs, rubbing his back, and oh, he’s crying, “shh, Jan-Jan, it’s okay, I gotcha. You’re alright now, it’s okay.”

Janus turns his head into the crook of Remus’s neck. Remus is warm against his scales.

“It’s okay, I gotcha.” Remus squeezes him tighter. “You just sit here with me for a minute, ‘kay?”

They sit. For a while. Remus holds him close. It’s warm.

“Hey,” he mumbles after a while, “do you still wanna do the next part now, or do you wanna wait a little bit?”

Janus squeezes his eyes shut and pulls back. “We can do it now.”

“Okay.” Remus cups his hands in his lap and concentrates. Then a little glass jar appears. “Here.”

Janus takes it warily. “What is this for?”

“You. Now pick something you like. Something small that you can have a lot of. Eyeballs, old octopus suckers, paperclips, fuses, glue, wicks…you know, office supplies.”

Despite himself, Janus chuckles. “I forgot that was a Disney movie.”

Remus’s mouth falls open. “Oh, we are so watching that for movie night.”

“Is that tonight?”

“Think so.” He nudges Janus. “You got something?”

“…buttons?”

Remus grins and in a few moments, he holds a massive plastic bag of little buttons. “Like these?”

Janus nods.

“Great. Here’s what we’re gonna do.” He takes one of the buttons out of the bag. “Every day you can go without hurting yourself, you put one of these in the jar.”

The button clatters to the bottom of the jar.

“…that’s it?”

“Uh-huh. But if you break the streak you gotta take ‘em all out.”

“I see.” Janus looks into the jar. The lone button sits at the bottom. It looks so small. “Do I…do I get something if I fill up the jar?”

“Do you want to get something?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never been very good at the whole…self-imposed reward system. Because I can always just have it now and it’s fine.”

Remus snorts. “That sounds like you trying to give yourself deadlines and then being like ‘wait I know the guy who made these and he’s full of shit.’”

“Exactly.”

Remus nudges his shoulder. “Then don’t do that. Just set little goals to start with. Get one button. Then get another.”

“…one day at a time?”

“That’s how this shit works. Slow and steady wins the race.”

“You say as if turtle soup isn’t your favorite.”

“Turtle soup is a fucking delicacy, you whore.”

“You’ve been watching too much UNHhhh without me.”

“Then fucking watch it with me.”

“Thank you, Remus,” Janus mumbles, leaning his head on Remus’s shoulder, “I, um, I don’t know if I’m gonna be any good at this.”

“Be patient with yourself, Snakey, healing isn’t a linear process.”

“I know that…”

“But it never hurts to have someone else reassure you,” he murmurs, his breath warming the top of Janus’s head, “we’re here for you, Jan-Jan. You don’t have to tell us everything, just let us help you.”

Janus stiffens. “Do you think the others will…”

“They’ll ask if they worry—“

“Which they will.”

“—but they respect you, Jan,” Remus finishes, “and they’ll back off when you tell ‘em to. I’m sure you just have to tell them you’re working through some shit and they’ll ask if they can help in any way.”

“But I don’t have to tell them.”

“No, of course not.” Remus finds his hand and squeezes it. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

“So you’ve said.”

“But do you know it?”

Janus turns his head to let his forehead rest against Remus’s. “Yeah, Remus, I do.”

“Good. Now come on, the day’s almost over. Let’s get you to dinner and movie night and see if we can get you that first button.”

“They’ll agree to watch The Lost Empire, right?”

Remus gives him a look. “Logan loves Milo, don’t let him tell you different—“

Janus snorts.

“—Patton is happy to do anything that makes you happy—“

“Remus!”

“—Roman wants to watch Disney always, all the time—“

“True.”

“—and Virgil is always going to make fun of obvious villains that no one is surprised by.”

Janus can’t stop laughing and Remus wraps an arm around his waist.

“You’re gonna be fine, Jan,” he says softly, “we gotcha.”

General:@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees

If you would like to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

Also hey tumblr your Post+ shit is stupid.

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #self harm #tw self harm #tw: self harm

153 notes · View notes

favberrys · 3 years

Text

I'm bored and in a kkg brainrot mood, so i'm just gonna rant about my opinions of kakegurui ships and i will make some headcanons:

Kirasaya

Ok i had to start with them bc they're just too iconic, i think they have one of the most interesting and complex dynamics in kkg, they really got me obsessed with them, it's probably my number one kakegurui ship and the reason i started watching the show and reading the manga. Honestly yeah their relationship has some power imbalance, since sayaka is kirari's secretary, and is probably disfunctional, but contrary to what some ppl say kirasaya is not abusive, kirari never physically or emotionally abuses sayaka throughout the story. Anyway they're a 10/10, peak lesbian yearning, if they don't kiss at least one i will jump the author. Probably one of my fav ships ever, i think they're made for each other and i can't see kirasaya with anyone else, they're just so good together and their chemistry is >>>>>>

Yumary

Ok this one is kinda an unpopular opinion bc most people like yumary, but honestly i can't get invested into it, there's something in this ship that doesn't make my heart go "fuck yeah they should be gfs". Personally i don't ship yumeko with anyone bc i can't imagine her in a relationship since her main thing is being a compulsive gambler, her existence revolves around it and she forms relationships when they're useful for her gambling games. I think yumary could be friends with benefits for some time, but after a while mary would probably break it off because i don't think she can handle a sexual/romantic relationship with yumeko and after a while it would make her go nuts. A friendship between them is already messy and complicated and honestly i don't think they are compatible that way. Yes they have chemistry and there's probably some mutual attraction but to me it's a no. Also can cishet dudes stop fetishizing this ship ? My vote is 6/10, mostly bc mary doesn't seem much physically comfortable with yumeko, idk mary just seems off with her in that sense and i prefer them as gambling partners or friends.

Meariri

I honestly love this ship, especially after reading the manga, they have such an great dynamic, i think they both care about each other, they have chemistry and i think they're compatible and that their personalities compliment each other, mary is often loud and aggressive and passionate while ririka is more closed off and quiet, they're like fire and ice and this case i think the saying "opposite attract" works with them. Mary counts on ririka and i love the fact that she is so comfortable with her physically (mary is almost always the one to initiate the contact, holding her hand, touching her head, etc) and ririka gets inspired by mary to be her own person and chase her goals. Plus they're really cute together, aesthetically i find them the most attractive couple, i'll give them a solid 9/10

Itsukaede

Lmao i don't even know if this is the correct ship name for itsuki x kaede, ok i don't hate it and i think they could work as a couple, it's not my cup of tea bc m/f ships bore me, but i like their relationship, they have the kind of old married couple dynamic that always works. 6/10.

Ryomeko

I can see it happening, i don't ship it, but i don't mind it either, i'm kinda neutral about ryota x yumeko, but i think he's one of the ppl who care about yumeko the most in that academy (with also mary ofc), the ship is boring bc ryota is bland (he's a good guy don't get me wrong and he defo doesn't deserve the hate he gets) and as i said previously i don't ship yumeko with anyone. Sorry i gotta give it 5/6 out of 10

Yumedari

Ok i love midari but just like yumeko, i don't ship her with anyone bc i see her as someone who's too much unstable for relationships, but i know that canonically she loves/likes/is attracted to yumeko so i don't hate this ship, i think it's decent, the only problem is that yumeko hates midari. Still i think that since they're the most insane mfs in that school somehow this ship could work. 6/10

Yuridari

Again midari in my eyes is kinda unshippable, but this ship is not bad at all, they would have that kind of bickering married couple dynamic like itsuki and kaede, i like it but it doesn't do much for me. 7/10

Ryomary

Jsjssjsksk i looked the name of mary x ryota's ship on wiki so if it sounds weird it's bc i don't know their ship name and i have looked at the first site google gave me. This ship is hard no, mainly bc ryota is very bland and i consider mary a lesbian (i read that she is a canon lesbian but idk if it's confirmed by the author, let's say lesbian mary is just my hc) so shipping her with men feels like a hate crime to me, mary is for the girls only, 4/10.

Tsumary

They are kind of cute together right ? I think they're adorable, tsuzura is mary's first love and i think that someone like her would make mary very happy. I still haven't finished kkg twin, so my opinion on tsuzura is incompleted and it might change, i don't hate her but i find her character a little basic/boring so even though this ship is cute it doesn't make me fall in love with them. 7/10 bc probably also tsuzura had feelings for mary and they have a healthy dynamic, you can see they love each other.

Midasaya

I enjoy this crackship, i know that they both like different people but i headcanon that they were together during middle school or that midari had at least a small crush on sayaka during that time, before kirari came to hyakkaou i like to think that they explored their sexuality together so midari was probably sayaka's first kiss, her first date, etc, so they would have history together and we also see that midari knows sayaka bc her character is described through her pov during tower of doors. I find this ship pretty funny bc sayaka is always so serious and composed and midari is a ball of chaos. 7/10

Yumesaya

This is another crackship i don't mind and find hilarious, yeah i'm a huge kirasaya stan but i'm also a multishipper and sayaka deserves all the girls in the world, so the more the merrier. I like to think this ship as one sided love in which yumeko sort of pines after sayaka and i think it would be very interesting to see kirari being jeaulous that sayaka is getting yumeko's attention. We saw jeaulous/protective sayaka in kakegurui, but i would also like to see how kirari reacts when someone tries to take sayaka away from her, it would be really interesting. Obv this would create some tension between kirasaya and also between kirari and yumeko, almost a sort of love triangle dynamic. My opinion is that yumeko is just too unstable to settle down, also they both probably would get bored/lose interest in each other after the heat of the moment. 6/10

Ririsaya

Sorry but i really can't see it happening not even if i squint, but i really enjoy the ririsaya fanfictions and i think those works are pretty great even though i don't ship them very much. It would be interesting if both twins were in love with sayaka and there was some tension/coldness between them for a while bc they liked the same girl (maybe i read too many fanfictions). My headcanon is that both sayaka and ririka had a crush on each other when they first knew each other and for sayaka it was probably pretty confusing bc she already had feelings for kirari. I see them as friends, 7/10

Yumemisaori

Again idk if this is the correct name of the ship, many said that yumemi and saori are a healthier/mentally stable version of kirasaya and i agree. the dynamics are similar bc we have the secratary that is willing to do everything for her boss and the relationship is a little more balanced, i think they would be very cute together, but sadly they had very little interactions and if i could see more of them i would probably ship them even more. I like them 7/10.

Sachiko x Mary

I didn't even find a ship name for this couple, so they must be pretty unpopular, i like both characters and their antagonistic dyanamic is very interesting, but i don't ship them much bc i think mary needs/wants someone who is completely different from sachiko, who wants to make mary her pet and mary is someone who cares very much about her freedom, her indipendence and wants to make her own choices and this completely clashes with sachiko's extremely sadistic and domineering nature. I prefer them as enemies who have some sexual tension or enemies with benefits or one night stand adventure, but nothing more. 5/6 out of 10 bc the only mary ship i really love is meariri and i also like tsuzumary a bit.

Sachiko x Mikura

This is probably one of the most unhealthy relationships in kakegurui, but i kinda like it. Their dyanmic is pretty much vertical with sachiko who has all the power and makes mikuro do everything she wants and mikura who is completely obsessed and devoted to sachiko (my opinion is that she developed a sort of stockholm syndrome towards sachiko). I think that someone like sachiko could never have genuine romantic relationships bc of her extremely sadistic nature, she sees ppl like toys to break and what she enjoys the most is seeing ppl suffer, so the only compatible person with sachiko is someone extremely masochistic like mikura. Giving them a 6/7 out of 10 bc their interactions are fun/interesting and spice things up.

Rin x Ibara and Yumeko x Kirari

Hard no to both of them, i don't ship incest, yall can do what you want but personally it's a huge no for me. When i first started watching the anime at the beginning i thought yumeko and kirari had some sort of tension and could have been enemies to lovers (lmaoo i was so naive), but then i discovered they were cousins and i saw more kirasaya interactions so i got completely turned off by this ship. 3/10 to both of these ships.

Sachiko x Sakura

Now this ship is very sexy, idk why i like it but i do, yes i don't see sachiko with anyone besides mikura, but this pairing is not bad at all, even though it's a crackship. I think they would be rivals with benefits and would argue a lot and then make out/have hot sex. 7/10 (maybe it's too high but since these are just my opinions i won't be objective)

Mary x kirari

Uhm is there really someone out there who ships them ? Yeah i thought they had some sexual tension in s1 with that tea scene, but it's a no from me, i don't like it and i don't think they're compatible in any way, i can't see kirari with anyone who isn't sayaka. 4/10

105 notes · View notes

pascalpanic · 3 years

Text

Pilot’s Hands (Frankie Morales x f!reader)

Summary: Frankie takes you up flying in his helicopter. You can’t help but focus on those goddamn hands of his.

W/C: 2.4K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), finger penetration/fingering, language, lots of dirty talk and innuendos, please forgive the multiple puns I made, a singular smack to the ass. afab reader. talk of flying in helicopters and being rlly high above the ground. reader is nervous about heights.

A/N: Frankie smut is the best smut. This was requested by @notabotiswear!! I hope it’s what you were feeling, love!

Your hands grip the chair as the helicopter slowly lifts from the ground. There’s an urge deep inside of you to jump from it now, while you’re low, so that nothing can happen, that you can’t be lifted up. You want to scream and shout and rip these headphones from your ears and make it all stop, but you don’t. You grip the seat even harder and squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the pressure in your ears start popping and changing.

The anxiety eases instantly as you look to your left. There sits Frankie, guiding the helicopter. He looks absolutely fucking gorgeous, as usual. Today he wears a warm flannel over a t-shirt with his favorite beer’s logo. On top of his brown waves, which were extra unmanageable this morning, sits his favorite ball cap. He’d spent an unhealthy amount of time picking out just the right outfit today, since it was technically a date.

You smile a little at how focused he is. There are lines of concentration between his two thick eyebrows, his stubbly jaw clenched in concentration. His large hands navigate around the dashboard, controlling the massive machine as it pushes you up into the sky. It’s soothing when he’s the one doing it.

Frankie has always talked to you about his love of flying. It’s something you’ve never quite understood. He talks about it like it’s beyond any other experience. Flying is his happy place. He’s never more content than when he can control the big machine and soar through the sky. You’re the opposite. Flights usually required you to take an anxiety med and pass out. The feeling of being so far above the ground makes you panic and fills your brain with the worst possible scenarios.

There’s something better about it when the man you’d trust with your life- are trusting with your life- is the one piloting the machine. He sneaks you a smile as he notices you staring, but in an instant is back at the controls. You giggle and lean back in your chair, enjoying the view. Frankie’s got you.

The ascent continues. You’re still gripping the sides of the chair with all of the force your hands can create, and the anxiety seeps in. You close your eyes and force yourself to focus on your breathing. Even this high in the air, Frankie is your solid ground. You reach over and grab his thigh, knowing his hands are too busy to hold. Your fingers dig into his leg, but it’s no distraction.

Finally, Frankie slips one hand beneath yours and laces your fingers together. “Open those eyes, baby,” he asks, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “We’re at the cruising altitude.”

Your eyes open and are filled with nothing but blue sky surrounding you. Looking to the sides, you can see your city surrounding the two of you. Everything looks so small. You’re unconsciously beaming, and when you turn to look at Frankie, he’s grinning back. “Cool, right?” He asks with an equally big smile.

“The coolest,” you nod in agreement and laugh. It’s astounding, really.

“Just one second, babe,” he tells you and drops your hands, pressing some buttons and flipping some switches. His hands are skilled, flying across the controls with practiced ease. His voice is smooth and even in tone as he talks to someone in his headset. He continues even as he talks to the controller, reaching over you to hit a far button.

He’s good to just steer now, you can tell, and you wrap both of your arms around one of his. He signs off from the call and looks over at you, then down at the arms on your hands. “You need something to hold onto?” He asks, leaning over and kissing your head briefly.

“You look sexy flying,” you chuckle and slide your hands down to his, holding it happily as you look around. “You’re just… so good at it,” you shrug and look around the cockpit.

