#double dial clock

[itsrockinronnie]

The American double-dial clock

American clocks with double dials, often referred to as “double dial” or “two-dial” clocks, were common in the 19th century. There are two categories of double-dial clocks but first, let’s talk about the calendar clock. These clocks typically have one dial for the time and another for the calendar. The reason for this design was to provide both timekeeping and a calendar function in a single…

[velvet-paradox]

Intense

Fandom: Sleep Token (Band) Pairing: Vessel x Female reader x III Length: Long Summary: Your eepy roommates suggest they can help you out. Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, LISTEN UP PUNK I know what I'm about ok and I shouldn't even have to to explain this but for ffs this is for funsies, fictional purposes only. I don't know these British men and I don't claim to! But am I having an absolute ball listening to them everyday day since I heard Dark Signs??? Absolutely. I have not and will not know peace on Earth ever again so with that being said... my lizard brain wants to shoot my shot and get sandwiched between Vessel and III (purely based off their on stage personas) and I'm pretty sure all us worshippers would enjoy kneeling and begging for forgiveness for all the eepy guys. DON'T LIE TO ME; I'll know. ;) One late night thot lead us down this path so here ya' go, we've got: strong language, explicit content, MFM relations, polyamorous activities, kissing, oral (m receiving), p in v, protected sex, unprotected sex (don't do it!), double vaginal, dirty talking, creampie III is a mess, Vessel is along for the ride and you're indulging in the spoils of detailed smut. Tagging: @synnersaint my ride or die

ENJOY!!!

You stare at the red numbers on the clock next to your bed. You blink.

Unfortunately unfazed by the hum-drum pace and the position you've found yourself in.

Ugh, how did this happen again?

The man on top of you, circling his hips against your own, balls deep in your cunt should be fun, exciting, a turn-on at least but you just laid there, once again, taking it but not getting anything out of it. You faked it the last three times just to get him to get off you, out of your apartment and out the door so you could finish yourself off with some post nut clarity. Which is what you should've done in the first place.

The first time you had sex with him, you chalked it up to nerves. It'd been a few months for him and a bit longer for you at this point. The second time you excused it as you did go out for drinks earlier in the night and the last one was just plain awful. No foreplay, bit your neck too hard and pretty much gave you a titty-twister which was not fun; at all.

But he's nice! And funny, easy to talk to you and here you are, making more excuses for a man who can't even get you off. This is just pathetic, girl.

You felt bad faking your enthusiasm but even as you moved in unison with him, hearing him huff and grate out oh my fucking god for the fifth time, he didn't even have a clue.

So you dialed it up, two more minutes had passed with him just thrusting inside you, he didn't even notice you weren't as wet as before. What a fucking disaster.

You sighed and made your O face, biting your lip and holding his waist, the slapping of skin sped up briefly before he pulled out with a groan of your name, panting as he jerked himself, tore off the condom and came on the inside of your thigh.

Fucking finally.

Your date was quick to get dressed, mentioning something about an early shift change. He gave you chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, cupping your face as an afterthought as you followed him out of your bedroom.

"I'll text you when I get home. I-- oh!"

You bounced against his back, stunned as to why he's just stopped like that when you peer around his frame. There on the couch in your living room sat your roommates.

"Oh my-- what are you guys doing home?" You asked, frantically looking between the two sober faces and their luggage by the front door. Well more like the painted chin of one and the eyes of the other. You were hyperaware of the drying cum on your leg and crossed your fingers and toes they didn't hear your activities or what remained to be seen.

"We live here, remember?" Vessel waved one of his hands, III nodding along.

"When you said you had roommates I just assumed they were other girls." Your bedfellow side talked to you as to not alert your boys.

"Is that a problem?" You asked.

"No I just uh," he looked at III when he stood, an attempt to intimidate. "It's fine um... I'll call you."

"Well that was rude," Vessel announced, joining his brother after he left. "Didn't even introduce himself."

"He won't be around for long. I wouldn't worry about it." You dryly chuckled before embracing both of them. Vessel cupped the back of your head, pressing his chin into your hair before letting III swoop you up in his gangly arms and gave you two solid spins. "Put me down! You reek."

"Ah, the mask has seen better days I'm afraid. Can't wait to get a hot shower and something in my belly. Road livin' ain't what its' cracked up to be, ya' know?" III admitted.

