SpiderPool Steddie Part One
So, this is definitely gonna have multiple parts lmao
It's been bouncing around my brain for a while like the Addams Family Steddie AU lol
Anyway, lemme know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts ^_^
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Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls is, at best, a dive bar. At worst, it's a cesspit in which the scummiest people in the city gather to bask in each other's scumminess. To Steve, however, it's the perfect place to collapse after a long patrol, splayed out like a starfish on the roof as the music playing inside vibrates the building itself.
Steve takes a deep breath, setting his bat down next to him before pushing his mask to the bridge of his nose. He then lies down on the roof, wishing not for the first time that the city's light pollution wasn't so bad. Seeing the stars and hunting for constellations would really help him ignore the cracked ribs screaming inside his chest and threatening to break if he even breathes wrong.
All things considered, though, it could be worse. Steve doesn't have any morning classes, Vecna didn't beat him up nearly as bad as he usually does during their fight earlier, and his accelerated healing means Steve will be able to breathe normally by morning. Robin would tell him he has a very low bar when it comes to judging how shitty his life currently is, but she isn't here, so her opinion doesn't matter. Dustin would tell him he should try not getting his ass whooped in the future. Thankfully, he also isn't here, making his opinion as meaningful as Robin's.
Steve closes his eyes, letting his shoulders relax and trying not to think about anything. It sort of works until his entire body suddenly tenses, every nerve on edge and goosebumps shooting across his arms. He shoots up, ignoring the harsh twinge in his ribs as he turns in a crouch and grabs his bat. Steve clenches his jaw, breathing harshly through his nose to keep from groaning in pain, and feels relieved he didn't completely remove his mask completely.
Over by the door leading to a staircase is a guy with ripped jeans, a worn-out shirt with "HELLFIRE CLUB" across the chest, a jean vest covered in patches and pins, and hair pulled back out of his face with a few wavy strands stubbornly escaping his hair tie. He's breathing a little heavily, his face flushed like he's just climbed a few flights of stairs. Actually, he probably has.
"Woah," the guy says, his voice soft enough that Steve would have missed it if not for the enhanced hearing. The guy clears his throat and holds up both hands, showing off a bottle of Jack Daniels in one and a bag with a grease-stained bottom in the other. "Uh, I come in peace. I didn't realize the rooftop was taken."
Steve has no clue what possesses him, but he forces himself to relax and set the bat down. "No, it's okay. I can head out," he says, staying seated despite his words. He's really hoping the guy will insist he doesn't need to; his ribs are still aching like a bitch.
Thankfully, the guy flashes a grin and slowly lowers his hands. "Nah, you're all good. Not every day I get to eat next to a hero. Want some fries?" he asks, walking over and sitting a good two feet away so there's plenty of room between them.
He tears open the bag to create an impromptu plate and puts it between them, the smell of greasy and undoubtedly delicious fries tempting enough that Steve picks up a smaller one and pops it into his mouth. "Thanks. Where are these from?" Steve asks, glancing over as the guy twists the cap of his bottle and takes a swig.
"A burger joint two streets down and one street over. On the corner."
Steve nods, making a mental note of the directions so he can get a burger before swinging home. He's got just enough in his pocket to afford one. "So, got a name?" Steve asks, figuring he's already eating the guy's fries and they're about to spend some time together on this roof. He should know the guy's name.
The guy's grin returns, and he sets the bottle down between them as well. It's tempting, but Steve doesn't trust his alcohol tolerance to hold up while his body is busy fixing his ribs. "Eddie. Do I get to know your name, too?"
Steve snorts and leans away slightly, putting a bit more distance between Eddie and his entirely too-grabbable mask. "Nice try," he says.
"Worth a shot," Eddie says, shrugging as he picks up a few fries. "So, Spider-Man, what brings you to Sister Margaret's? You enjoy the gay metal scene?"
"What's the difference between gay and regular metal?"
"Our hair is better," Eddie explains, dramatically flipping the few strands of hair escaping his tie.
Steve has to hold back a second snort, taking another fry and chewing on it before saying, "I like resting here after patrol. The whole building shakes with the music."
Eddie lights up, his eyes brightening and his back straightening some. "So, you're a fan of Corroded Coffin," he says, taking another swig of the Jack Daniels. It's only now that Steve realizes it's already a quarter of the way gone, and he wonders if Eddie's liver can handle that much alcohol all at once.
"Is that the name of the band?"
"Yep. They play here almost every night."
"I'm guessing you like them, too, then?"