He laughs softly. “I wonder how it happened,” he teases, pulling his hand back to he can use it to navigate. “Are you okay? Sure you’re not too anxious?” He asks. His eyes aren’t on you- they can’t afford to be right now, while you’re in the air- but his words are sincere.

You nod, beaming. “I trust the pilot more than I ever have.”

He shakes his head and smiles, adjusting his cap before flipping a few more switches. “You just keep telling me, okay? Let me know if you wanna be done early.”

“I think I can handle thirty minutes in the air, watching you be all cute and smart.”

“Smart? I don’t know about that one, baby,” he shakes his head but smiles down at the gauges he checks.

For a few minutes, it’s silent between the two of you. The hum of the engine and the spinning blades fills the space between you. You’re content to look around while Frankie pilots the two of you, snapping photos. At one point, you sneak a few photos of him, giggling at how cute he looks. You lean over and kiss his jaw through the stubble, which makes him grin and blush slightly. “Babe, I’m working,” he whines, but it’s all teasing, you both know. Frankie loves nothing more than some physical affirmation.

You chat quietly when he has the time to do so, when the machine doesn’t require as much of his attention. He’s fantastically skilled at multitasking, you notice, which makes you smirk a little. He’s so fucking good at what he does, those calloused hands dancing around the dash like a skilled piano player reciting a sonata, like an artist creating a masterpiece. And you suppose, to Frankie, flying is like an art.

“Do you know any tricks?” You ask at one point.

Frankie nods. “I can do barrel rolls and shit. I don’t think you’d want to feel that,” he chuckles, his hand resting on top of yours, which sits on his thigh.

“Oh fuck, not now,” you laugh softly. “But that’s really cool.” And hot, your primal brain, the one that seeks the best mate, tells you.

As the time in the air dwindles down to a stop, Frankie once again has to pay full attention. You return to your previous position: gripping your chair. Your hands aren’t as forceful now, far more trusting of Frankie and his skills. You can even look around as the world grows bigger and bigger as you approach it. Not long after, the helicopter lands, and you let out a deep sigh of relief. “Wow,” you laugh, a little bit of anxiety still in your voice. “Now I can tell you everything that I wanted to say in the air.”

Frankie looks over at you, tilting his head in confusion. “And what was that, exactly?”

“That you look so fucking hot,” you grin at him. “You do, really. You know what the fuck you’re doing, and that’s hot. And your hands, you’re so good with them,” you muse as you pick one up and play with the thick fingers attached.

This time, Frankie’s smiling. “Oh yeah?”

You nod happily. “Mhm. Just look so good when you’re using them. Makes me think of other things they’re good at.”

He’s a little red, but he grins. “Really?”

“You know that. I’m never quiet about how good you are with them, am I?” You tease and laugh.

Frankie’s face tinges with red, and his Adam’s apple bobs hard with a gulp. “Don’t do this to me yet, baby,” he chuckles and shakes his head. He removes your headphones once the blades have stopped rotating, then his own, and unstraps the both of you.

Frankie gets out then helps you down from the chopper. One of the other men who works at the field comes over to say hello, and he snaps a photo of you and Frankie for you.

The picture is perfect: the blue skies in the background contrast the dark metal of Frankie’s helicopter. He has both arms around you, and you have one hand pressed to his chest. You’re both grinning, both wearing flannels and each in one of his ball caps: you stole one this morning before you left his house.

He walks away after you both thank him, and Frankie leans in close. “Gotta get some shit done in the hangar. Won’t be more than ten minutes. Go wait for me in the car, baby girl,” he murmurs in your ear. He gives you a little smack on the ass, which makes you start to scamper off.

You grab his keys from his pocket, then toss a flirty smile over your shoulder as you walk to the parking garage.

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting shotgun in Frankie’s truck. He removes his cap and runs a hand through those curls before putting it back. You watch it, noticing the way the knuckles bend and fold. He looks over at you and notices the expression on your face. “You still thinking about them, baby girl?” He asks with a growing smirk.

You nod, the wetness in your panties growing. “Mhm. Think you could pilot me?”

Frankie rests a hand on your thigh, tracing circles into the skin. “Unzip those jeans for me, baby. Let’s find out.”

You’re in a parking garage, and no one else is around. It’s early on a Saturday morning, but the risk is just as exciting. You do as he says, and Frankie slides his fingers beneath your panties.

The pads of his ring and middle fingers start at the top of your folds, tracing down the damp skin until they reach your entrance. “Fuck,” he groans at how wet you already feel. His fingers swirl around just millimeters inside of you, taking the wetness and removing his hand, bringing it up to your mouth. “Gotta get them ready for me first, honey. You’re already plenty wet, but I wanna make it good for you.”

You oblige and take his fingers in your mouth, sucking on them dutifully and moaning around them. They’re so thick and strong, and the thought makes you spread your legs wider. “Good girl,” Frankie almost growls before bringing his fingers back down to your entrance and slipping them inside of you.

You cry out, your hand gripping the side of your seat once more; this time, it isn’t from anxiety, but from pleasure. They scissor you open slowly, those thick digits reaching deep inside to that spot you can never quite reach with your own. “Ah, fuck,” you whimper as the heel of his palm grinds against your clit. “I was thinking about this the whole time we were flying, Frankie. Your fingers and how good they feel inside me.”

He bites his lip, curling his toes in effort to not get hard right here and now. As much as he loves doing this, loves the risk, this is all the two of you can afford. It’s too late: he’s already got a semi tenting in his jeans.

“Yeah? That’s what you were thinking, dirty girl?” He almost purrs, his voice deep and desperate. “I’m trying to keep us from falling and dying, and all you could think about was how good it feels when I do this?”

As he says this, his fingers curl deep inside you and brush against your g-spot. “Fuck, yeah,” you nod, panting now. You’re sweating, probably through your t-shirt, but you don’t care. It feels too good. One hand of yours grips his wrist, as if it could keep him from pulling away. As if he ever would in the first place.

“Such a good girl, so wet for me,” he groans as he forces himself to stop his hips from bucking into the air, against nothing. “I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to you and you’d let me, couldn’t I?” He murmurs. “You’d even let me fuck you in that helicopter. No anxiety when you got my dick inside you, huh?”

You nod. “You could, yeah,” you groan, your other hand digging into the leather seat. “Anything you want, you got it,” you nod. “Feels so good, anything you do does.”

He smirks. “Maybe I’ll have to try that sometime, huh? Have you keep my cock warm while I fly?”

“Anything,” you repeat breathless, shuddering beneath him. The heel of his palm grinds harder into your clit and it’s all too much. “Frankie, baby, gonna cum, almost there.”

“That’s it, baby girl,” he nods, working his fingers harder. “Cum for me,” he demands, and who are you to disobey such a wonderful order?

Your walls clamp down hard on his thick fingers, the pleasure overwhelming you. “Frankie!” You cry out, head falling into the headrest of the seat.

Everything in your body is pulsing, desperate, pumping red-hot blood that feels like it’s infused with some kind of illicit drug to produce such a high. You whine his name again and again until it’s all too much, and you squeeze his wrist gently, asking him to be done.

He complies, tracing his fingers through your folds before they press against your lips again. “Clean me off, baby.”

You nod and take them in your mouth, lavishing them with your tongue the way you would with his cock, which you’re now growing more and more desperate for.

He pulls them out with a pop and dries them on his flannel, smirking over at you. “Goddamn, honey,” he murmurs as he looks at how wrecked you are just from his fingers. Before you can say anything, Frankie whips the truck into drive and peels out of the parking spot.

The sound of squealing rubber startles you, making you jump and squeal as you button your jeans and zip them. “Frankie!” You gasp and smack his arm. “What the fuck was that?”

His eyes are dead-set on the road, determined not to look at you, not to detract from his mission. “I’m getting us home as soon as I physically can so I can feel that around my dick,” he says, teeth grit in concentration.

He’s rock hard, you can see, and you offer a soft rub into his crotch. “Oh, baby,” you chuckle excitedly, staring at the road ahead of you. It’s going to be a long ride home for the two of you.

It’s safe to say that your anxiety over flying has lessened.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

#frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pascalpanic

258 notes · View notes

tennessoui · 3 years

Note

I'm a huge fan of your prompt fills + the pretty bird posts!! if you're willing though, I do have a question. Reading through all the PBATMB stuff, it feels like you're not into having other characters be important to mobi-wan and anakin? like padme or the unnamed student of anakin's, and I don't get why from a story-telling perspective? shouldn't new characters be introduced to keep the story going?

hey!!! so i read this at a gas station last night and then thought about it for like. two and a half hours because i want to give you a good answer because this is an interesting, valid question. (this is going to be a long rambly answer though just btw)

so two things you gotta understand about what i love most about AUs of canon + how I write Obikin.

First, the thing I love most about AUs (mob aus, pirate aus, modern aus, canon divergence aus etc etc) is that i like that it's basically saying: "these two characters are so important to each other that their relationship transcends their setting. they'd have strong feelings for each other no matter what the rest of the context of the story is." i love that. I love that that's implicit in every AU ever.

And second, I've talked about this a ton (usually in tags or ask answers) but my favorite Obikin is the kind where they're just so obsessed with each other that there's no room for anyone else romantically in their lives. A lot of my stories have pining/mutual idiots in love/obliviousness as a major plot factor, but in all of them, once they realize they love each other and are loved in return, yeah!! it's over for them!!! in my mind theyre together f o r e v e r

one of the things that made me start writing PBATMB was because I was really interested in playing with that idea of mutual obsession. I think there's honestly healthy mutual obsession (though it probably definitely isn't called that) where they just love each other so much (Keeping Up With The Skywalker-Kenobis for example, where they're in love and get married but they have friends and kids and colleagues)

but I really wanted to explore unhealthy, extreme mutual obsession. so I chose an AU where some aspects of the characters (Obi-Wan's need for control and Anakin's anger/violence) could be explored in a world that's dark and twisted and operating just outside of the law. That sort of setting let me really explore and heighten the strong canon connection between obikin. and i really wanted to push it towards unhealthy, towards extremes, on the opposite end of the spectrum from KUWSK.

Even Use My Body To Break Your Fall, while heavily leaning towards unhealthy mutual obsession, falls short of PBATMB. Sith!Obi-Wan dials back and changes his behavior because of Civilian!Anakin's attachment to the people around him.

But in PBATMB, they don't need anyone else because they have each other. Sure, they came into the story with family (Ahsoka for Anakin and Cody(&Rex) for Obi-Wan) and that's respected, but they have each other now. they're each other's often highest priority and obsession. It's cloying, it's terrible, it only works because they're both equally terrible. In different ways of course, but in my mind their first and primary characteristic is that they're in love with each other to the point of absolute insanity.

So there can't be a Padmé for Anakin. He wouldn't want one. He doesn't need friends (and I don't think any Padmé of mine would become friends with PBATMB!Anakin. She's too smart. Something's just off enough about him). There's no Bail or Quinlan Vos for Obi-Wan. He doesn't need them. He wouldn't want them.

I'm not really into the idea of them showing people genuine kindness, not outside of their immediate circle of family (like not killing someone). I'm just honestly not sure if they're capable of it. Yeah they can fake it, but I don't think they'd be able to genuinely inconvenience/risk themselves for someone else, someone who will never mean as much as they do to each other.

And honestly that's probably really hard for a lot of people to read at this point, because there's no upward growth. They're terrible. They remain terrible. Anakin would do terrible things to ensure his and Obi-Wan and their family's safety. Obi-Wan would do the same. From the beginning, I've been trying to write a story about people who are terrible. Borderline evil but genuinely in love. I wanted to see if I could. I like what I've come up with, but I do understand why some people might feel like it's just the same thing over and over again and I 100% respect that.

#asks #PBATMB #wow this is so long im sorry #i hope it at least makes sense @anon #what i didn't mention but what i always find interesting #is that so many of the asks i get for PBATMB seem to come with the implicit pov #that anakin is somehow more sane or more normal than mobi-wan #i always like those asks but i'm always afraid im answering them wrong when all i can think to say is #'he's just as bad!!! he's terrible!! evil!! his fighting name is vader!!! he kills people and pretends hes vader #so he doesn't have to deal with the emotions!!! yes obi-wan made it worse by giving him the job to kill more people #but anakin was going to snap soon anyway!!! he was beating people up for money under the same name palpatine gave him!!!#he seemed more normal in the very first chapter of PBATMB i'll give u that #but even then he isn't completely and he devolves!!!!'#i think thats much more interesting in my mind and definitely for me to write #and it definitely makes the relationship more equal power dynamic wise which is really important to me #i don't want anyone to be the victim #i want both of them to just equally be insanely into each other past the point of all reason and saving #thats the extreme mutual obsession at the heart of PBATMB #i remember when i first started this au and i had the idea to make anakin have a dark past and not just a civilian #i was like 'well i can do an au maybe where anakin's a civilian if people like that idea better'#but its been a few months now and i cannot do that anymore not to my PBATMB anakin he deserves to keep being feral #he deserves to be just as terrible. as a treat.#everything would be messed up if he was a civilian

23 notes · View notes

landonkirbyappreciation · 2 years

Note

I don't know if you read screen rant posts or not. I usually don't bc 99% of the time they make no sense. But this one post made me think "Is screen rant actually making since for once?"

The whole thing was them talking about how Landon could be the Bonnie of legacies but better. And I also thought that Landon(and Hope) was the most like Bonnie to an extent bc of how he's willing to do whatever it takes to keeps those he cares about safe and sound. Even if it meant giving up his own life. Although I do think it's gotten to the point where it's just completely unhealthy for him to be doing stuff like that but that's another story.

But I think you can imagine how antis reacted when they saw that. It was hilarious 🤣🤣 and I'm sorry but if anyone actually believes that Landon is like Matt clearly hasn't been paying attention. And is seeing things through hatred colored glasses. Bc Landon and Matt are complete opposites from each other like I think the only thing they have in common is that they're both human. And even that they don't have in common bc Landon was never "human" to begin with.

I very rarely ever read any, yeah they don’t always make much sense. But I looked up that one about Landon and Bonnie out of curiosity, that’s interesting. And yes! I’ve honestly thought before that both Landon and Hope are basically the Bonnie of Legacies. Hope is always the one saving everybody, and Landon too by sacrificing himself. They’re both always the ones getting screwed over and making the sacrifices like Bonnie did, either by sacrificing their own happiness and/or their lives. And Landon is a lot like Bonnie in that he’s treated the worst, and for the past season or so he’s just been used as a plot device and to move the story forward at his own expense. And like you said, he’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect who he cares about (but yeah, I agree that him always being ready to sacrifice himself has gotten unhealthy). So there are several similarities for sure. But I find it funny that antis got upset about that, because that article didn’t even talk about these similarities that we’ve noticed, they were just comparing Landon helping people in limbo pass on to peace to Bonnie helping people pass on when she was the anchor (unless I was looking at the wrong thing). Which I guess is a fair comparison, not sure why that would bother people? And people comparing Landon and Matt... it’s like they’re just comparing them because they’re both the least popular characters of their shows. People are definitely just saying that because they hate Landon, because you’re right, they’re so different. Yeah, basically the only thing they have in common is both of them being the most physically vulnerable out of the group throughout the show? But we know Landon isn’t gonna stay that way, because exactly, he’s never actually been human like Matt and we know he’s gotta get his powers back at some point. Besides that, I guess they both worked at the grill? Those are the main similarities I can think of haha. So I don’t get why people say Landon is the Matt of Legacies, it makes no sense. I feel like they just wanna use it as an insult since Matt is so hated on too.

#answered

7 notes · View notes

pandoraborn · 3 years

Text

Coping, Part 3

( previous. )

Characters: c!Tommy, c!Ranboo, c!Techno, c!Wilbur, c!Phil Word count: 1885 Content: dissociation tw, unreality, broken bonds, broken trust, healing, hurt/comfort, sbi family feels, found family, dead!wilbur, revival mention

-----

Tommy already misses the days when he could sit in the back corner of his little dirt shack and dissociate. He misses when he could pretend reality doesn’t exist anymore, and it’s just him and himself in a sea of nothingness. Today though, Ranboo is sticking to him like glue, much to Tommy’s annoyance.