"Um, let me get changed and I'll make you guys some food," you jogged out of the living room, calling over your shoulder. "Lord knows what you boys eat on the road!" ....

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," You paused the movie and turned to face Vessel on the chaise lounge part of the couch, long limbs sprawled out, ankles crossed and rocking. "What's up?"

Vessel twisted his painted mouth before asking an out of pocket question. "Why do you torture yourself?"

Taken aback you wondered what he meant and crossed your legs. "What? What do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean." When you showed your genuine confusion, he sat up. "Your little boy toy. Not that III and I have been cheeky little perverts and eavesdropping on your late night escapades but... we can't help but be concerned. Either you're a silent climaxer, some people are and that's totally fine and we're bold to assume or your partner isn't doing it right."

"Excuse me?"

"We've only been home a few weeks and we've heard him far more than we've heard you," Vessel explained, ignoring your anxious fidgeting and cuticle picking. "What we have heard though, is a lot of buzzing after your friend leaves."

Oh. My. God.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, desperate to get out of, out of your body and on the run. Blood pounds in your ears at the audacity of this whole conversation. Your roommates have heard you getting off, know you have toys, know your friends with benefits is lacking the benefits part and that you'd not been taken care of. You wished it was still cooler out and you could grab the usual throw off the back of the couch and hide away underneath.

"What are you guys talkin' about?" III popped in, holding a glass of chocolate milk, an absurdly long and coiled straw was hidden beneath his mask as he sucked dramatically.

Vessel smirked. "Oh just Y/N and how her new beau can't get her off."

"Oh finally! I've been dying for this conversation," III exclaimed and excited plopped down next to Vessel, scooching closer and leaning forward as he drank some more. "So what gives? Give us the goods."

"I don't... he knows what he's doing, it's just--"

"It's just he's bad at it." III giggled.

"I can get off, okay?"

"Yeah, we know that. Just not with him."

"I... fine. It might not even be him you know," you tried. "Maybe it's me. Maybe I can't get out fast enough."

Vessel quirked his mouth. "Get out of what exactly?"

"My own head. I think too much, you know that. I need to feel everything in order to shut my brain off and not worry about how many loads of laundry I need to do, when I need to switch out my sheets, did I pick up my towel in the bathroom? What should I have for lunch tomorrow."

The boys looked between themselves, shrugging and looking bewildered. "You... you think about all that stuff all while having sex?" III snorted and shook his head. "You're a madwoman, you know that?"

"I'm trying not to think of those things!"

"That's what I was afraid of," Vessel took III's now finished drink away from him and set it down. "If you want, we could help you out. Save you the trouble and the energy and uh, some battery power."

You chuckled. "You're joking. You two are gonna' help me out."

"Just say the word and we belong to you," Vessel crooned, licking his top lip. The pink of his tongue was such a juxtaposition to he obsidian black that covered his face, his arms and hands, his body. "This could be a one time deal, if it's not up to your standards, we don't have to mention it ever again or... it could be a three times a week sort of thing."

"Three times a week?!" You screeched.

"That's up to you."

....

"So uh have you guys like... done this before?" Your voice doesn't even sound like your own, shaky, breathy, uneven and higher pitched. You pointed between the duo and yourself. You hadn't but your incognito search history might say you've looked at it a few times.

They admitted their deep rooted feelings about you. Your stomach flipped for Vessel's breathy pet name of Duchess, your toes curled for III's Sweetness. 

With the way they looked at you, you couldn't even remember his name at this point.

Vessel shrugged. "Just with you."

"Just me?" You balked, you knew the guys were close, sometimes skin tight so to find out they'd not acted out was stunning and a major green light. "Oh um, I'm flattered. iI think."

"You should be. III isn't much of a talker, speaks his mind when need be."

"Unless its' dirty." III piped up with a shrug of his own, with the way his eyes wrinkled you could tell he was all smiles under that mask.

"A little tact there, brother!" Vessel scolded him, giving a backhand to his arm. "Don't scare her off."

"What? She should know. You should know. I am dripping with sin."

"III!"

"What? We're all adults here, right? An' we're talking about fucking each other so who cares?! And she might even like it. Do you like dirty talk, sweetness?" III asked with a tilt of his head.

"Uh I um... I. Well..."

"Do you," III stood and got closer, much closer, swaying his way to close the gap between you. He stood with his legs on the outside of your own. He tilted his head the opposite way and kept his eyes trained your face, the heat from the eye contact made you hot. His painted thumb touched your chin. "Like that?"

