#minimal miscalculation

[ghostieblr]

Peter's Vows

When Derek is born, there is an earthquake. Beacon Hills is many things, but it is not a place of earthquakes. This is an anomaly, this sudden shaking of the land, and Peter watches Talia go through the pain of birthing a cub, and he makes note of how her cries resonate with the moving earth. As the baby is brought to the world of the living, the earth shakes more; giddy, Peter thinks of the land. Giddy at this baby's birth. That's what it is.

The town reels with the destruction, however minimal it seems to be. It is the strangeness of the earthquake that has the people in a panic, and it takes two days of Mayor Yukimura calling for council meetings and community barbecues that they begin to somehwat calm down.

The baby is named Derek on the first day itself, born underneath the Nemeton, his pale blue eyes reflecting the moonlight in silver hues. Talia sobs with relief, Nathan beside her, stroking her hair. Laura is back at the pack house, safely tucked in the bed, the rest of the pack members keeping watch. Talia had wanted to bring her with them, fearing the worst of the anomaly, but their mom had convinced her to not do it. The birth of the Alpha's cub is a big deal, but it is also private: only the Mate, Emissary and Left Hand are allowed to be present, for comfort, safety, and protection, respectively.

It has been tradition since ages, and Talia is the last person to break it.

Derek is a calm baby. Sleeps through the night, doesn't cry for attention. Only does it for feeding, his survival instinct as strong as his lungs. Peter adores him, even if he may never admit it to anyone.

He is also curious about the boy. Why an earthquake? It cannot be a coincidence. Truly, he wonders how some people can be so dumb. Calling it a coincidence is insulting to the Powers That Be, which must have called upon such a natural reaction of the land for a reason. Derek is a special boy, and Peter vows to find out how.

Besides his incredibly compassionate heart, that is.

It is in his eyes, which have slowly turned into a kaleidoscope of colors, the kindness of him. Derek's trust is not so easily earned, but once it is, it is extremely difficult to dislodge it.

Derek is a boy destined to become a kind man, one that will be an Alpha with mercy in his heart but cunning in his mind. Peter sees the makings of it right from the beginning, the way the boy will procure solutions to his own problems as well as those he deems important to him. Laura is the first born and thus has the claim to being the next Hale Alpha, however Peter knows, somehow, perhaps instinctually, that Derek will be the Alpha.

Another piece of the puzzle falls in place when their emissary falls pregnant. She's an amazing woman, Claudia. Peter likes her wit and humor, and he enjoys the perspective of her husband, the deputy, and if luck is on his side, soon-to-be Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Peter is happy for the couple.

He is, also, astonished to see an almost five-year-old Derek climb onto Claudia's lap one morning, his small fists rubbing against his eyes, and his nose scrunching determinedly to find a scent.

Peter remembers the conversation well.

"Derek, honey? What are you trying to find?"

"Mine," is what Derek growls in reply to Claudia, and shoves his nose against her barely-showing belly.

Peter's laughing figure is shot out of the end of the couch and onto the floor by Claudia's impeccable throw of one of the decorative pillows from said couch.

Thereafter, it was peculiar but not unseemly to find Derek following beside Claudia, his whole little being focused on the life forming inside her. And when the night came, Peter wasn't at all surprised to witness the thunderstorm.

Claudia had plans of giving birth in the hospital, but due to miscalculated steps, or simply because of reasons not privy to them, the best possible option left for her seemed to be below the Nemeton.

John had lost his damn mind at the prospect. "It's raining! Heavily!"

"Talia gave birth in an earthquake," Claudia says through gritted teeth, "And the baby doesn't care, nor do I, John. It is—"

Her words are cut off by another scream, and she is right, of course. It is time.

Talia, John, and Peter are the only ones who should go with her, but Derek, the little sneaky wolf that he seems to have become, follows them. It isn't until halfway through that John, the human, realizes his presence first.

They move forward with the determined little boy, who is all sopping wet in his wolf onesie, and really, this is no laughing matter. Except it is.

Claudia is brought below the Nemeton, and the tree, big and branching and beautiful, hums in their presence. The canopy of it sheds them some, but not completely.

And so, under hard rain and sharp thunderstorms, Mieczysław Stilinski is born, his little body almost white under the moonlight, and his eyes, when they open, a shock of topaz, like a glinting jewel; a fallen angel, Peter thinks.

Derek carefully wraps the baby in the blanket Talia removes from the packed bag, her movements locked onto her son's and the baby's, while John tends to his wife.

Peter watches. He notes the way the baby is calmest in Derek's arms, the way Derek is mesmerized.

This is more than just being True Mates.

True Mates itself are the rarest of occurrences, but something tells him this is more than that. The earthquake, and this sudden rain, in April of all things, simply cannot be coincidence. There must be a reason, one that Peter must uncover.

In the coming years, he dedicates his time to the quest, and finds that, oh, this is something unique indeed.

Unique to the point of legend.

Of course, he gathers facts before telling anyone. Derek's control goes onto the list, as does his ability to switch between his shift as easy as breathing. Having such control at the age of seven is almost impossible, but he has it without the growing ego that would have inflated anyone else's with the amount of praise he gets.

Stiles, as Derek had nicknamed Mieczysław almost immediately post his arrival in the world, is no human. His mother's line has some pretty strong magical abilities, but the kind of power that this boy exudes surpasses imagination. Nobody notices at first, not even Peter, until Stiles is a couple of months past his third birthday. It truly isn't until Derek, almost nine, comes down from his room one day into the kitchen, says, "Which packet, Stiles?" that they realize it.

"Honey, he isn't a wolf. He cannot hear you," Nathan tells him, but Derek just shrugs.

"He is for today."

Peter hears the, "Blue one! Blue one! Blue is sooo pretty, Derek!" from Stiles, who is definitely sitting in Derek's room, upstairs.

Derek grabs the blue packet and goes upstairs, and Peter follows, followed by Talia and Nathan, who beckon Claudia as well.

Stiles sitting on the floor, a myriad of toys around him, while the packets of chips sit beside him, torn open, evidently by Derek's claws, who himself is playing with Stiles.

And they're both being fed flying chips.

The three wolves turn to Claudia as one. Her shaking head and awed face is enough to clue them in, and really, Peter thinks, this is fucking incredible.

Powers don't manifest as early as this in magic wielders. They're more of the puberty package, tied to emotions at the beginning rather than will.

This is... defying it.

Peter loves to see when the next piece of the puzzle will fall.

And it does oh so enticingly.

Years later, when Derek is fourteen and Stiles is almost nine, comes the first trial. The Alpha Summit & The Argent Treaty.

Peter doesn't believe Gerard's words to do no harm, so he sets up precautions in place. It pays off, because during the summit, he almost ends up blinding Deaucalion — something that could have turned super bad if left unchecked.

Gerard's attack is met with swift retaliation, but somehow, only his goons end up dead. Gerard himself remains free, and through sheer will, maybe, the old man manages to kidnap Laura.

By the time the adults sniff out their cub, they're too late.

Not in the sense of Laura being hurt, but in the terms of missing the action, somewhat.

When they enter the warehouse, they are faced with Gerard being held down by a black wolf, fangs around his neck, the eyes of the creature a deep, ruby red. Deeper than Talia's. At first, they all assume it to be one of the visiting Alphas, but then they realize Stiles' presence, too, and it clicks.

Stiles frees Laura from the painful looking electric rod, and comes back to Derek, coaxes him back to his human form as Peter and Nathan take care of the psychopath.

Laura lets Talia mother her, and then says, "We'll have two Alphas."

Talia looks at the now human Derek, and eyes shining with pride, she nods. "Come here, both of you," she beckons, and the boys run, Stiles' chattering a comforting sound for all of them.

A few weeks later, Derek admits to everyone he has a new friend, and talks about her often. Paige this, Paige that. Laura teases him, restrained in her words, trying not to upset Derek's control. Even Cora pulls back. Stiles, though, is almost worse.

He riles Derek to the point of him using his Alpha voice to shut up, and the whole Pack silences itself, even Talia. Stiles, though — an exception to all things sane — doesn't back down. The voice doesn't work on him, and Derek isn't phased by it. However, the smell of guilt filters through their home, and Stiles' sigh is followed by comforting words. There is no apologizing though.

Soon, they'll learn from Derek himself that he hates that everyone is walking on eggshells. That is why he kept bringing up Paige, so that someone would tease him, uncle Peter, Laura, Cora. Or that Stiles would rile him up.

"Why would he, though? He should be happy for you. I am." Cora's words are met with a laugh from Derek, and a groan of embarrassement from Stiles.

"He's weirdly possessive — don't push me, you know you are."

"Alright," Stiles sighs, "I am."

"And Paige is a great friend, but I don't nearly think about her as much as I might have let you all believe."

And that is when Peter sees it. The blink-and-you-will-miss-it purple flash of Stiles' eyes. Peter doesn't put thought into why now; he simply focuses on completing the puzzle.

And he does. True Alpha and Purple Eyes? That's easy.

That's legend.

Set in stone as the first Alpha and the first Emissary as well as Spark, who, arguably, also set in stone the sword of Excalibur.

That part of the legend has questionable sources, though. Sure, Merlin Emrys is, as per theories, the most powerful sorcerer of all time, and Arthur Pendragon the greatest ruler, the once and future king, but it doesn't have as much merit.

What Peter is sure about is that somehow, the Powers That Be decided that this is the pack to send these two to.

He watches Stiles argue about the best type of pasta with Derek, and thinks, suddenly, that perhaps this is their happy ending. What legends end happy? None. So this must be their time to be happy.

Peter vows another quest, then. To always protect Derek and Stiles.

[locomoqo]

just one night

— samuel seo x reader

details: NSFW under the cut, fem bodied reader, p in v (samuel puts you in full nelson), cunnilingus, nipple play, possessive sex, he slaps your kitty, mirror sex, slight exhibitionism, public sex (?), unprotected, toxic rs

A/N: this is for all my ppl who rq'd samuel smut and also i kindaaa went overboard (2.4k wc) with this bc i was listening to house of cards and a bunch of the weeknd songs🥸

You and Samuel's relationship, to put it lightly, had always been a roller coaster. Sure, you had your happy moments, but they never lasted long before you were fighting over something. And when you weren't fighting, you both became ghosts to each other—minimal interactions, going to bed with your backs turned. You tried to end things multiple times, and Samuel let it happen. Because one thing Samuel knew for certain was that you'd always come back.

The first time you broke up with him, he was desperate—begging you to come back, and you did. After that, though, it became a routine. He no longer took the breakups seriously, knowing that with enough sweet words and pleading, you'd always return.

But this time was different.

This time, he miscalculated. He didn't take the breakup seriously, and that was his mistake, because this time you stood firm. No amount of texts, missed calls, or even the bouquets he sent to your door swayed you. You stayed gone. And it took him a while to realize you meant it this time.

So he tried to move on. He cut contact, tried to distract himself. But the truth was, he hadn't moved on at all.

Curiosity got the better of him after a few months, and he found out you were seeing someone else. What's that saying again? Oh, right—curiosity killed the cat.

That was what brought him here, to this crowded club. Samuel wasn’t here to meet new people—well, maybe that was part of it—but the real reason was to drown his sorrows. He knew he looked pathetic, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t like he could just start beating some random person to release all his pent-up frustration.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be so affected by this. He should have moved on by now, yet just seeing your face in his mind was enough to send him right back to square one.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone sit down beside him, but he didn’t pay it any mind.

"Hi there," a voice said, and it was a voice he knew all too well. His eyes slowly shifted from the bottle of soju in front of him to you, sitting right next to him. He was speechless. Maybe he’d already had too much to drink.

"Don’t look at me like that. Is there something wrong with my face?" you said with a friendly smile. Too friendly.

“You…” Samuel breathed out.

“Me?” you asked casually, glancing down at the menu in your hand.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice gruff. “I’m with my friends,” you replied. With your friends, Samuel repeated silently in his head. Was the guy you were seeing here too? Is that why you were acting so composed while he sat there looking like a washed-up loser?

Samuel ran a hand through his messy hair, then reached for another bottle. “I’ll pay,” he suddenly said when he saw you about to order a drink. You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If you say so,” you hummed, not passing up the opportunity.

Samuel’s thoughts were a mess. He couldn’t quite settle on what he wanted to say to you. It was like there were too many emotions swirling in his head, all fighting for dominance.

“…And what are you doing here?” you asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Just wanted to relax,” he replied. A half-truth.

“Didn’t know clubs were your thing,” you said, watching him down the rest of his drink.

“They’re not,” he responded bluntly. You noticed the sharpness in his tone and decided to drop it.

A few moments of silence passed before he finally asked, “So… what have you been up to?”

“You know, the usual,” you said as your drink arrived.

Samuel couldn’t help but look at you. His heart felt heavier with each glance. You both talked for a bit, exchanging stories about what had been going on in your lives. It was almost surreal, sitting here, talking like this after everything. "And what about that guy you're seeing? Is he with you tonight?" Samuel asked, trying to sound indifferent but not quite succeeding. You froze for a moment, awkwardly tracing the rim of your glass. "Oh… uh, no. He’s, um, busy," you mumbled.

Samuel stared ahead, but a smirk tugged at his lips. He knew that look, that tone—a sign of trouble. "Too busy for you?" he asked, tilting his head, testing the waters. You nodded, still focused on your glass, completely missing the way Samuel was watching you now, like a predator who had just spotted an opening.

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with faux surprise. "That’s a shame. I thought you two were doing well."

You could hear the mockery in his voice. “Samuel—” you started.

"I had a feeling he wasn’t good enough for you," he interrupted, his eyes really meeting yours for the first time that night. "Don’t," you said, your voice carrying a warning that wasn’t as firm as you intended it to be.

Samuel leaned in, his hand lightly brushing against your arm before he gripped your wrist, pulling you closer. "Tell me I’m wrong," he challenged, his voice low. "Tell me you don’t miss me. Tell me you don’t miss us."

Your eyes flicked between his hand on your wrist and his face. You bit your lip, glancing elsewhere, unable to meet his intense gaze. "We broke up for a reason," you muttered, more as a reminder to yourself than to him. He grinned, leaning even closer until his lips were just inches from yours. "People make mistakes. Doesn’t mean we can’t fix them."

Your breath hitched as you looked up at him. There was hesitation in your eyes, but there was something else there too. Something dangerous. That same fire that once burned between you two was beginning to ignite again.

Samuel could see it in the way your eyes trailed over his features.

He leaned in even further, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can make you forget about him," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "Just give me one night."

Your breath was shaky as you exhaled, and in that moment, he knew he had you. You didn’t say a word, but the way your fingers curled into his shirt and pulled him closer was all the confirmation he needed.

Just like that, you were lured in, caught in the hunter’s trap once again. 

But you could hardly care about that now, could you? Not when his tongue is tangled with yours in a passionate kiss. The bathroom is dark and, surprisingly, fragrant.

Samuel hoists you onto the counter, his hands sliding up your thighs, bunching your dress around your hips as he positions himself between your legs. His hands roam your body, alternating between groping and kneading, desperate to feel as much of you as he can. He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down your neck, sucking and leaving marks on your collarbone.

It’s as if he’s been starved of touch, and you’re the first to offer it to him. In a way, that’s exactly how it feels, considering how much he’s buried himself in work just to try and forget. “Missed you so much, princess,” he murmurs against your skin, continuing his descent.

He pulls down the front of your dress—along with your bra—to take one of your breasts into his mouth. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you sigh in pleasure, his mouth on one breast while he kneads the other. His hand slides down to your waist, tugging your underwear off in one swift motion.

Samuel pulls back for a moment, your hardened nipple glistening with saliva in the dim light. He drags you closer to the edge of the counter before dropping to his knees, pressing his face between your thighs. Your legs instinctively close around his head at the sudden rush of contact, and he pinches your thigh lightly in response. A gasp escapes your lips as he begins devouring you like a man starved. His thoughts are singular: He’s missed you, your taste, the way you feel, and the sound of your moans, even if they’re muffled by your hand.

“No one’s going to hear. Put your hand down,” he orders, his voice rough. It’s not a suggestion; it’s a command. But since when have you ever listened to him? You shake your head, and he rolls his eyes.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters before diving back in, tongue plunging into you. Flicking, sliding, and pressing that soft muscle against your core until your mind starts to blur. The room seems to fade into nothingness.

The only thing you’re aware of is the soft, warm slide of his tongue, the pressure he applies in just the right spots, and the ragged sound of his breathing as he loses himself in the moment. His hands grip your thighs firmly, grounding you, yet the way his mouth works against you sends your mind spinning, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Sammy—! Sammy, ’m gonna—” You choke out, teetering on the edge of release, your body trembling under the intensity. Your body arches involuntarily, your breath catching in your throat. A warmth floods through your veins, a mix of anticipation and inevitability as you teeter on the brink. Your hands grasp for anything—his hair, the countertop—desperately seeking an anchor as your mind goes blank, overwhelmed by sensation.