He can’t even bring himself to be too mad though, because the alternative is going back to Techno’s cabin and facing him, and Phil, and Wilbur. Tommy knows they’re inside. Every time they pass by the cabin, their voices carry outside, filled with laughter, and sometimes a concern that Tommy doesn’t miss.

He’s jealous. He wants to be in there with his father and brothers, he wants the feeling of safety, but Tommy doesn’t remember what safety feels like anymore. Sure, Ranboo offers some sort of comfort and stability, but Ranboo isn’t safe either. Tommy is well aware that on a moment’s notice, Ranboo could easily snap and attempt to kill him.

Not that he blames Ranboo; it’s not his fault he’s under Dream’s control.

No, it’s best that Tommy keep his walls up. He doesn’t want to speak to anyone in his stupid family, no matter how left out he feels. They all hurt him personally, and he’s tired of it. He’s happier in Ranboo’s ugly house, with Ranboo’s pet cat. Enderchest is the closest to safety he knows.

He doesn’t know how long he’s spent in Ranboo’s house. By the time Tommy finally lets himself come back, it’s significantly darker, though he wonders if that’s because they’re in a snow biome, and the days are already shorter. Poking his head out the window, Tommy allows himself to get lost in the shades of purples and pinks in the sky before Ranboo is shaking him again.

“Tommy, you’ve been avoiding that place for ages,” Ranboo points out. “Almost the entire day. I gotta kick you out soon.”

The teen grumbles in response, turning back to Enderchest. She lets out a quiet meow as she nuzzles into his hand. “I could just easily go home. I’m not needed here.”

“You and I both know that the second you make for the portal, they’re just going to grab you again.” Ranboo sits next to Tommy, letting out a sympathetic sigh. “I know being here isn’t ideal for you, and they’re trying to give you space, but they do mean well.”

“What would you know?” Tommy snaps. “You weren’t personally betrayed by all three of them, one right after another. In fact, they did the complete opposite with you. They gave you a home. You have a place to go, you have people to rely on.”

“Come on, we had such a nice talk earlier,” Ranboo points out. “You and me talked about this already. They love you. They want you in their lives, they just suck at showing it.”

“Yeah, we did talk about that. But I also seem to remember telling you that I’m not ready to talk to them.” He scoops Enderchest up and holds her close to his chest. Normally, he’d rather have a dog, but right now, Enderchest is doing more wonders for his psyche than anything else is.

“How long do all four of us have to wait for you to be ready? Because this is a really slow pace.”

“Bitch all you want, memory boy. I’m focusing on myself for once.”

“No, you’re relying on unhealthy coping mechanisms to get by, and I’m kind of getting tired of watching you do it. You had a couple of days already, the least you can do is go inside.”

“Why do I have to leave your house? You’re nicer than Techno is.”

“Technically, because they’re the ones who kidnapped you. I think they’d want you around them instead of me, and besides, Wilbur’s in there.”

“Wilbur’s a fucking ghost,” Tommy mutters darkly. “His opinion doesn’t exactly count for much right now. Selfish bastards, the lot of them.”

There’s no verbal response from the enderman hybrid. Tommy continues to pet Enderchest, taking comfort in the way she purrs and squints up at him, completely content in his arms. In this moment, he envies her. That feeling of utter contentment and safety is a foreign feeling to him, and right now, he wishes he were a cat. Someone holding him so carefully and lovingly must be nice.

Well, it’s nice until Ranboo pries her from his arms. Tommy’s initial reaction is to start crying, reaching back for her, but before he can grasp her fur, Ranboo is hauling him to his feet, nearly lifting him up off the ground.

He feels like he’s throwing too many tantrums lately.

It’s hard to combat though, because everything is too much. Reality aches. Physically, emotionally, mentally, everything in between. He can feel himself being walked back towards Techno’s cabin, where he’s urged inside and handed to someone else. Tommy cries harder when he feels a pair of arms wrap around him, holding him close.

“I thought you might want him back for the night.” Ranboo’s voice sounds far too distant for his liking. “I’m going to go back home, and.. yeah. Just call me if you need anything.”

There’s that sound of a door closing, taking all of Tommy’s hopes with him. The arms around him don’t fade away into nothingness, and neither does Tommy’s mind. The utter lack of dissociation this time is more confusing than anything else. There’s an unfamiliar warmth in his chest as he’s picked up again, cradled in someone’s arms.

“Tommy, I am so very sorry for what happened to you.” The voice above him sounds weird. Logically, Tommy knows it’s Phil. It’s Phil’s arms, Phil’s voice, and Phil’s concern, but there’s a crack in the voice that sounds very unfamiliar; he might as well be a stranger.

“No you’re not,” Tommy forces out. “No one ever is.”

“We are.” That’s Wilbur’s voice. “Do you know where you are right now?”

“No.” He closes his eyes. If he can’t see them, they’re not there. Pretending he’s back at home is far nicer, anyway. In his fantasies, Enderchest is there as well.

“You’re in Techno’s cabin,” Wilbur continues. “You’re in Phil’s arms, and Phil is talking to you. So am I, Wilbur.”

“You’re dead,” Tommy counters. “What you have to say means shit.”

“Tommy, please open your eyes and look at us.”

“I don’t want to.” In spite of himself, he’s burying his face in Phil’s chest. That unfamiliar warmth is growing warmer, almost achingly so. Tommy recognizes it as a feeling of safety, but he wants desperately to push it back down. He doesn’t want to feel it with this lot. They hurt him. “I hate all three of you.”

“Do you really hate us?” Techno’s the next to speak up. “Or did you convince yourself of that because of everything that happened? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just saying that to be stubborn.”

That’s enough. Tommy’s eyes fly open and he wretches himself away from Phil to strike at Techno. It’s not a hard hit, but it’s hard enough that Techno reels back and rubs at his shoulder, with wide, almost hurt eyes.

“You don’t get to be upset,” Tommy snarls. “You don’t get to look sad, alright? You don’t get to hurt me over and over again, only to be sad when I decide to work on my own terms. Why do all of you suddenly love me again? Where were you when Wilbur went crazy and blew up L’Manburg? Where were you when I was exiled? Where were you when L’Manburg fucking died for the last time? Oh, that’s right, you were doing the blowing up. Save your fucking sadness, Techno.”

There’s another long pause, similar to when he was in Ranboo’s house. This time, Tommy doesn’t have a cat to comfort him or keep him steady. He has his own shaky breathing, trembling hands, raw anger and...

and...

...and Techno wrapping his arms around Tommy, ruffling his hair and whispering in his ear. Techno, saying that their family is too broken, that Tommy is carrying too many burdens and that he finally deserves a break.

Of course he breaks.

Instead of slipping away this time, Tommy crumbles into a boneless, sobbing mess in Techno’s arms, crying harder than he ever remembers crying. He’s desperately clinging to his older brother, grasping weakly at his sleeves and hair, afraid to let go. Letting go this time means Tommy will dissociate, and he’s so, so tired of escaping into a fantasy, when he finally has comfort.

He wails when Phil lifts him again, pulling him away from Techno. Of course Tommy shifts to cling weakly at Phil, feeling smaller and more vulnerable than he did seconds ago.

“We’re going on vacation,” Phil says. “We’re going away from here, just the four of us. We think this place, and the SMP, carry bad memories for all of us, and we think taking you somewhere completely new will do wonders.”

“Don’t leave me again,” Tommy whimpers. “ Please, please just don’t leave me again.”

“Phil knows someone who can help me,” Wilbur interrupts. Tommy can feel Wilbur’s hand on his head now, so he leans into the touch. “You know how Phil is ancient? We can go somewhere far, far away, meet new people and forge new memories.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tommy’s throat is starting to ache now. He’s spent, wanting nothing more than to sleep. At the same time, he just wants to enjoy the comfort. He feels like Enderchest, safe in someone’s arms with that stupid feeling of safety. He’s not pushing it away this time.

“I can be revived, safely.” Wilbur sounds like he’s beaming. “Phil knows people that can help, we don’t need Dream or anyone around here. We can also learn to heal and become a family again.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah.” Techno chuckles. “We’re all fucked up, but we’re together, right?”

Tommy nods, letting his eyes close again. He’s tired, and dimly, he can feel himself being rocked.

“Sleep, my child,” Phil whispers. “We’ll leave soon, alright?”

“You’d better not leave me behind ever again. I can’t handle it anymore.”

“No,” Wilbur confirms. “None of us are ever getting left behind again. We’re a family again, and I personally promise you’ll heal. Just promise all of us one last thing, alright?”

“What’s that?” Tommy cracks an eye open to peer at Wilbur.

“No more unhealthy coping mechanisms,” Wilbur says. “Ranboo was messaging us all day, saying he had to keep a close eye on you. If you want to heal, we’ll all heal together, but you have to stay with us, alright?”

“Get me a pet and we’ll talk.”

“Tommy, I have dogs. I have so many dogs, I could give you ten dogs and it wouldn’t matter. You can have a dog, just pick one.” Techno starts laughing.

“Not tonight.” Tommy nuzzles more into Phil. “I just want to be with you.”

Phil coos. “That, we can do.”

Okay, so maybe Tommy isn’t a cat, but he’s a sixteen year old boy, and he’s feeling safe for the first time in months. Broken family, broken trust, whatever. He’s starting to feel like he’s home again.

26 notes · View notes

inbarfink · 4 years

Text

I believe Greg’s claims that his family situation was horrible. When a grown-up man feels like he has no other choice but to run away from his family (remember, Greg was, like, 20 when he left) and then has absolutely nothing good to say about them for years and years later - that’s an indictment of the parents, not the son. They forced him into activities that had nothing to do with his actual intersts (including wrestling which can be... very unpleasant when you’re not into it), and absolutely forbade him from anything associated with the thing he actually LIKED, music. They didn’t allow him to dress and look the way he wanted and not in a “I am not letting my toddler wear the same shirt for 20 days in a row way’, in a “your son is 18 and you are still forcing him to cut his hair the way YOU want it to look”. That’s bad, that’s really bad. Greg wasn’t just sick of a ‘boring, mundane life on the suburbs with too much meatloaf’, he was suffocated in a toxic household.

And I understand why Greg was upset and defensive when Steven started with his ‘maybe your parents had a point’ thing. It must hurt to hear your son, the only family you really have in this world, defend the family you ran away from. Steven’s not thinking totally straight, he accuses Greg of keeping him away from his grandparents but he saw the stacks of unopened letters - implying that Greg has TRIED to keep in contact with them but the DeMayos were the one who refused. He’s focusing on the image of normalcy and humanity that the DeMayos house represents, on school and friends and graduations and home-cooking and adorable spoon collections - and not on Greg feeling they could never accept him and that he had to hide his most treasured possessions from his parents.

But ALSO Greg should apologize to Steven and work to be a better parent. Steven wouldn’t have been happier under an upbringing as strict and overcontrolling as the DeMayos. But Greg’s only two options weren’t “toxic overbearing ‘normalcy’” and ‘living in a van and never going to school’ - he is at fault for going into the absolute extreme opposite of his own upbringing and prehaps of projecting his own desires over Steven’s needs. Steven has told him, quite clearly, that he is upset about growing up without a stable roof over his head, about missing out on school (which both an opportunity for his future and a chance to expand his peer group and make a lot more friends), about never going to a doctor’s (nobody could guess what effect Rose’s healing powers could have on Steven’s body! Steven really lucked out that he didn’t NEED to go to the Doc for most issues, but nobody could have guessed it!) and Greg’s response was just “Yeah, but what I had was worse!”. I understand why Greg’s instincts were to go on the defensive but he is the adult and the dad and Steven is his teenage son it’s Literally His Job to be the bigger person in the argument.

And just as I consider Greg’s seemingly 100% negative feelings about the DeMayos indictment enough that they were shitty parents, then I find Steven’s mixed feelings about Greg as an indictment that Greg’s parenting has been flawed. Steven is currently a very messed up teenager, and Greg is his dad; Steven’s healthy development and happiness is his responsibility! I understand why Greg Turned Up the Way That He Did considering his background, but he is at the very least complicit in many of the Shit That Fucked Steven’s Mental State to the point that it is today. Even if I accept the idea that Steven HAD to live off-the-grid due to being a Gem (and I don’t necessarily. Yeah, his mother is a Space Alien, but his dad is a US citizen and he was born on US soil, he can have a fucking Social Security Number), Greg could have... like... tried to find some sort of structured non-Gem activity that Steven might be intersted in (we’re not going Full DeMayo here) like an afterschool class or something to give Steven a chance to develop his nonmagical skills and bond with more children his age. Which would have lowered the amount of time Steven was stuck alone in the Beach House just waiting for the Gems to come back and allowed him to develop his interpersonal skills and create a bigger support network for himself... these are things that could have really helped Steven in the long-run!

Steven opened up to Greg about his issues (and we know how hard it is to Steven to actually open up!), and what Greg ended up offering to him was more about Greg than about Steven. The message of the “Mr. Universe” song is “you can be free! You can be anything!” and that was clearly so meaningful and touching to young Gregory DeMayo, but it is the exact opposite of what Steven Universe wanted and asked for - some sort of direction and stabillity. And it’s... not the worst mistake in the world for a parent to make, to try and give your kids what YOU want rather than what THEY want, especially when you are dealing with such a complex problem as Steven has. But when you realize the You solution isn’t working... you have to process that it’s not working because they are not You and they require a change is perspective and maaaaaybe they might feel a little hurt that you were projecting on them and might want an apology or at least an acknowledgement that that’s what you were doing and that you’re going to Not Do It now?

If you are a parent and you have a child who is as messed-up as Steven is right now, that is kinda your responsibility bcause your child is your responsibility. If you have a child that is mad at you, you should at least have the self-awareness to think about what you might have done wrong. If your child literally shouts at you something that basically means “the source of all of my problems is the fact that I am your son”, then... that at least requires some self-reflection. Steven said stuff that was Dumb and Wrong and Hurtful things in this car argument, that’s true. He WOULDN’T have been happy under the thumb of parents like the DeMayos, Greg probably was justified in cutting them off, it’s not his dad’s fault that he never meant his grandparents. But inside these dumb and hurtful things there is a kernel of real frustration and hurt. And instead of acknowledging that frustration; Showing some sort of regret for not being able to give Steven a more stable and ‘normal’ home life that he now desires, promising to do better in the future, even just a “sorry I messed up, I didn’t mean to mess you up”... Greg just acts like he ignores it completely.

If your child has an outburst that they was clearly ashamed of and was clearly Pretty Unhealthy, you can’t just say “I’m proud of you, you called me out on my bullshit. And if you do, you can at least, like... acknowledge that things you were called on in any way???? Rather than just make it about yourself and YOUR upbringing and how it was much worse, which... even if ya don’t mean it, comes off as just you ‘proving’ that your parenting style IS right, because, hey! You can tell me anything! While meanwhile your kid is processing that no, he can’t tell you anything, because you are not actually doing anything useful for me right now. When your child tells you that your parenting style was bad and harmful to them, you should not immediately go into the same old routines you always do right after that???

I fear that the whole experience might have made Steven’s question Greg’s love for him, that maybe now he sees Greg’s kind and accepting nature as insincere and just as an attempt to overcompensate for his own issues. Is Greg really proud of him or does he just say it because that’s what he’s ‘supposed’ to say? But I have no doubt that Greg loves and cares for Steven a whole lot and that he raised Steven the way that he did because he thought that was the best option possible and that... the whole situation is just hard for him. Steven is dealing with a lot of issues that he never outwardly displayed to his parental figures before and it’s hard for them to adjust and to know what the right solution is. And it’s just plain easier to try and fall into your regular parenting techniques that always seemed to work before (like giving your child more ice cream and telling them their emotions are valid), rather than try and totally dismantle your approach to parenting in one evening.

