#anyway back to our regular program

[taki-yaki]

Prompt: Tav that's somehow acquainted with Drizzt. I don't know where his situation fits in the BG3 timeline, so I don't know if Tav being Drizzt's daughter's friend or classmate would make sense. Maybe a neighbor, or the apprentice of one of his party members? I honestly just want to see Astarion fangirl over meeting someone who has close ties to Drizzt Do'Urden.

Briennelle Zaharina (Drizzt’s daughter) would be around the age of 4 during the events of Baldurs gate 3. But an apprentice adventurer who teamed with Drizzt would work.

Astarion x Drizzt Apprentice Tav

As an Elf, you were aware of how long your kind lived for, even outliving many other races in kind. Instead of being stuck inside the walls of Evereska, you longed to venture beyond them. Travelling from town to city, helping with any problems that plague the area. Until you arrive at Baldur’s Gate meeting the famous Drizzt the drow, offering to become his apprentice just for the time he is within the city on his quest. 

Although he was hesitant at first to accept, he agreed after seeing your innate magic abilities in combat. 

Despite your time as his temporary pupil only being short through the eyes of normal elves, the experience to you felt as if it was a main part of your long life.

After your encounter with the famous drow, you would continue your travels across the sword's coast, always returning to the gate to reminisce upon the skills that your mentor taught you. However, during one of these trips to the city, you were abducted by the mind flayers, soon having a tadpole forced inside your head.

During one of these first few nights with your new companions, Wyll was exchanging stories around the campfire of his travels as the blade of Avernus, he would bid you to tell tales of your travels throughout the sword coast, with nearly everyone's eyes on you, except for a pale elf who was pretending to read a book to act disinterested, despite his ears seemingly twitching whenever someone blabbed about others.

As you told your tale of your ventures in Baldur’s Gate, you offhandedly mentioned how you met the notorious drow when you noticed Astarion fully snapping his attention towards you, seemly engrossed for a moment of the comment you made before swaying his eyes towards the book once again.

The next few nights would consist of you telling a story or two about Drizzt casually to Karlach or Wyll with Astarion occasionally dismissing some of your tales seeing them as nothing but farfetched stories at first, “Yes darling, and I’m a princess of house Nightstar and married to a tarrasque named Johnathan, anything else you have to say?”.

However as the tales would start to sound more believable, he would start to inquire into them, asking questions such as what was Drizzt’s eye colour and other minutiae details, which would quickly devolve into an argument at camp about whether the drow’s eye colour was a lavender hue or aquamarine or other minor details.

During another late-night argument once again about Drizzt, Karlach spoke aloud “Fangs if I didn’t know any better I’d say that you’re a fan of Drizzt”, his mouth quickly shut upon hearing Karlachs words, “As if I would fawn over such a thing, dear that is for children, I’m only correcting your ‘mistakes is all”, before he attempted to smoothly retreat towards his tent for the night.

The next night, the arguments between you seemed to have ceased, with you both only acknowledging each other through silent glances across the camp. It isn’t until you confront him, once everyone else has gone to sleep for the night, that he attempts to withdraw to his tent once again, apologising for arguing over such trivial things, but it isn’t until he interrupts you with a soft sigh before stating 

“I- I never said I disliked your fables, my dear”

“When I was trapped under Cazadors thumb, I would daydream of the drow one day coming to save me from his hell, a revolution of sorts against him.” turning to avoid your line of sight, uttering in a hushed whisper “But that never happened”.

“You know, I’m not your exact ‘Drizzt’ type, but I promise, I’ll kill your vile master, I’m certain Drizzt wouldn’t have stood for such a thing as do I.”

As he looks down upon you, in silence, he lets out a little chuckle, before offering an outstretched hand towards you.

“You know, It would be nice not to have to rely on you as my great protector, but... well, I do appreciate the thought.”

Raising your head to meet him face to face, reaching out to clasp his hand softly. 

Throughout the rest of that night, the two of you spend the rest of the night in long discussions about your fondness for the legendary drow.

It isn’t until you arrive at the city that the two of you discuss Drizzt's latest adventures that were published within the new books. Reading the book together, actively discussing each tale that was told and just for a moment, true peace was found between you both, despite all the horrors you’ve been through with the absolute.

[miscling]

the news in the uk today is fucking with us quite considerably. for the most part we try to avoid news about transphobia because it fucks us up a lot, but the conversation about trans women is so fucking dire at the moment it's inescapable. we try to avoid posting about it personally because it depresses the shit out of us and renders us incapable of functioning if we think about it too hard.

we transitioned 15 years ago. we've been on HRT a year or so less. we had surgery in 2013 and got a GRC not long after that and our birth certificate corrected. cis people have stopped being able to tell we're a trans woman unless we tell them. we have a cunt and d-cup tits and we even lactate and none of that is enough for the uk government. the government doesn't even need to be involved, it should at most be between us and our doctors.

we don't even know who we could possibly vote for at this point, because our opposition party is just the tories with a red coat of paint. we just don't fucking know. every major party seems intent on creating laws specifically to criminalise us for existing.

and we get the need for trans charities to keep fighting to combat this stuff, but we just can't handle that ourselves. we need support and community and places we can exist without being scared. there's nothing like that where we live. we know a handful of trans women irl.

we've been isolated for the last ten years for various reasons, and we're not strong enough to keep doing this alone. it just feels rough, to a point where we have to say all this somewhere, on the record. we just don't understand it, we can't figure out why it's like this or do anything about it, and today it feels especially crushing.

[rose-greenhouse]

wanting to take the time to say i love all of my mutuals and wish them the very best. even if we haven’t interacted much or talked at all, i wanna say that i appreciate you all. thanks for checking in on this blog and me ^^

[pronounrespector]

I find it really funny how people on Twitter are always like, "believe victims!!" But then the victim is someone they don't like, aka dream. And then they're suddenly like "Oh well he probably deserved it" like girl you can't have it both ways ☠

[singwhenyoucantspeak]

i only just now realized that Dan Nigro pulled the exact same bait and switch with the strings for both brutal and femininonenom... aka opened both olivia's and chappell's albums with essentially the same trick 👀🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

[kyistell]

I don’t have tumblr on my phone but I do have discord. I promise my hand writing isn’t always that messy, I was writing with my finger.

I’m so sorry if you can’t read what I said, basically I was just saying how drawing is inconsistent on ipad, that I drew half of this with my finger, and that I love my Jersey design, so my normal tag notes but writen.

[freudigerkiesel]

I have not experienced this amount of brainrot since Our Flag means Death, which was my first major brainrot after The Magnus Archives and I am starting to notice a pattern.

My brain wants me to be in PAIN.

[gylfie109]

There was this book I read years ago when I was in grade 7, it was a book I found in my teachers personal library she made for us out of books she brought from home.

It was about a family of four moving into a new house and the son quickly began to forget things about himself, from the fact that he was left-handed to the fact that he liked video games.

The older sister was very obviously concerned and told her parents, but they said that he was always like that. Her friends started to forget her brother's name, and one day her parents forgot about the brother entirely, telling the sister that she was an only child.

The brother went missing and soon after that, they forgot that the girl was their daughter, even calling the cops on her as an intruder. She managed to remind them of their family by shoving past them and grabbing a family photo and shoving it in their faces, screaming about being their daughter. The parents were confused but eventually remembered and waved off the officer who came to the door.

The brother was found in the basement, slowly being absorbed into a white mass on the wall. The whole family managed to drag him out, and things went back to normal. Until one of the neighbors called the sister by the wrong name. That's where the book ended.

I can't remember the name of it, but for some reason I woke up with the memory at the forefront of my mind. But I remember being disturbed and intrigued by it, unable to put it down when I had free time.

Mind you, all of the books my teacher brought in were intriguing to me, seeing as I ended up stealing one of the other books at the end of the year because I didn't want to give it back before I finished it. I still have it 9 years later, it was Dualed by Elsie Chapman.

[patoslover]

I saw this in the street and IMMEDIATELY thought of Aziraphale , that's my level of brainrot

Uhm hello Mr. Mascot... I would just like to know the details of your kidnapping by the Good Omens fandom? And also was there ever a ransom?

OHOHO HELLO MAGGOT. THERE WAS NO RANSOM. I WAS ALONE AND NEW TO THE HELLSITE, AND HAD NO ONE WHO WOULD PAY THE RANSOM.