He doesn’t let up, continuing his relentless attack on your body. No, he plans to make you cum twice—maybe even three times—on his tongue before he even considers fucking you. And when he does, it won’t be in this tasteless club bathroom. Oh no. He’s going to take you home, or maybe to a nearby hotel, where he can have you all to himself.

This place isn’t worthy of what he has in mind.

The thing is, you’re still hesitant. Samuel would’ve let it slide—he would’ve—if he hadn’t caught the way you kept glancing at your boyfriend’s messages. Something in him snapped.

You were worried about that guy when Samuel was right there? Yeah, forget the nice guy act. He’s going to make sure you forget all about that boy tonight. He’ll make sure you’re so utterly consumed by him that you won’t even remember anyone else’s name but his.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he growls, his voice thick with authority as he grips your jaw, forcing your gaze forward. His fingers press against your cheek, making sure you watch—making sure you see. You can see yourself, spread so sinfully wide as he thrusts his cock into you.

Your knees are pulled back towards your chest, his strong arms wrapped securely around your thighs, his feet planted firmly on the bed. Your hands cling weakly to his strong arms as he pounds into you, every brutal thrust making your body tremble, tears forming in your eyes, and drool pooling at the corner of your lips.

“You’re drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he rasps, fingers pressing harder into your cheeks. “The nerve you’ve got—” Plap! “to still be texting—” Plap! “that guy, after what we did in that bathroom?” The wet slap of skin meeting skin punctuates each word, echoing through the room. “Didn’t mean to—jus’—ah! I wanted t’check my—” you sob, unable to finish your sentence. “Your notifications?” he spits out, finishing for you. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I know you’re still thinking about him.” His voice is venomous, and you can only shake your head in a weak attempt to deny it.

Irritation flares in him, and he goes harder, his pace relentless. You can’t do anything but moan and whimper, your nails digging into the inked skin of his forearms. The bed creaks beneath you as he takes you harder, faster, as if punishing you for daring to think of anyone but him. Each punishing thrust sends him deep, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over again, the hard press of his hips making your whole body rock. 

“I’m gonna ruin this pussy for him,” he growls into your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as if to mark you, to brand you as his. “Fucking ruin it f’anyone. You’ll be mine. You hear me? All. Fucking. Mine.” His fingers release your face to give your clit a sharp slap, the line between pleasure and pain dissolves completely.

The sting sparks through you, making you whimper, but you can’t even register the pain anymore—not when the pleasure has you teetering on the edge of something overwhelming. The sound of your voice, broken and breathless as you cry out his name, drives him to push you closer to your breaking point

You can barely think, let alone speak. Only nodding in compliance, your body wracked with orgasm after orgasm, your walls spasming around him as you come undone again and again. 

Suddenly, the sound of a phone ringing cuts through the haze. Was it yours or Samuel’s? A quick glance tells you everything—it’s yours. Samuel’s eyes follow yours to see your boyfriend’s name flashing across the screen. His expression shifts from displeasure to something far more wicked, a twisted smirk spreading across his lips.

“Go on, answer it,” he whispers in your ear.

“But—” you try to protest, but one sharp look from him silences you. That look, the one that always makes heat pool between your legs. Reluctantly, you reach for your phone.

“Hello?” you manage to say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. Samuel watches you, his possessive gaze locked on your face, savoring every second of your struggle. For a moment, he slows his thrusts, allowing you to speak—just long enough to give you a false sense of control. Then, with one brutal motion, he drives himself deeper into you, hitting that spot inside you that makes your mind go blank. 

You nearly choke on a gasp, but you stifle it with your hand. You glance at Samuel, only to be met with his smug, shit-eating grin. Another brutal thrust, and suddenly, he’s back to his relentless pace, dragging his cock in and out of you with such savage intensity that you can’t hold back anymore.

You bite down on your lip, eyes squeezed shut as tears of pleasure stream down your cheeks, your phone slipping from your grasp.

Samuel catches it effortlessly, pressing it to his ear. “Too bad you’re not here to see her like this. But don’t worry—I’m taking good care of her,” he taunts, his voice laced with a dark satisfaction. The panicked voice on the other end makes him chuckle before he ends the call, setting your phone to ‘do not disturb' and tossing it aside.

The night isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

[pmpmyread]

Title: Temperature Check Pairing: Nanami x f!reader CW: suggestive themes Summary: Ten months into matrimony, a domestic dilemma doubles as a temperature check between you and Kento. WC: 5.9k

If the distinctive thud of a book closing shut followed by the familiar sound of its cover dragging over the wooden grain of the nightstand isn’t clear enough an indicator, then the dip and sway of the mattress under a shifting weight along with the faint rustle of sheets punctuated by the distinctive click from the bedside light switch all but confirms to you that Kento has decidedly started the short nightly routine you’ve often witnessed him execute.

Another shift, and you sense his approach even as you keep your eyes shut, anticipating what you know is to come. The carefully rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, accompanied by your deep, steady breaths, conceals your state of alert wakefulness as you lie motionless, pretending to be fast asleep next to the man you once believed held no secrets from you.

Sure enough, you feel Kento’s warm breath fan across your cheek for a second before his lips brush against your forehead. He brings his fingers to gently trace the side of your temple and tucks a loose strand of hair securely back under your silk bonnet. And when you hear the hushed, heartfelt goodnight he whispers to your still form, your heart flutters like a candle flame flickers in a gentle draft.

You almost feel remorseful for taking away from the tenderness of the moment.

For having schemed your little sting operation.

For the briefest of moments, you find yourself having to resist the restlessness brought on by a sudden sentiment of guilt and of doubt at the prospect that somehow, your suspicions might have been unfounded, that somehow, you might have made a grave miscalculation.

But it’s not long until you sense Kento enact it, just as he has last night, and the one before that—the short sequence of actions that sees him flipping himself over to face away from you, settling on his side before discreetly unlocking his phone.

Nanami doesn’t know that his attempts at concealing his sneaky little habit are as apparent as they are fruitless.

He doesn’t realize that your eyes are now wide open, rendering pointless his effort to dim the screen’s brightness as soon as it lights up.

He’s oblivious to the fact that minimizing his device’s luminosity by strategically angling his screen downwards doesn’t make its glow any less conspicuous, that if anything, it only makes this betrayal more striking, like a bright beacon of light in the darkness of duplicity.

You tilt your head upwards and the air crinkles with anticipation as you wait for the signal, eyes trained up towards the juncture where the wall and ceiling meet, right where you expect the visual confirmation that forms the basis of the hypothesis over which you’ve been toiling for the past three days.

As expected, after a short moment, your eyes find what they’re searching for.

Did it really have to come to this?

Tonight, you’re fully intent on turning this rhetorical question into a candid conversation.

To this end, you slowly get into position, your arm lifting haltingly, inconspicuously hovering up in the air as you move your hand closer towards his shoulder. Your leg lags a few inches behind, Kento’s hip is its destination, and you trace a trajectory parallel to your arm, doubling down on vigilance as you inch closer with each shift towards him lest you alert him to your presence in his peripheral vision.

Your suspended arm tremors at the self-inflicted tension posed by the imminent activation of your plan, and your pulse races ahead of the moment of revelation.

You set out on a mental countdown.

Three.

Two.

This is a little ridiculous, comes the more rational voice of reason, cutting through the tense silence of your mind to whisper its final plea.

One.

You pull onto Kento’s shoulder with your right hand, and you shift your weight to your hips, swinging your leg over his waist, forcing him down from his side onto his back and hoisting yourself up to settle astride him.

“What the—”

You never register whether he completes that thought, your attention having since focused on the dexterous switch of your hands, the one that pulled onto his shoulder now firmly gripping his phone and you yank it out of his grasp and into the air as you lift it high above your head, your eyes following the screen, and even amidst the slight dizziness induced by your sudden and jarring movements, you confirm what you’ve known for a couple of days now.

You lower your gaze, the incriminating phone screen showering you both with the only source of light in the dark room, illuminating just enough of Nanami for you to distinguish his raised eyebrows, his surprised look, and his mouth slightly agape.

“Caught you,” you say, slightly breathless—half vindicated, half vexed.

While the silent strife that has directly led to tonight’s tussle traces its origins to three days ago, it is merely the latest iteration of a long-standing conflict whose inception point dates back nearly two months prior.

But it’s not like things have always been this dire.

For so long, it’s been smooth sailing between you and Kento.

You function like a well-oiled machine, complementary, in tandem: if he cooks, then you clean; you run point on design for home decor, he’s practicality; he showers right after his morning workout, and you shower in the evening before bed.

When you do have the rare disagreement, the occasional squabble that inevitably punctuates any couples living together, you address it head on, together, opposing yourselves to the problem rather than to one another and rarely retreating from it before you’ve hit either a point of resolution, or a most steadfast promise of hitting one at the soonest.

Only a little over ten months into matrimony, you’re convinced you’ve heard it all. The jokes about the looming end of the proverbial honeymoon period, the warnings against the frustrations, the unassuming frictions concomitant with sharing a living space with a partner for the first time.

Some of these comments reflect a myopic perspective of what’s often seen as a whirlwind romance by outsiders: a relatively short courtship, an even shorter engagement, a quick decision to elope. After all, not everyone was privy to the underside of the iceberg of your union, to the multi-year period of close friendship that often crossed into something entirely more as you slowly circled each other, to the accumulation of small moments that have facilitated your mutual understanding, the one that explained how it is that you’re both so attuned with one another, with what you wanted, that testified to the extraordinary way in which you complement one another.

So you don’t attribute any malice to those who repeat what you find to be platitudinal but harmless cliches, which are, in all fairness, grounded in some form of typical reality. You know that yours and Kento’s is an atypical alignment, a seamless synergy that has swiftly settled between the two of you, a phenomenon that you even find difficult to articulate into words yourself. You’re understanding, even sympathetic to those who struggle to comprehend the idea that most of these trivial, commonplace issues rarely show up as points of contention in your relationship.

Perhaps it is with this steady footing of assurance that you march over the cliff of hubris.

The irony is not lost on you that it is the scorching sun along with its sweltering heat that, in some twisted way, ends up burning holes through the veneer of your assumed immunity.

“The weather forecast is looking quite hot this weekend,” Nanami says one day, midway through the final week of June, as he emerges into the kitchen area of your shared home for a cup of tea. He finds you at the dining table, typing away at your laptop on one of the delightfully fortunate days during which you both work from home. “I’ll dust the A/C vent this evening in preparation.”

“Finally, we get to put this thing to use and see what it’s made of,” you reply, briefly peering up at the unit hanging on the living room wall. “Then it should undeniably feel like summer!”

Your apartment’s A/C is powered by a cooling system central to the building, comprising sleek and compact rectangular wall-mounted diffusers in each of the large rooms that blend neatly into the upper wall, each adjustable via a remote. Given that it was already well into the fall season when you moved into your residence together less than a year ago, you’ve still yet to have an opportunity to use the A/C.

You sense Kento pause for a brief moment before speaking again. “Make sure you stay hydrated. I know you tend to… forget when you get engrossed in your work.”

As though on cue, a work notification flits across your screen, pulling your attention towards an email announcing yet another change order from that one insufferable stakeholder.

“Will do,” comes your distracted response, as you hastily take to typing your reply.

Nanami sets down the mug he’s been holding and crosses his arms pointedly, patiently waiting for you to return your attention to him. You’re more than halfway through your message, the words blurring as you’re finally drawn to meet his gaze and you watch his eyebrows slowly rise in question.

“Hydration. Water. Got it. I appreciate your concern for me, Kento. I promise you I’ll be fine,” you say with a reassuring smile.

He lets out a low, doubtful hum, the sound barely audible above the gentle whirring of his electric kettle as the water reaches its boil.

“Besides, if I do faint this time around, at least it will be in the luxury of a sophisticated A/C, right?” you add, playfully wielding your words like the weapons you know them to be as you make a reference to a short dehydration-induced malaise you’d had in Kento’s presence a couple of years prior and has since made your man punctually paranoid around times of high heat.

A drained sigh escapes his lips. “I know who to blame for the greys I’ve been increasingly finding in my hair lately,” he says as you snicker, and he walks off, retreating to his office with his midday fix of sencha.

Sure enough, Saturday arrives with the sun beating down the city with sweltering heat and with record-high temperatures setting in before the clock even reaches noon. It is a matinal, domestic tranquility that you and Kento both enjoy together this morning, inside the cool and quiet refuge of your home.

As Nanami puts the finishing touches on his massive endeavor of reorganizing his book collection, the spines of his volumes now nearly all neatly aligned on the new shelf he’s recently bought as an upgrade, you’re in the adjacent bathroom, engaged in the meticulous task of putting your hair into braids for tonight’s braid out.

“Phew. Thank goodness for A/C on a day like this, right?” you call out to Nanami. “Could we turn it down by a tiny bit?”

“Turn it up, you mean?” His voice sounds slightly distant to you through the thick, muffling walls.

“No, I mean down,” you say, a bit louder. “As in, cooler?” you add for clarity.

To this, he offers no response, and you assume that he’s acquiesced, until a short moment later, when he shows up in the bathroom doorway, A/C remote in hand, with an incredulous expression that hints at his struggle in making sense of what you’ve just said.

You turn towards him, returning his look with what you can only imagine being a confused one of your own.

“I just want to confirm this: you are joking, right?” Kento finally says, expectantly.

“Uh, I’m not?” you slowly reply, mirroring his incredulous tone as you process the significance of his words before pausing halfway through a braid. “Wait, wait, wait, you honestly don’t find it to be hot?”

“Outdoors, sure. It is practically frigid in here now.”

“What? Come on now, it is so not.”

A long, unwavering gaze passes between you before it dawns on you that you are both dead serious.

“No, you can’t possibly find it to be hot, love?” he asks, his tone now earnest.

“Well, it’s definitely not nearly comfortable yet.”

Kento presses a button on the A/C’s remote, examining it for a loaded moment. 

“We didn’t seem to have this problem in the winter…” he says quietly, almost solemnly.

“How do you mean?” You turn towards him, leaning your hip against the bathroom counter, before adding, “What problem?”

Kento leans a shoulder against the doorway, practically mirroring your stance. “Well, in the winter months, you were perfectly fine with this temperature. You often even set the heater at temperatures that were much higher than this,” he says, supporting his point by lifting up the remote to show you the small LED screen displaying the current ambient temperature.

You squint at the screen to make out the temperature. “Maybe so… But that’s different,” you say, meekly.

“Different?” he asks with a light scoff. “How so?” It’s his turn to grill you.

“In the colder months, you want it warmer than usual, and in the summer, colder than…” you trail off, realizing only now, after having spoken the words out loud, that your sincerity doesn’t make your logic any less flawed.

You can almost see the wheels turning in his mind, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and when his response finally comes after a pause, it is slowly and deliberately drawn out.

“So… your comfortable temperature somehow… varies… depending on the temperature outside?”

“No, that’s not what I’m… Look, it’s just different, okay?” You turn back towards the bathroom mirror, your attempt to evade his pointed scrutiny is foiled almost immediately as Kento locks eyes with you through the mirror’s reflection. “Please, let’s just turn it down for a bit, and we’ll turn it back up again in a few minutes. These are exceptional circumstances!”

Kento’s lips are parted as if caught mid-thought, his brows still drawn together in a slight arch. You detect it instantly, a subtle yet undeniable restraint, a self-imposed suppression of witty words on the tip of his tongue, drawing your attention.

“Oh, just spill it already,” you say, as you apply a dab of Chebe oil to the ends of the section you’ve just braided.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just… We survived the winter fine, so…” Kento trails off, as though hesitating to complete his idea.

“So…?”

“So, I thought us to be above turning into those thermostat couples,” he says with an air of wistfulness.

“Thermostat coup���did you just make that term up?”

“We were doing so well,” he continues, the hints of the mirthful smile that tug at the corners of his mouth accompany his discernibly mordant tone. “We had a couple’s handshake and everything. All quite a shame.”

“What are you insinuating by ‘had’ a handshake? We still do! You cannot conceivably be this dramatic, Kento!” you exclaim, as indignantly as your amused chuckles allow you to sound. “We are in a heatwave!”

He still holds an air of disbelief when he finally relents, and you watch him begrudgingly point the remote towards the closest vent and bring the temperature down with a few successive presses.

“I’ll indulge you this once,” he rebuts, equally unable to conceal his own amusement.

A mere few weeks later, during the season’s second heatwave, Nanami makes a liar out of himself.

It is mid-July by the time this one hits—intense, the kind to break historical records, the kind that definitely warrants the use of the A/C.

By the second day of this hot spell, you and your husband find yourselves having a conversation that rhymes with the one you had a few weeks prior; he maintains that it is entirely too cold and you believe that it’s not nearly cool enough.

This time around, however, the debate doesn’t stretch long. After a few minutes of banter, Kento raises his hands in mock surrender and walks off, and you think you’ve heard the end of it for now.

You can’t tell when it is exactly that the idea strikes him.

All you know is that on that very evening, when you join him in the living room equipped with a bowl of popcorn to watch your weekly show together, you find Kento already seated on the couch, wearing thick white socks.