It’s important to remember that Greg’s probably not in the best place right now either. Just because I think it is Greg’s responsibility as the Dad to be the bigger person in the argument and see what part of Steven’s complaints are valid... doesn’t mean it’s not also a hard thing to do when he’s also bringing up memories of Greg’s abusive childhood and saying his parents might not be all that bad. That’s gotta make it hard for Greg to think rationally about Steven’s words. And that’s not factoring in the supernatural element in which Steven’s trauma gives him Scary Dangerous Powers and Greg is the squishest, most fragile part of Steven’s family.

But it’s still Greg’s responsibility to make Steven happy and healthy, and on that day, on “Mr. Universe”, he messed that up. And I believe Steven when he says that he messed that up before too. Greg’s not a bad person, but... an apology for the missteps of parenthood is what Steven needed at that moment and what Steven was hoping for, and Greg’s inabillity to deliever it was what caused the rift in their relationship most of all. I mean... The show literally spells that Steven needs to hear some sort of ‘I’m sorry’, not just from Greg, but from all of his parental figures! Remember how “Prickly Pair” ended???

Cactus Steven is a metaphor for Meat Steven, for Cactus Steven to find peace he had to hear Meat Steven acknowledge that he hasn’t been the best parent and that he’s sorry. And it’s no coincedence that Steven has very rarely heard his parental figures apologize to him and that it has yet to happen in SUF, my prediction is that it’s gonna play some sort of part in the finale and with Steven fixing his relationship with Greg and the CGs.

#steven universe #steven quartz universe #greg universe #mr. universe #Steven universe future #prickly pair

317 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

Note

Peter and MJ, coworkers who barely know each other's names, but could draw each other's faces from memory, get stuck in the elevator together at the end of a work day

Thanks for the prompt, Anon! I started writing the fic for this so fast haha

Overheard at the Bugle

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: M Word count: 5394

Summary:

Peter's having a late night at the office and finds out he's not the only one working overtime right before he and the new reporter, Michelle Jones, get trapped in the Bugle's unreliable elevator. He just needs to handle this situation calmly and not do anything to give away his secret identity. It'd be easier to focus on the task at hand if his enhanced hearing wasn't picking up something very unusual coming from the voice recorder in Michelle's bag.

Peter tries to keep a low profile at the Bugle―he doesn’t need anyone giving a second thought to the guy who turns in crisp closeups of Spider-Man week after week―but he didn’t realize he’s invisible. He’s gotta be for the custodial staff to start shutting the lights off on his floor as he’s still sifting blearily through the emails that arrive every five minutes; they’re all stamped with Sent from J. Jonah Jameson’s iPhone. Almost in the dark, Peter snaps his laptop shut, shoves it into his messenger bag, and sprints for the elevators. He’s not scared of the dark (what kinda hero would that make him?), but after lights-out comes locking the doors and he’s not keen on spending the night here. Though his apartment might not be much, it’s his escape from work.

He skids around the corner to find the glow of an elevator that’s just closing.

“Hold it!” Peter shouts, shooting his hand out to part the doors as a frantic tapping comes from inside.

“I was pushing the button…” a woman explains as he steps in.

She turns her head and a spill of wavy brown hair is pushed aside to reveal the face of Michelle Jones. Peter swallows. His gaze goes from her startled brown eyes to her finger, now slipping off the Doors Open button.

“Yeah,” he says, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, “this thing can be temperamental sometimes.”

“Right. Ground floor, I assume?”

“Yep.”

He moves off to a respectful distance as she presses the button to take them down and the doors close. His heart’s hammering. Though he’s heard the confident tone of her voice plenty, she’s never specifically spoken to him. Nor he to her. Luckily, the walls of the elevator have an intentional burnish with the scuff of wear on top, so there’s no chance of her catching sight of his stare in their reflections. Peter doesn’t mean to, it’s just that she took her hair down. She mostly wears it twisted and pinned at the nape of her neck and probably just shook it out when she got into the elevator, heading home. He gets it. He has his tie jammed into his bag, collar unbuttoned, and sleeves cuffed up to his elbows. Nobody gives a shit about dress code after the boss is gone, especially if they’re working late with no guarantee of overtime pay. Quit looking at her, he thinks, and snaps his gaze down to the floor. He can still smell her shampoo, courtesy of the enhanced senses.

“Sorry about the lights,” Michelle offers, turning her head enough to address him, but not enough to meet his eye because he’s standing beside and slightly behind her. “I let one of the custodians know I was on my way out a few minutes ago. Thought I was the last one left.”

Peter frowns. That’s weird. Not what she says, but that, when she speaks, he thinks he hears an echo. My one-on-one exclusive with Spider-Man, it says, in the voice of the reporter currently sharing the elevator with him. He opens his mouth to ask Michelle if she hears it too and catches himself. That’s a habit he broke years ago, when he realized there are way more things other people can’t hear and it only risks freaking them out and exposing himself to reveal that his senses are more animal than human.

“Don’t worry about it,” he responds distractedly.

The first thing to know about Spider-Man is that he’s not a nine-to-five kinda guy. Without regular business hours, he joins me for this interview in my Brooklyn apartment on a Friday evening. The red suit is predictable; the rap he gives my living room window to announce his arrival smacks more of cheeky showmanship. This reporter has to wonder whether, for him, finally submitting to such an in-depth, sit-down conversation is a type of performance. Surely the man behind the mask knows his audience is rapt for any details on the life of a figure who, despite his status as a trusted friend to all, is so much a mystery to this city’s inhabitants.

Ok, what? Peter’s brain is spinning like a frisbee. He’s never given the kind of interview Michelle’s disembodied voice is describing, and definitely never given it to her. He’s never been to her apartment, doesn’t even know where she lives, and certainly isn’t eager to invite questions in some sort of exposé. Maybe what he’s hearing are just the notes she’s preparing for a future interview. Did Jameson assign this? He’s certainly nosy about Peter’s alter ego, but the tone of the piece is more curious than their boss’s usual style―scathing, obstinate, malicious. She sounds intrigued by Spider-Man, not like she’s luring him into a trap.

The elevator jolts. It grinds. It halts. Michelle makes a sound of distress and taps Doors Open. She looks at him over her shoulder, face worried but also… flushed? Maybe she gets anxiety attacks.

“It’s alright,” Peter tells her, one foot in Spider-Man’s De-escalation Mode. He raises his hands in hopefully a calming gesture and her eyes dart to them, gliding over his bare forearms. Crap, does he seem threatening? He lowers his hands.

“I know it’s alright,” she assures him. “I just… who wants to be stuck at work?”

Michelle gives him a slight smile to accompany her joke and he returns it.

“Got a story to work on?” Peter asks.

His motive is partly to understand the narration he heard (which is still going on, a murmur beneath their much louder voices), but also to focus her on something besides the fact that the elevator is not moving.

“Just filed one actually, so, you know, theoretically free for the weekend.” She makes a phonily excited face that emphasizes how very not-free they are.

The continued jokes are a good sign that she isn’t overly alarmed. He’s still stumped about the story though. As she pulls her cell phone from the large leather bag over her arm, Peter tunes into the background noise. With the elevator silent, that’s just the recording of Michelle’s voice.

‘…later than I thought you would be,’ I inform him. He makes his excuses and where I would normally be annoyed by a failure to be punctual, I find myself charmed by New York’s man in red. I wonder where his adventures have taken him tonight, if his actions have prevented violence, saved lives. If his mere presence has inspired onlookers and comforted those who have lost faith in our traditional systems of stagnant courts and killer cops…

There’s no way Jameson can be aware of the spin she’s putting on this. Spider-Man’s no hero in the eyes of the editor-in-chief, just a menace, a pest, a cockroach climbing up the pantleg of the people who are supposed to enforce justice. That’s not the only thing that’s confusing. Peter’s fairly hung up on the fact that she’s conducting this interview like he’s there. Could just be her process. Playing the whole thing out to get a feel for however long it might be, where small talk might hypothetically cut into her list of prepared questions.

“No service,” Michelle huffs, tucking her phone away again. “You?”

Peter, startled, gets his phone out to check, though he already knows this elevator is a dead zone. He shakes his head. Frustrated, she moves her hand to jab the Help button. The one meant to connect the rider with 911.

“Don’t bother,” he coaches when she pushes it a second time after nothing happens. “I think that thing’s just for show.”

“Oh yeah?”

She’s arch, irritated. Peter stays calm, knowing it’s not really meant for him. People can get testy in stressful situations. Being trapped in an elevator is one of those. Not for him. For him, a stressful situation is a bullet graze or leaping from one office tower to the next and realizing in midair that he’s out of webs. Trapped in an elevator is a relaxing start to his weekend in comparison.

“Jameson never lets anybody inspect it. He’s a control freak, scared of spies. He thinks somebody’s gonna bug the elevator,” he clarifies to Michelle’s raised eyebrows.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, have you met him?”

She exhales a laugh at that.

…invite him to get comfortable, I’m surprised at him choosing a seat at the opposite end of the couch I’ve just sat down on. I’d intended the chair across from me and think that should be obvious to him. Perhaps it is. The mask doesn’t make him the easiest man to read.

“So we’re just fucking stuck because Jameson’s scared of, who? Reporters from other papers? The CIA? Edward Snowden?”

A tingle goes down Peter’s spine when she swears. She’s commanding. Does she know that or is working under Jameson putting her qualities in the shadow of his, wielded for domination and intimidation?

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” he says.

“This button’s never worked?” Michelle checks, leaning her knuckle into it to keep it depressed. “This is a major safety issue. Imagine there was a fire right now.”

“You should call somebody and report him.”

He can’t help being playfully sarcastic and thinks, for a second, that she’s going to bite his head off for it by the way her eyes flash. Then he thinks he might not mind. Then she laughs and he tries to take a normal breath.

“What do we do?” she wants to know.

What do they do? What do Peter and the woman he’s eyed across the office since she arrived at the Bugle two months ago do? Forced together by unhealthy work hours and a broken elevator? He shifts from one foot to the other.

“Hope the custodian decides to watch for you to leave the building and comes looking when you don’t.”

“I hate that plan,” Michelle informs him.

“Go ahead and come up with another one,” he invites earnestly.

She turns so she’s facing him and lets her back slump against the wall of the elevator. She shrugs to ease her bag off her shoulder. The strap tugs a little at her emerald-green blouse before it slides down her arm. She sets it on the ground by her feet. It looks like she’s doing what he suggested. Now it’s just Peter and her quiet voice, which he can tell is coming from the bag. Michelle must have a recorder in there. Probably thinks she shut it off, but the volume’s just really low.

‘…when you’re out there?’ I have to inquire of him. At his easy laugh, I shelter behind my coffee cup, taking a slow sip. ‘Lonely?’ Spider-Man repeats. ‘In a city this size?’ He’s being coy now. I’m certain he knows what I want and it’s the dare implicit in this exchange that prompts me to press him. ‘Not lonely for just anybody,’ I begin…

Crossing his arms, Peter rests against the back of the elevator, trying to be subtle as he tips his head to the side to hear more. He’s getting into this story now, even if it’s not real. For the first time, he’s starting to see how Spider-Man might be a pretty compelling guy. He likes this person she seems to think he is; he’s more interesting coming from her lips. Of course, not as interesting as she is, with her leading questions and the agenda she’s voicing for her recorder if not for the man she’s interviewing.

“Have you worked at the Bugle long?”

His gaze twitches over to Michelle’s face when she speaks.

“Since right outta college. Why?”

“Just wondered if this had happened to you before,” she explains, waving her hand at the elevator’s useless panel of buttons. “And I knew you were here before me.”

“You did?”

He shouldn’t sound so breathlessly hopeful. Obviously, she knew he was here first. Michelle could’ve noticed him one time in the past two months and seen him do anything to indicate that he’d been here longer―escape Jameson’s office just before he could get roared at, jiggle the plug to make the coffee machine in the breakroom work. But Peter does sound that way because of her tone. She says it like an admission and she breaks eye contact.

‘…you don’t want one?’ He declined my offer of coffee once, but I think he may change his mind now that we’ve warmed up to each other a little. Spider-Man twists and I can feel him regarding me from behind those large white eyes. ‘I’d have to take the mask off to drink it,’ he points out. I promise that I’m not trying to blow his cover, just be hospitable. Besides, I counter, he doesn’t need to expose his whole face. The mouth will do.

“So, has it?” she counters, ignoring his question.

“Has what?”

“Has it happened to you? The elevator shutting down?”

“Oh, uh, once or twice, but it was always in the middle of the day and there were a bunch of other people in the elevator with me, so it didn’t go unnoticed long. Jameson hassled me for missing meetings while I was trapped though.”

“It’s not like you could help it,” Michelle says.

“True, but…” Peter shrugs. “I learned to take the stairs.”

“Bet you’re wishing you took them tonight.”

He laughs.

“Not really. I mean, uhhh…” The sound drags out embarrassingly as he can’t manage to pull his gaze away from her surprised face.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says, saving him. “I think you’re keeping me saner than I would be alone.”

Right. That’s all. Which is enough, really. He’s glad to be of service, especially if that service is helping her not totally lose it.

“No problem.”

‘…because I can do more good if I’m an anonymous symbol,’ Spider-Man tells me. His body language has changed, shifting forward with the urgency of his words. ‘But some people must know,’ I say. ‘Your real identity can’t be a secret from everyone.’ ‘No Spider-Man is an island?’ is his clever rejoinder. I agree with absolute sincerity. ‘Even the strongest person needs to let others get close to them,’ I insist. Where he’s tugged his mask up, his mouth shifts from a wry grin to thoughtful softness. I find my gaze lingering there.

“Any ideas?” Peter asks, feeling hot.

The temperature inside the elevator is moderate, but Michelle’s words, as she draws him deeper into her story, are making him surreptitiously flap his collar to encourage air down his shirt. He’s starting to feel like this is something he’s not supposed to hear. Alright, it’s likely that nobody was supposed to hear it if these are just her rough notes before composing an article. Whatever. What Peter’s realizing is that maybe nobody’s supposed to hear this interview ever. The questions are too personal, too human-interest for the kind of paper they work at, and the way she depicts her responses is… intimate. Full of sensory details. It’s as though he’s in this apartment with her, sipping at her coffee, staring at her down the length of the couch. A Friday night, her voice said, and tonight’s one of those. How would Michelle Jones feel if she knew she was spending an evening with Spider-Man right now?

“I think the custodians would’ve made some noise by now if they knew anybody was in here and if they haven’t realized we’re missing, then I’m not sure anyone else will. I don’t know about you, but I live alone. I probably won’t be missed tonight because my friends will just assume I’m working and turned my phone off. I’ve been considering,” she goes on, “that we’ll either have to climb out the top and hope we’re close to the doors aligning with one of the floors or get these doors open. Either way, we need something to open the doors. Personally, I didn’t pack my crowbar.”

Peter stares at her in awe for a minute. She really did come up with a plan. Several plans. He knows he can help―he doesn’t need a crowbar to part the metal doors―but he can’t just wrench the doors open with his bare hands and act like it’s no big deal. He’ll need an explanation, which can’t be the truth. Revealing himself at the Bugle? To a Bugle reporter? Seems like the worst possible scenario. He doesn’t think Michelle is anything like Jameson in her motivations or basic moral compass (fine, he doesn’t know her, but that’s the sense he gets), and yet, she works for him. It’s her job to give him something fresh, something captivating, and he’s just not sure that her fascination with Spider-Man would be enough to make her want to spare Peter Parker the nightmare of his identity being splashed across Monday’s front page.

“Me neither.”

“This isn’t sustainable,” she mutters. He looks at her with concern. Louder, she adds, “If I get restless enough to climb through the ceiling, promise you won’t look up my skirt when I ask you to give me a boost.”

“Promise.”

Michelle assesses his face and he tries to appear his most transparent and trustworthy. Gradually, her eyes move away from his, but he’s still watching her and sees her stare at his throat, then his chest, and down. Whoa, Peter tells himself. Not a good idea. This woman might be a little hung up on Spider-Man, maybe even has a crush, but you and him are two different people.

Meanwhile, on the recording: …switch it off for him, holding the voice recorder up so he can clearly see that I’ve done it. ‘There,’ I say, ‘no one’s listening now. It’s just you and I.’ ‘So I’m supposed to feel closer to you without it?’ Spider-Man asks. ‘Don’t you?’ is what I want to know.