THE GOOD OMENS FANDOM KIDNAPPED ME AND THEN THEY BECAME MY NEW FAMILY. I LOVE THOSE CRAZY FUCKERS AND I WOULD KILL FOR THEM.

AS FOR THE DETAILS WELL... SOME OF IT IS ON MY PINNED POST? BUT ALSO IT WAS A HECK OF A LONG SAGA MAYBE I SHOULD MAKE A POST DESCRIBING IT FOR EVERYONE WHO WASN'T WITNESSING IT LIVE.

[autisticagathasblog]

*walks in covered in blood with shakey hands* Hi ^.^

[wetworkseventy]

I hate myself

[goldfades]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 ☆ BURROW⁹ (ev's 6k celly!)

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

CELLY MASTERLIST

ᝰ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.6k

ᝰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | it’s his first real day off in weeks and all he wants to do is spend it with you. no press. no cameras. just overpriced fruit and holding your hand in public like it doesn’t mean something. you trail through the market with a smoothie in one hand and his hoodie in the other, watching him pretend he’s not overly invested in picking the right sourdough.

ᝰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | domestic fluff! literally nothing just maybe grumpy joe and invasion of privacies, nothing too crazy though

ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | last fic of my celly :,)! now we can go back to our regular programming!! here's some joey b fluff to end this fun celly! this is probably my fav joe fic i've ever written just because i LOVE domestic AND nerd joe?? all in one fic?? not to toot my own horn, but thats perfect<3 anyway, i hope you enjoyed this fic & my celly!

It’s still early when you wake up, the light outside pale and quiet, stretching slow across the sheets like it’s trying not to disturb anyone. Joe’s arm is slung heavy across your waist, his face half-buried in your shoulder, and you can feel the steady pull of his breath against your skin — long, deep, the kind of sleep he only gets when no alarms are set and no planes need catching.

You blink up at the ceiling for a while, trying to match your breath to his. The room is warm and still, faintly smelling of laundry and whatever cologne he wears that always lingers longer than it should. You shift a little, careful not to wake him, but it doesn’t matter. He stirs anyway.

“Don’t move,” he mumbles, voice rough and hoarse with sleep. He tightens his hold on you like the bed’s about to fly off into space.

You smile against his chest. “It’s morning.”

“Don’t care.”

You let the quiet settle again, the kind that feels full instead of empty. It’s been so rare lately. Even when he’s home, it’s like half of him is still somewhere else; some practice, some meeting, some endless obligation. But today’s different. His first real day off in weeks. No team facility. No recovery sessions. No PR appearances disguised as “casual” check-ins.

Just this.

You run your fingers through his messy curls, scratching lightly at his scalp. “You hungry?”

A grunt. A non-committal noise. Then, after a pause, “Tired.”

“You’ve been tired for three months.”

He lifts his head just barely to look at you, eyes still half-shut, expression somewhere between affection and flat-out grumpiness. “Yeah. That’s what three months of getting hit for a living does to a guy.”

You press a kiss to his forehead. “Come on. Let’s go get groceries or something.”

Joe groans and rolls onto his back, throwing an arm dramatically over his face. “I don’t wanna be inside.”

“You’ve been inside stadiums and weight rooms for like, a quarter of the year.”

“That’s different. That’s work.”

“So let’s not work,” you say, nudging him with your knee. “Let’s go outside. What about the farmers market?”

You feel him hesitate. Not in a way that means no. In a way that means he wants to but his brain is still flipping through all the reasons he shouldn’t. The risk of being seen. The noise. The endless low hum of people looking, whispering, pointing. Always someone watching. Always something expected.

But you also know him better than that. You know he doesn’t want to spend the day holed up in the apartment pretending that being off means being unavailable.

You roll over to face him fully, cheek pressed into the pillow. “We could get fruit. Those little blueberries you like. Maybe some bread.”

He peeks at you from under his arm. “That place had good peaches last time.”

You smile. “Yeah, and you stood there for ten minutes judging every single one.”

“Had to make sure they were ripe,” he mumbles, but his voice is softer now. Less guarded.

You reach out, let your fingers trace along his collarbone, lazy and slow. “Let’s go. No press, no schedule. Just us.”

Joe doesn’t say anything for a moment, just turns his head so he can look at you fully. And when he exhales, it’s like something eases in him — shoulders relaxing, jaw unclenching. Like maybe he’s finally letting the day be what it is, instead of what everyone else expects it to be.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Farmers market.”

The farmer’s market is already alive by the time you get there. Loud in that low, contented way Sundays are loud with kids trailing behind strollers, dogs sniffing at everything they’re not supposed to and the smell of something sweet and cinnamony floating thick and tempting through the air. There’s music coming from somewhere, faint strumming, a voice you can’t quite make out but mostly it’s the sound of people talking, bartering, laughing too loud.

It’s chaos. But a familiar kind. The kind that makes the world feel less like it’s spinning out and more like it’s just... going.

Joe’s hand finds yours without asking.

He doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush you along. Just holds on — loose at first, then tighter when someone brushes past too close. He’s in his “blend in” uniform: baseball cap, hoodie pulled over his head even though it’s too warm for it, sunglasses that cover half his face. But it’s not fooling anyone. You catch a double-take from a teenager walking past, hear a soft, excited “that’s Joey B, right?” from somewhere behind. Joe keeps walking.

The fruit stalls are toward the back, tucked between a flower vendor and a guy selling artisan soaps shaped like crystals. You spot the blueberries before he does.

“There,” you say, nudging him lightly. “Your precious berries.”

He perks up like a kid promised a toy store and immediately drops your hand, stepping forward to crouch in front of the stand like he’s about to interrogate the inventory.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. “You’re actually doing this again.”

Joe doesn’t look at you. He’s too busy picking up a pint of blueberries, holding it up to the light like he’s checking for imperfections. “These are underripe,” he mutters, placing them back with the dramatic disappointment of someone returning a bottle of bad wine. He picks up another, squints.

You glance at the vendor, who looks only mildly amused.

“Ignore him,” you say with a small smile. “He thinks he’s a fruit expert.”

“I am a fruit expert,” Joe says, straightening up to hold out a pint toward you like a trophy. “These are the ones.”

You take them from him, inspecting them even though you know he already did. “And what exactly qualified these?”

“They’re plump,” he says seriously. “Color’s good. Matte, not shiny.”

You look at him. “Matte?”

“Shiny blueberries are old blueberries. That’s just science.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t challenge it. There’s something endearing about the way he says it like he’s passing down ancient knowledge. He’s already crouched again, this time carefully picking through baskets of strawberries like he’s searching for treasure. You let him work, stepping aside so a woman can reach past you to grab a bag of oranges.

“This is nice,” you say after a minute.

Joe doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I missed this. You being annoying about produce.”

He laughs under his breath, quiet and a little sheepish. “I missed you watching me be annoying about produce.”

You smile and drop a kiss to the top of his head, right where his curls are peeking out under his cap. He freezes like he thinks you’ve just revealed state secrets, then glances up, glasses slipping a little down his nose.

“Bold,” he says, though there’s no edge to it. “You’re gonna blow my cover.”

You shrug. “They already know. That girl over there took a photo when you were choosing apples like they personally insulted you.”

He groans, softly, and stands up. “I hate that.”

“I know.”

“I just... why can’t I exist in peace and judge fruit without it being content?”

You take his hand again. “Because you’re hot and famous and dramatic about berries.”

He mutters something that might be “unbelievable” under his breath but doesn’t pull away. You both start walking again, navigating through the maze of people and stalls. You stop for fresh bread, watch him examine every loaf like he’s picking out a new car. He holds one up, knocks on the crust like he’s listening for a secret message then frowns and puts it back.

“Too soft.”

“Maybe it’s meant to be soft.”

He shakes his head. “If it doesn’t sound hollow, it’s not good sourdough.”

You give him a look. “Did you research all this?”

“I just know things,” he says with a maddening little smirk.

You end up with a loaf that does pass the test, tucked carefully into your tote like it’s fragile. Then come the peaches — God help you. He stands there for nearly ten minutes turning each one gently in his hands, pressing near the stems, breathing them in.

You busy yourself with finding honey sticks and watching a toddler have a meltdown over a squished banana. You’re not even annoyed by the wait anymore. There’s something about seeing Joe this way — slow, unguarded, quietly particular, that makes your chest feel weirdly full. Like watching someone be exactly who they are when no one’s asking anything of them.

He finally walks over with three peaches and a look of profound satisfaction.