“Hey, so…” you murmur, perplexed words hanging unfinished in the air.

“Hmm?” A noncommittal hum escapes his lips, his eyes remaining fixed on the screen as he queues up the episode you’ve left off on.

You wait until Kento eventually meets your gaze, and you throw a pointed glance towards his feet.

“My extremities get cold sometimes.” The subtle, teasing tinge in his otherwise even tone does not escape you.

“But socks indoors in July? Seems a tad bit excessive,” you say as you slowly take your seat next to him.

“I assure you it is not,” he says, nonchalantly taking a piece of popcorn between his index and thumb and tossing it into his mouth with a dexterous flick of his wrist. “Judging by this thumbnail, it looks like we’re in for a gripping episode,” he adds, a playful glint in his eyes betraying his casual tone as he steals a fleeting glance at you.

You roll your eyes as you snuggly fit the bowl between the two of you, shaking your head as you think you’ve married the pettiest man on earth.

Pettiness doesn’t even begin to cover what he pulls the next evening.

You’re already in bed, scrolling away on your phone, just about ready to tuck in for the night, when you spot Kento approaching in your peripheral vision. It’s only his bedside lamp illuminating the room, so your first glance does not initially register what your eyes see. Your gaze snaps back, a sharp, surprised inhale catching in your throat, and you do a double-take at the sight of him wearing what you now recognize to be the shimmering fabric of one of his light jackets in the dim light.

“Alright, if you won’t draw the line, then I will. You are not wearing that to bed.” You scoff in utter disbelief as you lift a foot in a playful yet threatening mock kick towards him to block him from settling in. 

Kento grabs your foot, gently tickling it where he knows you to be sensitive, and the dam breaks: the effects derived from the absurdity of the moment combined with the light, tingling flutter against the arch of your foot, set you into a fit of giggles. Nanami’s mellow laughter joins yours as you squirm and make an attempt to free yourself from his grasp.

After a moment, he relents, gently folding your leg back onto the mattress.

“No, you’re right, love, I’m exaggerating,” he says as he slowly unzips his jacket.

You reach for the A/C remote to increase the temperature, a concession you’re willing to make given that it doesn’t feel as hot as the day prior. “I was just getting drowsy, but now you’ve managed to get me worked up and—”

You cut yourself off as you turn your head just in time to catch Kento shrugging off his jacket from his shoulders, only to reveal a thick sweater polo underneath.

“You can’t be serious right now,” you say.

“This one I’m keeping on,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“This is wild… I’m just about to turn the temp up, but here you go again, acting like we’re in the arctic!”

“It is cold in here, and I’m dressing in consequence,” Kento says, as he slides himself under the covers, indicating that he was fully committing to this. “Now, don’t give me that look, Ms. Ice Queen,” he adds, and you recognize that whatever expression he reads on your face is what fuels the amusement you see dancing in his eyes before he flicks off his light, plunging you both into complete darkness.

“My goodness. I’m literally turning it up, right now,” you emphasize your words with the clicks you give to the remote as you relinquish a few more cooling degrees in another conceding gesture.

“Certainly don’t do it on my account. I’m perfectly fine like this,” he mumbles into the back of your neck. If it’s a playful snark that undercurrents his words, it is in great contrast to his actions as he snuggles closer to you and absentmindedly caresses your arm.

The heatwave finally breaks in a wave of refreshing coolness, and what has thus far remained a playful tension of differing preferences fades away with the heat.

All stays well until the next crisis, beginning two days ago Friday night, or really, the early hours of Saturday morning.

You’ve spent the evening gaming with your friends, way past your usual bedtime, let alone anything that could possibly pass for Kento’s, even for a weekend night. By the time you’re ready to join him, you find him in deep slumber, having long lost his battle against somnolence. You know that it’s not for a lack of trying, judging by his glasses being worn, and his book still open on his lap. Light sleeper that he is, he stirs almost as soon as he feels the bed rustle under your weight as you gently close his book and lean over to place it on his bedside table before kneeling next to him to pull off his glasses, just as you’ve done countless times before.

And like countless times before, Nanami lets you.

Just as you lean in to adjust his pillow, his eyelids flutter open, and he blinks at you, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“How was game night?” he mumbles groggily.

“We might have gotten carried away,” you say sheepishly. “You know how it is, don’t want to end on a loss and the next thing you know…”

Nanami chuckles in response, bringing a hand up to your cheek. “Will you wake up on time to go to that new brunch place, or should we postpone?”

“I’ve set my alarm. It might be a rough wake-up, but for brunch with you, you know I’ll gladly take the hit.”

“Hmm,” comes his unconvinced reply.

You lay down and give it some thought, before continuing, “But please, will you wake me up in the event I sleep through it?”

“Now I will,” he says with another light chuckle.

Minutes after your whispered goodnights, you begin to regret your unwise decision of remaining so damn invested in the stimulating activity constituting a FPS video game this late into the night. Despite the time it took for you to shower and to enact your nighttime routine, you find yourself still wired with adrenaline, the lingering effect of the evening’s shenanigans still keeping you up. You don’t know how long you stay awake, lying on your side, your body still, but your mind agitated, staring into the darkness ahead of you.

All you know is that after a while, Kento peels away from you and slowly turns around. You figure he’s just shifting into a more comfortable position.

A few seconds thereafter, the distinctive luminosity from his phone bounces against the wooden bed frame above your head before he brings down the brightness, reducing it to the faintest glow. This too, you don’t put much thought into, you think that he might be ensuring that his own alarm is set.

But then you see it, your eyes drawn towards a small movement you catch in your peripheral vision. Bright blue numbers on the A/C unit flashing the set temperature. Silently, it goes up by one. By two. By a few more degrees before the display flickers off.

You can’t tell for sure, but you think that Kento stays on his phone for a little while longer, after which you hear him replace it back on the dock on his nightstand.

You sense him turning back towards you, slowly finding his spot snuggled behind you, snaking his arm back around you as if he’s never left your side.

It doesn’t take long before his breathing regularizes, before his light snoring fills the otherwise charged silence.

You haven’t moved throughout any of this, and you still don’t do it now. For all intents and purposes, you haven’t seen a damn thing.

You fall asleep, eventually. 

When morning comes, and Kento acts as normal as ever, you set a mental plan in motion and decide to test a theory later this evening.

You wait until you’re getting ready for bed. You’ve just returned from an evening out together and you therefore have the luxury of being synced and of going to bed at nearly the same time. When you approach him, Kento’s already in bed, well into the chapter he’s set on reading tonight.

“Don’t hate me for this,” you trail off, as you grab the A/C remote from his side of the bed, “but I really feel like I need to crank it down a bit.”

“Shocker,” he deadpans, but the affectionate mirth in his eyes betrays his snark, and speaks to the more benevolent, docile stance he’s appeared to have taken lately in the face of your differences in thermal preferences. 

Up until last night’s discovery, you would have attributed this softened, more assenting attitude to the theory that perhaps Kento was finally beginning to feel the full extent of these intensely hot temperatures, just as you did. That you were both finally getting aligned on this. But now? You find yourself inclined to question many things you think you know about him.

“Mind if I hang on to this?” you ask, holding up the remote. “That way I can adjust back in a bit?”

“Of course,” he replies without lifting his eyes from his novel, clearly engrossed in its story.

You lower the temperature a few degrees before placing the remote down on your nightstand, sliding into the covers, kissing your man goodnight, and turning your side of the light off. Tonight, you also slip on your sleeping mask, leaving enough of a gap at the bottom to allow you to take quick, inconspicuous peeks.

As expected on any of the rare occasions you manage to tuck in before him, Nanami doesn’t wait long before following suit. Through the gap of your mask, your eyes remain fixed on the A/C display until you feel him suddenly shift closer and over you.You shut them quickly and keep them closed as you sense Kento peering down at you, a move you now understand carries the motive of ensuring that you’re asleep. You keep your breathing deep and steady, and you assume that you must have convinced him because, after a moment, he finally pulls away to turn his light off.

You wait for a solid minute or two before slightly peeling your eyes open just in time to watch the digital thermostat decrease by a few degrees before flashing once and returning to standby, just like it did the night prior.

What a sneak, you think to yourself.

There is one more data point you want to collect before you can finalize your hypothesis. It requires you to wait until the morning.

When you next slip off your mask, the early sun rays filtering through your window warm your face, and the sound of the running shower confirms that Kento is already up and occupied. You reach for the remote to activate the A/C display.

A chuckle escapes you as your suspicions are confirmed once more: the thermostat has been reverted to the temperature you’d last set it to last night.

Now you know for sure. Alright, Nanami Kento, you sneaky man, you think to yourself, it is so going down tonight.

Such is how you find yourself here and now, with the beginnings of a dull ache creeping down into your shoulder, your extended arm heavy, tingling like pins and needles from holding Kento’s phone up for too long.

“I caught you,” you repeat, breaking the tense silence that has settled between you, “red-handed, might I add.”

After a brief pause, Nanami leans his arm over and flicks his table light on. When his gaze returns to yours, it holds an air of cockiness.

“You caught me doing what, exactly?”

“Don’t do this,” you say, as you finally lower your arm, cautiously clutching the phone in your hand in case he decides to take it from you.

It only occurs to you now that he hadn’t moved to try to stop you at all.

You glance down at the screen and find exactly what you’d expect. A simple interface, a dashboard of some sort, settings surrounding a large circle in the middle, with the temperature displayed.

“I wondered how you were doing it, seeing as the remote was usually by me. I thought maybe it was a pre-programmed setting or something. But of course, it’s just yet another phone app doubling as a remote.” You lift your gaze from the phone to meet his before continuing, “so you wait until I’m asleep, or at least until you think I am, and you increase the temperature. Which is clever except—“

You cut off as you discern it, both evident and seemingly uncontrollable: the full-on grin that begins to spread across Kento’s lips.

You narrow your eyes, quickly trying to figure out why the reaction you’re getting out of him is leagues off from the one you’ve anticipated.

You give his chest a poke. “What’s so funny?”

“Well, for starters, you’re about to make my point for me,” he states.

“Your point?” You shake your head, as though the motion could help you stay on topic. “How long have you been pulling this?”

He just watches you, his eyes glistening with mischief, his voice low, conspiratorial as he inches his face up closer to yours.

“How long do you think?”

“Well, definitely since this latest heatwave started, maybe even before that—”

And suddenly, it clicks.

The question you’ve asked now spins in your mind. How long had he done this? Changing the temperature without you knowing, only to change it back before you woke up. Until this moment, you’ve only assumed that this has been going on for a couple of days. But perhaps it had been longer? In fact, there’s a non-zero chance that he’s routinely done this, and that he didn’t only do this at night.

Your mind flits into your catalogue of memories, back to that one occasion when you’d conceded that the A/C was too cold, when you’d moved to reach for the remote to increase the temperature, and he’d quite literally jumped at the opportunity of turning it up. In the moment, you’d ascribed his eagerness to a sentiment of respite.

Could it be that Kento was, for this entire time, working to conceal that the temperature had already been adjusted to something higher than you’d anticipated?

Could it be that you were the unsuspecting victim of one long placebo-like experiment at the hands of your own husband?

Could it be that he anticipated, or even planned on being caught? That the schemer had long been out-schemed?

“You can admit it, you know,” Nanami’s voice pierces through your contemplation, through the silence of your realization, “that you were a little less than reasonable, that the temperature you want is unnecessarily too cold.”

Nanami shuts off the light for emphasis.

“Say it now, here in the dark. It will be our little secret,” he says, bringing his fingers to the frilly bows that adorn both sides of your PJ shorts, fidgeting with them like he often likes to do. “Tell me that I’m right and that I have been since the end of June.”

“Alright, now I know you’re lying. It can’t possibly have been that long—”

“Since June 28th. The app has historical data. Feel free to check it for yourself, my dear.”

You bring up the phone you forgot you’re still holding, and the few scrolls back into the app’s calendar and through the entirety of the average temperatures that flit through the phone's screen, are sufficient for you to understand that Nanami is very much not bluffing.

“And to think you only noticed when, two? Three days ago?” he says, settling his palms flat onto either side of your hips and giving them a light squeeze.

You can feel the dynamic flipping, even sitting astride him, looking down on his shadowy face in the dark. 

Kento’s gained the upper hand.

“Oh, so you knew that I was onto you?” you ask.

“You were not exactly subtle about it.”

You feel his fingers gently trace up your leg and settle on the bow adorning your short.

“So why don’t you just concede, my love?”

Somehow, this cannot be. Somehow, you just won’t allow yourself to lose.

Time to switch tactics.

“So you did all this… You think I was lying about being sensitive to the hot weather...” It's your move to play to Kento’s conscience, to wring a few words of culpability for you to latch on to.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“How can you possibly know, then, that I didn’t have trouble sleeping thanks to your little gambit?”

“I know you didn’t, and you know you didn’t. Besides, the temperature was adjusted very incrementally over time.”

“I like how you’re using passive terms as though you aren’t the architect of all this scheming. And I think you’ve made a monumental error admitting to all this, by the way,” you say, fully aware that you are grasping at straws. “What if I need to know that it’s at 20 in order to sleep? What if it’s too hot and I’m unable to sleep tonight? What if I have trouble sleeping and I’m late to work tomorrow, and—”

In one swift movement, Nanami flips you both over.

“Let’s play a game then,” he whispers, his tone taking a darker tenor.

He lightly bites down on the bow adorning your shorts and slowly drags them down your legs, before speaking again.

“Give me a few minutes, and if you’re still hot and awake when I’m done with you, you win, and you can set the temperature for the rest of the summer.”

He pulls the rest of your shorts off and returns above you, tracing his finger under your chin before grabbing it.

“But if,” he leans down once more, sliding his fingers under your underwear and pulling them down, “no… When I inevitably do manage to put you to sleep, you lose, I get carte blanche, and you’ll have to grant me your admission when you wake in the morning, in the cold light of day.”

He approaches you again, running both hands up your inner legs, settling on your thighs. You try not to writhe in anticipation of his touch.

You’re pretty hot now, but this heat you welcome.

Nanami pauses, and you feel him peer up at you, feeling his breath, the vibration of his next words against your core.

“You can still just admit that I’m right, and we table all of this.”

“I think I’ll take my chances, Kento,” you say, reaching down and sliding your fingers into his soft hair, bringing his head closer to his intended destination, any semblance of your initial confrontation long since tossed out the window.

“Of course you will,” comes his response before he all but disappears right where you want him.

And suddenly, none of this feels like losing.

[ddejavvu]

HI!!! Please can i request an awkward!glasses reid oneshot where he’s like pining over the reader?? maybe with a bit of tension ;))) but he like slips up and says something like ‘god ur beautiful?’ THANK UUUU

The rain pouring down in massive, silvery sheets does nothing to dull your halo, Spencer thinks. Actually, it might make it shine brighter, a haze of mist clouding your form as you traipse through the downpour.

"Seattle sucks!" You gush, raising a hand to smear away the wet strands of your hair that cling to your face, "God, why can't Arizona have another murderer running around?"

"The rain is actually a good forensic countermeasure - it washes the blood away so that he can drag the body wherever he wants and we won't be able to follow his trail." Spencer has to shout to be heard over the splattering of water upon the sidewalk, and he tries not to cry as he feels water seeping into his boots. Rossi had treated the entire team to a pair of galoshes after his precious Italian leather shoes became mottled with mud, and though they're helpful for trekking through the storm, they're also fantastic at catching rainwater.

"I hate it when serial killers are smarter than us!" You plunge your hand into the pocket of your jacket, digging out the key fob for the car. You unlock it with a beep and the taillights shine in the storm. You're more than happy to throw the door open and slip out of your jacket, taking minimal rain damage to your outfit as you slide swiftly onto the driver's seat of the van.

Spencer hears you let out a groan as the car roars to life, and so does the heater. You throw your head back against the seat, hair stringy and soaked, face dripping with rain.

One droplet slides down your nose and dips between the curve of your lips, something you can't bring yourself to care about as the heater blasts the chill from your blood. He watches you melt into the seat, and only one thought comes to mind: "You're beautiful."

His voice is a quiet murmur, and he's also speaking over the torrential downpour outside, so you don't catch what he says, thankfully. He doesn't know why his brain had miscalculated his thought and sent it down through his mouth instead of just his head, but he fumbles to snatch the opportunity you give him to save himself.

"Hm?" You turn to look at him, brows slightly raised in curiosity.

"My boots are full!" He blurts, cheeks red but not from the heat as he reaches for one of his rain-soaked shoes, "I- I- There's rainwater in my- my boots, and I need to-" He tugs the rubber off of his foot and turns it upside-down outside of the car so that it splashes off of the pavement, and he jams it back over his soaked sock while furiously avoiding eye contact.

Your pants were looser than Spencer's own, and you'd been able to tuck them over the mouth of your boots. Yours aren't even remotely soggy inside, so you laugh incredulously as he releases his tsunami before you drive off.

"Spence, that's insane," You watch as he stuffs the second boot back onto his foot, "You poor thing, are your socks all wet?"