“Screw it,” Michelle decides a minute later, standing up straight. “I’m getting us out of here. Can you pick me up?”

Peter drops his messenger bag in an instant.

“Yep.”

He watches while she kicks off her black patent high heels (maybe picturing her pressing one of those bad boys into his chest), then they both tip their heads back and examine the ceiling panels.

“Front corner, maybe?” she suggests. “Just so I’m as close as possible to where the doors will hopefully be and I don’t have to wobble around up there in the elevator shaft.”

“Sure,” Peter agrees.

They cross to the appropriate corner and he bends his knees, locking his fingers to offer her a step. She grabs his shoulder for balance and lifts her foot, about to place it in his braced hands, then pauses.

“I’m Michelle, by the way.”

“Peter.”

“I know.”

He’s baffled and flushed as they shake hands, but he can’t dwell on it because her fingers are digging into his shoulder right before she presses her foot into his swiftly repositioned hands and hops up. She gives a small shriek as her body wavers before steadying herself with her palms against the ceiling. Peter drops his gaze. He can tell by her knees that she’s crouching slightly and he’s not glancing any higher than that. Her skirt falls to just below her knees and, as they lean into each other to keep her up, he ends up with her thigh pressed against the side of his face, the black fabric of that skirt under his cheek.

“You got me, right?”

“Right,” he says, careful not to ramble and divulge how little effort bearing her weight requires.

“Ok, I’m going to try to get a grip on this panel and slide it open.”

“Sounds good.”

Peter is looking straight across at the wall. He is not looking higher than her knees. He has no thoughts about the scent of her skirt and no theories on whether the lavender comes from her fabric softener or lotion that he’s also not imagining her rubbing into her skin before she got dressed for work this morning. She sways in his grip and he braces his arms more firmly, unable to do anything about her leg against his face. Michelle grunts and her body heaves as he hears her shift the ceiling panel. Her toes curl around his fingers. He exhales in relief; if she can figure this out without him needing to call on his super-strength, awesome. She goes home with a sense of accomplishment and he goes home maintaining his secret identity.

“Ok,” she calls down. “It’s open. Lift me higher.”

“Higher,” Peter mumbles to himself. Then, to her, “Uh, I might have to, um, hold your legs. But I won’t look at anything, I swear.”

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

Her voice is wry and he chuckles.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Michelle says.

With a bounce of his shoulders, he hoists her up. For a minute, he keeps hold of her foot, but then one of his hands clutches the back of her calf while the other cups her heel. Her weight pulls away from him as she hauls herself up through the ceiling.

“Is there a door?” he asks.

“It’s dark… Can you get my phone? It’s right inside my bag.”

“Ok, hang on. Literally,” Peter adds.

“Ha ha,” Michelle responds dryly, but when he gently releases his grip on her, he finds that she’s able to hold herself in place with her elbows. Her legs dangle and he hurries.

Their conversation and the rush of the action they just took concentrated his senses. Unfortunately, he’s now holding her work bag open and the sounds from her voice recorder are pouring out louder than ever. Still too quiet for her though, at this distance.

‘…didn’t think a suit that tight could hide much, but I’m still pleasantly surprised.’ ‘What, this?’ Spider-Man teases. I abandon my coffee cup and push my reading glasses up into my hair as I set my notes aside to lean in. He might as well have a web stuck to my chest. His awareness of his own physicality is evidently as precise afterhours as it is while he’s on duty because he skims a hand down his abdomen, appearing to almost accidentally hook his thumb in the band of his boxers. ‘You want the real scoop?’ he asks me, prying the elastic away from his skin provocatively. The taste of coffee is still thick and rich in my mouth when I encourage him: ‘Go on, Spidey. Don’t stop there…’

Peter almost drops the bag.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah! Yes. Mhmm, I’ve got it.”

He returns to Michelle and wraps one arm around her legs. With his other hand, he lifts the phone towards her. Her fingers clasp his, then locate the phone and take it from his grip. He holds still while she turns on her flashlight and has a look around. So, Michelle doesn’t have a little crush on Spider-Man. She’s hot for Spider-Man. Which means she’s hot for Peter, in a way. Except not, he reminds himself, because you’re just her silent co-worker. You’re never going to―

“FUCK!”

“What? No. What? What is it?”

“The next door’s way too high,” she says. “We must be almost lined up with one.” She taps him on the head with her phone and he slips it into his pocket for safekeeping as he prepares to help her down.

“We’ll find another way.” Will you? he asks himself.

“Quick question.”

“Uh huh?”

“How do I do this?”

He’s holding most of her weight now and, pressing a hand to flatten her skirt against her leg, chances a peek up at Michelle. Her head’s still through the ceiling, arms still braced over the open panel. What would definitely work would be her just letting go and him catching her in his arms, but maybe that’s too much faith for her to put in a random guy from work. Although he’s capable of lifting her, catching her falling body is a completely different thing. As with their escape in general, they don’t have a ton of options.

“Just let go slowly,” Peter coaches. “I’ll adjust how I’m holding you and you can sort of slide down my body.” The awkwardness in his tone garbles the last part.

“I can what?”

Dammit. She’s waiting to come down. He clears his throat.

“Uh, slide down my body?”

Her anxious laugh disappears into the elevator shaft.

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” he hears her hiss to herself. To him, “Yeah, ok. I’m coming down now.”

“I have you.”

Peter’s counting on the giddiness of being returned to the ground from a height to distract her from the too-skillful way he maneuvers his hands on her. Making sure her skirt never gets rucked up, not placing his hands anywhere truly unforgiveable. He holds her hips, not her ass, and turns his head so his face doesn’t wind up in her crotch. He’s really gentleman-ing his butt off when the recording in her bag calls out, ‘Harder, Spider-Man!’

His hands slip. A second ago, his head was level with her stomach and now his face is buried in her chest, the cup of her bra pressing back against his temple. Immediately, Peter tilts back from his shoulders.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry―”

“I’m ok, I’m good,” Michelle protests as they wriggle together to set her down. He forces her phone back into her hand.

“Your skirt was slippery…”

“I know. You did great, Peter, seriously.”

“…and I heard…”

He shuts his mouth fast, but her flustered expression dissipates as her probing gaze finds his eyes.

“What did you hear?”

Peter pushes at his sleeves and refuses to answer. Her powers of deduction don’t rely on him at all. She whirls to her bag, crouching and dropping her phone in to extract the voice recorder instead. Holding it to her ear in investigation, Michelle probably hears the words By the time he has me on all fours, I can tell that Spider-Man’s on board with my remark on the importance of letting someone be close to him at the same volume he does standing three feet away. He’s basically plastered himself to the opposite wall. She looks about as mortified as he figures he’d feel if he made a recording of a very personal fantasy and someone listened to it. Man, should he have just told her at the beginning? There didn’t seem to be a way to handle it well.

Michelle stops the playback and puts the recorder away. The elevator is abruptly quiet without the whisper of her voice. All the while, Peter’s staring at her, seeing what she’ll do. The most probable conclusion for her to come to is that he heard a single sound, a blip, and has no clue what the recording contained. The way she stands, leaving her bag on the floor, seems to confirm this. But she doesn’t look over at him.

With a sigh, he decides to do what Spider-Man would do and put the person in need first. What Michelle Jones needs from him is a way out of this embarrassment, and this elevator. Peter walks to the doors and stamps his hands to the metal. First, a little compression to get a good grip and then… Scrunching his face with the effort, he puts his back into it, forcing the doors apart. Next, he does the same thing to the outer doors, separating them to reveal a darkened hallway. The floor’s about three feet higher than where he’s standing inside the elevator, but that’s nothing for someone to scramble through and head for the stairs.

He steps away to let her go first. She doesn’t move.

“Should we talk about that?” Michelle asks, pointing at the doors, after what has to be a full minute of her studying him.

“I… work out? A lot. I work out a lot,” Peter says with more conviction on every try.

“And about this?” She grabs her recorder and waves it at him.

“You… use that to, uh, keep track of your ideas.”

She steps up to him and, without dropping her gaze from his face, reaches out to touch his wrist. Her fingers move from tracing his skin to ringing his web-shooter. He wears them to work pretty often, but always covers them with the cuffs of his shirt. Which he rolled up. Because he thought he was alone. There’s no reason for her to know what they’re for though, right? They could be medical alert bracelets, or just jewellery. It’s not like they’re branded with ‘Spider-Man’s Web-Shooter, 1 of 2.’

“You wanna talk about these?”

Peter opts out of replying.

“I know what they are,” she says. “What they’re for. I’ve researched you, looked at a lot of video footage and photographs, many of which I think you took, which seems equal parts fucked-up and brilliant. I noticed them right after we got stuck.”

“I have… a severe peanut butter allergy,” he says unconvincingly.

“Bummer,” Michelle shoots back, unsympathetic. Yeah, it was a terrible lie, but he’s gotta at least be able to say he tried to deny her accusations.

“It is, it is a bummer,” Peter agrees, nodding. He licks his dry lips to wet them. “Sometimes, I have such a craving for a PB and J and I can’t―”

She leans in and gives him a quick kiss.

“I’m… confused,” he admits.

“I know who you are,” she begins. “You don’t have to say it out loud, on the off chance somebody really has bugged this piece of shit elevator, but your severe peanut butter allergy bracelets, in combination with how you opened those doors, are pretty good evidence when compared with my research. So, if I take my supposition as fact―”

“Peanut butter…”

“Save it. If you are who I strongly believe you to be, then you were able to hear god knows what on that recording. Which I am an idiot for forgetting to erase or record over. Meant to do it last night… ugh, anyway. The important thing is that you heard it and you didn’t bolt through those doors the second you got them open. Why.”

When Michelle’s on a roll, he learns, her questions come out as demands. He quits trying to sneakily unfold his cuffs in a way-too-last-ditch attempt at concealing the truth.

“Ladies first?” he tries.

“I’m not going to use what I know. I promise you that. You’re a good person and as far as I’m concerned, your secret’s your secret. You do a hell of a lot more for this city than Jameson does with the trash he prints, my own contributions obviously excluded. Now I’m the only one held over a barrel here, Peter. You heard what you heard. Tell me why you stayed.”

“You needed me.”

“After you got the doors open.”

Peter thinks. Not just about whether or not to speak, but if he’s ready to say what he’s about to say.

“I needed you. It’s like what you said in the story―I mean, the recording. I don’t let many people get close to me.”

“Why would you let me be one of those people? It took being stuck together before we even had our first conversation.”

“A good feeling, I guess,” he explains. “Plus, you’re kinda my dream girl and I just found out that, at least on the physical side of things, you’re really into me. Like, really into me.”

“You can shut up about that now,” Michelle says.

“Why? You didn’t. You had so much to say.”

“Hmm, maybe I like Spi- I mean, that guy better when I’m speaking for him. Fortunately for you,” she says smugly, “I’ve thought Peter Parker the photographer was cute since the day I started working here.”

“That is news to me.”

Michelle wraps her arms around his neck, smirking as she leans her body against his.

“I was getting around to telling you. Are you surprised?”

“It’s a real scoop,” Peter acknowledges as his hands feel out the lithe shape of her back through her blouse.

“Oh my god, you heard that part? That part? How could―”

He more or less molds his mouth to hers. She more or less gives him a tour of her Brooklyn apartment before they spend the night in bed together and rise to a hot cup of coffee.

more clichéd tropes and prompts

#my writing #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

45 notes · View notes

coplins · 3 years

Note

(1/3) Thanks for responding. I totally see the queerbaiting/kill your gays criticism - it's clear from Misha's comments after the fact that he really thought he was doing something supportive and didn't get how it was the opposite. I wasn't upset with ignoring Eileen because that whole plot was so badly written, and I didn't mind blurry wife because that was a story they'd never have time to tell, so leaving it to be your choice of wife/co-parent (Jared's words) worked for me.

(2/3) I don't see Dean's lack of reciprocation as a problem because Jensen and the showrunners have continuously said that is not their intent in writing/acting that character, so anything folks read into it is subtext. Again, Misha thought it would be better rep than it was. It was a bad call. John isn't canonically a child abuser, just a lousy parent. Both Dean and Sam have done so many crappy things as well that honestly, they shouldn't be there by that metric either. 3/4) But I don't think the finale (awkwardly written as it was) cancels out their character development at all. They are different people - back at the starting point, but not the men they were when they started. Dean is emotionally open; he's dropped acting tough and can talk about his emotions. He can be alone and be okay. Sam is no longer afraid of his blood or turning into John; he can be a good dad. I wish we'd seen Jack and Cas, or heard them at least wish them well, even just a prayer. (4/4) But even though that was crappy to leave out, I don't think it negates the show or the characters. 19 added Cas and Jack's names to the table, and I can be happy with that as the final episode. I was prepared to pretend it didn't exist before it even aired. I AM really glad you're anti-harassment. The shit that even folks like Kripke have been getting on their pages has made me so sad. Dabb posted something about baboons and folks even thought it was about them, not his new show! (Also, sorry to dump like a huge text thing in your inbox. It's totally fine that we disagree on things. I've just seen so many crazy things like people blaming Jared and saying the episode was an ad for Walker and to boycott Walker - a ton of Jared hate in general, really. Or saying Jensen "Destiel Isn't Real" Ackles is secretly a heller who's been viciously silenced by the powers that be for years. And now Misha's getting dogpiled for trying to interact and understand how he fucked up.)

It's fine, Nonnie. :)

Okay, so, just to make one thing clear. If you enjoyed the finale, then I think it's great. For everyone who didn't get their joy sucked out of them, that's awesome! I got to see the Wincest side of my Tumblr dash go apeshit from happiness and I'm happy for them. I've since had to unfollow some of those blogs when they turned bitter and hateful towards those of us who didn't like the ending. I curate my Tumblr (internet in general) experience to avoid seeing hate thrown at ships, actors, characters, fans, or people in general. I unfollow people if they post too much toxic stuff no matter if they're Destiel shippers, angel fans, or whatever part of fandom they're in.

I try not to reblog too much angry/bitter crap either. There are a lot of posts on my dash that I wholeheartedly agree with but don't belong on my blog. And I've written my share of wank and rants over the years but seldom hit post because I don't want to ruin someone else's positivity. When I do hit post I tag it "spn wank" so it can be avoided. If I need to angry-rant I do so in chat. Sometimes I mess up. There are undoubtedly some less than nice posts in the Buckleming wank category on my blog.

Generally speaking, my M.O. is disengaging and/or vote with my wallet. I will never condone cyberbullying. No matter how famous the person, or how nasty they are, harassment isn't okay. Actions have consequences and I try to think of what they are before I act. If I vent hurtful opinions about an actor, it'll be kept in chat, with someone who understands that particular frustration. (Not related to the current situation.)

When it comes to canon, it doesn't matter what showrunners or actors tell us about how it's meant to be interpreted or how they meant to act it. Canon is what's shown on screen, period. As curious as I am about what the actors have to say about things, it isn't important regarding canon at all. I'll stan my boys no matter what their characters get up to on-screen. <3

Yeah, I've seen the theories and the dogpiling. Luckily, I've avoided seeing the Jared hate but I knew it would be there because the internet is a cesspool of people lashing out aimlessly or misdirecting their anger. Even IF they wrote the finale in a way that they thought would put a spotlight on Jared's upcoming series, HE was nowhere near a position of power to make that decision and should be left out of it. I just figured, if it was true that that's what they thought, then the Wincest bunch was their target audience for the new show. *shrug*

Interesting to hear your take on the finale. If I follow people who have your take, they're not vocal about it, or I'm simply missing it because I don't stalk Tumblr. All it takes for me to stop scrolling and go back to my writing is 3 unknown anime posts in a row or one reader-insert fic and I'm nope-ing the hell out of here. X)

I'm not going to argue against any of your points. It's great that you saw it that way. Fuck, I wish I did too.