“They’re gonna be perfect by tomorrow,” he says. “Just give ‘em a day.”

You reach out and cup his cheek. “You’re such a nerd.”

He leans into your hand, grinning a little. “You love it.”

You do. God, you really do.

You wander for a while longer, letting the sun warm your skin and the weight of the morning settle somewhere deep in your bones. Joe buys you a smoothie you don’t need and you steal sips from it while holding his hoodie, which he’s finally peeled off after admitting it was “too damn hot for May.” You catch sight of your reflection in a vendor’s mirror: wind in your hair, his hoodie in your arms, sunglasses slipping down your nose and think, yeah, this is something I’ll want to remember.

By the time you start heading back, the market’s thinned out a little, the vendors slowly packing up, kids getting cranky, the music quieter. Joe keeps your hand in his the whole way to the car, fingers playing absentmindedly with yours, like he’s not quite ready to let the day go.

Neither are you.

It wasn’t much. Just fruit and bread and sun. Just people and dogs and noise. But in the middle of all that, it felt like something rare — normal, soft, yours.

And sometimes, that’s more than enough.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[neilsbeloved]

so high school

summary: thanks to the new biology professor, clark signs up for the tutoring program of smallville high to try and save his grades from plummeting. too bad his tutor bails… unless, of course, fate has a better teacher in mind. (prequel to the alchemy)

pairing: freshman!clark x student body officer!reader

tags: s1 clark / pure fluff (for now) / oblivious pining / very very subtle awkward flirting / awful try at banter and crack / chivalrous clark kent / direct + confident!reader with anxious + shy!clark / biology and mitochondria mentions (lol) / food mentions

Freshman Year

Clark sat on one of the benches outside of school, with Chloe on her laptop beside him, the two of them watching different alumni go in and out of the gymnasium dressed in their posh suits and dresses.

Unlike Chloe who was solely focused on getting their data for the first issue of the Torch this freshman year, Clark was busy watching you run last minute touch-ups for the event currently happening.

Dressed in an all-black top and bottom, you had rolls of tape and ribbon as bracelets, numerous scissors and other materials in your pockets, and a rather intimidating look on your face that had every person thinking twice whether or not to approach you. Clark watched you with awe at every second.

"Clark, hello? Earth to Clark?" A hand is waved in front of his face, Chloe's irritated look snapping him out of his trance. "Gosh, don't tell me you're flaking out on me already."

"What—No, I wasn't dozing off… I was just watching the alumni come in." Clark purses his lips, straightening his back, watching you stand on a step, arms reaching up to hang a banner.

Chloe rolls her eyes, closing her laptop abruptly before shoving it in her bag. "Well, I'm gonna run over to the gate. I asked Ryan to get me a latte from the Talon on his way here."

"Didn't we already get coffee?"

"Yeah…" Chloe picks up the cup, eyebrows furrowing. "…but our resident barista probably mistook me as a different blonde ordering regular caramel coffee because that's what she gave me." She scoffs sarcastically before placing the cup back down.

Clark does the same scoff, raising an amused eyebrow as Chloe turns away without a second thought, high pitched voice letting him know that he can have the coffee if he wanted to.

Now left alone on the bench, he sighs while leaning back. Head returning to where he last saw you. Clark smiles when he sees you still at that place, though it quickly drops when he sees you being helped by another student wearing all-black.

Clark keeps a close eye on you and the other student, watching as he pats the side of your arm before leaving you there, heading back inside of the gymnasium after helping you successfully put up another banner. When you lean against the smooth wall of the gym's exterior, a yawn goes past your lips. Clark's eyes squint when you do so, an idea popping in his head when he remembers the untouched coffee beside him.

Just as you had began to put up the third and last banner for the night, you nearly slip from the step when you turned around.

"Hi." Clark breathes. An awkward smile stretching on his lips, one arm stiffly holding a cup of coffee while the other held his bag.

You blink. "Hi."

Clark stands there in silence, the smile still plastered on his face, arm still up, his mind actually going blank. You stand there confusedly. The emotion very apparent on your features with your furrowed eyebrows at slightly jerked lips. You clear your throat, snapping some sense back into him.

"I, uh—Hi, we're classmates in history if you remem—"

"Yeah, I remember. Clark Kent, right? Down at Kent Farm?" Clark nods, the hand holding the cup of coffee slowly descending as he feels his insides blossom at the thought of you knowing him. "Oh yeah… I know you."

"You do?" His eyebrows raise.

"Uh-huh. You asked me something about the extracurriculars, I think. I'm not really sure." You offer him the best apologetic look you can give. "Anyway, uh, do you have a concern?"

He shakes his head.

"Oh, is it a bad time? I didn't mean to bother you I just…"

"You just…?"

Clark swallows the saliva building up in his mouth, breathing in deeply as he glances at the cup of coffee in his hand. You look at him weirdly, shifting your weight to one hip. "Well… I saw you still working and, uh, y'know, just wanted to give you this coffee."

"It's… it's actually my friend Chloe's," Clark starts, holding the cup out with a stiff arm. He smiles sheepishly when you look at him confused. "She doesn't like sweet coffee and there was a mix-up—this one's caramel, no one drank it. It's still warm—just thought maybe you'd want—"

The poor boy gets cut off when you grab the cup off his hand.

The brush of your hand—as brief at it is—made him feel sparks of electricity all over; it takes everything in him not to combust and run around like a crazy man.

"Thank you, Clark," you say, smiling, calm and composed. "But do you have a concern?"

Clark blinks slowly. "N-no, I'm good. Totally fine."

He clears his throat, shaking off the nerves. "Uhm, do you need help? I'm actually not doing anything right now, Chloe's still picking up her actual coffee and so uh…"

He's rambling again. This time, you can't even stop yourself from smiling at him. So you look away, tongue poking at your cheek. "I'm fine, Clark, I appreciate it… Chloe's looking for you anyways."

The look on his face drops. "She is?"

"Yeah, that's her right?" You jerk your head towards the blonde. Clark quickly looks at that direction, internally cringing when he sees you're right.

Chloe is back already.

"That is her." He sighs, shoulders dropping.

Then, out of nowhere, he feels his world tip over. The chuckle that escaped your lips was almost enough to get him tripping all over the place. When he looks at you, smiling and snickering at him, it's like nothing he's ever seen before.

It was way different from how he saw you smile in front of your friends, in front of the student body (or at least that's what he thought to himself). Nevertheless,  gathering the courage to actually approach you is already a big achievement for himself.

When you urge him to get back to Chloe, he heads back to their spot, an almost disappointed look on his face as he arrives on the bench. Chloe wasted no time asking a dozen questions.

Where were you? Why were you with the student body president? Did she ask you for help? Since when did you volunteer for the council?

"Geez, Chloe, calm down," Clark sighs. "Just 'cause you got your coffee doesn't mean you have to go all beast mode again…" he rubs his hands together, "I was… I was asking her for an exclusive."

"Really?" Chloe looks at him skeptically. "Clark Kent asking council members for exclusives on his own accord?"

Clark subtly watches you from the corner of his eye before he wriggles his eyebrows at Chloe, smiling charmingly, "Journalistic curiosity."

"Wait, correct me if I misheard but—did you just say Sanders is purposefully manipulating your grades?" Chloe looks to Clark for confirmation, watching him huff out a breath as he keys in the code to his locker.

"I said I think, Chloe. I mean, think about it," Clark takes a second to scan the vicinity before lowering his head to Chloe, "I've been studying biology every night in the barn, I can't possibly be getting a D- two exams in a row!" The frustration is evident in the way Clark's voice strained, eyes widened for emphasis.

Chloe sighs, Clark's right. Getting a D- on two consecutive exams is already very peculiar, more so for someone as grade-conscious as Clark.

Just as both of them think of throwing out their farfetched and meteor-rocks-centric theories, the devil walks by them. Calling out their last names while thrusting two pieces of papers towards them.

With a tight smile, Clark takes their papers and keeps them faced on the floor. Both of them watching Sanders walk away—boldly throwing them a sharp glare over his shoulder as he enters a different corridor. Both Clark and Chloe turn to each other, sharing a knowing look.

Clark flips the papers up in one swift motion. His jaw dropping the same time as Chloe lets out an overly happy cackle.

Written on the face of the paper was a bright red B+, comments on the side reading “The conclusion is nonsense. Next time, read your work first before writing the conclusion.”

"No, I swear, Chloe, he's setting me up," Clark complains, slamming his locker shut.