"Yeah," He breathes, finally shutting the car door and trying to relax his tensely-held muscles as he comes down from his embarrassment, "Uh- yeah it's fine, though. They'll dry out."

"Use the foot heater," You flick a button on the center console, and hot air seeps from a vent beneath the glove compartment, "That better?"

"Yeah," Spencer toes off his boots, letting the warmth aid his chilled skin and damp attire, "Thanks, Y/N."

"Thank you," You nod and turn your eyes to the road as you pull out of the parking lot.

"For what?" Spencer looks briefly over at you, glasses spattered with raindrops.

"For calling me beautiful," You grin.

[winterrrnight]

lovers rock

PAIRING: bsf!soft!rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you kiss your best friend for the first time.

WARNINGS: slightly suggestive content (no smut): just slightly vivid descriptions of making out (but it’s soft and sweet); consumption of alcohol

EDITH SPEAKS: their first kiss feels like such a big milestone for them and I knew I had to write a oneshot for it! I hope you guys like this :) please reblog if you liked reading! feedback is highly appreciated 🎸

part of this little universe <3

navigation || join my taglist || requests

“now, how many men have you kissed?”

“very few,”

“but you offered me a kiss, why?”

“such a foolish reason i’m afraid, i just, wanted to kiss you,”

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

It was a small gathering of just you and your close friends at your house, a nice time to spend with one another as a form of a dinner party, involving food, drinks, and some drinking games to go along with it.

“Bye, thank you for visiting!” You said with a smile as you peered from behind the open door, waving to the last of your friends who were now leaving your house after the party. You closed the door behind them, a small stumble in your step from the alcohol coursing through your veins as you walked back to your living room, where Rafe was sprawled across the couch.

“You plannin’ on staying here?” You chuckled as you began to pick some of the dirty dishes from the coffee table and took them to your kitchen.

You heard him laugh from the kitchen, his laughter drifting up to you from the living room. He was definitely the one who had the most to drink, constantly losing the drinking games and taking shots over shots. You felt as if he’s probably doing it on purpose, but you didn’t say anything; just watched him laugh and smile and take his shots.

Once you were done with some minimal job of cleaning in the kitchen for the night, you went back to him in the living room, where he was still in the same position. Your living room was decorated around with the prettiest golden fairy lights, and were the only source of lighting in the room except the occasional moonlight filtering through the windows whenever the curtains would blow under the wind. Your record player sat in the corner, a vinyl of gentle jazz music still spinning, filling the room with the sexy saxophone notes and the deep rumbles of the bass.

He saw you approach him with a lazy smile pulling his lips, before slowly sitting up, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It’s… it’s getting late, I’m gonna leave now,” he said and started to get up from the couch. He got up quite unceremoniously, almost tripping and falling back down on the plush couch, but he gained his balance back again – barely.

You couldn’t stifle the laughter bubbling in you, so it made its way past your lips, a soft light laughter that made Rafe’s heart jump.

“Hey, now what are you laughing at huh?” He asked, his tone laced with faux arrogance as he made his way towards you. His steps were miscalculated, and he almost tripped over himself again, which caused your laughter to only increase.

“Okay okay yeah I’m making a fool of myself at this point,” he chuckled as he finally stood straight in front of you, looking at you.

Your laughter slowly died down as you looked at him, his cheeks flushed under the warm, dim lighting in your room and his hair completely mussed.

“How are you going to drive? You’re too tipsy to drive,” you said softly.

Rafe’s ears perked up at your words. “Are you extending me an invitation to stay?” He asked with a cheeky grin.

You chuckled softly at his tone and expression, and nodded your head. “I am, you’re too drunk to drive, you should stay,”

The earnest honesty in your words didn’t go unmissed by Rafe. His expressions softened, and he nodded at your words. “Okay, I’ll stay, only because you asked me so sweetly,”

“Right yeah, I’m so honored,” you said, sarcasm evident in your words, causing Rafe to let out a short laugh.

A few moments later, after you did some more cleaning up around the living room, you both found yourself sitting next to each other on the couch. The furnace was lit up too, adding more to the golden glow of the fairy lights as you both cozied up under the same warm blanket wrapped around you.

You had changed the vinyl from some jazz album to something more softer, relaxing and mellow; something you and Rafe both loved. You let your head drop on his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as his arm came around your shoulders to pull you closer to him.

For a moment, you felt everything die down. Every stress, every anxiety, every whirlpool of all the problems you have in your mind started to die down, till you were left with nothing but a peaceful clearing. You let out a deep, heavy hearted sigh and snuggled more against Rafe’s side, who only gladly pulled you closer to him.

You reached out your hand for his free one and placed yours on top of his, causing him to look down at your head resting on his shoulder. You slowly lifted your head up, your eyes on the same level as his. Your gaze swept over his facial features, the way they were so striking under the dim, aureate lighting. Your gaze slowly trailed down over his nose and then to his lips and the soft cupid’s bow, the pink, flushed tint to his fleshy lips, and the perfect symmetry of them; all only shone more and more in the fairy lights.

You felt as if you were being gravitated towards him without any control in your hands. Your body felt like it was being controlled like a puppet by some higher power, but you did absolutely nothing in your power to stop it.

Rafe stayed right where he was, watching you lean in closer to him with your half hooded gaze transfixed on his lips, causing his own eyes to look down at your lips, watching them get closer and closer to him with each passing second. He felt as if his heart was caught in his throat, and the moment you were so close that your lips brushed past his in a touch that was barely present, he felt like he could explode.

You felt daring, really daring as your lips brushed past his, and that only fueled your craving to kiss him properly. When you didn’t hear Rafe voice any complaints, or move back from you, you felt even more bold. So bold that you brushed your lips past his again, but this time, you gently pushed your lips against his, slotting your lips between his and softly kissing him.

It felt downright euphoric, the way your lips moved so slowly and steadily against his. His hands came to cradle your face in them, the warmth of his hands sending tingles down your spine as you subconsciously lean closer to him, your own hands coming to rest against his chest.

Your head tilted slightly to the side to deepen the kiss, which; again, he made no move to pull away from. In fact, you felt his tongue gently trace against your bottom lip, coaxing your lips to part and to let him in. You let your lips separate and his warm tongue gently pushed through, delving into your mouth. His tongue tenderly mapped out the inside of your mouth, feeling and tasting everything, before it met with your tongue.

The pace remains slow and sweet, his tongue softly moving against yours and yours moving with the same intimacy, the taste of alcohol on his lips spilling onto your tongue.

As your mouth moved perfectly in sync with his, you realized that’s a taste you could never get enough of. You wanted it again, and again, and again, and again. That was when you knew there was no way you would let this be the only time you let your lips kiss his in that perfectly slow manner.

And that was when you knew there was no one you had known like Rafe.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am, @saccharinesammie, @maybankslover, @totalswag, @madelynie, @chenslucy /

@ietss, @elle-mp3, @viawritesstuff, @wallsdreams, @mistress-amidala /

@sadfury, @sage-burrow, @jamesbuckybarneswify, @xxxlaura, @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles, @callsignwidow /

@starkowswife, @drewstarkeyswifehoe, @jjchaer, @f4ll-for-you, @wearemadeofstardust0 /

@drewsmusee, @rafegirly, @addriaenne, @leighbronk, @rafesdrew /

@bejeweledreverie, @raf3sgff, @aerangi, @drewstarkey1bae, @moneymaybank /

@spideysimpossiblegirl, @noahkahansorangejuice, @rafesgiirl, @theoraekenslover, @fals3-g0d /

@personalfavsthatarerandom, @b1mb0slvt, @babypoguelife, @ilyrafe, @oxpogues4lifexo /

@fionaswifeyy, @ladyinbl00d /

[ginnyw-potter]

Tiny James

@ginnystrophyhusband prompt: makeshift

Harry exited the bedroom and walked back into the room where Ginny had given birth. The hours old very tiny baby was resting on her chest. A Healer and her mum were tending to her.

She smiled brightly when Harry came in.

“So your dad and I made some sort of makeshift bed for him… and then we transfigured that into an actual bed so the spell work is minimal and it’s totally safe.” He walked back up at her and kissed her head. He looked at his son. “You arrived more than a little bit early, my dear James.”

“Maybe we miscalculated,” Ginny mused.

Her mother shook her head. “No, he is quite small.”

“Didn’t feel small coming out,” Ginny muttered under her breath for only Harry to hear.

“He is early,” the Healer confirmed, “but he is healthy and that’s most important.”

“I suppose I’ll have to follow the Harpies game tonight through the wireless,” she said.

Harry grinned at her. “I think that may be for the best.”

Harry held James as they moved Ginny to the bedroom.

Mr Weasley came to stand beside him and looked at the baby too. “How does it feel, dad?”

“Unbelievable,” Harry mumbled. “I thought I had a bit more time to wrap my head around it… to prepare.”

“One is never entirely prepared to become a father; I can tell you that much,” Mr Weasley told him. “You’ve got a whole family to support you. You’ll be alright.”

Harry looked up in surprise and met Mr Weasley’s kind eyes. It was true. The Weasleys were his family. They had been for a while. Any of them that had become a father would be happy to guide him.

“I already have one question for you,” Harry said. “Does it stop feeling so precarious?”

Mr Weasley smiled. He thought for a moment. “Yes and no. They stop being so tiny and fragile at some point.”

“Why did you have to come early, James?” Harry asked the sleeping baby.

“Harry!” Ginny yelled from the bedroom. “Where is my son?”

Mr Weasley promptly stepped aside to let him through.

Harry quickly appeared in the doorway. “Our son,” he said.

Ginny beamed at him.

“I got him.” He nodded towards the bed. “Not bad, huh?”

“Not at all,” she agreed. “Put him in. Let’s see how he likes it.”

Harry took a moment to adjust the hold on James. So very carefully he put the infant down in the bed. He stepped back and watched.

When he looked up, he saw tears rolling down Ginny’s cheek.

“Is the bed that ugly?” Harry joked.

She shook her head and smiled weakly. “No… he’s too small. He’s supposed to be in here. Not over there. I don’t like it.”

“I’m not happy about it either,” Harry said. “I suppose he thought about catching his first Harpies game.” He sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed her hand.

“Thank you for not freaking out when I went into labour.”

“Oh, I very much was, Gin.” He smiled at her. “I’ve never been so freaked out in my life!”

“You’re exaggerating,” she said.

“Absolutely not.” He shifted to sit next to her and pulled her closer. “There is nothing we can’t do together. He took us in speed, but it’s alright. We just need to cancel our weekend plans… and those of next week too.”

“I don’t mind that so much.” She looked at him. “Now go pick him up again. I need to hold him a little longer.”

Harry slipped off the bed and picked up James, returning him to his mother’s arms. She held him like it came naturally to her and smiled fondly at the baby as she cooed at him.

Harry could barely contain his happiness. He felt like he was falling in love all over again.

[blythings]

Tom blyth birthday smut if you can?

it's the 2nd of feb in australia so hbd to the loml!! thank you for sending me this req anon, perfect timing with this one 💞 this is super self-indulgent since the reader is a corporate girlie like me. also this is unedited and super rushed but hope you enjoy anyway!!!

CAKE | TOM BLYTH

— pairing: tom blyth x fem!reader — summary: when the birthday cake you had planned to make for your boyfriend doesn't go according to plan, he comes up with an alternative gift to salvage the celeberation. — content: mdni, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, very minimal dirty talk —word count: 958 words

requests are open for tom and his characters!~

As Tom steps into your shared apartment, he’s greeted by the inviting aroma of rich chocolate, tinged with the simultaneous smell of something burning, which only intensifies with each step he takes.

He calls out your name as he leans against the entry into the kitchen. It’s two pm on a Friday afternoon — normally, you would still be at your office during this time, fending off the mid-afternoon fatigue by drinking too many cans of Coke Zero and texting him some of the ridiculous items that would land in your inbox. 

That said, it doesn’t take two seconds for him to know why you would be home so early. You had been apologetic all week about not having enough time to plan something more elaborate for his birthday and while he had tried to reassure you, he still sensed the faint trace of guilt behind your expression.

At the sound of his voice, you look up from the mixing bowl, filled with a chocolatey concoction. “You’re home early,” you say — ironically — before you return to mixing, your frustrations from the week seemingly being beaten into the side of the bowl. You had rolled up the sleeves of your blouse though powdered sugar still dusts the fabric. There is a brown lump by the sink that Tom can only assume had been your first attempt at baking a cake, and the reason why his kitchen smells like a hazard site at that moment.

He pads over and wraps his arms around your frame. He asks, “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

You sigh, your shoulders sagging. “I had to at least get you a cake,” you answer, “and I didn’t want to just grab one after work. I’m gonna make you a cake even if it kills me.”

“It looks like it might.” Tom mumbles under his breath, kissing the side of your head.

It isn’t like you didn’t have plans for his birthday during the weekend. But between Tom’s acting career taking off and your own job picking back up after the holiday break, the chaos that had followed is enough to eat away at your time and energy. You had been too caught up in work to plan anything special. You recall Tom’s words, his easy-going reassurance that he didn’t mind if you had a more lowkey celebration that year. Even so, guilt had been gnawing at your insides all week, fueled by the knowledge that you haven’t been as attentive since you had returned to work. 

But as the two of you stand in your cluttered kitchen, it is obvious that you might’ve miscalculated your own culinary ineptitude.

“I even got this stupid cake mold for this.” You huff, lifting the heart shaped cake mold that you had picked up on your way home. “But even when I try to read the recipe, I’m not getting it right. It’s stressing me out.”

He kisses your cheek. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I don’t want you stressing over this. We can just buy a cake from the bakery. I assume you don’t have to go back and finish any work, right?”

You shake your head. “I said there was an emergency.”

“Tell your work that something was burning. That way, you wouldn’t be lying.”

“Clever.”

“I have my moments.” He says, trailing his lips down the side of your neck. A hand trails lower and you drop the spatula into the mixing bowl as he turns you around, his mouth slotting against yours. 

You’re prepared for his kiss, the years you’ve been together bringing about a level of ease that you’ve never had with any of your previous partners. He moves the mixing bowl to the side, lifting you up to rest on top of the counter. You scrunch your nose at the thought of having to do a deep clean of the kitchen later in the afternoon.

But your thoughts don’t stray from Tom for too long as he licks into your mouth. His hand moves down to your knee, tugging your legs open as sinks to the floor between your spread thighs.

“Still wanna give me something sweet?” He murmurs, pushing the hem of your skirt up. You can only offer a nod as he loops his fingers around the sides of your underwear, pulling it down your legs.

“I should be the one who — ” You start to say but he shakes his head, running two fingers up your throbbing core. 

“Couldn’t even get me a proper cake,” He cuts you off, teasing, “let me taste you instead.”

You’re about to reply before he’s burying his mouth between your thighs, your mouth releasing a string of whimpers and gasps as he mouths over your clit. You cry out in pleasure as he begins nudging your bud around his tongue, his eyes watching your reactions intently. He pulls away with a lewd pop, leaning back. “This cunt is mine, isn’t it?” He asks, placing a kiss on your inner thigh. You want to bask in his touches, but the drag of his fingers and the feel of his lips sets your body ablaze.

His fingers trail down your slit before he slips two digits deep into you. You cry out when he shoves his fingers deeper inside, a warning for you. “Yours,” you manage to choke out.

Your thighs quiver around him as you cry out his name, the tightness in your belly snapping apart as your body spasms from your orgasm. 

“That was fast.” He teases you, chuckling as you push him off your thighs. “Want me to help you clean all of this up?” He asks as he gestures around the kitchen, and you shake your head.

“Later. We’ve got a birthday to celebrate.”

[reasonsforhope]

Seven thousand more UAW members just walked off the job, expanding the strike to two more plants. Twenty-five thousand autoworkers are now on strike, and the walkout could continue to escalate if the Big Three don’t budge in negotiations.

[UAW president Shawn] Fain announced that Stellantis would be spared this time. The union had been expected to strike all three companies, but, said Region 1 director LaShawn English, three minutes before Fain was scheduled to go on Facebook Live, the UAW received frantic emails from company representatives.

[Note: Love that for the UAW. Also laughing so hard. Three minutes before the next round of strikes were annouced!!]

According to Fain, Stellantis made “significant progress” on cost-of-living allowances, the right not to cross a picket line, and the right to strike over product commitments and plant closures. “We are excited about this momentum at Stellantis and hope it continues,” Fain said...

“See You Next Week — Maybe?”

“These guys wanted to go out a long time ago,” said Cody Zaremba, a Local 602 member at the Lansing GM plant after the news broke that his plant would be joining the strike. “We’re ready. Everybody, truly, I believe, in the entire membership. They’re one with what’s going on.”

Five thousand workers at thirty-eight parts distribution centers across twenty-one states have been on strike since last Friday [September 22, 2023], along with thirteen thousand at three assembly plants in Michigan, Ohio, and Missouri who walked out on September 15. (See a map of all struck facilities here.) ...