You'd never felt this kind of intimacy, this heightened level of attraction and arousal and it made you nervously laugh at the thought that it was radiating off your friends like a fucking forest fire.

You swallowed. "Yes."

"Aha! Knew it. Those pretty eyes and that fucking mouth are hiding plenty of secrets, yeah?" III pointed, that thumb of his traced along your jaw before pushing gently on the underside, making you look all the way up at him.

If they wanted to play, you thought, I guess... let's play.

"Maybe."

"Oh! Now we're getting somewhere," III chuckled and looked over at Vessel before touching your shoulder, moving the strap of your sleep shirt back and forth. His hands were hot, scorching your skin as he touched the light fabric. "Should I undress you or should you undress me? Or maybe Vessel wants to unwrap us both. What do you think?"

"I think--" your throat constricted before keeping his ardent eye contact. "I think I want to undress you first."

III liked that idea, he wiggled his shoulders and raised his arms. "I'm all yours, mama."

....

His hoodie is the first thing to go, floating down to the floor. A black compression shirt separates flesh and bone, it comes off easily over his head. He's only half painted there. You can see streaks of his skin, soft and smooth, hidden from view. His stomach tightens when you trail your hand down his chest, foreign to your hands.

"I think about you, ya' know? Not to be pervy or bold but... you are the prettiest thing we've ever seen."

His compliments make you warm, you clench around nothing.

He suddenly grabs your hand and moves it higher. "Feel that. You make my heart fuckin' pound like crazy. The first time I saw you in that green sundress, you know, the one with the little daises on it... fuck me," III admitted and dramatically bit his fist. "I've never been so hard in my life!"

You know the dress in question. It's hanging in the front of your closet. Guess it'll be making a debut and turn III on once again. 

"Oh yeah? Well maybe next time I wear it... I won't wear anything underneath."

III made the deepest of groans, moving your hand down his ribs while he undid his belt. "Fuckin' hell, don't tease me woman."

"You don't like that?"

"I like it too much! That's the problem."

His zipper was so fucking loud, it cut through the room like a hot knife. Smooth and seamless, even Vessel had to clear his throat. You looked over at him on the chaise, legs wide spread, lithe arms outstreatched over the back cushions. With three separate eye holes in his mask, it was hard to tell where he was looking but in this moment you felt them boring straight into your own.

"Keep going," he hummed and visibly bit his lip. " 'm enjoying the show."

With III was just in his boxers, it was your turn. Your disrobing would be a lot quicker as you were in a light pajama set and crew socks. You mmiiced III and raised your arms above your head, his nimble fingers danced over your sides, dragging the material up and over your head. He tossed to Vessel, who out of your peripheral, had inhaled your scent on it. He did the same with your shorts. The rush of cool fan air make your skin prickle, your clit throbbed when you fully noticed the outline of III's cock. Jesus. 

III got on his knees and lifted one your feet, gripping your ankle.

"No. Keep them on." Vessel spoke, pushing himself up off the couch and sauntered over to you, fully nude and on display. He embraced your face, pressing his forehead to yours before slinking behind III when he stood.

Vessel's painted arms looped around III's, locking them behind his back. III made a noise.

"Take him out," Vessel instructed with a low gasp. "Take him out and see what you do to him. Same as what you do to me. Hell, all of us, duchess."

ALL OF US?!

Before you got on your own knees, you touched III's hips, hooking your thumbs just beneath the fabric and dragged them down. His cock made the softest and prettiest thud against his lower belly. Your eyes bounced from their faces, down to his leaking cock and back again.

"He wasn't lying," Vessel chuckled, his chin now draped over III's shoulder. You met his eyes. "You make him rock fuckin' hard, love. Want her to take all o' that? Nah... you need her to take care of that, don't you?"

"Fuck yes." III whined. "Please."

"How are you gonna' help our good boy, love?"

III shook before your even touched him, you on your knees before him was enough to have him looking frantic. Completely at your and Vessel's mercy, you took him in your hand first, getting familiar with his length before dipping your head in worship, opening your mouth. You hesitated for the briefest of moments before angling him deeper and further into your mouth.

It was a good thing Vessel was holding him up because you felt and saw III's knees wobble once you got your stride, gliding your hands up and around his thighs, arching closer with your fingers reaching his ribcage. Your palms against his skin felt every twitch, every jolts, every fucking sigh. The noise that strangled out from his throat when you dragged your nails down his stomach had you clenching around absolutely nothing.