"Clark, unless Professor Sanders was with us when we wrote this essay, he couldn't possibly know that you wrote the conclusion." Chloe reasons out as she takes the papers from Clark's hands. She flips the front page, reading the other comments on the latter parts of the essay.

"And look," she tilts the paper for Clark to see, "His comments actually support the one in front. It's not just baseless."

Clark pauses, staring at Chloe in disbelief. He can't believe Chloe actually is siding with Sanders. Their hell-sent biology instructor that seemingly has his motives set on making sure Clark experiences the worst freshman year of his life.

"Look, Clark, I know grades are important to you, and I know it's hard when you don't see the outcome you expect," Chloe starts, keeping her voice low, "But it's still not too late to re-evaluate your study habits. Maybe you can sign up for the tutoring program, I think they still have some slots left before the break. There's nothing wrong with asking for some help studying the lessons." She gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder, letting him have the their essay.

"I have to get to the Torch now, Clark. See you after class?"

Clark nods, licking his lips. "Yeah, see you."

The first time Clark went to the council's office to sign up for a tutoring class, the slots were already full. Five names—one of which were yours—all had complete timetables already. Not a single open slot in sight.

And so he spent the entire break bundled up in his loft, occasionally driving over to Lex Luthor's castle just to get some extra biology textbooks from his library. As Clark expected, the very first suggestion Lex gave him after learning about his situation was to get Sanders fired. Which, according to Lex, would just take two phone calls and a check for donation to the school.

After the break, once the classes resumed, the slots were still full until the end of the week. The previously five names were now down to three—one of which were still yours.

To say that Clark basically had to fight tooth and nail just to get a slot at the tutoring service was an understatement. He practically had to arrive at the school earlier than everybody else. When he managed to snag a slot under Noah at 6 p.m., best believe Clark arrived at the library on the exact dot.

He arrived there before Noah did, and so he pulled out his textbooks and studied instead. Letting the time pass by advance reading on the upcoming chapters. When he hears a bell ring from outside, he looks to the wall clock.

6:15 p.m. and his tutor still hasn't shown their face.

The council's policy is that a tutor can wait for their tutee only for fifteen minutes. Any later than that meant that the tutor had the right to cancel the session and wait for their next tutee. Although that was the general rule for the tutor's side, Clark wondered how long is acceptable for him to wait before he can head back home and just study there instead.

Clark runs a hand through his hair, exhaling tiredly before he shoves all of his materials back in his back, heading over to the council's office. He spent a buttload of time trying to secure this slot, he's damn sure he'll look around and wait for his tutor even if it meant—

"Is there a concern?" Your sweet, neutral voice asks. Head snapping to him as you remove the thumbtack from the bulletin board.

All of the words of complaint Clark initially had tucked under his tongue was long gone now. The farmboy blinking continuously as if he was trying to see if this was actually real life. That you were actually looking at him, speaking to him at this moment.

Last time he remembers that happened was at the start of the year, right at the Alumni Homecoming Party. A big chunk of the school year has passed and he hasn't spoken to you since. Resorting to watching you from afar like he always did ever since he saw you campaign as the fifth grade representative.

"Clark, do you have a concern?" Your voice calls at him again, only this time a little firmer and with your arms crossed on your chest. Neatly trimmed eyebrow arched intimidatingly.

He opens his mouth to speak, stammering in the process, "I-I was supposed to get tutored by Noah at 6 p.m. but he wasn't at the library so I came to see if he was, y'know, in here waiting for me."

You furrow your eyebrows. Taking the folder from the table and looking through the names. There definitely was a Clark Kent on Noah's schedule, though you clearly remember Noah telling you earlier that he wouldn't be able to attend to his last session because of… unforeseen circumstances.

"I'm really sorry, Clark, but Noah is attending to an emergency. He won't be able to accommodate your slot for today." You break the news to him, sounding as sympathetic as you can. "If you want, I can sign you up on tomorrow's slots? Have you first one on his tutoring."

"Oh! No, that won't be necessary. I can head home now and—"

"Oh, it's biology," your surprised voice cuts him off. Seeing the subject Clark wrote on the subject column. "You're having a hard time with biology?"

Clark tries not to feel small under your squinted eyes. He knows you simply asked out of curiosity, but he can't help but feel a little dumb from your question especially when it came from one of the top ranking students in school.

How can he possibly tell you that he's not the problem—he understands the concepts religiously—but the professor is.

The professor who always praises you every time you raise your hand to answer his outrageously difficult and out-of-this-world questions. He’s sure you wouldn’t believe him.

"I won't judge, Clark," you scoff lightheartedly. Placing the folder back on the table as you continued fixing the bulletin board. "And come in, take a seat—anywhere."

Clark scratches the back of his head, taking another step inside of the office, closing the door behind him before sitting on one of the vacant seats. "Well, yeah, somethin' like that."

He quiets down on his seat, eyes following your every move as you went around the office like an agitated rabbit—fast, focused, and completely unaware of how he can't look away.

The fact that he was inside of the office probably slipped from your mind already as you focused on cleaning up the board, wiping away the words written on the dry-erase part of it.

You pile on the different papers on your hands, moving them from one side of the room to another in a quiet rush. The folder at the very top falling in front of Clark. He picks it up and crosses the room quietly. You're wiping down the whiteboard, sleeves pushed up, the fading sunlight catching the edges of your hair in a soft glow.

"Hey—this fell," he says.

You glance over your shoulder, brow furrowed in focus. "Thanks." You take the folder without much thought, already shifting a new stack of papers into your arms. "Shit, sorry—uh, what part of biology were you having difficulties with? We share the same class right?"

"Mhm, with Professor Sanders." Clark nods, clasping his hands behind his back. "Look, uh, forget biology, d'you need any help? I can help if you want. Pretty much lost the momentum to study anyway," he chuckles nervously.

You look at him with a glint in your eyes, an ambiguous smile growing on your lips before you slid away from your spot. The distance between you two suddenly growing now that you moved away. You two were barely two feet apart a second ago, now you two were on either side of the room.

Clark feels himself grow slightly anxious, worried that he might've invaded your personal space. The council office was pretty much as close to you as the Torch office was to Chloe; Clark knew that very well. And so he waits for you in his spot silently, and patiently. His hands resting in his pockets while he looked around and drank in the environment.

It was definitely bigger than the Torch office. Though it had lesser computers, there were much more storage cabinets and materials lying around. Organized shelves with various papers and documents. Numerous bulletins for the council's announcements and quick view.

The faint hum of a nearby classroom projector drones in the background, alongside the mechanical sound of printers working.

Just as he started reading the front page of the budget report on the desk beside him, you call out his name. Again.

"You know, I can tutor you if you want," you say plainly. Your fingers going over the folder of blank pages you randomly took, pretentiously looking over it.

He looks at you dumbfounded. "W-what? Can you repeat that? I don't think I heard you correctly."

"I said, if you want, Clark, I can tutor you." You purse your lips. "The whole situation with you waiting for Noah in the library was a completely avoidable situation if he had just informed you beforehand… and I was the one that proposed this whole tutoring project in the first place so I feel partially responsible for the wasted time," you end, placing away the folder and slinging your bag over your shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

Clark's eyebrows shoot up the more you spoke. It's actually the first time he's heard you speak this much in a single go. He can see the sincerity in your eyes as you brushed away your hair from your face.

Before he can assure you that it isn't really a big deal, you beat him to it. Shrugging your shoulders as you walk over to the door.

"But the, uh, the school library's closing in a few minutes and we can't stay in the office after school hours since I have to return the key so…" You inhale, mentally scolding yourself. "If it's okay with you to have me as your tutor—as a substitute for Noah, of course—I can tutor you over at the Talon or somewhere you're comfortable."

Clark stumbles over his words. Something along the lines of Really? You'd do that? hidden underneath all of that nervous stuttering and blabbering.

"If you want me to," you reply, trying your best not to sound too pushy or too passive.

"I'd love that." Clark says in a heartbeat. A smile spreading on his face, wider than his own shoulders which, considering his size, says a lot. His sharp canines making an appearance.

You bit the inside of your lip, stopping yourself from smiling. "Perfect. Talon then?"  

Clark walks over to you, taking your place by the door as he holds the knob, failing miserably at hiding the absolute joy in his face. "Actually, is it okay if we stop at the Talon first? I'll just grab something then we can study at the barn."

"The barn?" You echo, confused.