The UAW is now calling on community supporters to organize small teams to canvass dealerships that sell and repair Big Three cars and trucks. On Tuesday, the union issued a canvassing tool kit with instructions, flyers, press releases, and talking points.

In negotiations with Ford and GM, autoworkers have clinched some important gains. Among them is an agreement by both companies to end at least one of the many tiers in current contracts, putting workers at certain parts plants back on the same wage scale as assembly workers. The top rate for Big Three assembly workers is currently around $32...

Ford was spared in last week’s escalation, because bargainers there had made further progress on gains for workers.

But today, the UAW once again called out workers at Ford and GM, putting some muscle behind its bold demands — a big wage boost, a shorter workweek, elimination of tiers, cost-of-living adjustments tied to inflation, protection from plant closures, conversion of temps to permanent employees, and the restoration of retiree health care and benefit-defined pensions to all workers.

-via Jacobin, September 29, 2023. Article continues below.

Keep Them Guessing

This year, for the first time in recent history, the union has played the three auto companies against each other with its strike strategy, departing from the union’s tradition of choosing one target company and patterning an agreement at the other two.

The stand-up strike strategy draws inspiration from an approach known as CHAOS (Create Havoc Around Our System), first deployed in 1993 by Alaska Airlines flight attendants, who announced they would be striking random flights. Although they struck only seven flights in a two-month period, Alaska had to send scabs on every plane, just in case. The unpredictability drew enormous media attention and drove management up the wall. Meanwhile the union was able to conserve its strength and minimize risk.

The companies miscalculated where the UAW was going to strike first, stockpiling engines and shipping them cross-country to the wrong facilities. Autoworkers relished the self-inflicted supply chain chaos on UAW Facebook groups and other social media platforms.

Nonstrikers’ morale on the factory floor has gotten a boost from rank and filers organizing to refuse voluntary overtime. With support both from Fain and the reform caucus Unite All Workers for Democracy (UAWD), workers have been encouraging each other to “Eight and Skate,” meaning to turn down extra work and decline to do management any favors.

Majority Public Support

A majority of Americans support the UAW strikers, and the Big Three have taken a PR hit since the strike began, according to a new survey conducted by the business intelligence firm Caliber.

“Eighty-seven percent of respondents told us they were aware of the strike,” Caliber CEO Shahar Silbershatz told the Intercept. “It’s clear the strike is not just causing commercial repercussions, but reputational repercussions as well.”

These reputational repercussions will only worsen...

"We Can Unmake It"

Fain didn't pull any punches in his speech... “That’s what’s different about working-class people. Whether we’re building cars or trucks or running parts distribution centers; whether we’re writing movies or performing TV shows... we do the heavy lifting. We do the real work. Not the CEOs, not the executives.

"And though we don’t know it, that’s what power is. We have the power. The world is of our making. The economy is of our making. This industry is of our making.

“And as we’ve shown, when we withhold our labor, we can unmake it.”

-via Jacobin, September 29, 2023

[sometimesoliloquy]

😭😭😭 I am devastated!! Apologies if you’re burnt out on talking about nick, but I have no one in real life to debrief this mess with.

I think what’s most frustrating to me is that actually, a lot of the plot was valid and necessary to be resolved between nick and june, but the way the show runners framed it / nonsensical dialog lines made it all so horribly wrong.

Nick giving up mayday plan feels like an obvious outcome in that OF COURSE he isn’t super human and can’t get June out of every dire situation unscathed. I do truly believe that nick did not think the jezebels would be killed, and so it’s frustrating that they frame it as nick being selfish and giving up jezebels to save himself.

And I would even say, it is in character for June to snap at him with harsh words (which she doesn’t fully mean), but it’s SO annoying that they make nick just say, yeah I’m just trying to survive I’m human. No mention of him also trying to keep June safe, when she was literallly sitting in his car in the driveway when this all went down. They give nick no space to actually explain what’s gone down since the water park which June is oblivious to

And then to have Laurence say he can’t believe June ever trusted him?? LOL like wtf. This guy has flipped sids more than anyone! It was so irritating to have all these characters immediately be like well duh he’s a nazi.

And ep 9 was obviously horrible. I could almost justify Nick getting on the plane and having a tragic death. But they make him say he joined the “winning side”??? Literally wut. It sounded like a joke. And then to have him say June asked him to leave multiple times. Like I’m sorry, but it’s just not true. June never “chose” Nick and frankly wanted him in Gilesd to help her various pursuits. And TBF nick could have chosen to leave on his own accord and never did, but let’s not rewrite history to say he’s been pro Gilead the whole time

I wish they made him more melancholy / sad boi accepting his fate on the plane vs. mustache twirling villain they tried to pull off last minute. Could have said something like “I have to protect my family” and “I thought about running away w her so many times but it was a pipe dream” or something like that. It would’ve at least felt true to the character we’ve SEEN over 6 years (not what we were supposed to have gathered behind the scenes based on creator interviews, lol). Still awful and tragic, but at least would feel more realistic and less out of left field.

I’ll wrap this up given it’s become a short novel haha. My apologies this is so rambly and long but I have so many feelings. Thank you for this space to vent :) wishing you the best during this trying time!

Hi Anon😞 I'm so sorry you're feeling devastated, I completely understand, I am reeling also. And thank you for the well wishes, too. If there's one good thing, it's nice to know we have this little online community where we can vent and feel our feelings together. I hope my short novel back can help us continue to process together.❤️‍🩹

I completely agree about Nick and the Jezebels situation--he fucked up there, this is true, but what's insane is the questioning of his motivations, her sudden apparent doubts of "I guess I don't know him at all" because he made a bad miscalculation trying to not get himself killed and minimize the damage (the only casualty, in his mind, would have been the badly planned out Mayday plot). He told her he never thought the women would be killed and it's like she doesn't believe him(?) because she says "you sacrificed all those women to save yourself" (or something). As much as I hate him not vehemently defending himself more though, I do think that is very in character for Nick.

And I think was completely realistic that sooner or later him continuing to be June Osborne's personal Gilead errand boy was going to catch up to him and have some devastating effects, either for himself or others (in this case, both). Ironically it was his love for June that ultimately killed him but it wasn't even in a remotely satisfying way that could have given the loss a little dignity and meaning. It's just tragic that June can't realize (or at least can't accept) her own culpability in the women's deaths (don't even get me started on all the other deaths she's complicit in over the seasons).

I think what hurts the most about this character ending is that June couldn't bring herself to fight for him, not even a little. She was really about to say "fuck Hannah, fuck Luke, fuck everybody" and run off with Nick in 6x06, and now she can't even give him the tiniest bit of grace for his fuck up, the tiniest benefit of the doubt about his intentions, even after having time to cool down and process (even Rita, who doesn't know him as well as June, was able to do this and see him for the good man he innately is).

Because it's one thing for June to be devastated and angry, but it's a whole other for her to completely stop trusting him for good over this--trusting his motivations, his loyalty and his true character. To say "you're just like them". And the thing is, she does still trust him on a deep, implicit level, at the very least with her own well-being, or she wouldn't have been ok driving back with him and pissing him off.

Nick's line "she asked me to give it up many time" or whatever was just their blatantly lazy attempt at saying "See?? She tried, she really tried to get him to leave so many times! He says it so it must be true!" So that we can feel that his death is "deserved" Except the thing is it's not true, because we never saw this.

The only comments remotely anything of this nature were in s5 when she asked why he didn't take Tuello's deal to eventually come to Canada (with his wife…while she “has Luke), and their mutual mentions of "running away together", which were clearly always understood by both of them as an impossible day dream (at least until 6x06).

She never said "I want you to leave this awful place that makes you complicit in awful things". Never says "I would choose to be with you but I can't because of what and where you are". Even in episode 6 it was him asking her to leave, not the other way around. You can't just put words in a character's mouth that haven't been evidenced at all in the show and call it a day, that's horrible writing.

I agree that it's in character for June to react harshly, lashing out emotionally. We've seen her do this before and then come back to him with more softness and understanding once she's had time to process. One could argue I guess that in this case there just simply was not the time or opportunity, but I don't think that's the case. Even if she wasn't in such close proximity to him at the wedding (or couldn't find a safe way to get him alone/get a message to him), she could have gotten in touch with him through Lawrence, through Mark, she's always had her ways to get ahold of him when it was for something she wanted.

But she didn't. She watched him obviously performing at the pulpit, watched him like a hawk at the reception and must have seen how miserable and alone he really was, how heavily he was drinking. She had to have also remembered that she had to ask him several times what was wrong the last time she saw him. That he literally clung to her like a drowning man. And in all of this she never reached out, never tried to make up or help. One could argue that Nick should have found his own way out, his own motivation to leave Gilead, to give himself that opportunity to be a better man.

But think about it, how many times over the seasons has June been mentally and emotionally under water, and Nick was always, always been there standing by to pull her back up, even at great detriment to himself (like for instance having his very own child bride forced on him by a jealous Serena and Fred when he suggests she be concerned about June's mental health).

She knows he has imposter syndrome, poor self-image, and he may not be able to do it on his own. He needs a push, a helping hand, from the one person he always listens to. If she knows him at all she should know that he can't truly believe he's a good man who can leave Gilead and be better without her reassurance this is true.

And now, she sees him in the worst mental state she's ever seen him in, crushed by the weight of his Gilead life and her rejection, knowing he wants to leave because he just asked her to, knowing his allegiance is not truly to Rose or to Gilead because he was ready to give it all up, leave it all behind... and she can't be bothered to--or else is so angry and hateful that she doesn't want to--reach out a hand to him as he is drowning, metaphorically gasping for air. It's really so sad. She lets him eat the cake (ok fine, he'll have a little nap). She also lets Rose eat the cake, when she must have known it could potentially cause complications for the pregnancy (come on, I know we were all speculating about it).

And of course then comes the final blow--she can't even bring herself to save his life as he unknowingly boards the plane. There were no commanders outside, no guards. She was hidden and he paused. There was obvious opportunity for her to get his attention. And she chooses to let him die. And unlike Nick with the women at Jezebels, she knew full well what would happen.

Why?? Was she still so angry at him for his mistake that she wished him dead? Maybe she was pissed he didn't drop everything once again to risk his life and come to her rescue at the gallows (which I actually do think was a bit OOC but I mean he was kind of busy seeing that June put his wife in the hospital possibly losing the baby! It seemed like he maybe didn't even hear about the hanging until afterwards. I'm sure his father-in-law would not have wanted to tell him and possibly have him trying to fuck up his vengeance).

But no, I think the implication is supposed to be that June doesn't say anything because she doesn't trust Nick not to alert the commanders to her presence, and ultimately the bombing plot. Maybe this was what we were supposed to think about why she didn't try to give him a message at the wedding too.

The implication is that she sacrifices him to serve the larger purpose of the revolution, and I guess we're supposed to feel proud of her that she did the "right thing" and feel sorry for her that she "had" to make that choice? (Sorry, no).

And after everything they've been through, it's absolutely unbelievable that she should hold this level of distrust in him, to think that he would really have her killed. It's not as if he went screaming to Wharton the second she told him the Mayday Jezebels plan just for funsies or because of his loyalty to Gilead and Wharton. He was backed into a corner and did the best he could to try and get himself and her out of it, and she knows that.

So yeah, in my eyes she kills him, she murders him as concretely as if she stabbed a knife in his chest or put a bullet in his brain. She started the job when she threw him away like the dirt on the bottom of her shoe for the same sin she has committed countless times, continued stabbing that metaphorical knife as saw him struggling at the wedding, and finally finished him off at the airstrip.

She saw Nick drowning and never reached out, made zero effort to try and convince him to pull himself out of this hell and join the right side--may I add she extends more courtesy in this manner even to Wharton of all people, with her fairly lengthy speech to appeal to the "better man" in him episode 9. And she doesn't even lift a pinky to save Nick as he boards that death plane, another action he was finally driven to because of her. The father of her own child. A man she claimed to love. He went to battle for her time and time again and she refuses to fight for him back when he is the one in need.

It was just so unnecessary, so senseless, so cruel, And really tragic (but not even in a beautifully tragic sense). At least he is finally free of Gilead, and from June's transactional and very conditional "love", which as I recall one Mr. Commander Lawrence once aptly quoted: "fucks people up". At least he was right about that. May Nick Blaine's poor sweet tortured fictional soul (and may we) find peace.🙏💔❤️‍🩹

[burning-burning-burning]

Query: Preferences

In which Omega has questions; Rouge is getting tired of the bullying, quite frankly; and Shadow grapples with feelings he doesn't have a name for. ((Pre-Sonadow One-shot))

“Query.”

Rouge the Bat sighed. Omega, always with the questions… “Go ahead, Omega,” she said, refraining from asking him to ‘shoot’. Made that mistake once- there was still burns on the nightclub walls. Team Dark was in their shared apartment, Shadow cooking them all dinner.

Rouge and Omega, for many reasons, were only allowed to sit at the kitchen barstools and not further while Mr. Ultimate-Lifeform-and-also-apparently-Master-Chef was in the kitchen. Rouge would call him an ass, but, well… his dinners were always pretty good.

Omega took time, something the Team now understood to mean he was formulating the best reply given situational context and learned idiosyncrasies of his teammates. Considering his words, then. Finally, he said, in his unchanging monotone, “Bat, you have interests in many different males as mates, true?”

Rouge nearly spat her wine, and at the stove, Shadow snickered. 

Composing herself while the Ultimate Betrayer shook with the force of a contained laughing fit (she wondered when it would be normal, seeing Shadow laugh like that? So at ease, since his final confrontation with Doom and letting Maria go, at last), Rouge replied, “Omega that’s- that’s not a polite question…”

“So it is false, then? I have miscalculated.”

Shadow, composed enough to get back to stirring the stew he’d been simmering, smirked again. “He’s calculated, Rouge,” the hedgehog said, arching a brow and sending his smirk the bat’s way.

Rouge made a face at him and he want to back to cooking. Rouge sighed. “Ah, no, Omega, I, I suppose it is true, I have a… broad ‘type’.”

“Of potential mates?”

Rouge’s face burned. “No-! Oh, fine, yes, Omega, whatever you’d like to call it. What’s the point of this?”

Omega whirred, considering again. “Despite a broad preference set, you have never expressed interest in Shadow. True? And if true, my query is why?”

Rouge’s turn to grin, then. Shadow’s ear pinned uncomfortably and his nose curled. “Move on from this topic, please,” he droned.

“No, no no no, you were all cackles and grins when I was the one squirming, your turn, broody!” Rouge said, nearly standing in her seat and pointing at the hybrid. He only glowered at her.

Rouge sat back down and settled herself, smoothing the oversized t-shirt and soft shorts she had changed into for the evening. “Shadow… doesn’t really fall into my ‘preferences’, Omega. No matter how broad they may be.”

“Thank Chaos…,” Shadow muttered. Rouge ignored him.

Omega whirred again. “He is male, organic, and breathing?”

“Omega-!” Rouge shouted, before taking a breath and composing herself, again. “Shadow is… like a brother, to me. So, that’s trumps any… preferences.”

Omega continued staring at her, something he knew made her uncomfortable, which would make her keep talking to fill the silence. Damn him.

“Uh… and I mean, well, maybe I’m not Shadow’s preference, either, you know? That’s important, too,” the bat continued.

“I understand,” Omega toned. “Shadow- query.”

The hybrid threw up a hand as though to block the question. “Oh no-“

“Answer his question, spiky!” Rouge admonished. “You know he won’t drop it until you do.” Shadow threw his head back and groaned, then looked back to the robot to glare. “Fine. Go ahead, Omega.”

Omega whirred, and Rouge saw a light behind his eyes that usually indicated he was administering a threat level analysis. At least he knew to check. Deciding the danger, for now, was minimal, the robot continued, “What are you preferences?”

“Telenovelas over action movies, classic literature over modern. Enough?”

Rouge snorted, and Omega whirred as he worked to process the information and assess why the hell that answer was so non-conforming to the dataset he anticipated. “Apologies,” he said at length, “I was misunderstood. What are you preferences in mates?”

Shadow growled low in his throat and turned back to the stove. His tail, now long and ending in a bladed spear ever since he had unleashed his Black Arms genetics, lashed quietly behind his legs. “End query,” he said darkly, tufted ears pinned.

“But my data is incomplete-“

“End. Query.”

Omega whirred defiantly. “Hedgehog-“

“It’s alright, Omega. You can’t force people to complete your data,” Rouge soothed. She looked to Shadow, who was still turned away. “But I am curious, now, Shadow. Maybe it’s down to the Black Arms why you don’t seem to have any attraction to anyone, yet? You certainly have plenty of option, women love a bad boy, after all.”

Shadow was quiet a moment longer, still tense. “…It’s not the Black Arms DNA.” He was still stirring, slowly. Consider his own words, then.

Omega watched his teammates with interest. Rouge was good at getting Shadow talking, even after the hybrid had shut down all others. He wondered how she did that. A query for later, he supposed, and flagged the thought.

