I. Modesty
Gwen liked to think of herself as a modest lady.
At least, that was what Mother always told her to be. A lady never raised her voice. A lady never discussed the size of her fabric stash. A lady never revealed her secrets.
Well, that last part she could agree with; there was indeed a secret Gwen didn't think she could ever tell.
She was attracted to her cousin Ben. And to make matters worse—she was attracted to one of his alien forms: Big fucking Chill.
Yes, the Necrofriggian from the Kylmyys planet. A species that asexually reproduces and lays eggs. Literally. Talk about a complicated family tree.
One minute, she was sharing popcorn with her cousin, and the next, she was swooning over a frosty blue alien who could freeze a lake with a breath. It was enough to make a girl question her sanity—and her taste in, well, anything.
Gwen had come to terms with the fact that she couldn't escape the stereotype of the 'good girl who loves bad things.' She even conducted some research on the psychological phenomenon in an attempt to understand her alien-attracted brain (because, why not?)
This is what Gwen discovered:
Self-Perception: struggles with self-esteem and feels the need to constantly prove themselves. (True)
Thrill-Seeking: "bad seeds" can appeal to those who may feel their lives are too routine or predictable. (True)
Rebellion Against Norms: trying to meet those perfect expectations day in and day out can take a toll on your mental health. (True)
With a heavy sigh, Gwen couldn't help but see the (painfully) obvious impact her mother had on all three points. She liked to blame all of her questionable tastes on her mommy issues. But at the end of the day, Gwen wasn't entirely a human herself; her last name was Tennyson.
Ever since she was a kid, she had loved the thrill, the... awesomeness (as someone liked to throw it around). There had never been a dull moment playing hero with Ben, especially when he transformed into a creature whose mere presence could send temperatures plummeting.
Sure, he was technically her cousin's alien form, but that just added an extra layer of complexity to her crush. They could bond over shared bloodlines and shared excitement—yeah, talk about family bonding!
II. Shut up
It occurred to her later that attraction and panic were strangely closely related.
She knew she cared, however uncomfortable that was, and she—she let him touch her. Like she didn't with most people. A hand on her arm, a bump of his shoulder against hers mid-fight, the least awful princess-carry while flying she had ever experienced.
But Gwen had never looked at a person before—least of all an alien—and felt something heavy hot curl in her gut, a strange catch in her breath. It was an awful kind of awareness, one that made her pulse hammer and her body tense in ways she didn't know how to explain—things in her, from her brain to her toes, coiling and contracting in ways she... had never expected to happen.
She was eighteen and she had never wanted anyone. Not for sex. Not... like that. She'd been sort of assumed she was immune.
Gwen was not immune.
The realization didn't strike her in some quiet, reflective moment where she could sit down and process it with a cup of tea. No, she realized it mid-battle, in the absolute worst way possible.
It was a cold night, even for Bellwood, and she could still see the white wisps of her breath in the air when the Plumbers' alarm blared. She and Ben had barely exchanged words before rushing off to handle whatever alien nonsense had decided to ruin their evening. Ben, ever predictable, had gone for power over subtlety, leading with Humungousaur before switching tactics.
And then, in the middle of an ice-slicked street, he turned into him.
Gwen had seen the transformation countless times. The eerie blue glow, the phase shift of his body, the spread of his wings that darkened the sky above them.
Maybe it was in the way he moved, the way his wings folded around him like a phantom's cloak, the way his claws flexed before releasing an arctic gale. Or the way his voice came out in that deep, whispering rasp. Something twisted inside her—something raw and unwilling to be ignored.
No, no, no, not now—
Gwen darted through the fray, her heart pounding not just from the adrenaline of the fight but from something else entirely. As Big Chill swooped down to shield her from an attack, he turned to face her, and Gwen felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks, momentarily mesmerized. For a split second, time seemed to freeze. The chaos around them faded away, and all she could see was him—the alien form of her cousin, yet so much more.
She had watched him do it countless times, but this time, she felt it.
A sharp pull in her stomach. A tightening in her chest. The mortifying, traitorous realization that some part of her wanted to get closer, wanted to—
"Watch out!"
Big Chill's voice broke through just in time for her to dodge an incoming blast. Gwen forced herself to move, throwing up a mana shield to block a stray shot, trying to snap her focus back where it belonged. But it was impossible to ignore the way her body reacted—like her entire system had just been rewired. She always assumed that whatever chemical mess made people go stupid over each other had skipped her entirely.