"Yeah—oh, we have a barn at our farm and I have a loft there. All of my textbooks and notes are in there and there's enough room for the two of us to study there but, if you don't want then—"

You cut him off, "Clark, it's fine."

"It's quiet," Clark adds, a little softer now. "The loft gets good light before sunset, and you can hear the crickets when it gets dark. It's… peaceful. Might help us focus."

"Clark, if you ask me one more time, I might actually deck you," you tell him with a straight face.

Clark, despite his tall and buff stature, actually freezes at your word. The look on his face mimicking that of a deer getting flashed with headlights, so innocent that it actually makes you squeal inside.

When he starts stammering, you finally break through your poker-face and laugh at him. The sound sticking in his head like a melody he didn't know he'd been waiting to hear. "I'm just kidding, Clark. C'mon, we gotta catch the bus before it leaves."

The moment you take a step out of the door, Clark's hand holds your wrist. You actually freeze, feeling your breath get caught in your throat. The moment quickly flees as Clark lets go, muttering repeated apologies.

His gaze finds yours, steady and stunned, the noise of the hallway slowly disappearing from his mind. His eyes linger for a second longer than it should have, and so he looks away. "Sorry—I, uh, I bought the truck with me. I can drive us there."

You were still replaying that short moment when he grabbed your wrist. Something about it kept your mind on the edge of its seat, as if it was anticipating something you've been continuously trying to shake off since the start of freshman year.

You didn't even get to weigh in the pros and cons of getting in the same car with Clark—as if there even were cons—when your head already nods itself.

Behind the explosion of joy you see in his eyes, you don't miss the small shimmer of affect he tries (and fails) to hide.

The funny thing though is that Clark doesn't miss the same shimmer in yours too.

It's only been an hour since you and Clark have arrived at his loft and began studying. The woody and cozy smell of the space making you feel at home, especially with how the sunlight spilled inside because of the gigantic window in the middle.

Clark shifts beside you, letting out a relaxed yawn as he hands you the two-page worksheet you gave him ten minutes earlier. "I swear, I think I understand it now—basically the mitochondria is like you?"

"Good try, no." You scoff, finally looking away from your laptop to take the paper from him.

Clark chuckles, "Right, right… 'cause the mitochondria doesn't really breathe caramel coffee huh?" He raises a teasing brow, the ends of his lips inching up ever so slightly.

You shoot him a glare, your red pen checking the items on the paper. "Not my fault you gave me caramel coffee during the start of school."

The way you brought the memory up makes him smile—wider than he should—but he covers it by taking a bite of the donut on your plate. "My bad, I probably shouldn't have introduced you to the best coffee you ever tasted huh?"

"Don't get cocky, farmboy," you glance at him as you wrote his score on the corner of the paper, handing it to him after, "You have Chloe to thank for that. If she never took the coffee, then I wouldn't have tasted the best coffee ever."

You mimicked the way he spoke of best coffee, smirking at him when he rolls his eyes playfully at you, arms crossing sassily.

"And who was the one that gave you the coffee?" He moves his head, hand softly pushing the back of his ear to hear you better.

"Actually, I think he was just a random stranger passing by, never really got his name." You feign innocence, putting on your best thinking face while nodding your head slowly.

"Did you now?" Clark scoffs, eyebrows raising, "Never got his name, really? Not even his first name? Or what he looks like?" He tilts his head as he played along.

You shake your head, competing with his glare. "Nope."

The stare-down lasts for a few seconds before the two of you laugh. Clark watches the way your eyes scrunched up when you do, not letting a moment slip by.

"Good job, Clark," you say, going back to your tutoring voice as you put your laptop back on your lap. "Y'know, if you didn't get the cell organelle question wrong, I'd think you never had problems with biology in the first place."

"Please. If the diagram was just drawn a little better, I definitely would’ve gotten it right." Clark places his biology textbook away.

You quickly glance at the trunk-turned-coffee-table, inhaling sharply as you look back on your laptop. Clark's lip twitches, grabbing the cup of coffee and handing it over to you without a word. Your hand quickly darting out to take it.

Your eyebrows furrow when you feel the cup be a little too heavy. "This isn't mine."

"Oh, it's mine. I bought an extra one just in case you wanted more caffeine," Clark says ever-so casually. His lips pulling into a pout as he looks away, making himself look busy by going through the short stack of worksheets beside him.

When he peeks to look at you from his side, you're looking suspiciously at him while swirling the cup. "Just natural instinct… you know," he shrugs, "I am the right-hand of the Torch's editor."

"Sure…" Clark watches you slowly nod your head, bringing the cup to your lips.

A contented smile comes on his face when you let out a soft and satisfied groan. Your arm jutting out to place the cup back on the table. Clark nibbles on his bottom lip as he starts itching to speak again despite one side of him screaming to just let you rest for a second.

The silence hanging between the two of you weirdly calming and comfortable, like the morning of a Sunday chore-day with a radio playing softly in the back.

Then, his voice speaks. "Hey."

You look to him in a heartbeat.

"I really appreciate it… this whole tutoring session." Clark means it. It shows in the quiet way he says it, like he's been holding on to the words since the two of you arrived there. Even in the subtle actions he does—in those small, unspoken gestures that says he's at your beck and call, even without needing to be asked. "I didn't think you'd offer your time to tutor me."

You blink, forehead creasing lightly. "Why not?"

Clark shrugs, this time a little more relaxed—somewhere between playful and bashful. "You're… y'know, you. Student council officer, top of the class, all busy and intimidating—"

"Clark, I’m literally a student."

"Terrifying," he teases, leaning his elbow on his side of the couch, grinning lazily. "I'm sure I even cried when you told our algebra professor that I forgot my assignment."

You laugh—a louder, more genuine one than the first one Clark ever heard from you—and his body short-circuits. Clark swears, if given a chance, he'd bottle that sound and use it whenever he has a hard time, automatically brighten up his day on demand.

"God, I didn't know you were such a drama queen, farmboy." You stand up abruptly, placing your laptop on the spot beside you as stretched your arms. "Oh, and, your cell drawings are hideous, by the way."

"They're my artwork."

"It's chicken scratch on paper, farmboy," you scoff.

Clark's eyes narrow, smoldering his eyebrows, "An artistic chicken scratch perhaps?"

"Charming," you snort, sitting back down to slice off a part of the pie. Your eyes rolling back when it practically melts in your mouth. "God, you could bribe me to tutor you again just with this pie alone." 

"Blueberry pie and caramel coffee… I'll keep that in mind." Clark humors you.

You follow up, "And glazed donuts."

"And glazed donuts," Clark echoes, nodding affirmatively.

The two of you exhaust the remaining time in the session by going over the lessons for tomorrow. Clark listening to your every explanation like you were the actual professor. The way he kept his eyes on you the whole time, making sure you see that he’s paying attention to every word.

Clark’s confident that he understands the lessons, but the way you explained it to him in a waaay easier approach made him swoon for you all the more. The topics he found mildly confusing and challenging, you went over them in a breeze.

If you continue giving him the time of the day to tutor him, Clark might consider pursuing a degree in biology.

The sun had already gone when you two finished, with all of the cup of coffees emptied and the plate finished; The clock on the wall indicating that you’ve went past the standard time for a tutoring session by an hour.

“Maybe if you didn’t take fifteen minutes criticizing my cell drawing, we wouldn’t have lost track of the time,” Clark jokes at you, handing you the rest of your stuff as you arranged them neatly inside of your backpack.

“Hey!” You glare at him, zipping up your bag as you followed him to the stairs. “It’s not my fault Professor Sanders said cell drawings are part of the major exam. I’m simply… preparing you.”

Clark responds, “Looks like I’d have to practice even more then.”

When he sees you pause on your way, blinking once before resuming, his forehead scrunches. Confused on what it was you were thinking about. Fortunately, it doesn’t take you too long to actually voice out what you were thinking.

“Good thing my tutoring slots for tomorrow are still empty,” you say with a smoothness to your voice, as if you didn’t just take an awfully prolonged time to think of your response.

The corner of Clark’s mouth extends up, eyes searching yours for an answer. “Are you saying you want to tutor me again?” He juts out his lips, head tilting teasingly. “…‘cause, y’know, I’m not really sure that’s what I’m hearing right now. You might wanna clarify just a tiny bit.”

An endearing sigh leaves your lips, looking away to hide the amused smile while Clark waits for you with a smug grin. His arms crossed on his chest as if he was expected something from you.