I kinda feel like I need to address the child abuse comment I made, though. Some separate neglect and abuse like those aren't the same, some only count physical abuse, others include verbal abuse. Too many of my loved ones (both close friends and family) have experienced all three of those categories and the one who was left alone to care for her little sister as a child, definitely has a lot of mental scarring from it, so I'm counting neglect as abuse. That said, I fucking love John Winchester. So it might be Jeffrey Dean Morgan's charisma, so sue me. But John canonically neglected the hell out of his sons. We got proof of that even in this season when John drops his son off for days in a town where kids have gone missing recently. So, yeah... But, on the other hand, of course both he and Mary should end up in Heaven. Like, that wasn't even a question.

I think my strong reaction against it was how every part of the found family the Winchesters had gathered over the years was erased from the narrative as soon as Dean died. The only one who is shown as important is Bobby, a found-family member that initially was connected with John, not someone the brothers had found and connected with on their own. Bobby is also the only non-Winchester in the photos Sam has over his bed when he's dying. I don't know, man, "Everyone's here," simply doesn't do it for me.

"Family ends with blood" like the finale implied, only works if the greatest monsters in life haven't been family members, and my best friends (twins) growing up, just like my mother, were abused, mentally, physically, and sexually, by parents. I've seen the aftermath of those hellfires, how long it takes to assemble the fractures of your being and become, if not whole, at least functional and happy. For them, it was the friends they made along the way, those who loved them when they couldn't, who really mattered.

And that was one thing I really loved about SPN (and still do). Team Free Will. Wayward Sisters. All the people that they met along the way and connected with. I've loved to see Sam and Dean develop their bond by taking it from unhealthy, destructive co-dependency to step by step with several setbacks become their own individuals with lives outside of each other, yet still having the strong bond full of brotherly feels where the love they had for each other was rooted in respect for each other's differences and not who they "were supposed to be for each other". And unlike you, I can't see anything but regression in how the finale played out.

Okay, I gotta stop talking now. ^^ I have one scene my betas told me I need to rewrite in my next chapter, and another chapter half done, and I'm itching to post so I need to get on with it.

I hope I didn't put too much of a dampener on your enjoyment of the finale. My opinions don't matter. We all come from different life experiences and therefore find different things compelling and important. I don't begrudge anyone their happiness. <3

*Hugs*

#anonymous #spn finale #supernatural

7 notes · View notes

reddielibrary · 5 years

Text

Gotta Catch ‘Em All

Written by @pawprinterfanfic

Gift for @greenornaments

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak

Word count: 9,500

Rating: Teen

AO3 Llink

Eddie Kaspbrak never knew loving someone could hurt so much.

He was eighteen when he found out. It was his first year of college, and his insufferable roommate managed to worm his way into his heart.

(Fuck that guy.)

Richie was everything he should’ve hated — he was messy, and loud, and annoying. He did hate him. He hated his crude jokes, and his trash mouth, and his smile that caused his heart to skip a beat, and his gorgeous eyes, and his ability to make him laugh at anything, and how his heart was seemingly always in the right place, and—

Yeah. Eddie was a goner.

At eighteen years old, he knew that he was in love with Richie Tozier. Now, at twenty-one, Eddie realized how awful it was.

He was in love with someone who didn’t love him back.

It was torture, and Eddie hated it more than he hated much else before. It felt like he was doomed to be friends with the idiot for a long time — which was fantastic because Richie was a great guy — but it also sucked ass, because he really, really, really wanted to kiss him more than any friend should.

Don’t get him wrong; he was happy being Richie’s friend, because being anything with Richie was worlds better than being nothing with him. He’d gladly silently pine over him for years if it meant he could have his friendship. He was his best friend, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Having a massive crush on his roommate may or may not have had anything to do with his current situation, which involved getting dressed up to go dance with a bunch of sweaty adults, drinking alcohol that tasted like shit, and staying out half the night.

“It’ll be fun,” Richie repeated, following Eddie as he moved around their tiny apartment.

After spending freshmen year living in the college dorms together, they pooled their resources and rented off-property, which was probably one of their better decisions. Usually, they shared one brain cell when they were within ten feet of each other.

“If you say that one more time, I will kill you.” Eddie dumped his armful of freshly washed clothing onto the couch before turning to make his way to the kitchen, not stopping to give Richie a spare glance. “It’s not going to be fun. Dancing in someone’s dark and moist little basement will never be fun. You can quote me on that.”

“Please, for the love of god, never say moist again.”

Eddie pulled the tag off the bag of bread and plopped two pieces into the toaster. Richie hauled himself onto the counter, his feet swinging back and forth like he was a kid on a swing set.

“Moist is a fine word, Richard. Just like phlegm, and panties, and ointment, and—”

“Ew.” Richie gave a violent shudder and sent a sour look at the other man. Eddie tried to keep the corners of his lips from twitching upwards. He found bothering Richie fun. Sue him. “You really know how to kill the mood, don’t you, Kaspbrak?”

“There never was a mood, dipshit. Besides, I was just listing a bunch of perfectly normal words in the English language. I didn’t know you were going to gag at them.”

Richie tried to scowl. Eddie almost would’ve believed it, save for the smile curling his lips. “I hate you,” he said.

Eddie pursed his lips. “Do you, now?”

The facade cracked easily. The scowl disappeared, leaving Richie grinning widely. “You’re right. I’m a liar. I love you. My lil’ Eddie Spaghetti.”

Richie made a move to press his lips to Eddie’s cheek, but he stepped out of the way. The butter knife, covered in soy butter, pointed in his direction. Richie must’ve anticipated his response, because he gave an exaggerated wink and ruffled Eddie’s hair.

“If you’re trying to convince me to come with you, you’re doing a shitty job,” he pointed out. His heart was still pounding from when Richie made a move to kiss his cheek, and he hoped his body wasn’t betraying him with a blush. “You’re annoying the shit out of me, Rich.”

“But you luv me,” he sang, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Sure, like I love wet socks, maybe.”

Eddie Kaspbrak was a liar.

Richie wasn’t deterred and continued to pester him. “It will be fun. I’ll be there. Bill will be there. Stan will be there. Mike will be there. Bev will be there. Ben will—”

“I get it. Everyone will be there.”

Eddie reached around Richie to grab a glass from the cupboard behind him. He moved out of the way of the swinging door, thus moving right into Eddie’s space. He bit his tongue and forced his eyes to remain on the task at hand.

Don’t get distracted. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at—

Fuck, he has really pretty eyes. And his stupid smile, god, I want to kiss that stupid smile right off his face. And—

Wait! No! Fuck!

Eddie jolted backwards, pulling his glass with him. Richie didn’t say anything and only raised an eyebrow as he slid back against the cupboard.

Eddie’s heart was pounding. Being so close to Richie was unhealthy — all he wanted to do was tell him how in love with him he was, and that was guaranteed to end in disaster and embarrassment.

“It’s our last year in college, Eds, and after this we’ll be adults.” Richie wrinkles his nose at the word, like it thoroughly disgusted him. “How many opportunities do you think we’ll have as fucking adults to go to a Halloween party? Do you think we’ll ever be able to get dressed up in shitty store-bought costumes and eat so much candy our stomach hurts ever again?” He didn’t wait for him to respond. “No! We’ll be old and boring by Halloween 1998. This is our last chance!”

“First of all, you’re a dramatic bitch, Rich. Secondly, I’m fairly confident adults have Halloween parties.”

“Are you an adult?”

“Well, I am twenty-one years old, so—”

“Are you an actual graduated adult living in the real world, and not this weird in-between pre-adulthood thing called college?” Richie cocked an eyebrow, already knowing the answer. “Exactly. So how confident are you that actual adults in the real world celebrate Halloween?”

Eddie was silent for a long moment because, well, he wasn’t entirely sure. His mother had been a pretty big downer when he was growing up, and she hated Halloween with a passion. She never let him go trick-or-treating, just in case someone put razor blades in his Kit Kat — he couldn’t ever imagine her going to a Halloween party.

“Exactly.” Richie adjusted his glasses on his nose after he jumped off the counter top. “I know you hate Halloween and shit, but it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t hate Halloween.” Eddie didn’t bother to tell him off for saying that it was going to be fun again. Knowing Richie, he would start saying that more just to annoy him. “I just don’t like it.”

“You once told me that you’d rather sleep on the public bathroom floor than celebrate Halloween, Eds.” Eddie cringed at the visual. Public bathrooms were disgusting, and don’t get him started on the floor!? Ew, ew, ew, ew— “I arrest my case.”

“Okay, maybe I do hate Halloween, but that’s because it’s so boring. What? I’m supposed to dress up as something? And walk around, asking strangers for candy? And then eat that candy? That sounds horrible!”

“Sorry to break it to you, Eds, but I think we’re a tad too old to be trick-or-treating. No talking to strangers for you this year, unfortunately.”

Eddie sat down in the kitchen chair ungracefully, the plate clattering to the table in front of him. He gave Richie a deadpan look. “Ha ha,” he said sarcastically.

Richie slid into the chair opposite to him and stole a slice of toast from his plate. Eddie didn’t comment. Richie jacking his food was more common than he’d admit.

“Halloween is great, you just don’t know it yet! We will go to this party together and, since I’m the master of all things spooky, I’ll show you just how great Halloween is.” He took a bite of toast, sending crumbs flying.

Eddie nibbled on the piece of bread in contemplation. Richie watched him, his eyes wide and leg bouncing.

Finally, Eddie gave in. “I don’t have a costume.”

Richie must’ve sensed that he was beginning to consider it, and he pounced. Seeing how excited he was about Eddie going with him to this stupid party almost made his heart skip a beat.

“I can get you a discount on costumes,” he said, crumbs going everywhere.

That was Richie’s newest gig — working at Oh My Spooky at the mall, a seasonal store that popped up every August, claiming the empty of buildings of deceased department stores, like Kmart.

“The party’s in like… two hours, Rich. Spooky is closed.”

“Right, right.” He waved his hand, dismissing the idea. “I’ll just let you borrow one of mine. We had to wear costumes on shift, right, so I have like a shit ton of costumes in my room.”

“I know, idiot. I live with you. Your room is a disaster.”

It was true. Richie’s room was a disaster year round, but it looked like the sight of a natural disaster during the month of October. If he got desperate, Eddie was sure Richie could make a good buck by selling all the costumes he accumulated.

Richie grasped the rims of his glasses and squinted his eyes dramatically, giving Eddie a once over. Eddie had been friends with Richie long enough to know he should just let him do his thing. He continued to nibble on the toast.

Finally, their eyes met again. “But, you’re like, really fucking tiny, Eds, so—”

“Fuck off,” he said, tossing a piece of crust at his head. Richie grinned and caught it in his mouth. “I’m not really fucking tiny.”

“Aw, you are, sweetheart, you just can’t face the facts.” Richie had the audacity to lean across the table and boop Eddie on the nose. “Cute, cute, cute!”

He swatted Richie’s hand away from him. His heart was racing. Butterflies were rolling in his stomach. He felt his cheeks burning, and he was sure Richie was going to tease him about it.

Before he could, Eddie tried to cover his tracks. He narrowed his eyes and pointed threateningly at Richie. “I will murder you.”

“See! You have the Halloween spirit!” Richie leaned back in his chair, grinning wider than Eddie could remember. His stupid smile made Eddie want to smile. Fuck him. “Are you in, then? You’re coming tonight?”

Maybe it was because Richie’s smile was doing something funny to his brain, or maybe it was because he wanted to go to a party with Richie before they graduated, or maybe it was because he was a little curious as to why everyone loved Halloween, but he nodded.

“Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll come tonight.” Richie let out a little whoop and jumped up from his chair. “But I won’t enjoy it!”

“You’re so cute when you’re stubborn,” Richie said, reaching forward to boop his nose again. Eddie’s mouth ran dry because—

Fuck, Richie calling him cute was one of his favourite sounds.

“Call me cute again, and I’ll— I’ll—” Fuck, he didn’t have a comeback. Richie seemed to love the fact Eddie was rendered speechless, and laughed a little harder.

“Cute, cute, cute!”

“Asshole,” he muttered, shoving the last piece of toast into his mouth. Richie grinned brightly at that, and it was the final straw for Eddie. He felt a smile of his own spread across his face. It was hard not to smile with Richie in the room.

“Wait there. I’ll get your costume.”

Richie was already running out of the kitchen before Eddie swallowed his toast to respond. “Nothing with less fabric than—”

“Your mom’s underwear!? Got it!”

Eddie’s head fell to his hands. “No, Richard, I wasn’t, in fact, going to use my mother’s underwear as a reference, but thank you! I was going to say—”

Richie peeled back into the kitchen before Eddie could finish his sentence, two costumes strung across his arms. “Doesn’t matter. Here.”

He tossed the first costume at Eddie’s head, and he managed to catch it before a metal belt buckle could whip him in the eye. It took him less than three seconds to examine the fabric and come to a verdict.

“Absolutely fucking not, Richard. What the fuck!? Why the fuck would I want to go as sexy Robin? That makes no fucking sense!” Richie is doubled over from laughing so hard, and Eddie was finding it exceedingly difficult not to join in.

“I just wanted to see your expression,” he managed to get out between laughs. “Fucking classic!”

Eddie felt a smile pulling at his lips, and he was desperate not to let Richie see it.

(Because, to be honest, if Richie saw the reaction he invoked in him, he never would shut up.)

(And, yes, that was it.)

(No, it had nothing to do with the fact he was helplessly in love with him and smiling at him like he hung the stars in the sky would give that away.)

(Really.)

(Eddie Kaspbrak was many things, but a liar was not one of them.)

“Why the fuck did you have this in your room!?” he questioned, hanging onto the threads of annoyance. His question made Richie laugh harder. Fuck. Knowing he was the one making Richie laugh did funny things to his heart.

“Your mom loves role-play, didn’t you know? She— Ouch! Fuck!” Eddie had thrown the costume at Richie with a glare.

“Shut up,” he said, but it was no use. The two of them were looking at each other, and Eddie couldn’t keep his smile down any longer. He shook his head fondly and leaned back in his chair. “Please tell me you have something better than sexy Robin?”

Richie lifted up a red and blue outfit, his eyebrow raised in question. Eddie pulled a face when he realized it was supposed to be Mario from Mario Brothers. When Eddie insulted the costume, Richie looked personally offended.

“You don’t want to go as this godly man!?” Eddie didn’t ask Richie why Mario was so godly, but he took it upon himself to explain. “He saved the world — multiple times, may I add. He fights bad guys, he dodges those green shell dudes, he eats a shit ton of mushrooms, he fights for his princess, he can drive. Holy shit, Eddie, he can drive!”

In the end, Richie gave up on trying to sell the Mario costume.

The next pair of costumes to come out were Popeye the Sailorman, which got an immediate no from Eddie, and Scooby-Doo, which also got an immediate no.

Richie stuck out his bottom lip and gave a poor impression of Scooby. “Ruh roh,” he said, his voice rough. “Reddie roesn’t rant to rear me!”

“I was unsure before, but now that’s a solid no.”

This went on for longer than Eddie would care to admit. Richie would bring out a few costumes at a time and, each time, Eddie would find something wrong with it. “I hated that cartoon.” “If I wanted to be a ghost, I’d just cut holes out of one of our sheets.” “Am I supposed to know what that character is?”

Richie was patient, and all Eddie could think of was how good he was, willing to spend forever going through costumes with him, joking all through it, never letting Eddie’s sour mood tarnish his.

Fuck, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. How his lips would curve into a smile that made him want to smile too, how his eyes sparkled like they were part of the ocean, how his freckles spanned his pale skin like stars in the sky. He couldn’t stop thinking about pressing his lips against his, or running his hands through his curls, or feeling his hot breath against his face, and—

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so far gone, it wasn’t even funny. When did he turn into a sap? Like, what the fuck?

Eddie was so thrown off guard that, when Richie came with the next costume, he said— “Yes.” Richie’s eyes widened the slightest bit, and that was when Eddie realized he had no idea what he was agreeing too. He cleared his throat and sat a bit straighter. “I mean. Maybe.”

“Oooooooookay then.” Richie adjusted his glasses on his face and continued to watch Eddie carefully. “Listen, man, if you don’t want to come tonight, that’s fine, I don’t want to make you, but—”

“No,” he said quickly.