And yet, here she was.
"I'll handle this side!" Gwen shouted back, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. She couldn't afford to get distracted—not now, not ever.
When the battle ended, they were victorious, but Gwen felt more exhausted than ever. Her body ached, but it was nothing compared to the chaos in her mind. As they regrouped, Ben transformed back into his human form, sweat glistening on his brow.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched on his face. "You seemed a little… distracted back there."
Gwen forced a laugh, trying to mask her internal turmoil. "Yeah, just… caught up in the moment."
Yeah, in the middle of a fight. With aliens trying to kill her. Realizing that she might have a thing for her cousin's alien form.
III. Shut up!
She chalked it up to a strange fluke and put it out of her mind.
It was less optimism and more denial.
They won the fight and went back to the Rustbucket like nothing had happened. Standard hero routine. She should have been able to put this behind her.
This is fine, Gwen told herself, gripping the edges of her book as she pretended to read. I'm fine. This is nothing. Just some dumb post-battle adrenaline messing with me.
Ben, blissfully unaware of the existential crisis he'd just triggered, flopped onto the couch beside her, grabbing a soda from the fridge before cracking it open with his thumb. "So," he started, voice careful, "You sure you're okay?"
She kept her eyes glued to the page. "Yes."
"You seem weird."
"I'm always weird."
He gave her a look. "Okay, weirder than usual."
Gwen turned the page—or at least, she wanted to appear that way; her eyes hadn't processed a single word on it.
Ben took a sip of his drink, silent as if thinking to himself. Then, his eyes lit up. "Ohhh, wait. Were you, like... impressed?"
She stiffened.
"You were, weren't you?" He nudged her arm with his elbow, that stupid cocky grin stretching across his face. "I knew it. Of course you think Big Chill is cool!"
"No," she said way too fast.
Ben snickered. "Uh-huh."
"Ben."
"Come on, admit it," he teased. "I saw the way you looked at me—"
No, you didn't.
"—when I froze that guy mid-air. That was, like, peak hero material. You totally think I'm awesome—'"
Gwen launched a pillow at his head. Ben dodged, still cackling, clearly pleased with himself. "This is so going in the memory bank."
She groaned, slumping against the armrest, feeling the full weight of her sins crashing down on her. This was hell. This was the punishment for every bad thing she'd ever done.
Ben took another sip of his soda, still smirking. "So, for real—who's cooler? Me or Big Chill?"
"Is that supposed to be a trick question?" she replied, closing the half-read book in her lap. "Because every other alien form is cooler than you."
"Very funny," Ben rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. "I'm definitely cooler than Walkatrout, and The Worst."
"It's debatable." She smirked.
"I mean, I guess I can see why you'd think Big Chill is cool. He's got that whole mysterious, ghostly thing going on." Ben turned his head toward her, still smirking. "Wait, do you have a thing for mysterious guys?"
"What?" Gwen nearly choked; she shot up straighter. "That's ridiculous."
Ben tilted his head, amused. "Then why are you blushing?"
"I'm not blushing," she lied, turning her face away.
He leaned in closer, "You so are—"
And suddenly, the air between them shifted. It was subtle—Ben's smirk faded slightly, like he had just noticed something he hadn't seen before.
They were close.
Too close.
Gwen's pulse pounded in her ears, breath caught in her throat. The distance between them had shrunk without noticing. Ben was looking at her, his gaze locked onto hers, then down onto her lips, and for the first time in her life, she was afraid to know what he was thinking.
All it would take was the smallest movement—just a tilt forward, just the slightest inclination—and oh god, what are you doing-?
Ben blinked, "Gwen?"
And the moment shattered. Gwen stood up abruptly from the couch, avoiding his gaze as she all but fled.
(Behind her, with eyebrows raised and a pale blush over his cheeks, Ben said "Oh," in a tone of soft wonder...)
IV. Best Shot
Confusion and distress made Gwen's temper very short, and her cranky mood did not go unremarked-upon. So she did what any sane person would do.
She avoided Ben.
Which was almost a solid plan for a week, until an impromptu mission threw them together again.
Now, she was standing on the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse, arms crossed, trying desperately not to look at her cousin as the wind bit through her jacket.
"They're late," Ben muttered, kicking at a loose chunk of gravel. His breath fogged in the crisp night air, "Figures. Some big-shot alien arms dealer and they can't even show up."