“I think your hearing needs a good check-up, farmboy.” you say crossing your arms.

Clark groans, one hand to his chest, “That hurts.”

But he’s smiling again—cheesy and lopsided, like he’s not quite used to this kind of bantering between the two of you. Not like he ever wants this moment to stop. And you, standing there in front of him, at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed and eyes glittering despite the dim lights of the barn, smiling right back at him.

Neither of you speak.

Until you do.

“My 6 p.m. is open, Clark,” you say, voice low and careful. “Only if you promise to let me leave with your mother’s pie.”

Clark laughs, bright, genuine, and somewhat relieved. “I saved you half of it the moment you finished the two slices.”

You nod, then started to walk out of the barn, only this time taking way slower steps. Clark following your tail in a heartbeat.

Somewhere in the quiet surroundings, between the sounds of his steps on the gravel and the sleepy hum of the animals around the two of you, something shifts inside of Clark.

Not the nervousness from before. Not the anxiety of possibly making a fool of himself.

Only something real.

hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! xoxo

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHING! LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHING!!

*grabs your shirt and pulls you close*

DC/Batfamily x Witwicky! Reader x Transformers (Completely Platonic only)

where reader gets sent to Gotham when they're still a baby for their safety as a last resort (which is fckn crazy like cuz pick which one is worse Joker or Megatron) by their Witwicky relatives because of Optimus orders so they can distract the decepticons first and find them again when it's safe (Sam may or may not exist in this au).

First origin After that Reader grew up in an orphanage but became a prodigy because of their high IQ and fascinating inventions due to inheriting their -unknowingly- great great grandfather Archibald Amundsen Witwicky's intelligence (idk im just winging this) then becoming the youngest engineer/mechanic in the gotham (world idk) that caught the attention of Batman when they accidentally hacked the batcomputer something they kind of jokingly bet to their professor so they don't have to do their thesis but was peer pressured in the end.

Batcomputer : *Starts glitching*

Batfam: *slightly tensed but wants to figure out who's the insane dummy that tries to hack THE Batcomputer*

Screen:

Reader: Heeeeeyyyyy it's meeeeee a hard working college student that needs proof that I actually hacked your computer, so Imma just take a lil pic and we'll just go back to our regular programming okie? Okay! *takes a selfie with the whole ass batfamily in their screen*

Reader: Thanks Batman! keep up the good work now to destroy evidence of the crime scene (still on the screen) *Shuts their laptop and proceeds to throw it out the window after*

*Gets adopted by Bruce Wayne anyway because a 13 year old kid in college needs money -preferably in cash- support and a Billionaire with the history of adopting wacky kids wants them for funsies*

Reader : *sits in the batcave with the hacking video on repeat in the batcomputer, surrounded and outnumbered by the batfam* Fuuuucccckkkk

Or 2nd you were sent instead by Edmund Burton, Alfred was the best option to protect and take care of the last descendant of Merlin and youngest member of the Order of Witwiccans, you grew up under Bruce Wayne but used the last name Pennyworth as a disguise to hide your true lineage, you still end up becoming a prodigy and the sort of mechanic of the family (you literally 80-90% engineered and build the Batmobile and most of Batman's gadgets) you didn't end up becoming a vigilante/hero because you stive to be the normal one or The civilian member in the family, You're either a nephew/niece to Bruce or the living in Cousin to the kids, you bet your ass you're either partner in crimes with Tim/Barbara or you kept -humbly- beating their asses over being the smart ass in the family.

Tim: *Best at hacking, Tech and gadgetry, the more smart robin and on the line to become the Wayne inc CEO* I'm not bragging or anything.

(All robins are smart he's just abit on top)

Reader: *looks at their name in all of the blueprints of gadgets, weapons, suits, transportations, the batcomputer, the batmobile, the watchtower, the JL headquarters security/bldg and the upgraded batcave system* That's great Timmy! you really are the smartest! *side eye the stacked up and approved projects for Gotham Structural proposals as well as the contract papers for the new in line brand of Tech you're making and quickly hiding the shiny nameplate 'CEO of the most famous electronics brand' with your name engraved on it*

It can also be x Neglected Reader as well where any of the 2 is your origin but you barely get noticed by your family other than your inventions and because you really don't like being into the family business due to not having the physical advantage of literally punching someone in the face without breaking your hands first.

so you just exist and try to finish college and live away to find your other family/ Find Edmund or just travel the world.

Origins aside

The reason why you are so important is the location of the all spark that was supposed to be imprinted to Archie's glasses was transferred to his brain instead become wired inside and somehow passed down to you that's why Optimus needed you safe until they can send the Decepticons away and find you.

I can imagine it going down like this

The world was under a new threat either by Megatron, the decepticons, Unicorn or even The Quintessons no one yet knows other than J'onn J'onzz /Martian Manhunter and Hal or the whole Green Lantern Corps who were close or worked with the Autobots before were alerted by them to ask for help.

Optimus and the rest of the growing Autobots that were left in the planet as well as Edmund met up with the Justice League to have a discussion about the new threat and was surprised that they only need someone instead.

Batman: Why do you specifically need this someone?

Edmund: I have sent orders to the Witwicky family to send their child here in your city for their safety due to the facts they have the location of the all spark also being the last and youngest member of the Order of Witwiccans.

Zatanna: Wait The Witwiccans? the one Merlin founded?

Edmund: Precisely my dear but should also add that they are the last living descendant of Merlin

Constantine who drops his lit cigarette: Fuckin hell and here I thought that man died a virgin HA!

Superman: And what is the all spark?

Optimus Prime: The All spark is a very powerful and ancient artifact from our old planet Cybertron, it has been documented by our people that it has the essence of our creator Primus himself.

Justice League looks more concerned:

Batman: And what danger does it bring to earth?

Optimus and the rest file them in about the years of war between the Autobots and decepticons, the destruction of Cybertron, they're arrival to Earth and explaining why the All Spark must never land in the hands of someone like Megatron or anything one with evil intentions.

Superman: Then as a fellow Alien that has took refuge and promise to protect Earth, We will help you but you must promise not to endanger the life of this Witwicky kid.

Batman: Now the only problem we need to solve is their whereabouts.

Edmund: Oh don't bother with that I had Hot Rod and Bumblebee fetch them earlier this morning.

Cue in a racing expensive red Lamborghini and yellow Chevrolet Camaro before transforming in the air and lands with You in Bumblebee's hand.

Reader: Hi! I don't know what's happening I didn't do it if you think I'm the suspect, I won't tell you anything till I get my lawyer.

The rest are in shock to see tiny you while Edmund greets you and distracts you from the rest.

The batfam and the rest of the league looks at Batman for an explanation

The younger heroes and sidekicks are amaze when they got a proper introduction from who you are.

Not Neglected Reader part:

Batfam are more proud about you but a bit worried because of the large problem you now have to carry on your shoulders but is happy you got tons of literal giant robot aliens to protect you along with the other heroes.

Neglected Reader part:

Batfam are shock to know the real you and what amazing things you've been hiding from your family, not only are you this legendary person that can locate and has the power to use a life giving artifact you've also been hiding your true self from them as they watch you interact with the Autobots and how you become comfortable and be expressive to them, you might be small and just a kid to their eyes but to the Autobots it's like you're their world.

----

THAT'S ALL I GOT FOLKS!