“Then…?” Rouge led, arms folded on the counter and leaning forward. “Say the word, baby, and I can have whoever or whatever you want waiting in your bed for you~” She was grinning toothily, enjoying the gentle ribbing. Sometimes it was nice to make the Ultimate Lifeform uncomfortable, and he trusted her enough to let it happen.

Shadow growled again, finally looking back over his shoulder. His ears were pinned and his brow was furrowed darkly in a scowl. “No thank you,” he said. So polite, even in murderous rage. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the stew. “… I don’t know my preference, anyway.”

Omega tilted some in his seat. Ah, back to his query, then? “Define?”

“Define not knowing?” Shadow scoffed, still scowling. “I don’t- I’ve never felt a need for it.”

Omega whirred again, slowly. “Then… new query,” he began. “What aren’t your preferences?”

Rouge grinned and patted the robot’s shoulder. “Good job, Omega,” she praised quietly.

Shadow took the stew off the heat and turned off the burners. He turned to lean against the far counter, arms crossed over his chest, tail flicking in frustration by his legs. He did, at least, seem to be taking Omega’s question seriously enough- after all, it was in the name of finishing a dataset, something Omega felt a strong compulsion to do, and he didn’t mean harm by asking.

He thought of Rouge’s assertions, earlier. ‘Plenty of options… Women love a bad boy.’ The thought was almost chilling, and he wrinkled his nose. Well, there, something he could give the robot for his data. “… I have never felt an attraction to someone of the opposite sex.”

Rouge’s ears perked. “Implying you have felt attraction, before? To someone… of the same sex?”

“Implying what part of I don’t know don’t you understand?” the hybrid growled. 

Ah. Rouge hummed and nodded. “Oh, I see. I get it, now- Omega, Shadow’s not going to be able to finish that dataset for you just yet.”

A whir. Perhaps of disappointment. “I will continue it later, then.” The robot turned and walked off towards the room which held his power station, likely to ‘sleep’. 

Rouge watched him go until the door closed, then looked back to Shadow. “I should’ve known,” she began, “Growing up on the space station and then all the chaos that’s happened since you woke up? You haven’t had time to experience anything, yet.”

“I don’t like how you said experience, please never say it again?”

Rouge snorted. “Hun, I mean any experiences. Beyond fighting. You found out you like reading, and old music, and you’re a good cook- important knowledge to have about yourself. But there’s gaps to fill in.”

Shadow looked affronted. “My memory has been perfectly returned to me, thank you, since after-“

Rouge sighed. “I know, I know- that’s not what I meant.”

Shadow calmed, glad to have the question of his memories settled.

“Shadow…,” Rouge began carefully, ears back. “Before when you mentioned never feeling an attraction to women and that you don’t know if you’ve felt it for anyone else, what did you mean? What makes you unsure?”

The hybrid swallowed thickly and turned his head, arms still crossed tightly, like he was protecting himself. “…Feelings I don’t have names for,” he muttered at length. “They aren’t… good. Or bad. They’re more annoying than anything.”

“Can you describe them?” Rouge pressed gently.

Shadow looked back to her. “Admiration, but deeper,” he said, words slow and careful. “Anticipation. Feeling on edge. Frustration.” Definitions were easy, for him. Words could be easily recited- all these were words that did not fit, but fell close. He had tortured himself over them all at length, finding every one coming up short.

The bat blinked, and her smile softened further. “That’s more than ‘preferences’, Shadow. You’re not gonna like it, but, it kind of sounds like your attracted to someone in particular.”

Shadow snorted and turned to get bowls for the stew. “Ridiculous. Fantasy.”

“What?” Rouge asked, brow furrowed. She flew over the counter and lighted beside the hybrid as he dipped bowls for the both of them. “That you might like someone?”

Shadow glared as he shoved her bowl towards her. “Yes. Now go eat your dinner.” He took up his own and moved to the kitchen counter.

Rouge moved back to join him. “Fine,” she sighed. “We can drop it.”

“Thank you.”

The two ate beside each other in silence for awhile. At length, Rouge said quietly, “But… think about what I said, would you? Shame to let rare feelings like that slip you by.”

Shadow blew soft but didn’t deny her request. He imagined now he wouldn’t have a choice. They finished their stew and worked to put away leftovers, remaining the rest of the night in companionable quiet.

—- —- —- —- —-

Shadow lay in bed that night, on his back staring up at the ceiling. Sleep was hard won every night, but now it eluded him completely.

In his mind, if he closed his eyes for a moment, he could see it- flashes of brilliant blue streaking past his line of sight, too fast even for his eyes to keep up with. Not at a standstill, that was. But in motion?

The blue took shape, and it was so much more. Emerald green eyes joined the form, free and bright, and delicate cream breaking up blue fur. An easy smile thrown over a shoulder, ears back against the rush of air as they teased the edge of the sound barrier. “Shads! Another race, then?”

He should hate that name- he did hate that name. But somehow, from that mouth and in that voice, it sent a frustrating shiver down his spine. Shadow opened his eyes and turned over on his side fitfully, ears pinned. He glared at his clock, 2:00 AM blinking back at him, mocking him.

He sighed and closed his eyes, endeavoring to turn off his mind and the dangerous, confusing thoughts that lingered there.

“Damn blue hedgehog…,” he muttered softly in his sheets. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

Link to masterlist

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

Warped Dreaming

TW: Nightmare, Brief Suggestive Description, Panic Attack, A Heart gets Ripped out, Self Hatred, Paranoia, PTSD, Nonbinary/Gender Neutral Reader

Tags: @kit-williams @sleepyfan-blog @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan (Thanks for lettin me borrow Karlsor) @bispecsual

@bleedingichorhearts @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty

Summary: Another brief interlude. Even though Lullaby's body rests their mind remains frazzled. Even sleep offers minimal relief, and in this case, torment. But are their nightmares just that? Or is something more than just trauma lingering on their soul.

Edit: Changed a line near the end to connect it back to a previous chapter.

This is the Next Chapter of a Story that Starts with this Drabble Here:

The Previous Chapter can be found Here:

Next Chapter Up Now Here!

Plip…

…Drip…

Drip…

Drip…

It's dark…so dark…

Your footsteps echo as you walk.

…drip…

…drip…

The walls are slick, beige brown sodden stone dampened by the atmosphere.

Yet you persist, walking on.

…drip…

…drip…

You're alone…just you and the jagged cave walls…

…drip…

… … drip …

Yet something…someone…must be here right?

…drip…drip…drip,drip,drip

You come to a large shear wall, the dampness has gotten worst. It seems to seep into your bones, weighing you down.

Down…down…down…

Your hand spreads plaintively against the wet cold rock, not desperation, but like resignation.

Your heart feels too heavy to fear.

-But this is what you deserve isn't it?-

Drip…Drip…Splash…Splash-GUSHHHHHHHHHHH!

You whip around, and as if in slow motion, you see your fate.

A swarming, roaring flood of water breaks through the cavern wall.

The heaviness doesn't leave, but panic pushes it aside.

No, NoNoNo NO!

You jump at the wall, scramble to climb, desperate, clinging.

If you can get up this wall…maybe…

Maybe you can save your worthless life…

Cheat the Grim Reaper a second time…

With each motion, each stone feeling as if it's biting into your hands.

The flood waters slam into the wall seeming to grasp upward like deadly claws.

You hazard a glance down.

The waters swirl and churn, as if with anger.

And your gut drops with horror as you see a face in the maelstrom.

Soulless hollow long black eyes, and an equally anguished stretched mouth, amidst a body contorted but armored.

Armored in heraldry of some great ruler you'll never live to know.

The water rises, no…not water. The beast with swirled gnarled twisted form lunges from the base of the wall.

Trying to snatch you from your perch against the slippery rock.

SLAM!!! It's leap is shy the distance, but the impact rattles the stone.

But you Hold.

Why do you hold?

Because despite everything you Want to live.

You climb, you climb as your heart pounds and your hands bleed, but you see the cliff. The top! Your salvation!

Your undoing, your next grab or perhaps it was your foot hold. Too quick, too impatient.

You feel yourself slip and begin to free fall.

"-!"

You stop falling. You're suspended, not in the cave, but in pure darkness. But it doesn't feel frightening, it feels…safe, like being wrapped in a velvet blanket.

Sheltered…warm… The dampness and cold can't find you here.

You try to move, just a little, and the dark velvet around you shifts. There's a fluffier downy texture that rubs against your face. It feels so wonderful, and you nuzzle back without hesitation

"Prrrrrrrrrrr…"

You know that sound. "Khopesh?" Your voice comes out hollow and small, but it doesn't matter. A familiar pale face seems to morph into being from the dark.

Framed with long dark hair you want to run your fingers through.

Set with mirthful twinkling dark eyes, and a jaunty crooked nose.

With pale ashen scarred lips you desperately want to kiss.

So you do. "Khopesh," You breathe his name as your hands come to the sides of his face, and draw him into a kiss. One he eagerly returns…

"Lullaby…" He coos letting his scarred lips press to yours, gentle but insistent. "My Lullaby…"

His…you'd love that to be so. To be his, and for him to be…

"Yours," You groan, now feeling needy. You couldn't even recall if you had clothes on. Not that it mattered. Feeling his touch, his body laid over and around you sent shivers and trembles of pleasure through you.

"Mine…to cherish." Kiss. You arced you neck as he trailed down.

"Mine…to possess" kiss… Something in his tone made you nervous,

but you focused on the feeling of his tongue lapping your throat.

He…he wouldn't hurt you. He adores you. His hand settled warm and steady on your chest.

He- SQUELCH!

You look down in horror. He'd dug his hand straight Into your chest.

No..nononononononoNO! In trembling desperation you gripped his wrist. He seemed to find your panic amusing.

Dread filled your veins, leeching from the place where he literally held your heart in an icy grip. It felt like your head was starting to fill with static. You felt cold bubbling to the surface of the wound and pooling over your sides.

"Khopesh…" You gasped, pleading. The static was getting worst, and beneath it you swore you could hear words. "Please…" You felt the cold water filling in beneath you. You can hear the waves and wails of the monster return with increasing volume.

"Un-Worthy! UnWorThy! uNWORTHY!" Beating against you with every sound, like pounding freezing rain, your fight grows weaker and weaker.

You hadn't even been worth a backwards glance.

"Shhhhhhh…." He hushed with sickening sweetness. "I have no Intention of letting you slip Away, my sweet Lullaby…"

The icy downpour and the fuzzy static drives down upon you ever stronger. You have no fight left to give. Yet still you plead to your Khopesh, begging in a voice with no sound Please.

Please…

"please…I-" I want to Live!

He looks at you, pale face becoming bathed in shadow, and all you see are vicious red, bloodshot eyes and a huge grinning maw of bloody gnashing teeth. Yet his sweet voice still croons to you.

"Mine…to Break…" He whispered,

He ripped your heart from your chest.

…

Your awakening this time wasn't quite as violent, physically at least.

You were sweating and your heart was racing, but the only sound that escaped you was a sudden choked gasp.

This time it was your bed that served to comfort, and smother you. Midday sunlight filtered through your curtains, turning the room a pale blue. Normally, the combination was soothing, but now…

You curled into your side, into the fetal position.

Too weak… Too small… To alone…

You wanted to be held.

And at the same time wanted No One to see you like this. Too weak.Too small.Too alone. Notevenworthabackwardsglance.

You buried your face into your stuffed rabbit, and your special blanket you'd had since childhood. Even as an adult you held them close and slept with them. Normally, they kept you calm. But your reliance on them also made you feel a bit pathetic immature.

Nothing immature about loving things genuinely. But that bit of logical comfort did little to break you from your dry sobbing.

You didn't feel like you had the energy to cry fully. Pathetic. Maybe you were dehydrated.

I can't just wallow here, you thought. You forced yourself to sit up. You grabbed the water from your night table and chugged

it till you couldn't push down your need to breathe.

"What the fuck??" You groaned under your breath. You'd had nightmares before. Weird dreams weren't uncommon. But the two you had recently…they felt different somehow.

"Still doesn't feel right." You mumbled rubbing your chest, it felt like there was a dull hum or a barely perceivable. Pressure on your mind and body. Dammit, you went to therapy and got medicated to Deal with this bullshit.

You can't intercept Every mental break down.

"Yeah well…wish I could." You mumbled.

Vrr Vrr! Vrr Vrr!

Your phone? You picked it up curiously, there was a new message from a number you didn't recognize.

'Vox Hail! I have concluded my business within the city, and am ready to meet you so we may share a meal together!' Khopesh?

The next message came in. 'This is (bat emoji + sword emoji) by the way. Here is visual verification.' He sent a picture of himself, in a semi-dark hallway grinning and a bit blurry, and…wearing sunglasses?

Vr!Vr! Another image came in. Still blurry but you could make out the same dim hallway from before, and the shape of…well it looked like a different Nightlord. Shorter hair, a scar that curved down the right side of his face, and a couple piercings above his very very Very angry looking eyes.

Which was clearly running Towards the camera. The text read. 'My brother is displeased that I've swiped his sun glasses. But then he should not have left them unattended.'

Yep…that's him.

A wave of warm fondness overcame you. You texted back. 'He looks pretty mad, better run fast!'

'No one is faster than meeeeeee! But I Am getting hungry…I am looking forward to sharing a meal with you.'

'Pfft, nothing like runnin for your life to get the appetite goin. Text me your location, I'll drive out to meet you.'

'Excellent! Karlsor is catching up to me so I have to run. But I will see you soon My Lullaby!' The next message came through…it was actual coordinates.

Well you're hoping your GPS will be able to guide you well. If you have trouble you can text or call him and hope his brother hasn't gutted him for his impudence. You shook your head fondly, before making sure to save Khopesh's number. You couldn't forget the funny title, as you did with all personal numbers.

'Khopesh Thing That Goes Prank in The Night'

You smiled at your work, feeling actually…giddy? It was then you realized, the pressure and the dull hum you felt in your mind and body had calmed. You placed a hand to your chest.

"Is…Is this a sign?" His silly antics were enough to pull you (mostly) out of the pain you'd felt after your…nightmare.

A tremble of anxiety came over you-No! You stood up striding off to get ready.

It was Just a nightmare.

The other one was Also, Just a nightmare. You wouldn't let this Horseshit take up anymore of your time or enjoyment. You stated with finality, firmly ignoring the stress that had tried to seep into your chest.

You had a first date to finally enjoy.

[fandom-lover2]

Bloodstains and Badges

Chapter Four - I'll Take Ice, No Coffee

-image not mine-

Chapter Three - I Should Have Called In Sick

Chapter Five - Echoes

McAndrews started laughing so hard I thought he was going to have a heart attack. Or at least choke on his own saliva. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

I opened to mouth to defend myself when I felt Raph move closer to me, aiming to slip past me to him.

I shot my hand out, subtly catching his own before he could move further and giving his wrist a squeeze before releasing. ‘Don’t get involved.’ I conveyed, and he stopped, not moving back but staying close beside me and glaring at the detective.

“It’s illegal to tranquilize people. Too dangerous. That’s why we don’t do it.” Mattews called from his seat at the back of the room.

They still had my empty chair between them, and for a moment I considered just slipping back into it. But I was too into this now. I wasn’t going to step away, I couldn’t.

“They’re not people. It’s what you’re all thinking.”

Raph looked down to me and I cringed, rushing to correct myself.

“They aren’t entirely human anymore. And animal control has authorization to tranq animals. If we approach the higher ups, or the judges or whoever makes the decisions, and propose the idea of them no longer being human then tranquilizing them will be, in some lines, legal.”

Chief Linny looked away, working the idea in her head for a moment. “It could work.”

“How?” McAndrews barked.

I was regretting not letting Raph hit him.

“Because we tranq them and move them. That way they’re out of the publics view, we still get to shoot a gun and play the heroes while minimizing threat to civilians, and no one dies.”

Liam crossed his arms, nodding with a stupidly dorky grin on his face. “I can’t fault that plan.”

“I can.” I drove over my own plan with a fucking semi-truck. “We don’t have somewhere to put them once they’re down. And it takes a good couple minutes for the drug to actually take an animal down so we’ll have to get the mutants into a position where we can wait for the drugs to kick in.”

McAndrew’s threw his hands up. “Small Town wants to play cowboy. You can’t seriously be taking this plan seriously?”

Chief Linny was looking through her phone. “Precinct 70 just moved to a new building. The city is still deciding what to do with the space. We could turn into a home base for the task force.”

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” McAndrews muttered, but I was too deep in thought to bother throwing an insult back.

“Can we arrange for some large transport vehicles at our disposal? And get some licensed officers on the force?”

“Yes. Three have just been delivered this week. Precinct 70’s basement should be able to fit them all.”

“Ok. So then we-”

“We’ll need a better plan.” Callum spoke, having stood up and now making his way to the front where we were.

“Meaning?” Casey joined our group, standing next to Liam.

“Your plan to tranq them.” Callum started, gesturing to me with his chin as he came to a stop beside Raph. “It’s not that easy. My dad is a wildlife vet. The dosage is dependent on weight, that’s why we don’t use it on humans. A miscalculation and you could overdose and kill someone. Underestimate and it has almost no effect. Or very little and the thing doesn’t go down fully and could still harm someone.”