Eddie hums, amusement dancing across his expression now, giving Steve the distinct feeling that there's some secret he simply isn't in on. "They're the best band I've ever heard. Their music is incredible. They really push the boundaries of the genre. And their lyrics? Amazingly layered with at least three meanings per line. I highly recommend actually coming in for a listen one of these days," Eddie says, leaning a little closer to Steve.
A beat of silence passes in which Steve holds Eddie's gaze. Or, he holds the gaze on his end; he's sure Eddie can't actually tell with the mask covering his eyes. "You're in the band," Steve says.
"Lead guitarist and singer, yes. I also write the songs."
"You're incredibly critical of yourself, really grounded in reality."
Eddie barks out a laugh. "I just happen to know my worth incredibly well."
"You have all the confidence of a mediocre white man on a job hunt."
Eddie gasps, placing a hand on his chest as he looks at Steve. "How dare you call me mediocre. I am revolutionary at worst and the second coming at best."
"You know the second coming involves, like, an apocalypse or something, right?"
"I'm Jewish, why would I bother with the fine details?" Well, Steve will give him that. "By the way," Eddie says, gesturing to Steve's bat as he continues, "do those nails actually see any use? Or are they just there to act as a threat?"
Steve looks down at his bat, considering it for a moment before carefully holding the middle and offering the handle to Eddie. Now that he's giving them a few moments of attention, he's realizing the nails embedded in the end are a little rusty and definitely need cleaning. "I try not to be deadly with it, but Vecna's got these lab-grown demon dogs and bats that always manage to break through my webs," Steve explains.
He watches as Eddie takes the bat, weighing it in his hands before shoving his palm into the nails. Steve jerks, a wordless shout escaping his throat as he launches himself over the fries and in front of Eddie. "Are you okay?!" he asks, grabbing Eddie's hand and shakily inspecting the nails sticking through it. Fuck, those are going to be a bitch to get out, and he'll probably have to swing Eddie to the hospital for a tetanus shot.
Being angry doesn't even register in his brain as Eddie laughs. "Don't worry about it, Spidey," he says, pulling his hand off the nails with a slight wince. He wiggles his fingers, letting Steve have a front-row seat to the injuries closing. "See, good as new."
And he's right. The injuries are good as new. In fact, there isn't even any scarring, and Steve almost rips his mask off to take a closer look but stops himself at the last minute. Instead, he grabs Eddie's hand and yanks it closer, turning it over to check his palm, too. "What the fuck?" he asks, looking up at Eddie, still gripping his hand tight.
"Super healing," Eddie explains. "Like, super duper. If I ever get decapitated, just hold my head to my neck, and I'll be right as rain."
"I'd rather not put that claim to the test," Steve says, frowning slightly as he runs his fingers over Eddie's palms, just to make sure the injuries aren't somehow hidden from sight.
"You know, I kissed the last guy who touched my palm like that," Eddie says, leaning in again with that grin.
Suddenly all Steve can think about is how Eddie's lips do look soft. And it has been a while since Steve actually kissed anyone. And he does think Eddie is funny. And he does find himself wondering if his smile will taste like the Jack Daniels and fries. And...and...
And Steve needs to go before he does anything he shouldn't be doing as Spider-Man.
He jerks back, dropping Eddie's hand like it burns, and ignores the ache in his ribs as he grabs his bat and stands. "I, uh, I need to get going. Thanks for the fries, Eddie," he says, hurrying over to the edge of the roof.
"Woah, just gonna eat and run on me, big boy?" Eddie asks, scrambling to his feet and over to where Steve is climbing onto the edge of the roof. "That's not very hero-like of you. You haven't even left me your name or number. How are you gonna pay me back $2.50 for the fries?"
"I had five," Steve says, turning to look at Eddie as he webs his bat to his back and pulls his mask down over his chin.
"The economy sucks, man."
Okay, he's got Steve there. Again. "Nice try, Eddie."
"Can you blame a guy? Your ass looks great in that spandex."
Steve is suddenly relieved his mask is back down, covering the furious blush spreading across his cheeks. He'd think it was just a joke, but the sincere and somewhat goofy smile tugging at Eddie's lips tells him it's more genuine than anything else. "Thanks," Steve says, giving Eddie a two-finger salute before taking a step back off the roof.
He shoots a web at the edge of the building, using the momentum to swing around the corner. His ribs are killing him with the movement, but he still manages to throw a, "See you later, Eds!" over his shoulder before he's completely out of earshot.
Later, Steve will wonder how Eddie got his super healing, if he's that flirtatious with every guy he meets on the roof of Sister Margaret's, and if he'll be there the next time Steve swings by. But that's for later. For now, he's just enjoying the breeze rushing over him and thinking about Eddie's eyes and his smile and his long fingers.