Tell me if ya like it I might make this after I finish or laid down NMC! this doesn't have to be Yandere btw

[miguelhugger2099]

OMG imagine the one bed trope w miguel. like idk why itd happen, maybe like they’re scoping out an anomaly in another universe and somehow the portal back gets blocked and they gotta stay the night at a hotel, but miguel and reader are stuck in the same bed (she SWEARS she booked two beds but oops! all the rooms are filled up!) and like oh no they need this hotel!! so at first they’re really rigid and like miguel’s all tense, he’s like “i’ll sleep on the floor” but reader is like “no it’s okay we can share! i don’t move a lot in my sleep anyway” (that’s a lie btw.) so then like miguel’s wide awake in the middle of the night, and reader keeps shifting in her sleep, and they end up in a pretty compromising position if ykwim… and then maybe she wakes up and finds miguel like so flustered and starts teasing him a bit and then things heat up ofc… idk just a thought! it’s been so long since i’ve seen the one bed trope tbh. (fem reader btw plssss)

Forced Proximity

i tried with my best with this 🫠 i wanted to try something new instead of regular p in v i hope that's okay 😭 thank u for requesting! if anything, i'd be happy to redo this when my requests open again

Miguel x Reader, Suggestive/Smut, Word Count: 2,271

Just as you and Miguel were about to shoot your webs at the new anomaly, a black bubbly portal opened up and sucked them up into another dimension. “Dammit!” You cursed, groaning at the convenience of an anomaly escaping. Miguel is already beside you, mask eyes squinted in focus as he clicks buttons on his watch. “Where’d he run off to?” You ask him. “No clue. Trying to track him now but the touchpad isn’t responding.” He grunts and furiously taps his screen but it seems to be glitching. He tries to open a portal back to HQ but it only warbles a little bit before shutting close again. “Let me try.” You lift up your watch to try and press the same coordinates when it responds the same way: a little warping but it shuts close. “Lyla,” Miguel calls out and she pops up between you two. “Run an analysis on our watches.” Her small heart glasses fog up with various numbers and letters, codes that only she knows. “Looks like the watches are bugged, Mig. Probably an effect the anomaly had.” “So we’re stranded?” You rip off your mask and place a hand on your hip. “Yup!” She nods. “For how long?” Miguel pinches his nose bridge with his finger and thumb.

“Well, most part-time spiders are off doing other missions in other dimensions and the other half of them have the day off. No one will be available until morning.” “So, we’re staying the night.” You lift your arms up and slap them down. “I’m finding a hotel.” You turn and look around for any around you two. Miguel sighs and faces Lyla. “Is there another way home? Are we safe from the glitching?” Lyla nods, pulling up frames and data for him to look at. “Safe from glitching. Probably just a program issue. Maybe an update issue. Unfortunately, not even Margo is at HQ so your next bet is waiting for a spider to portal you two back.” She explains and glitches out of the air. He tries to find a new solution but comes up short, deciding to just accept it before he grows angry. Miguel hears you calling his name as you run back to where Lyla and him were standing. “Okay, I found a hotel! I talked to this lady up front–luckily the currency is the same as yours–and we got extra lucky,” You huffed with a wide smile on your face. “They’re pretty busy but she managed to get us a room with two beds and two bathrooms. Left her a tip, hope you don’t mind.” You placed your hands on your hips and continued to grin at the frown on his lips.

Miguel rolled his eyes and called for Lyla, her little form glitching back and perching on his shoulder. “Lyla, get back to base. Let the others know we’ve been stranded and call for backup whenever someone’s available.” Her vibrant yellow glare shifts as she moves, her hand coming up in a salute and a police hat glitching on her head. “You got it, boss! Have fun you two!” She giggles and phases out. Miguel passes by you coldly, heading for the hotel where you booked for the night. You yawn behind him, just wanting to rest after a wasted day of failing to catch an anomaly. You walked through the hallways of the hotel, checking down at your key for the number of your room. Once you found it, you slipped the keycard on the lock and opened the door. “Home sweet–” You cut yourself off after peeking into the room and what greeted you was a singular bed. “Wha–?!” You glanced back at the roomkey number and the plate outside, finding the two matching that this was indeed your room for the night. “I swear I asked for two–” “I’ll take the floor.” Miguel grumbles behind you, his entire frame stiff and rigid. You take a look up at him and his face is unamused and staring straight ahead to avoid your eye. “No, it’s–it’s fine,” You chuckle nervously and walk over to the bed. You pat the edge of it and try to convince yourself and Miguel that everything was fine. “There’s so much space. It’s like–what– a king size? We have plenty of room to share!” Miguel doesn’t seem convinced in the slightest, already making a move to grab a pillow. “I don’t even move that much in my sleep! Promise! Pinky promise.” You hold up your pinky to Miguel and he stops to stare at your hand with a deadpan expression. “Fine.” He grunts, placing the pillow back down and not wanting to deal with you any further since he was exhausted.

You, in fact, actually do move a lot in your sleep–Miguel figured out. He really was exhausted and expected himself to pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow but with you next to him, it was like the energy hadn’t left his body. He laid there straight as a pole with the blanket at his chest and staring at the ceiling. You were in dreamland, snoozing and sprawled on the mattress– blissfully unaware of Miguel’s misery by the situation at hand. You shifted around in your sleep, your hand hitting his shoulder or your leg bumping against his ankle. Miguel could handle it. He’s spent many uncomfortable all-nighters so he thought to himself that one more wouldn’t be too damaging for him. It wasn’t until you moved further to his side of the bed that had Miguel’s heart racing. You turned to his side, throwing your leg over his and your arm draped around his neck to bring him closer to you. His arm instinctively went under your body and held your waist while you pressed yourself against him, so as to not make the position uncomfortable for either of you. Miguel’s cheeks burned while you nuzzled to his chest, acting like he was some sort of teddy bear. He hoped his heartbeat wouldn’t wake you from your slumber. Your thighs were close together and any closer you’d start accidentally grinding on him. Miguel looked back up at the ceiling and prayed that you’d move soon.

His prayers were not answered. You woke up after feeling a bit too much heat and it became unbearable to sleep through. You blinked away the sleep groggily, wondering why the pillow you had been on had gotten a little more firm. You lifted your head to see you weren’t on your pillow but basically cuddling up against your boss. You looked down to see your legs intertwined together and turned your head to apologize when you stopped seeing Miguel’s cheeks flush red. His eyes did not meet yours but you felt the pounding of his heart. A smile curled up on your lips, apology wiped off your mind and instead leaning into wanting to taunt him for how shy he’s acting. “Miguel,” You tease with a bit of laughter. “Aw, c’mon. A little accidental cuddle gets you nervous?” Miguel glares at you from the corner of his eye. As you laugh, you continue moving against him. You don’t notice how he takes a sharp inhale when your knee brushes against his crotch as you lift yourself up. Your hands rest on either side of his head. “Did you even sleep? Or did you just stay up all night like some perv?” You snort, having the time of your life seeing your usually sulking boss look so cute with red scattered across his cheeks. Miguel squeezes your waist then uses both his hands to grab you and force you down on his thigh. You gasp in shock, all playfulness leaving your body as your core hits his firm muscle. The action ignites a spark in your chest that sends it straight between your legs, making you whimper, all in a split second.

You snap your head towards him, cheeks already burning and mouth dropped open in shock. Miguel meets it with a cheshire like grin, his own blush on his cheeks but less now that you’re  more flustered than him. “Careful,” He says. “Wouldn’t want to be some sort of perv, huh?” You could’ve sworn his voice dropped down an octave. You stutter, unable to respond back as he rendered you speechless. His thigh flexed and it sent a jolt up your spine with your cunt throbbing which he felt. Maybe it was him being tired, drained from the day that he was acting out of character. Too tired to care about the consequences while his mind clouded and numbed his usual feelings. For now, he enjoyed the way your hands gripped onto his shoulders, cute eyes wide open and feeling the delicious beat of your pussy on his thigh. He rubs your hips on his thigh, his muscle flexing to put some stimulation to your pussy. You squeak and lean forward as the pleasure runs through your body and makes you grow hot. “Miguel…!” You gasp and moan. You automatically grind yourself on him and his grin widens, leaning back to see the show. Miguel feels your wetness seep through the thin fabric of your suit and panties onto his own suit. He phases just a small part of his thigh out his suit to feel just how wet you’ve gotten with a little teasing. “Already?” He murmurs and your cheeks burn brightly. “You like this, huh?” “Fuck…” You huff out, hanging your head to not meet his gaze. Your nails dig into his shoulder as he moves your hips. “C’mon. Show me how much you like this.” You know he was only doing this to get back at you for teasing him, for booking a one bed instead of two and with how his patience had run out from being stranded here, you decided not to test that anger anymore.

So you slowly moved up and down his thigh with a soft whimper, shutting your eyes close while you did so. Your breathing grew heavy, and you shook with every slight movement on his end. Slowly, you picked up speed, the lust flooding your mind and the pace you were going at hadn’t been enough. You humped his thigh faster, still opting out of looking down at him. “Shit…Not enough…” You murmured under your breath, not thinking he’d heard you over the accumulating wet sounds on his skin and shuffling of bed sheets. “Let me help.” You hear him say and feel his hand by the zipper of your suit at the nape of your neck. Weak from your pleasure, you let him tug your suit off your torso. Miguel tapped your thighs as a signal to lift yourself up while he slipped the rest of it off you. You were now bare in front of him, his hands placed back at your hips. You still felt embarrassed, trying to cover up your chest with your arms and hands. Miguel wasn’t having it, growing annoyed at you covering yourself. He cupped the back of your neck and pulled you flushed down on his chest. “Keep going.” He growled. The rumble of his voice went straight to your cunt once more, succumbing to him as you began grinding yourself on him, skin to skin. Your folds smeared your juices on his thighs coating him in your wetness. The swollen nub of your clit rolled deliciously between you and his thigh and you panted softly as you tried chasing you high.