“You said they’re human, animal hybrids, correct?” I addressed the question to Chief Linny, but I looked to Raph and then his brothers for the answer.

“Yes.” Leo confirmed, eyeing me.

In fact, this whole time he’d been looking at me strange. Almost like I was the freaky odd one out.

“So we get a vet or zoologist to come with on calls and help us estimate weight based on the species and size.”

Chief Linny shook her head, Liam speaking up. “Bringing in civilians isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s getting a consult for a time sensitive operation.” Oscar piped up, having joined our circle.

A female officer, Rosco I think, raised her hand as she began to stand from her spot. “My dad is a retired marine turned wildlife vet. He works at the zoo, retiring next month.”

Huh. The universe was on our side.

“Ok, so we have a civilian consult with experience in high stress situations. What’s next?”

“Where the fuck are we gonna put them?” someone called out from the back.

Matthews was making his way down the rows to join our group, Rosco and the officer she’d arrived with heading our way to.

Precinct 70 had covered South Brooklyn, more residential and upper class than the city itself. Their ‘office’ space would not be able to be transformed into something that could hold the mutants long term, especially not if they were big like some of the images had shown.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in. ‘Come on. Think, think, think…. Where could we set up a home base and keep a large number of individuals?’

“We turn into super villains.” Matthews answered.

“What?” Donnie asked, having a much tamer answer than what half the faces present would have answered.

“Super villains.” the blonde repeated, like it would explain everything. “Abandoned building.”

That was the dumbest smart idea I had ever heard.

At first, you think ‘Wow, how the hell did he imagine that to be taken?’

But then you start to think about it.

Abandoned building, maybe in a not so great part of the city because that’s where they usually were. Bad area, nobody is gonna give a shit about weird stuff going on, or the transport trucks that’d be coming and going.

Abandoned building, which would have multiple floors, meaning we could use the space for housing the mutants, setting up holding cells of various sizes for long term use while we could still be in the same building.

“Holy shit, it’s actually perfect.” Liam complimented. Well, that’s as good of a compliment that you’d get from him.

“There must be some seized by the city that we could operate out of?” Casey addressed Chief Linny.

The woman nodded, gesturing to her assistant, who had so far been sitting to the side quietly taking notes. “We’ll compile a list and look into which one would be the most practical.”

I nodded. “Well, what else? We have a place, transport, a plan of capture and how to subdue them. What else do we need to-”

“Who the fuck is gonna clean the cages?” McAndrews spoke up.

We all turned to him.

“Cause I ain’t gonna play zookeeper. But, if we do open a petting zoo, I’m takin’ 50% of all profits.”

I didn’t realize I’d moved until I my fist was hurting after connecting with the side of his jaw.

The detective stumbled back, falling onto the tables set behind him and sending the officers behind them scrambling back as the bald man fell to the ground.

McAndrews sat up, raising a hand to cradle his nose. When he pulled his hand back, it was wet with his blood. “You fuckin’ bitch!”

I hadn’t meant to do it.

Ok, that was a lie. I totally meant to hit him. I hadn’t intended to turn it into a full-blown brawl.

McAndrews charged for me, Liam shoving me aside and gladly taking my place.

Chaos erupted, more than half the room cheering either side on while a few bothered to make at least some attempt to look like they were breaking it up.

If there was one thing every cop in this room could agree on, you were either on McAndrew’s side or Liam’s. Pretty much the entire State was divided by that line. This fight was decades in the making.

“Raph!” Leo barked, rushing towards the two men who were all out bar fighting in the middle of NYPD HQ.

Raph followed, though somewhat less enthusiastically.

It took a bit of fancy footwork, avoiding the fists and kicks to get around the men and separate them.

The struggle ended, however, when Leo put his hand on McAndrews shoulder and the guy all but screamed.

And I don’t mean something manly and deep.

14-year-old girl with a spider in her room screamed.

It was so misplaced that the entire room froze, until I was the first to snort a laugh.

Everyone erupted in guffaws of laughter, many officers having to lean on something or one another to keep upright.

McAndrews, nose still bleeding, turned redder than said 14-year-old with a crush, and shoved officers aside as he marched out of the room.

“Ok, ok. Se-settle down!” Chief Linny called the room to order, trying to get her own laughter under control. “Everybody, please return to your seats.”

Most listened, moving chairs and tables back into position. Some cash was passed around, a bet having started in the 2 minutes the fight had lasted. Or maybe that bet had been around for decades too.

Did that count as Liam winning?

Callum, Matthews and Oscar were now seated in the front row, Rosco and her buddy, Sanchez beside them.

Mikey had apparently made a friend with the K9 duo, Markus and Lemmings, because he was seated between them now in the second row.

Liam looked alright, mostly. Slip lip, hair decently mussed up, maybe a black eye tomorrow. But he seemed happy about that.

“That was my fight.” I whispered, moving to stand beside him.

“Nuh uh.” He raised a thumb to wipe away the blood. “That one’s been mine a long time coming.”

I flexed my knuckles. Hurt, but nothing broken. I’d have to ice them later though. “Next time I’ll let you start it too.”

The room settled, everyone turning their attention back to the Chief.

“Now, McAndrews may have been crass in his wording but he did have a point. We will need some way to hold these mutants. How long, we don’t know. That depends on what the plan is after.”

“Well apparently the plan was to kill them so…” I trailed off, crossing my arms. “Any way to maybe, I don’t know, work on a cure for this stuff?”

The four mutant brothers bristled at my words, their shoulders tightening as each shifted.

So that was an answer.

“In theory,” Donatello started, pushing his glasses up, “the effects could be reversed. But it could take months to develop and the science behind it is-”

“Ok, we’re gonna be here all day with your science mumbo jumbo.” Raph interrupted. “Is it a yes or no?”

Donnie seemed to struggle for a moment, debating with himself before settling on, “Yes.”

“So we find some science geeks and have ‘em start working on it. I’m guessing FBI will be happy to lend us some of their scientists?” I hinted to Chief Linny.

She nodded. “If that is the route we want to take, the higher ups will provide the best of the best.”

Was this the route we were taking? Defying what the corporate assholes above us wanted and choosing to take the harder route to preserve life instead of just following orders and exterminating the mutants.

I looked around the room.

Some officers looked unsure, glancing to the door as if the room was on fire. Others were smiling, confidence oozing off them at the chance to be apart of something wild.

“This isn’t some two-week playdate.” I started, spinning to face the room. “This will take months of hard work, longer hours and more dangerous situations than we’ve been trained for. There is still much to discuss and plan. It will take everything from you, and so I understand if you don’t want to stick it out. It’s a lot to ask, but if you want to leave, no one will fault you.”

It took a couple seconds for the first officer to bail, but after she did, it caused a ripple. By the time they had all left, a room of 35 officers was down to 15.

“So, this is us.” I looked to the remaining officers, my officers. My crew.

“This is us.” Liam agreed.

I caught Raph’s eye, and he winked at me.

Well, this wasn’t how I imagined my Tuesday to go.

I turned back to Chief Linny. “What else do we need to plan?”

[pumperpup]

In the heart of a bustling metropolis, inside a state-of-the-art laboratory, Dr. Marcus Everson was on the brink of a groundbreaking discovery. Known for his sharp intellect and striking looks, Marcus dedicated his career to addressing one of humanity's greatest challenges: world hunger.

His latest invention was a potion, shimmering with a promising azure glow, designed to maximize nutritional absorption. The idea was simple yet revolutionary: a few drops could turn a minimal meal into a day's worth of sustenance. The implications for solving global hunger were immense.

Despite the risks, Marcus decided to test the potion on himself. He believed in leading by example, and what better way to demonstrate his confidence in the potion's safety and efficacy? With a steady hand, he administered a small dose, expecting little more than a mild sensation or perhaps a fleeting energy boost.

At first, nothing happened. Marcus felt a flicker of disappointment mixed with relief. He began to make notes, meticulously documenting his initial observations. Minutes ticked by in the quiet hum of his lab.

Then, it started.

A peculiar feeling washed over him, a deep, internal stirring unlike anything he had experienced before. He glanced down, noticing a subtle change in his normally flat abdomen. It was expanding, slowly but perceptibly. Marcus's eyes widened in astonishment. He rushed to the mirror, watching in disbelief as his slim frame began to swell.

Panic set in. He scrambled through his notes, trying to identify a miscalculation or a misstep in his process. But there was nothing, no immediate explanation for this extraordinary reaction.

His body continued to grow, his once lean physique inflating rapidly. The man who had always prided himself on his appearance, who had never struggled with a pound too many, was now ballooning beyond his wildest imagination.

As he surpassed what one might call overweight, then obese, and approached a size that could only be described as morbidly obese, Marcus's mind raced with scientific curiosity and personal horror. The laboratory, once a sanctuary of control and precision, felt like a chamber of unpredictable chaos.

He knew he needed help, but his pride, his reputation as a brilliant scientist, held him back. How could he face the world in this state? How could he explain that his ambition to solve world hunger had led to this bizarre personal catastrophe?

The story ends with Marcus, once a paragon of health and attractiveness, now a man of immense size, alone in his laboratory. The potion that was meant to change the world had indeed changed something - but it was not what he had intended. His journey, marked by a quest for scientific achievement, had taken a turn into the unknown, leaving him in a state of shock and disbelief at his own transformation.

[milk-ducts]

I'm so glad to have encountered a fellow Cecil stan. I freaking love coming up with headcanons for Cecil, platonic or romantic, because he's such an interesting character. For real though feel free to dump any Cecil headcanons (platonic or romantic) on me anytime.

AWAAAA!! YES HAII OTHER CECIL AFICIONADO !!! im so glad theres more of us sprouting out here. my wife is so underappreciated, you have no idea how much he means to me. i'd love to req n swap headcanons anytime !! I have so many thoughts on that morally ambiguous gilf.

[messy, disorganized surface level autism rambling ahead. this will be just random scenes and characteristics i like of him]

BUT YES .. cecil's character is just so interesting to analyze. he does unethical, necessary things. But he doesn't subscribe to idealistic notions of "the greater good" or justifying his actions to make himself sleep better at night. He knows the harsh reality that someone has to make the difficult decisions, no matter how unethical. The psychological toll it takes to calculate how many civilian lives can be spared, and how many are inevitably lost in order to achieve the optimal outcome. He doesn't celebrate after victories like the other heroes do. After the dust settles, his mind is already racing - calculating, strategizing how to prevent future catastrophes. How to minimize casualties next time.

his methods are...questionable,, as ive said,, but there's a hint of nobility to it that just makes you respect him, A SHADY GOVERNMENT CHAR that does the dirty work and takes in all the heat for it so no one else has to? SIGN ME TF UP! i love exploring his character and all the little glimpses of humanity we get to see from him,, especially with debbie, SO SOFT FOR HER, there's so much depth there. that old fuck would MOVE mountains for her if he could,, TRUST. EVEN though he doesnt deserve her .. <<

LETS CONTINUE TO CIRCLE BACK TO S1 with his confrontation w Nolan in the desert, the way he entrusted his survival to the skills of his team operating that teleporter watch (I'm aware he can control it himself, I think this was just my interpretation of it since the employees seemed directly involved here). The margin for error was nonexistent. One miscalculation, one millisecond too slow, and Cecil would have been reduced to a red smear across miles of sand. MY WIFE HAS BALLS ON HIM. (also love walton goggins breathy lil giggles here .. hwaghffhh)

All this, All the whilst Nolan could have ended him with a casual backhand, as easily as swatting a fly. And for what? For humanity's (mostly his) right to know the truth. For Debbie's right to understand what she had truly married because Cecil respects her that fucking much for her to have a part in all of this, and what fate may lay in store for her son.

AND what I particularly liked about that scene is that unlike most SHADY GOV CHARS ™.. Cecil isn't afraid to regularly place himself in life-threatening situations, and for that im just.. FKING obsessed. finally. a hyper competent gov char that gets shit done and occasionally by his own hands instead of always puppeteering in the shadows. Love u .. love u honey snooch, please stop putting yourself in danger for your crazy alien side-hoes .

but ahem ... back to s2.. and some flaws of his that i'm not afraid to point out. the way he's been treating mark is killing me. manipulating my son by comparing him to his dad then keeping him on lock by saying he's not like him??? The breadcrumming definitely didn't work out at all, cuz Mark is too damn stubborn to continue to be swindled by fear tactics he does not give a shit for anymore (homegirl DEBBIE taught him better) hes not gonna listen to a cranky skullet-having side bitch of nolans who clearly has been tryna manipulate him since s1. i HATED how he went "ur broke tyrannical bitch father felt the same way" in the last minute when mark tried to leave earth and yet i still lobve ceci cause ough,,.. my bastard wife knew something was probably up.

Him wanting to keep a short leash on MARKY could be summed up after all that has happened in s1. i'm not going to justify his scummy manipulations or paranoia,, especially after all the shit mark has done and endured to prove himself over and over again that he's not like his father BUT its somewhat understandable for cecil 2 be wary if you look from it in his perspective.

moving on from that, lets dive back into ep 2 ..

Debbie was semi-right in her deduction in s2 ep2, that this is what it's really all about for Cecil - being in control. Not of any situation, but of Mark. To ensure history does not repeat itself in the form of Mark becoming another Nolan. imo He likely doesn’t actually view Mark as his father, Not saying the possibility of it being a part of Cecil's subconsciousness is out of the equation but the way I see it? He was just exploiting that one weakness, that one insecurity Mark has - the fear of becoming like Nolan. And it’s a fear Cecil seemed to prey upon to keep Mark under his thumb and in the fucking GAME.

awaaaa :3 !!!! psychologically damaging teens by comparing them to their abhorrently shitty fathers !! FUCK YOJ STEDMAN (love you snookums..)

,,,,I'd also like to think in my warped deluded perception (aka hcs) that he sees Debbie in Mark, so he can't help but care for the kid too. IVE ALWAYS seen a lot of comparisons between Mark and his dad, plus the whole motif of this new season hasn't helped it allay. But Debbie and Mark share so many similar characteristics as well and i wish that was talked a bit more often &lt; 3 (I will go in depth about it at a later post.)

n umm like ...,,, bck to cici in gen. I guess the safety of earth is one of Cecil's redeeming qualities along with his compassion for side characters like Debbie. His pragmatism and utilitarianism define him. He lacks normal morals but has his own code that cultivates to his character. this ramble could not do justice to him ughfglg..,, what a compelling jezebel.. how can u captivate me so !!

My inbox is always open to discuss this multi-faceted rat man. here's to more cecil content in s2..,... hopefully with more of his dynamic with Debbie because I LIVE for that shit. though its unlikely their interactions could range to anything positive now since they may be hinting to cecil becoming an antagonist and/or taking extreme measures w/ mark. soo.. i dont think debbie's scolding was enough for that slut 2 take in ..

in the mean time i'll be catching up on the comics/re-reading them, look up more of his backstory and hopefully create 10 novels worth of google docs of analysis' of his character < 3 cuz .. he means .. that much 2 me.. and i want to prod at every crevice n brain matter he has inside that megamind head of his .

((hwaghhhhhh << hoping that one day the discord moots ive been keeping in my basement and most invincible fans fall victim to cecil stedman propoganda.. no one should be immune to my girlboss and his awful skullet.))

[darkmaga-returns]

The Biden Administration successfully mislead the American people into believing that Bidenomics was a successful endeavor. The administration managed to mislead the people into believing the health of the economy, and president for that matter, were in good condition. New revised data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS) reveals that the private sector contracted significantly under Joe Biden and Kamala Harris.

The BLS surveys 200,000 out of 600,000 businesses monthly to determine nonfarm payroll estimates. The figure is consistently revised with somewhat minimal deviation from the prediction. Yet, that was not the case under the Biden Administration.

The BLS publishes the Business Employment Dynamics (BED) census as well on a quarterly basis. The sample size is 12 million or 17 times the size of the monthly nonfarm payrolls report. From July 2024 to September 2024, monthly data showed a Q3 increase of 399,000 jobs. The newly revised figure shows that the private sector actually contracted by 1,000 positions. This is more than a mere miscalculation—it is a deliberate LIE intended to mislead the American public ahead of the presidential election.

Now, the BLS also releases a quarterly census report on employment and wages. The BLS determines its annual benchmark by comparing these varying reports and reevaluating its monthly estimates. Every March, the BLS looks at the Current Employment Statistics, or CES, survey, and looks at administrative records of employees covered by Unemployment Insurance (UI). Around 97% of employment falls under the CES scope, and the remaining 3% is analyzed by looking at County Business Patterns or other sources like the Railroad Retirement Board. The March survey determines the “universe” count and adjusts the prior year’s monthly estimates, recalibrating the data to match the universe figure.