He didn’t want Richie thinking that he was being forced to do something he didn’t want to because that wasn’t the case. He wanted to go. He wanted to see why Richie liked Halloween so much, and he wanted to get dressed up in a shitty costume and drink shitty alcohol and eat candy that may or may not make him sick. It was going to be fun.

Besides, it meant he got to spend the evening with Richie, and that was good enough for him.

“What’s the next costume?” Richie cocked an eyebrow, and Eddie realized he had no idea what he had been saying only a minute ago. “Sorry, what did you say? I was distracted by the fact that you own a concerning amount of Halloween costumes. I mean, seriously, Rich, this is kind of baffling.”

Richie slid into the kitchen chair opposite from him again. “I have some bad news for you, Eds.” He looked almost… serious. It threw Eddie, just a little bit.

“What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

He leaned forward, stretching his arms across the table and taking hold of Eddie’s hand. All the air left Eddie’s lungs at the contact because, shit, he was holding Richie’s hand. It was cold and clammy, but that seemed to fit him perfectly.

Finally, Richie spoke.

“That’s it. That’s all my costumes. Looks like you have two options from here; go stark naked, or wear what you usually do and say you’re dressed as a nerd.”

Eddie flicked the palm of his hand and crossed his arms. “First off, fuck you. Second off, fuck you.”

Richie smirked. “I take it you don’t want to go naked? C’mon, you’re depriving the world of—“

“No, I’m not going naked, you dumbass. How is going naked a viable solution to this problem anyways!?”

Richie winked. “You caught me. I just wanna see you naked, sweetheart.”

Eddie tried to keep his expression blank, but he could feel his face flushing. Fuck Richie, fuck his ability to flirt with anyone, fuck his stupid body for giving away how affected he would get from his flirting.

“I mean, I do have one last option.”

When Richie returned to the kitchen, he was carrying a yellow onesie. Upon further inspection, he noticed a tail in the shape of a lightning bolt, and pointed ears with black tips, and—

“Pikachu!!”

Eddie moved across the room quickly and dragged his fingertips over the fabric. He was right, the costume was for Pikachu, and it was perfect. He loved the little guy because how could you not? He was a badass, and an immeasurable amount of cute.

“Sold!” Eddie said, snatching the costume fully from Richie’s hands. “Shit, why didn’t you start with this one? You know how much I love Pikachu.”

Maybe Richie was right earlier when he called him a nerd. If liking Pokémon more than he liked his own mother made him a nerd, then so be it!

“Yeah, well, it comes with a catch.” For the first time, Eddie realized how unsure and hesitant Richie looked. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot and had his hands buried in his pockets.

Richie was actually nervous.

“Please tell me that the butt isn’t cut out or something.” Eddie flopped the costume over to check and — nope. All pieces to the costume were there.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with it,” he assured Eddie. “It just isn’t alone.”

“... What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Richie puffed out his cheeks. “It means that it’s part of a set. I, uh, have the costume that matches it. Hold on.” Seconds later, Richie reappeared with his costume in hand.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You’re going as Ash?”

“Hell yeah, man. Gotta catch ‘em all, you know?”

“That makes no fucking sense, Richie, so no, I don’t know.” Eddie tried to ignore how his stomach was twisting. If Richie was going as Ash and he was going as Pikachu, and Richie claimed it was part of a set, that meant— “Wait. Is this a couples costume?”

The words slipped out of Eddie’s mouth and a cold dread settled over him.

Fuck. Just mentioning the word ‘couple’ to Richie felt like he was crossing a line — a line that he drew, one that he was desperate not to cross. Don’t cross this line, he told himself, or you’ll fuck up your friendship.

Richie’s expression was one he hadn’t seen before, and it made his heart race for a completely different reason than before. Was it weird that he suggested it was a couples costume? Or was he being paranoid? Because it felt like mentioning the word ‘couple’ to him was normal, but then again—

“Uh. Yeah. It came as a set, like… a couple costume.” He adjusted his glasses on his nose — a nervous habit. He was looking at him, like he was waiting for him to say something. Eddie’s mouth had run dry and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Oh.” He was racking his brain, trying to figure out the best response in this situation. Finally, he settled on an answer. “Well, that’s okay. I can always wear the ghost costume, or — even better — the sexy Robin.”

Richie didn’t smile at his attempt at a joke. In fact, he looked almost hurt. “What? You’re not going to wear Pikachu?”

Eddie was confused. Of course he wasn’t going to wear a couples costume with Richie — that felt like it was crossing a million lines. Maybe if he wasn’t completely in love with him, it would be a different story, but he was in love with him.

“No.”

“But you were excited about it?” Richie’s next smile was forced — Eddie could tell by the way it didn’t reach his eyes. “Why not?”

This felt like some weird alternate reality to Eddie. This wasn’t happening, was it? Richie wasn’t asking him to explain why he didn’t want to wear a couples costume with him, right? He couldn’t exactly say ‘because I’m in love with you, and this is crossing that invisible line I set so I don’t fuck things up.’

He was screwed.

So, he lied.

“People will think that we’re… together if we show up in a couples costume.” Now that he said it out loud, it didn’t sound like a lie, and it didn’t feel like one either.

Yeah. Shit. People will think we’re together, and the night will be filled with Richie indirectly shooting me down all night.

He could see it now; Richie would explain to everyone how they’re not together because how could they be? He couldn’t love that mess of a human!

Shit. This quickly replaced his fear of crossing the invisible line. He doubted he could handle a whole evening filled with Richie explaining to strangers how they were not — and would never be — a couple.

Richie’s answer felt like a punch in the gut.

“Is there a problem with that? With people thinking we’re together?”

This was a sick joke, Eddie decided. Richie knows I’m in love with him and he’s being an ass about it.

Except, Richie wasn’t an ass — not about things that mattered, anyways. Sure, he would joke about fucking his mom and try to annoy him to death, but he wasn’t an asshole about important things.

“Yeah, of course that’s a problem.” His words may have come out harsher than he intended. Eddie shuffled awkwardly and looked anywhere that wasn’t at Richie. “We aren’t together. We’re… We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends.” Eddie’s gaze flicked to meet Richie’s from how deflated he sounded. It must’ve been his mind playing tricks on him though, because Richie was beaming and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “There you have it, Eds! We’re friends, so it doesn’t matter. This is just what friends do. I know you have, like, zero childhood friends and you don’t know this shit, but—”

“Fuck off,” Eddie said, but his voice didn’t have any venom in it. Richie was right — going in a couples costume together wasn’t a big deal for two friends. They were just friends. Bros. Pals. Buds. “Fine, you’re right, I’m being weird.” Because I’m totally fucking in love with you. “I’m going to change.”

Richie’s smile made warmth bubble up inside of him. “There ye have it, good ol’ chap! Time to get our spook on!”

Eddie was incredibly nervous, and he blamed the asshole beside him.

Richie looked good, which was extremely strange considering he was dressed in the Ash costume. But he also wore a grin so wide that it made Eddie’s cheeks hurt from just looking at it. His eyes were dancing with excitement. He looked so carefree in that moment, walking down the street with a skip in his step, and it made Eddie’s chest warm.

He was also nervous because he hadn’t gone to a party for a really long time, not since they were both freshmen and Richie was set on dragging Eddie everywhere he went. He would be the first to admit that he wasn’t in tune with current pop songs, and his heart lurched when he realized he might not know any song.

No, that was ridiculous. Richie blasted pop songs at two in the morning some days, so he would at least know those songs.

“Did you eat something before we left?” Eddie asked, breaking the silence of the night. Richie was a few paces ahead of him as they walked to the party, humming what sounded like Space Jam theme song. “Drinking on an empty stomach can be dangerous, you know, so...”

Richie turned around and continued to walk backwards. He was smiling softly and it made Eddie’s heart flip. It wasn’t often that Richie looked so open — so vulnerable. Usually he looked like the little asshole he was.

The change made Eddie feel completely out of his depth.

He loved it.

“You take such good care of me, my Eds Spagheds.” He blew a kiss. Eddie scowled.

“I just don’t want to be dragging you home drunk, fucker. Don’t mistake my words for concern. It’s purely selfish.”

“Right, of course.” Richie spun back around. “I did eat though. Wouldn’t want to have you carrying me home. We’d never make it up the block.”

“Shut up. Like you could carry me.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. “No, Richie, don’t even—“

It was too late.

Richie was laughing like a maniac when he scooped Eddie off the ground and into his arms. Eddie clutched at the collar of his blue and white striped shirt to balance himself and Richie’s arms wound under his knees and around his back. All the air in his lungs came out in a whoosh and he could feel his blood rushing to his cheeks.

His knuckles were white from how tightly he was holding his collar. His heart was pounding so loudly that he was sure Richie could hear it.

Richie took off in a sprint and Eddie clung to him out of fear, all the while shouting for him to put him down.

Yet, he wanted the exact opposite of that.

He really didn’t want Richie to put him down.

He could feel each one of Richie’s breaths ghost along his face, and he could feel his palms digging into his back. His body was warm and he smelled distinctly of syrup, which was fitting, considering he once witnessed him eat a full box of Eggos in ten minutes.

From the angle he was in, it looked like he was glowing. The streetlights blurred around him. The sharpness of his jaw and the slope of his nose stole the breath from his lungs. It felt like his whole body was buzzing from being pressed against him.

He was gone.

So far gone.

As they approached the house the party was being held at, Richie set Eddie back down on his feet, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

“Easy peasy,” he said, sounding slightly breathless.

Eddie tried to keep his expression blank, but fuck, Richie made him want to smile.

The closer they got, the more nervous he became.

He pulled at the hem of his yellow sleeve. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to come with Richie tonight; it seemed like he was getting nervous about everything. He was nervous about the stupid couples costume, and he was nervous about how he acted with Richie earlier, and he was nervous about the music, and dancing, and—

“It’ll be fine, my Eds Spagheds.” Richie slung his arm around his shoulders as they made their was up the driveway to the house the party was being hosted at. “We look smashing. We’ll be the bells of the ball.”

“We do not look smashing. We’re dressed as characters from a children’s cartoon. Which brings me to my next point; why the fuck is Ash and Pikachu a couples costume? Isn’t Ash, like, Pikachu’s owner or some shit? And isn’t Pikachu and Pokémon, which is basically an animal? This seems entirely inappropriate for a couples costume, considering they’re not romantic and one is an animal, so—”

His thoughts died off when Richie leaned forward and planted a wet kiss to Eddie’s cheek. He jolted away and gave him a wild look because—

“What the fuck was that!?” Eddie swiped at the slobber left behind on his cheek while his heart raced. He wanted to shove Richie against the front door and kiss him dizzy.

“You’re just so cute, cute, cute! Look at you — dressed as lil’ ol’ Pikachu, ranting about how unsexy you are. Whew. Taking my breath away.”

Eddie scowled. Richie was a flirt — he knew that from day one — but he was laying it on thick right now, and he really wasn’t in the best mood to deal with that. All while Richie was flirting with him, he had to live with the knowledge that it was all play, and it hurt.

With that, they entered the house.

Eddie will admit; Halloween was pretty sweet.

(Which was an awesome pun, by the way, because his stomach was currently hurting from eating so many sweet pieces of candy.)

Beverly burst out laughing when she originally saw his and Richie’s costumes, commenting how cute they were.

“I’m not cute,” Eddie insisted. Richie attempted to boop him on the nose again, and he flipped him off.

Stan rolled his eyes.

Eddie spent the first part of the night dancing with their group of friends, and drinking shitty alcohol, and eating way too much candy.

While they danced, Richie hovered by his side. Every once and awhile, he’d lower his lips to his ear and whisper to him, each time causing goosebumps to erupt along his arms. None of the whispers were of importance; it was just Richie fucking around, talking about different costumes they saw, or bringing up one of their jokes, or doing a poor impersonation of a cowboy singing the lyrics of the song blaring from the speakers.

Without fail, Richie was able to get Eddie laughing. It didn’t take too long for Eddie to feel more comfortable moving around the basement (“and yes, Richie, is moist, thank you very much”) and enjoying himself.

That was the thing about Richie. He was always able to bring Eddie out of his shell, encouraging him to be brave and be himself. His carefree attitude made Eddie want to be carefree too.

When the dance floor (basement) got too crowded, their little group moved to sit on a pair of couches on the (not moist) ground floor of the house. It was a tight squeeze, but all seven of them managed to fit on the furniture. Eddie wasn’t going to complain about the fact Richie was practically in his lap because, truth be told, being pressed against him wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Richie had his arm draped around his shoulders and legs on his, squishing him into the armrest. As the night stretched on, he became louder, his jokes grew worse, and his mouth trashier. Eddie loved how his cheeks flushed red, and how his hands were clammy on his arm, and how he seemed to laugh more than talk.

When Bev started talking about an upcoming movie she wanted to see, Richie turned his full attention to him.

“What do you think, Eds? Having fun?”

Not wanting to give Richie the satisfaction of being right, he wrinkled his nose. “It’s alright, I guess.”

Richie saw through it easily. “Fuck off. You’re having the time of your life.”

“Fine. I’m having fun.”

“Ha. Fucking told you it would be fun!”

Eddie was about to shoot back at him, but a guy from his sociology class leaned over the couch and poked him in the shoulder, drawing his attention away from him. “Hey, Eddie, right? Candy?” He lifted a giant bowl of individually wrapped candies and chocolates.

He glanced in the bowl and tried to suppress a frown. The one thing he did hate about Halloween was the ungodly amounts of nutty chocolate everywhere. Of course, the one food he was allergic to had to be in every goddamn chocolate bar sold on this dumb holiday.

And, worst of all, was trying to figure out a way to explain to strangers that no, he didn’t want their candy and, no, it wasn’t because he was on a diet, and, no, it didn’t matter that they only had a little bit of nuts in them. Then, he’d spend the next ten minutes trying to educate them about allergies because they were confused, and it usually ended up with him fending off passive-aggressive comments from them.

People that didn’t know him seemed to love getting personally offended by his allergy.

Before Eddie could respond to the offered chocolate, Richie leaned forward.

“We’re more sophisticated than that, Chad.” Richie pushed the orange bowl away from the two of them. “We brought our own.” As if to demonstrate the fact they had a secret stash of chocolate, Richie pulled out a Kit Kat from his left pocket and waved it.

When Chad was out of ear-shot, Eddie turned to Richie. “But we didn’t bring our own.”

Richie unwrapped the chocolate bar and split it in two as he spoke. “Maybe you didn’t. Plus, that dude doesn’t need to know the real reason you don’t want to eat his precious chocolate.” He lifted half of the chocolate bar in offering. “You want?” Richie stuffed the chocolate bar between Eddie’s parted lips. The action felt extremely intimate and made Eddie flush. He hoped the darkness hid it. “People are always assholes about that shit, so I came prepared.”

Eddie’s heart felt like it had flipped a few times in his chest. Richie knew how uncomfortable it made him to explain his medical condition to completely random strangers, and managed to come up with an explanation to save him from that.

Fuck, he loved him.

“Aaaaaaand,” Richie drawled, patting his left pocket, “there’s a lot more where that came from. I’ll fend off any nut carrying assholes for you.”

Eddie’s expression softened. He felt overwhelmed with affection by that simple action.

“I— Uh— Thank you, Rich.”

“Anything for you, my lil’ Pikachu.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it felt like hours. His sides hurt from laughing so much. His head was a little fuzzy from the alcohol. He ate way too many half-melted Kit Kats from Richie’s pocket.

Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off of Richie. He was a very animated storyteller and managed to make any story hilarious, even if said story was about him.

“And I swear — I swear, guys — I never saw the lil’ shit run faster than in that moment. Fuck, I wish I would’ve got that on video and sent it to Guinness World Records or some shit. He probably broke the sound barrier.”

The other five Losers were in stitches around them, unable to form coherent sentences. Even Eddie could barely speak, and Richie was ripping into him.

“Hey, asshole, it was terrifying,” he argued. “I swear to god, that dog had rabies.”

“It was a Pomeranian, first off, and it had just finished a bowl of whipped cream that you gave it!”