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meet cute
luffy x reader, law x reader, kid x reader
a trilogy of short fics ft. the captain trio
what happens when a pirate takes the last pastry?
0.9k words
a/n: this bakery that i go to is always sold out by the time i go in the afternoon, so i went at 7am and finally got more than just leftovers and it was sooo worth it
when monkey d. luffy meets you, he doesn't even see you at first because you're hidden behind the mountain of baked goods on his tray. sure, maybe he overdid it but they all looked too good to stop at one. and if anyone asks, he plans on having them all himself.
unless there's a good reason to, luffy doesn't share.
you start packing his order, the mountain slowly shrinking with each bun, as you sneak glances at the guy in the straw hat on the other side of the counter. he's cute and friendly, and you think this is the shortest amount of time it took for you to crush on a guy.
making small talk, you ask him about his day ("it's great now! there's so many options here!") and he asks you about your favourite pastry.
"oh, it's this one!" you point at the last bread on his tray, "but it's always sold out by the time i'm on lunch."
to which luffy frowns, thinking about how unfair it is that someone as nice and cute as you doesn't get to enjoy their favourite treat.
you take his coins, blushing when your fingers brush his, and thank him for coming by, wondering when you'll see him next.
it turns out that the answer is very soon.
because 10 minutes later, luffy comes flying into the shop, landing right next to you with a little laugh and your favourite pastry in his hand,
"here," he grins. "for you."
luffy doesn't mind sharing if it's for a good reason — and your wonderfully surprised smile is a pretty damn good reason.
trafalgar law thinks to himself that if it wasn't bepo's birthday, he would've left the bakery ages ago. but now he stands here, surrounded by nothing but bread, and he realizes that unless he wants to skip lunch, he's gonna have to find something to eat.
what shitty luck.
he eyes the last tuna bun and grabs it, thinking about how this'll have to do, when someone knocks into his arm and the bun goes flying out of his hands.
he whirls around, ready to unleash his hangry fury, but his complaints die on his tongue when he discovers who bumped into him — a pretty, adorable thing.
"oh my god! i'm so sorry!" you yelp. "oh no, there's none left..."
you fuss over the empty display, but law's already forgotten about his fallen bun. you're far too cute, with a faint tinge of pink in your cheeks, for him to care about a pastry he wasn't going to enjoy.
"wait!" you rummage through your bag. "it's not a tuna bun but it's close?"
you offer him an onigiri, one with bits of grilled fish, and law can hardly believe that he's staring at his salvation.
his handsome face breaks into a wide smile and you can't help but do the same. your eyes are warm, a soft smile dancing on your lips, and there's a sugary sweet feeling in law's chest when you hand him the rice ball.
what wondrous luck.
he takes his favourite food from your hands and thinks that maybe — just maybe — bakeries aren't so bad.
the only thing eustass kid is thinking about right now is how much he's going to enjoy eating this chocolate danish. he reaches into the display to grab the last one, but instead of a flaky pastry, his fingers find a soft hand.
"excuse me," you say. "i'm just trying to reach the danish."
kid gives you the onceover (pretty, he thinks). "ya should be excused. that's my danish."
you narrow your eyes at the boldness of this rude (albeit, hot) stranger. "says who?"
"says me."
"and who are you exactly?"
kid puffs his chest, "eustass kid."
you scrunch your nose and cross your arms, "you mean the boorish pirate who raided that south blue island?"
"i- boorish?" kid gapes incredulously.
"did i stutter?" you scoff. "you pirates are awful. the more good looking you are, the ruder you are."
you blush slightly at the admission, but kid's too riled up to even notice (though later, he'll remember it and grin).
"do you insult everyone that you meet?" he grits.
"i don't know, do you steal food from everyone that you meet?"
"listen," kid leans over you, catching a whiff of your shampoo (which just so happens to be his favourite scent). "i already said that the danish is mine."
unwilling to be intimidated, you jab a finger in his (extremely muscular) chest. "you damned pirates always take what you want - absolutely zero consideration for the rest of us."
"you're no angel either, sweetheart. generalizations don't look good on anyone — not even cute hotties like you."
your cheeks flush hot, "you-!"
"me, what? look who's stuttering now, huh?" he goads, getting even closer to your face now.
"you really-"
"mommy, look! i got the last one!"
both of you snap out of it just in time to see a little girl grab the pastry you were fighting over. dumbfounded, you look at kid and just when you're about to curse him out, he cuts you off.
"well, looks like neither of us get what we wanted," he says.
then, kid turns back towards you with a devilishly handsome grin, "but now i kinda want you, so how about i buy ya dinner instead?"
(spoiler: you say yes.)
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