[undead-supernova]

HIGH TOLERANCE

Masterlist

important note: this is a one-off of my High Tolerance series! I suppose you could read this first, but I think reading the whole 5-part series first would be more fun hehehehe

plot: when a cute guy with curly hair asks you to be his best friend, how can you say no? how do you look away when your whole life has been altered by this one instance? In other words: This is how Eddie and Weirdo met.

pairings: modern!bestfriend!Eddie x bisexual!fem!reader

warnings: drinking, cigarettes, pure fluff

wc: 3.4k

additional note: this cover of Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)" was a biiiiig help with tone and vibe hehe

         “And we'll have Halloween on Christmas.

         And in the night, we'll wish this never ends.

         We'll wish this never ends."

You swayed around in circles, careful not to let the microphone cord wrap around your block-heeled Mary Janes. The minimal drums and guitar kicked in, with the faded background vocals echoing I miss you. Your pleated black skirt swayed around you, following your lead.

This was your favorite Tuesday Karaoke genre, the emo and pop-punk throwbacks being your jackpot. It was a classic go-to for you, the meme-ification of the song riling you up even further. And you were going to prove it.

“WHERE ARE YOU?” you nearly screamed, too excited to get to your favorite part. You imitated Tom DeLonge’s voice, concentrating on getting it right. Maybe a little bit more than you should’ve, but— “AND I’M SO SORRY! I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight!”

You really thought that the meme of it all would bring the five drunks here together. That you’d earn at least a chuckle from someone other than the bartender. But maybe you’d miscalculated your audience. Because everyone was sitting, mainly ignoring you as they either talked to each other or stared at their phones.

But was that going to stop you? Fuck. No.

         “Don’t waste your time on me.

         You’re already the voice inside my head.”

“Woo!”

You glanced over at the voice to see some guy standing there. A very attractive some guy, with long curly hair and bangs. A tight t-shirt hidden by a leather jacket with…a denim vest over it? His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but that didn’t stop him from shimmying both his shoulders and swinging his hips around. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he danced. 

He was paying attention to you. Why was he of all people paying attention to you?

You couldn’t deny that you liked it, liked the way he moved no matter how stupid it looked. So, you decided to give him a show, pointing at him as you came in for another round.

         “Don’t waste your time on me.

         You’re already the voice inside my head.”

He pulled his hands out, cupping them around his mouth. His many silver rings and chain bracelets shone in the light, along with sparkly blue nails.

“Do ‘Freebird’!”

That made you laugh harder than you thought you’d ever laughed before, having to pull the mic away from your lips from the sheer volume that erupted from you. And above the sound of the music, you could hear his guffaw of laughter mixing with yours. 

When you looked back at him, a huge grin on your lips, you couldn’t help but feel something tingle in your stomach. Like a small fizzle, something resembling a firework that sputtered out almost immediately after being ignited.

         “I miss you."

You replaced the mic back on its stand before stepping down from that shitty excuse for a stage. Immediately, you were face-to-face with this pretty guy.

“Hello, it’s amazing to meet you,” he said.

You smiled. “Likewise. Thanks for being my biggest fan.” Gesturing around the nearly empty bar, you added, “Tough crowd tonight.”

“Oh, I gotta get your album autographed. And your mixtape. And the collector’s edition.”

“Oh my god.” You giggled as you shook your head. “You’re too kind.”

You introduced yourself, desperate to put a name to his face.

“I’m Eddie,” he said, sticking his hand out for a handshake. You took it without thought, his palm sticking to yours with a bit of sweat. “You’re not gonna sing ‘Freebird’?”

“I don’t think she’s singing it, dude,” another voice said lightheartedly behind you. 

You dropped your hand from Eddie’s nearly immediately, absolutely embarrassed for reasons you couldn’t understand.

As you turned, you saw another guy there, with silky honey hair and warm brown eyes, rocking a post-work look. Popped white button-down, navy slacks with shiny mahogany loafers that clanked against the floor when he walked. 

His hands were resting on his hips, showing off a nice watch. One lifted, extending toward you. “I’m Steve.” 

Taking it, you noticed that you weren’t as affected by his touch. Maybe it was because his hand wasn’t sweaty. 

As you introduced yourself, you were almost trampled by a very cute girl.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said with a harsh breath, arm slung around Steve. “Jeez, they really made me grovel to get off on time and the traffic is hell. Maybe we should go back to—” She noticed you then, straightening her posture. Her hairstyle could barely be considered a ponytail from the way half of her short hair had spilled out. A black button-down now unbuttoned, hanging down her sides with a black tank top underneath. Paired with black jeans and an array of thin rings. God, she was cute. “Hello, new friend. I’m Robin.”

“Hi Robin, I’m new friend.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Steve took over the conversation, asking her about her shift. 

You tried to pay attention, but it was brought back to Eddie when he asked, “Can we be best friends?”

You let out a small laugh before nodding. “It’s a done deal,” you responded, earning a high-five. 

“Wanna come hang with us?” he asked, pointing his thumb at Steve following Robin to a small table in the back. When had they decided that?

Looking back at Eddie, you weighed your options. You could continue to sit by yourself, reading a book in a bar and listening to them have fun; laugh. Could let yourself wonder what they were talking about. Could take the easy way out, could walk out of there right now and leave yourself wondering what could’ve been with someone like Eddie. 

But that wasn’t really the easy route.

And you wanted to take the easy route.

“How could I refuse?”

“So why’re y’all out tonight of all nights?” you asked, placing a napkin under your vodka Redbull to fiddle with something.

Eddie was looking at you, sitting on the opposite side of the table, holding your eye contact in a way that was making you nervous. Because he was lifting his glass to his lips and right on those pretty lips of his was the softest smirk you’d ever seen. And there his dimples were, deepening as he took a sip.

“We’re celebrating,” Robin said, smiling at you.

You turned your attention back to the conversation at hand, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Steve nodded. “We moved here five months ago today.”

“Hell fucking yeah we did!” Eddie exclaimed, raising his glass before clinking it with Steve and Robin’s. You were surprised when he faced you, gesturing towards your drink.

As you lightly tapped your drink to his, you couldn’t help but notice the way he was looking at you now. Like you were already something to him.

“Well, congratulations,” you said, still making eye contact. “Do y’all like it here?”

“It’s pretty different from the world we’re from,” Eddie said with a nod.

“Feels very, uh,” Steve stumbled, snapping his fingers. “Can’t think of it…”

“Upside down?” Robin offered.

Snap. “Yes, that. Exactly. Upside down,” Steve said, pointing at her.

“What about you?” Eddie asked.

Your eyes widened. “Me?” All three nodded. “Oh, I’m from Tennessee. I came here for college and then ended up staying.”

Eddie nodded along as you spoke. “You like it here?”

“Yeah, I actually do,” you said. “It’s the first place that’s started to feel like home.’”

Steve smiled. “I hope we all start feeling that way.”

“Oh, I think I’m already there,” Eddie said, shamelessly holding your stare as he lifted his drink back up to his lips again. It was soft, sweet—something that he wasn’t currently sharing with the other two.

No, it was just you.

God, he was hot.

When you looked back at Steve and Robin, you noticed Robin tilting her head at you, like she was observing you or something. Watching you. Studying you. Whatever the right word for it was, she was doing it.

“Rob, we should get up there,” Steve said, nudging her.

She returned his nudge with a more forceful one. “And sing what, dingus?”

“‘Livin’ on a Prayer’!” Steve exclaimed.

“Are you kidding me?” Robin asked. “I’m not singing ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’.”

“Woah-oh, we’re halfway there!” Steve shouted.

“Wo-ah, we’re livin’ on a prayer!” Robin shouted back.

You and Eddie were sitting at the bar, laughing as you watched the two go back and forth. It had started as a field trip to get another drink and then ended with you sitting on the stools. Eddie had followed your lead wordlessly.

“They’re incredible,” you said and really meant it. How they convinced Craig to let them sing a song outside of the theme was astonishing. Maybe Steve gave him heart eyes. Craig was such a sucker for a pretty face.

“I have not seen Robin this drunk in a while,” Eddie commented. “She’s something else.”

“Are you gonna sing?” you asked, turning your attention back to him.

He chuckled. “No, maybe next time.”

“Not a singer?”

“I am, actually,” he replied with that special smile he’d given you earlier. “I just convinced my bandmates to move down here after they graduate back home.”

“Oh, that’s really cool! What’s the name?”

“Corroded Coffin.”

“Metal?” you questioned.

“How’d you guess?”

You shrugged. “A hunch.” 

That is the most metal band name I’ve ever heard, you thought to yourself.

“You listen to metal?”

Laughing, you pointed at your outfit. “Clearly.”

His eyes seemed to spark up. “Really?” 

“You make that seem like it’s such a big deal,” you said. “Or are you one of those guys that’s all ‘Women don’t even know real music. Name six of their albums.’”

Eddie took a sip of his whiskey, all the while shaking his head. “Nah, I think those guys are assholes. It’s not like women aren’t making the same music about more important shit anyways.” 

“Correct answer,” you said, pointing at him before taking another swig of your drink.

He shrugged, scratching the top of his head. “I think it’s wild just ‘cause I come from a small town where the mere idea of liking that genre is, like, unheard of.”

You snorted. “Where are you from?”

“Hawkins, Indiana.”

“That sounds fake, I’m so sorry.” He laughed. “But, to be fair, I don’t know much about Indiana.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Fuck, I wouldn’t wish it on you, either.”

“Well, consider yourself lucky. There’s lots of people in Atlanta who like metal. But beware of the weird Republican-looking guys who listen to butt rock. Oh, and the skinheads. I made that mistake once and I’ll never be the same.”

“Seriously?”

Trying to get the flashback out of your head, you stated plainly, “You’d be surprised how easy it is to think you’re around like-minded people before you realize where you are.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Was it like Green Room?”

“Kinda, just with less death,” you said before pausing. “Or maybe I didn’t stay around long enough to find out.”

“Shit. Makes sense,” he said. “So, are you waiting for someone? A boyfriend…or girlfriend? Partner?” Eddie sighed when you laughed, putting a hand over his face before waving it around. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to being in a cool place like this. I don’t know why I thought anyone would be straight here, least of all you.” 

You started laughing harder as he gestured to your outfit. With your skirt and Mary Jane’s, you had a simple black crop top on and spike bracelets. Almost as many rings as him. A simple tattoo choker. You were a blatant neon sign with GAY written in cursive and an arrow flashing at you.

“No, it’s alright. I’m a raging semi-goth bisexual.”

“No way, same here just with metal. And my buddy Steve is bi, too.”

The two of you looked over at Steve who was doing some variation of a hip thrust and pretending to play the guitar at the same time. 

“Is he dating your other friend? They seem close.”

Robin whipped her head around as she pretended to play the drums before her head collided with Steve’s and they paused to have a bickering match.

“Robin? Nah. They’re kinda a package deal but they’re platonic with a capital P, as she likes to say. And she’s only into girls.”

“Right, of course.” Some part of you felt an itch that you couldn’t help but scratch. “Uh, are you dating Steve?”

That made Eddie cackle so loudly that even Steve and Robin looked over.

“No, absolutely not,” he finally said. “I’m not dating anyone, least of all Steve.”

You let out a hum. “A gaggle of queers.”

“Got your own gaggle of queers, then?” 

You shook your head, watching his smile fall. “Lost all my friends a few months ago,” you explained. “Some my fault, others not.” 

You couldn’t help but shrug, trying not to go back to all the shit talking and the fights and the blocking and the tears and the loss. The late nights wondering how you were so blind to the manipulation. The games. The accusations you made against the innocent. The moment you fell to the ground when you realized that you were just the pawn in a game made to humiliate someone else. Someone you considered a close friend. 

You’d burned your bridges with the assailants but lost your best friend in the end.

Senior year of college was not what you’d expected it to be.

“Sometimes you trust the wrong people and end up hurting the right ones. Either way, you get burned from a flaming double-edged sword. And then you graduate all alone.”

“That sucks,” Eddie said, his tone changing. “I hate that that happened to you.” He paused, giving you a glance before putting his shoulders back and pretending to wield a sword. “Fear not!” he said in a low voice. “For I am here to lead you from the realm of darkness and into the world of victory!”

You giggled, shaking your head before clearing your throat. Mimicking his posture, you said, “I would be more than honored, my lord!”

As you fell into fits of laughter, your smile fell. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump all that on you. Sometimes I just have no filter and—” 

“No,” he interrupted. “I don’t either. It’s alright. I kinda like talking to you about—”

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve said, approaching you two. “Rob and I are thinking of heading out. Are you coming?”

You watched Eddie’s eyes flicker from Steve to you before he shook his head. “Nah, I think I’m gonna stay out for a little longer.”

For some reason, that made you feel all bubbly inside.

Despite hiding your smile, you caught Robin’s eyes on you again, eyebrows raised at you with some kind of crooked smile on her face. 

“Have fun,” she said, glancing between you and Eddie before taking Steve’s arm and dragging him out of the bar.

When the door shut behind them, you turned back to face Eddie.

“You’re staying,” you stated with a playful tone.

“Uh, yeah. I’m talking to my new best friend.”

“You’re telling me that the only time you watched Lord of the Rings was at the beach?” Eddie looked at you like you were crazy, causing you to giggle. “What about the beach says, Let’s go to Mordor, shall we?”

“Listen!” you exclaimed. “My mom and my sister would go to a DVD rental place by one of the grocery stores. Well, then Redbox after video stores closed. But, anyways, every year they had Lord of the Rings on display first. So, they decided that that was that.”

Walking side by side, you and Eddie headed to your cars, sharing the last cigarette in his pack. The bar had closed, the first time you’d ever been kicked out of one. But you and Eddie weren’t done talking.

“And those were the only movies you watched?”

You shrugged. “Basically. Unless you count the time I rented Saw and nearly shat my pants.”

Eddie paused at his car, a rather creepy looking van, looking like he was considering something before he ran around the car. Without any hesitation, you tried to beat him to the other side. But he faked you out, coming back around and scaring you.

“I’d like to play a game,” he growled. You squealed involuntarily, jumping back to escape him. But he continued to chase you around his van. “What’s your name?”

You smirked, surprising him by turning around and pushing him back. “My name is Very Fucking Confused, what’s your name!”

Giggles spilled from your lips, colliding with his in some kind of harmony. It was so natural, the way you fell into tandem with one another. The way you were leaning into one another already, laughter mixing with labored breaths as you tried to catch them.

You couldn’t believe just how easy it was with Eddie, especially after months and months of loneliness. There was a part of you that had given up on any form of friendship. A little voice that told you that no one would be willing to listen when you spoke. No one who could be as goofy as you were. Readily give back what you put out.

And it was something that you really hoped you wouldn’t lose.

“This was really fun,” you said. “You’re really cool.” Before you sounded stupid, you added, “Y’all seem really fun.”

Eddie held a soft smile, reaching his hand out to you. “Here, give me your phone. I’ll give you my number.” You handed it over without any protest. “Let’s hang out in the next few weeks.”

“I’d love that.”

Your smile was slipping. That was just something people said. Nothing ever followed through and you knew that all too well. Any date you tried to go on. Any new interaction with coworkers in passing. Anyone you casually talked to at Go Ask Mary. 

“What about next Thursday?” he asked, handing your phone back to you. “Are you free?”

A smile made its way to your face as you stared in shock. “Yeah, I have that day off.”

“Same. I’ll jot it down in my calendar,” he responded with a growing smile before unlocking the door and jumping into his van.

“Welcome to Atlanta, Eddie,” you said, looking up at him.

Leaning down, he gave you a final handshake. You took it, noticing that it was a lot less sweaty than before.

“I’m really starting to like it here,” he said. 

And you gazed at each other for a moment, continuing to hold each other’s palms, a special look in your eyes that was reserved for each other. Like this look was going to be a continual thing. Like this was just the start of something. You just couldn’t figure out what exactly that something was.

Then Eddie seemingly flinched, pulling his hand away.

“Thanks for being my new best friend,” he said finally, scratching his cheek before placing it back on the steering wheel.

A lump in your throat formed as you took a step back. Put your hands together behind your back. Squeezed for some kind of comfort to satiate the ache in your palm.

“Thanks for asking,” you replied.

“See you next Thursday?”

“See you next Thursday.”

He shut his door then, leaving you to turn on your heels to trudge towards your own. You noticed that he waited to back out until you got in your car, giving you a wave before driving off.

And you watched his van go, taking him farther away from you. Though you knew you’d see him again in just a week, you really wished it had been now. 

Maybe you should’ve known then, should’ve understood what that was going to mean in the future. But hindsight is 20/20 and you’ve never been sure what that even meant. Perhaps it would’ve saved you a lot of distress. A lot of jealousy. A lot of insecurity. If things had transpired differently, maybe you could’ve avoided everything that came to fruition.

But instead, you drove home. Picked out your clothes for work the next day. Brushed your teeth. Got into bed. Turned some YouTube video on. Let the darkness fill your room. All the normal parts of your routine. 

Except for the buzz of your phone, a sound that you were still startled by after months of near silence.

It was from Eddie.

can’t wait for next week!

With a smile and droopy eyes, you sent a reply.

Me neither.