Gwen hummed in vague agreement, pretending to be more interested in the city skyline.
The moon was full, casting silver light over Bellwood. A perfect night for a stakeout. A perfect night to not think about that night.
Except Ben wasn't making that easy.
He stretched—arms overhead, shirt lifting just enough to expose a sliver of skin. Then he exhaled, rubbing at his neck. "So… we definitely acted weird that night."
Gwen forced herself to keep her gaze on the horizon. "Drop it, Ben."
"I think we need to talk."
"No," she said, without giving him time to go on.
"No?"
"No."
A beat of silence. Then—
"Would you say yes if I turned into Big Chill?"
Gwen whipped her head toward him so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. "Excuse me?"
"Did I get it wrong?" Ben scratched his neck awkwardly, "I kinda figured it out during that battle. And then that night, on the couch. I mean, it's okay, you know, sometimes when I transform and look at certain aliens—"
She gawked at him. "Ben, you're imagining things."
He gave her a long, slow look, then—just to be the worst—he took a step closer.
She stepped back.
He stepped closer.
Again.
Gwen's pulse jumped as she suddenly found herself backed against the rooftop railing, the night air cool against her skin, the city lights sprawling behind her. Ben wasn't touching her, but he might as well have been—his presence alone was overwhelming, pressing against every inch of her awareness.
He tilted his head slightly, voice quieter now. "Then why are you freaking out?"
Because you're an idiot. Because this is crazy. Because I don't know what to do with this.
Gwen swallowed hard, gripping the railing behind her. "I don't..."
Ben studied her for a moment, as if weighing whether or not to push further. The teasing in his eyes dimmed, something softer settling in its place.
For half a second, it felt like that night all over again.
Then, the Omnitrix chimed.
Gwen's stomach dropped.
A familiar blue glow swallowed him whole, the air turning frigid in an instant. His eyes never wavered as he phased into something taller, colder—something worse.
The wind howled as Big Chill furled his wings, his massive form looming over her, ghostly in the moonlight. His breath rolled in icy tendrils, wrapping around her skin, slipping beneath her jacket like frost through a cracked window.
Gwen locked up.
She hated that. Hated how her body reacted before her mind could override it.
Big Chill drifted closer, silent as a shadow.
"Still nothing to admit?" His voice was lower now, edged with something unreadable. The whispering rasp of it sent a shiver down her spine.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
She refused to step back.
And then—not in some aggressive way, not even teasing. He reached for her. Just a simple, slow movement, his claws barely brushing against her wrist, a touch so cold it burned.
Her body betrayed her. A sharp inhale. A pulse stuttering. Something tightening in her stomach like a drawn bowstring.
Big Chill noticed. His head tilted, his wings shifting slightly, like he could sense every reaction she was trying to suppress.
"Wow," he muttered.
Gwen looked away. She'd rarely felt so humiliated, and she kind of wanted to punch him out of sheer shame and embarrassment.
Bracketed between Big Chill's arms, with the wall at her back, she could feel the long line of cold air radiating from his body. This close, it would have been more natural to touch—but he wasn't forcing her there. He wasn't even touching her.
"Do you want to go?" he asked carefully.
She stared at him.
She could leave. Maybe he'd tease her for it, a little, but in the end, he'd let her go. Of course he would.
"I..."
It was terrifying. Terrifying and overwhelming.
"I don't know." It cost her something to say it, something that hurt.
Big Chill touched her face. His fingers had familiar calluses. He scraped his nails through her hair. It was pleasant, in a purely physical way, shivery delight across her scalp and down her spine.
Then he pulled away, patting her arm. "Sleep off the mission," he suggested gently. "Then figure it out."
That… sounded like good advice. It was upsetting. She resented it, in the knee-jerk way she usually resented good advice from her mother. Gwen swallowed. Nodded mechanically.
She turned on her heel.
And walked.
Behind her, Big Chill didn't follow. She could feel his eyes on her until she disappeared from sight. Then, he drifted up into the night sky, leaving Gwen with a choice.
Notes:
This was intended to be a fun little drabble, but it expanded before my very eyes and I'm actually okay with how it turned out?
Gwen always seemed like an awkward lovestruck and likely in denial about it to me, and Big Chill is an absolutely GOAT so I enjoy writing this. Hope you enjoyed the read ^^