“There you go. That’s it.” Miguel murmured, bucking his thigh to your pussy to the same pace of your humping. He held your hip with one hand to help you and his other hand raked up and down your back, his talons scratching your flesh. “You’re doing so good. Good girl riding my thigh, yeah?” He purred which made you groan and buck your hips faster. “Miguel…” You breathed out. “More, more.” You pleaded. His talons pricked your skin. “Cum on my thigh first and maybe I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Peter B. met you two once the portal fully opened up in your stranded dimension. He greeted you with a smile, Mayday babbling in her carrier. “Hey! Glad you guys survived the night. Took a minute to get you guys. Sorry about that.” He playfully punched Miguel’s and your shoulder. You beamed at him and held Mayday’s little hand, wiggling it around softly enough to make her giggle. “Hope it wasn’t agonizing.” Peter chuckles to you. You chuckle back and step away from Mayday, giving the two a smile. “Not at all. He’s surprisingly good company.” Miguel doesn’t react behind you. “Oh, yeah? Must be going soft. Big guy isn’t just pleasant for anybody.” Peter says. “Funny how things work out.” You grin and turn around to peck Miguel’s cheek and walk towards the portal. “I’ll see you guys later?” You give a wink and slip into the portal, your body phasing out and leaving the two men behind. Peter gapes at the warping space where you had just left and slowly turns to Miguel to see his friend, very much stiff but his face has a slight tint to it. “Did something happen–” Miguel shoves his face aside and phases his mask over his head to hide his cheeks. “Cállate.” He mutters and enters into the portal towards his dimension.

Peter gets snapped out of his stupor by Mayday babbling and waving her arms around as if cheering Miguel and you on. Peter looks down at her and grabs her little hand in his. “He’s growin’ up, huh?” Mayday squeals.

[marlynnofmany]

Unlikely Tech Problems

I reported to the cargo bay for our next delivery, and found concerned faces. Captain Sunlight waited by the door, scaly browridges angled into a dignified frown, while Mimi gestured wildly with his tentacles. I’d expected Mur to come with us instead. Something was up.

Before I could ask, the captain waved me over. “The other ship’s communications appear to be down,” she said. “Additional problems are possible as well. Keep your nostrils open for trouble.”

“Right,” I said, choosing not to comment on the Heatseeker phrasing. “Do we know if they’re okay?”

“They should be,” she replied with one clawed finger pointed at the closed bay door, which blocked the view of a busy spaceport. “The crew member who exited their ship to wave us over didn’t look distressed. And Wio isn’t picking up any alert signals or other causes for alarm.”

Mimi rumbled, “But we’re cautiously alarmed anyway.” He made quite a contrast to the captain, with his voice so much rougher and his attitude grumpier than usual today. Plus all the tentacles. I wondered what he expected the problem to be. Or maybe he just wasn’t looking forward to being mechanic-for-hire as a favor for regular clients. Though I’m sure the captain would have given him a bonus for that.

“We are simply cautious,” said Captain Sunlight. “We’ll head out as soon as—”

Something hissed behind me.

“I hearrrr of thrrrreatening circumsssstanssses?” asked Trrili, sounding pleased.

I turned to see our largest and scariest crewmate doing her favorite thing: looming. Well, second favorite thing, after jumping out and startling people. It was probably good that she enjoyed being terrifying, because with an appearance that was a mix of praying mantis, black widow spider, and unholy nightmares, she was really good at it.

Captain Sunlight was unfazed. “Potentially threatening,” she corrected. “If you will kindly observe in case of problems, I would appreciate it.”

Trrili crouched lower and flexed her pincher arms. “Yesss.”

(Unnecessary hissing is her third favorite thing to do.)

“Right. They’ll be waiting.” The captain stepped forward and opened the bay door — with the airlock engaged. She really wasn’t taking any chances. I wondered if Wio was watching from the cockpit, ready to call the local authorities if need be.

Yeah, of course she was.

The first three of us cycled through the airlock, then waited on the tarmac while Trrili followed. The spaceport was a big one, with ships in all the nearby parking spots and people hustling to and fro. (They're more properly called berths or bays or something, but whatever; they're parking spots. Everybody there could land vertically, and the areas were sorted by ship size.)  I didn’t know which ship held the package we were meant to be picking up. Hopefully it was close.

By the time Trrili stepped out, the ship directly across from us had opened its own bay door, this one without any sort of airlock precautions. A snow-white Heatseeker trotted out and waved us forward. I was glad that the local weather was slightly overcast, since between those white scales and Captain Sunlight’s yellow, I would have been doing a lot of squinting on a bright day.

“Piercing Sunlight!” exclaimed the client. “Good to smell you.”

“Hello, Toothbone,” said the captain. “Always a pleasure. Is your comm system down?”

Toothbone swished her tail. “A precautionary measure. We had a bit of machinery repaired, and it came back with suspicious programming. We’re making sure it’s not malicious before connecting with any other ships, just to be sure.”

Captain Sunlight nodded while Trrili made a quiet hiss of disappointment. “Very sensible,” the captain said. “I trust this won’t affect the package you want us to deliver?”

“No, not at all. It’s a textile piece that one of our crew made on commission for someone on their home planet, no technology involved. Right this way.”

She led us up the ramp into their cargo bay, which had a lower ceiling than ours. Trrili and I both had to duck a little. The Heatseekers and Mimi didn’t notice.

Toothbone pointed out an awkwardly-shaped box that probably held an art frame as well as the promised cloth, and Captain Sunlight tactfully brought out the payment tablet.

Angry voices echoed down the hallway. Trrili perked up and edged forward; I stepped aside to let her while Mimi squashed down beside the package. Captain Sunlight glanced up but didn’t say anything. Toothbone just looked tired.

Since neither of them told her not to, Trrili opened the door and stuck her head out. Somebody shrieked. The sounds of the argument stopped.

“Isssss therrre a prrroblem?” Trrili purred.

“No — well yes, but not — who are you?” someone asked while other voices muttered in the background.

“Courrrierrr,” Trrili said.

“Thank you for your concern,” said an officious voice. “If you don’t mind—”

“Hey, is that a human?” asked another voice, and I saw brown eyes peeking around Trrili. “They’ll back me up! Hang on a sec. ‘Scuse me.”

Trrili stepped back as a slender human with dark skin and a wild-colored shirt skipped past. He hurried over to me. I braced for whatever conversation was about to happen.

“Hi,” he said earnestly. “Please tell me you’ve heard of the thing where people program old Earth games into unlikely bits of tech.”

“Sure!” I said. “My cousin put Doom in a hoverbike’s display screen once.”

“Yes!” He pointed at me and pumped a fist in the air, then turned back to the scaly faces in the hall. “You see?”

I connected the dots. “Did your repaired piece of tech come back with a game on it?”

He whirled, wild-eyed. “Yes! One of the repair guys is a buddy of mine, and he must have done it as a joke. I’ve been trying to explain it, but nobody believes me!”

“What tech is it?” I asked.

“Part of the medbay,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Somebody sprained their tail, and the medic went to scan it for breaks, then they ended up with a screen full of demons and gunfire.”

I tried not to laugh. “Is it actually Doom in your medbay??”

He dragged his hands over his face. “It’s Doom in the medbay.”

“That’s amazing!”

By this point the other Heatseekers had made their way in to join the conversation, and to be formally introduced. Things got a bit chaotic. But I confirmed for the alien crew that yes, this was a thing humans did sometimes, and no, it was not a threat to the ship. Alarming yes, but not any form of viral attack.

Trrili was a bit disappointed, but everyone else was relieved. Captain Sunlight managed to steer the conversation back to courier business.

The other human shook his head next to me. “I can’t believe my friend did that. Well no, I can believe it; this is definitely his sort of thing. But jeez.”

“You might consider sending him another old Earth tradition in return,” I suggested with a grin. “Possibly a max-volume rickroll?”

He grinned back. “I might. I might indeed.”

~~~

Inspired by this thread. Thanks for the idea, @sleepyowlet!

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).