“I didn’t give it whipped cream.”

“No?”

“No! My bowl filled with whipped cream merely fell to the ground, and I was too slow at picking it up.”

Somehow, Eddie’s version of the story made Bev laugh harder. Richie was barely keeping his laughs contained, and a goofy smile was stretched across his face.

“I’m going to get another drink.” Eddie pushed Richie’s legs off of him and stood up from the couch. As soon as he did, he missed the warmth that came with cramming beside him.

Richie hooked his ankle around his before he could leave and threw a Poké Ball at him. It bounced against his stomach and rolled to the floor. Before he could ask what the fuck he was doing, Richie gave him a shit-eating grin.

“Caught you! I told ya’ — I gotta catch ‘em all!”

It was a stupid joke, but it made Eddie grin.

Fuck this. Fuck his dumb feelings. Fuck Richie Tozier and his cute face and his stupid jokes.

Eddie turned and made a break for it before he accidentally said something stupid in response. The further away he moved from Richie, the better. He needed time to refocus, and the drink table was his salvation.

Except, it wasn’t.

He was in the middle of pouring himself a glass of orange juice (which was definitely only at the party for mixing purposes) when a girl he didn’t know approached him.

“You two are cute, by the way!”

He barely heard her over the roaring music.

“What?”

When Eddie did make out what she was saying, he almost wished he couldn’t.

“You and your Ash! You two make a cute couple!”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck.

Abort mission. Abort mission.

Eddie’s face felt exactly how it did after spending a whole day in the sun without sunblock. He was burning and—

Fuck!!! He knew this would happen!!!!!!

“Oh, uh, well—” He stumbled over his words, suddenly too shocked to make a full sentence. “We’re actually not dating — Ash and I.” He pointed to his yellow chest. “I know. Confusing! Right!?” His laughter was forced because dammit, it felt like he could explode from embarrassment.

(Not because someone mistook him for dating Richie, because, damn, that was the dream, but because he wanted to be dating Richie and now had to explain how he wasn’t. It was all too close to the feeling category for it not to be embarrassing.)

Eddie continued to speak. “We’re just wearing a couples costume because this is all we had. We’re not really together. He’s, uh… Well, he’s the Ash to my Pikachu… because they’re not romantic partners… because one’s an animal… and they’re fictional.”

The girl raised her eyebrow and took a long sip of her drink. Finally, she said, “well, you could’ve fooled me.”

What the fuck did that mean?!

By the time he made it back to the couch, he was still thinking about it.

His stomach was twisting because that random girl’s words could only mean one thing; he, Eddie Kaspbrak, was terrible at pretending not to love Richie Tozier.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was too obvious with his feelings. He was flirting too much, smiling too hard, laughing too easily. If some random girl was convinced they were dating because of how big of a crush Eddie had on Richie, then he was fucked.

He sunk into the couch, his jaw slack and hands shaking. He needed to get a grip — on his response now, but also his massive crush on his roommate.

Within three seconds flat, Eddie came up with a set of rules to get him through this evening.

1) Don’t look at Richie. 2) Don’t think about how nice it is to have his arm around your shoulders. 3) Avoid physical contact at all costs. 4) Don’t laugh at any of his stupid jokes. 5) Insult him!!! Insult him to throw him off the scent!!!

It was a solid plan.

It lasted for approximately five minutes.

Richie was telling the story of the time he nearly got a concussion from trying to kill a spider in the shower, and it was getting harder and harder not to laugh, especially when he pulled out his silly voices.

Rule number 4! Rule number 4!

Richie laughed at his own joke and threw his head back from the force of it. Richie laughing was always endearing to Eddie; his whole body seemingly was thrown into it. His head would fly back, and his arms would wrap around his torso, and his knees would pull closer to his chest the slightest bit.

The corners of Eddie’s lips quirked up. His laugh was infectious — and that was the only infectious thing Eddie welcomed into his life.

Even after he finished laughing, Richie kept his head thrown back, a smile of sheer joy on his stupid face. The conversation continued on without them, moving to talk about Stan’s half-burned lab report from a Bunsen burner accident. Richie rolled his neck, shifting so his cheek was pressed against Eddie’s shoulder.

And there went rule number 3.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than it was moments before. The intensity in his gaze made Eddie’s mouth run dry. “You seem… off.”

“I’m fine.” He hoped his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. “Don’t worry about it.”

“We can go if you want?” Richie offered. “I think it’s passed your wittle bedtime.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight the smirk. Before he could respond, he remembered rule number 5.

Insult the shit out of him.

“The only thing ‘wittle’ between us is your dick.”

Yeah, what the fuck was that?

As soon as the words left his mouth, Eddie realized his grave mistake.

Richie’s eyes had widened and his head lifted off his shoulder, as if, he too, realized how massive of a mistake Eddie just made.

Eddie tried to backtrack.

“Not that your dick is between us.” Fuck, nope, that wasn’t the right thing to say. “Or little.” Nope, that wasn’t the right thing to say either. “But, I mean, it’s not like I’ve seen it because— Fuck. Never mind.” He admitted defeat and buried his face in his hands.

It took approximately three seconds for Richie to break the tension and burst out laughing.

“Jesus, Eds, how much have you had to drink?!”

Clearly, not enough.

After Eddie tried to drown himself in an ungodly amount of Kit Kats from Richie’s pocket, his resolve strengthened.

He would not fuck up anymore tonight! Richie was a bro-only zone. He was his best friend and roommate — nothing more! Richie + rules = success.

He wouldn’t laugh at his jokes. He wasn’t going to lean into his touches. He wasn’t going to smile at him like he hung the stars. He wasn’t going to—

It all went out the window when Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s middle and leaned into him.

“What the fuck, Richard?” His tone may have been harsher than he intended.

“I caught you,” he said, his voice muffled against his shoulder. “I threw a Poké Ball at you. You’re mine now. It’s the rules.”

“You already used the Poké Ball joke on me earlier, smart ass.”

Still, he made no move to push Richie off his shoulder. Maybe he could let rule number 3 slide. Just this once.

He couldn’t pull his gaze away from Richie’s face, either. He really loved him like this; soft, touchy, and carefree.

(Then again, he also loved the boy who earned the nickname Trashmouth, and picked fights he knew he couldn’t win, and swung bats at bullies.)

(He loved the fiery Richie, and the annoying Richie, and the stressed Richie, and the terrified Richie.)

(He loved his terrible sense of direction, and his late night dancing, and his ability to stub his toe on every piece of furniture they owned.)

(He loved him for his emotions, and for his heart, and yes even for his terrible jokes.)

(He loved Richie.)

(All of Richie.)

(Every Richie.)

Eddie’s jaw clenched and he shifted an inch away from Richie, his emotions suddenly hitting him so hard that it hurt.

The plan!!!! Remember the fucking plan!!!!!

“Like what you see?” Richie wiggled his eyebrows. “I know I’m pretty, but no need to stare, Eds.” Eddie jolted away from him and felt his heart lodge into his throat.

Richie caught him staring at him.

Fuck. Abort! Abort!

“Yeah, you’re pretty. Pretty fucking annoying.”

Richie grinned. “There he is! I was afraid my wittle dick scared you off.”

Eddie wanted to fade into the darkness.

“I thought we both agreed never to speak of that again.”

“I did no such thing.”

It happened again.

No, not the dick thing.

The ‘you’re a cute couple’ thing.

It was after the majority of the group went home, leaving Beverly, Ben, Richie, and Eddie to occupy a single couch. Why half the remaining group didn’t spread to the second couch was beyond him.

Someone he didn’t know slid into the couch opposite of them and launched into an in-depth conversation with Richie surrounding accuracy of historical events portrayed in some sort of video game.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to pay attention to what they were saying. All he could do was watch how Richie’s eyes lit up as he spoke, and how his lips would twist with each word, and how his nose wrinkled as he spoke, and how his gaze carried an intensity that made his heart pound, and—

“When did you two start dating?”

Eddie jolted away from Richie, putting as much space between them as possible (which, granted, wasn’t much considering they were trapped on this couch with Beverly and Ben).

“What?!” Eddie said quickly, his eyes wide and heart racing. “No. No, we’re not dating. We’re not together. Nope, no way.”

He never understood how his palms got so sweaty so quickly in these situations. He rubbed them on the yellow fabric along his legs vigorously.

“My sweet Eds,” Richie cooed as he leaned closer to him, his voice mockingly sweet.

Eddie wasn’t having it. He batted Richie’s face away from his own and scowled.

“No. We’re not dating.”

Richie pouted. “Is it because of my wittle dick—”

“I will punch you,” Eddie warned.

“But I wanna make you my luvah, Eds. My Eds Spagheds.” He turned to his friend. “Don’t listen to him, Johnathan. Eddie and I are very much together, confirmed by this awesome couples costume we are wearing.”

Eddie scowled and shoved Richie onto Beverly’s lap. “Fuck off, Richard.”

“I’m tellin’ it how it is! We’re two peas in a pod!”

The friend on the opposite couch gave them a wary smile. “Good, because, I mean, you two are practically dripping with sexual tension, and I was getting a little worried that I crossed a line and mentioned something I shouldn’t have, but I assumed it was fine because you’re wearing a couples costume for fuck sake, and—”

“No!” Eddie sat as straight as he could manage it. His heart was pounding in his chest. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. Because fuck you, Johnathan, you did mention something you shouldn’t have!!!! “Richie is fucking with you. We aren’t together, or lovers, or whatever other shit he said. We’re just friends. That’s all we are, all we have been, and all we ever will be.” To really drive home the point, he stuck his nose in the air. “Thank god! I mean, does anyone ever see me dating that!?”

Finally sticking to the plan! Eddie thought triumphantly. Now they really won’t think I’m into Richie. Ha! I wi— Wait, why the fuck is Richie running out of the room?

Richie had pushed off of the couch and took off towards the backdoor without another word. While Eddie couldn’t see his face, he knew exactly what he was feeling from a single glance at him. Tense body, shaking shoulders, uncharacteristically silent—

He was mad. Or upset. Or both.

“Wait, where’s Richie going?” He turned to Beverly, who was staring at him with parted lips. “What happened?”

“I love you, Eddie, but sometimes you’re such a dumbass.”

Eddie quickly ran through what he said moments before and immediately realized his mistake. In his rush to throw everyone off his scent, he insulted Richie.

“Oh, fuck.”

Eddie was quick to follow Richie outside. It was colder out now than before and the only light cast on the street came from a dimly lit street lamp. He caught sight of him across the street, already starting to make the journey back home.

Eddie wanted to hit his head against the nearest brick wall. He was an idiot.

“Richie!” he called, jogging after him. The other man didn’t turn when he called his name. Hell, he didn’t even flinch! Eddie pumped his legs faster. “Richie, wait up. Rich! Richie!” He finally caught up with him, but hovered a few paces away. “Where are you going? What happened?”

He very well knew what happened, but those were the first words out of his mouth.

“Not now, Eddie. I’m going home. I’ll talk to you later.” He didn’t turn to look at him.

Eddie was terrified — he doubted he had ever been more terrified than in that moment. Seeing Richie walking away from him, clearly hurt, scared him.

“Richie, I’m sorry.” He reached forward and caught hold of his elbow. Richie jolted it out of his grasp, making hurt flare up in Eddie’s chest. “I didn’t mean to insult you, I just—” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sure anyone would love to date you.”

Just saying those words out loud made Eddie’s stomach role. Not anyone. Him. He wanted to be dating him.

Finally, Richie stopped walking. He spun around to face Eddie, his face screwed up with emotions. Eddie could see anger in there — it was the way his shoulders were hunched together and his fists closed at his sides — but he could see hurt too. Definitely hurt.

“Do you really think I’m upset because I thought you were implying I was undateable?” His voice was rough and thick with emotion. Eddie’s chest felt like it was going to cave in.

Richie was holding back tears.

“I— What? I mean… Of course? Why else are you upset about?”

Richie opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words followed. Eddie shifted back and forth on his feet, waiting for the shoe to drop.

Finally, he spoke. He sounded so tired and so done. “You know what? Never mind, Eddie. That’s why I’m upset. Of course I’m upset because I’m undateable! Not because of any other reason. You’re so right.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “I’m not stupid, Richard, and can smell your sarcasm.” That didn’t make the most sense, but neither one of them were in the mood to point that out. “I want to make up for what I said, but I can’t if you won’t tell me! If it isn’t because I insulted you, then… what? What’s wrong?”

“‘We’re just friends. That’s all we are, all we have been, and all we ever will be,’” Richie said, throwing Eddie’s earlier words right back in his face. Eddie had to suppress a flinch hearing them come from Richie’s mouth.

They hurt.

He swallowed thickly. “Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? We’re… We’re just friends.”

Richie rubbed the bridge of his nose and tilted his head to glance at the night sky. After a long moment, he spoke. “I know. You love reminding me of that fact.” He sighed and locked eyes with Eddie. “It’s okay. I’m just being… me. Go back in and have fun.”

“You’re fucking kidding,” he said hotly. “I’m not leaving you when you’re clearly upset, and especially not for a Halloween party.” He stepped closer. “I care about you, Rich, and I want to help. I’m sorry that I upset you, and I really want to—”

“I love you.” The words froze Eddie to the ground. Richie’s eyes widened, like he, too, was surprised by them. “I— Fuck. Forget it.” He shook his head. “You know what? No! I said it. I mean it. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. I love you so much that it hurts, and I know that’s ridiculous, but it’s true. And… And I get it, okay? I know you’re not interested. I know we’re just friends — you don’t need to remind me every five minutes, by the way, — but I’m so in love with you, Eddie. And—”

“Wait, hold the fuck up.” Eddie held his hand up, palm towards Richie. His fingers were shaking. He was sure his heart was about to give out from how fast it was racing. His mouth was inexplicably dry. “You— You love me?”

Richie’s eyes were wide. “Uhm… I— I—”

Eddie couldn’t tell anyone where the confidence came from, but he stepped forward, closing the distance between the two of them. The air left his lungs. He struggled to find the words, but he decided he didn’t really need words for this moment. And, finally—

He surged forward, capturing Richie’s lips with his own. The kiss was short and shallow — it was more of a brush of the lips than a kiss, if he was being honest — but it made his head spin.

Eddie pulled away, his eyes wide and his breath coming out in small pants. His hands were clutching at the collar of Richie’s blue and white shirt. His legs felt weak under him.

His eyes scanned Richie’s face, taking in the slight part to his lips, and the flush of his cheeks, and the wideness of his eyes. He was looking at Eddie in pure shock, and that was when he found his voice again.

“Richie, I love you, too.”

A long beat of silence passed between them before Richie’s head dipped down. Their lips connected for another kiss — this one much longer and sweeter than before. Richie’s hands cupped the side of Eddie’s face, cradling it gently. His ached from the amount of love and affection he had for the man in front of him.

The kiss stole all the air from Eddie’s lungs and all the thoughts from Eddie’s mind. When Richie pulled away, his lips were curled into a wide smile — a true, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle and seemingly reached into Eddie’s chest and squeezed his heart.

He shook his head, his dark curls bobbing across his forehead. Richie gestured exuberantly towards the house they both ran from. “What the fuck was thaaaaaat!?”

Eddie stepped out of Richie’s grasp, his hands flying into his hair, panicking to hell. “Shit! I was trying to throw you off my trail! You know, like, try to be a dick to you so you don’t think I’m totally into you! Which I am, by the way — totally into you — like an embarrassing amount. And I just—”

“You, Eddie Kaspbrak, are a huge asshole and I love you for it.” Richie stepped forward wearing a silly grin. The hand that had been tenderly holding Eddie’s cheek booped Eddie on the nose.

“What the fuck, Rich?” He wrinkled his nose. Richie didn’t pay any mind to Eddie’s reaction — he pulled the shorter man into a crushing hug and rested his head on top of his.

“I caught you, Eds. You’re my lil’ Pikachu.”

Eddie scowled. “You’re a loser. I’m in love with a loser.”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#reddie #reddie library #halloween event 2019 #pawprinterfanfic

199 notes · View notes