"That's it, you're doing such a good job, love bug. Atta' girl, get 'em off real good, yeah?"

"Yeah yeah, fuck yeah," III whined and bucked his hips, "Your mouth feels so fucking good. Suckin' me off real sweet, mama. Give it to me."

"She's good with that mouth, hmmm?"

"Oh fuck V...wait 'til she oh shit, right there-- wait 'til she's gaggin' on you. O-oh my God."

When III took the Lord's name in vain it sounded so sweet in comparison to your other lover. You could feel yourself getting wetter, more powerful than you ever had with him. You took their words of praise, locked them in a little safe in the back of your mind for safe keeping.

"You're lucky I don't shove your ass out of the way then." Vessel teased and III mewled with delight.

....

III made grabby hands at you, wiggling his fingers as he laid out on the chaise part of the couch. He wiggled, tapped and pointed towards his mouth too.

When you climbed on top of him, his arms engulfed you, bringing you chest to chest. You kissed his face over his mask, startled when he suddenly pulled the chin part of it up to his nose and kissed you for real. You whined and kissed him back harder and faster, tasting his mouth, licking inside of it. He smacked and grabbed your ass, groaning against your lips.

"You two are fuckin divine," Vessel breathed, shouldering off his robe finally, unzipping his own jeans. "Fuckin’ hell, what a sight."

You turned your head to his silky voice, watching him stroke himself.

You were in big fucking trouble.

III nipped your arm. "Want you. I want you so fucking badly. Think it'll fit? Think you can take it?"

You took a breath and held his cock, hot and ready against your pussy. Rocking against the crown, splitting your lips to ready you for him. You licked your lips and lowered down on it, your mouth instantly opening. "Fuck yes."

"Good God!" 

"Shit... a little more, love and you'll take him all the way in. That's it." Vessel cooed and pet your head, then your face. "Kiss him again."

With his heavy hand on your head you kissed III tongue first, the sounds of you two kissing had Vessel praising both of you, leaving him breathless.

III grabbed your hips, rolling and fucking up into you, breathing you in.

You and III stilled at the sudden dip of the couch.

Vessel's hand on your shoulder, his other ghosted and trailed over III's mask and vulnerable chin and mouth behind you. He lost it at that, whimpering against your cheek, a new flood of arousal coating your walls.

"Just relax pretty girl. We've got you, we got you."

"What are you--"

Vessel's thick fingers reached around your front, pressing and swirling down around your clit. "We're both gonna' fit. Just remember to breathe for us, ok?"

Holy shit. This was intense.

III's arm surged up and over your shoulder to touch Vessel, ghosting over his naked hip, gripping his bare skin.

"I've got you both. Trust me."

It was your idea to lift up, empty of III only to arch and take a deep push of Vessel. You frowned and touched III's face when Vessel pulled completely out. You both gasped when he spat. III squirmed and whined, the sudden intrusion of Vessel lining them both up against your hole, wedging their cocks inside you.

It didn't necessarily hurt, more pressure than anything and for fucks sake, you'd never felt so full in your life. 

"Fuck V! Give us a warning, holy fuck." III breathed when the frontman started to rock and move. After a few minutes of fucked out bliss, it seemed like Vessel was fucking III through your body.

He smeared his face along your spine, your shoulder, leaving wet open mouthed kisses along your neck and ear.

"Good fucking God duchess, you are absolutely soaked for us, aren't you? Can feel you really start to open up for us now, yeah? Fuck you're amazing. Isn't she?"

"Ye-yeah yeah. Positively sweet," III's eyes sparkled in an amorous way. You kissed him hard. "Can't wait to have a taste of you, sweetness."

The thought of him working his mouth on you made you keen and fuck down on them.

Limbs twisted and tangled, Vessel nipped a small, incredibly sensitive spot behind your ear before licking the shell of it. Humming and praising you with that gravely timber. He was touching you, holding onto one of your tits for stability and III did the same, using just the pad of his thumb to pebble your other nipple.

You would never recover, that much you were sure of. They were out for pain and pleasure.

On a particularly hard thrust from III your moan slipped into sex drunk chuckle. "I think she likes it."

"I'm in fuckin' heaven." You breathed, reaching back to touch Vessel's thigh, digging your nailbeds in deep.

"That's it, you fuckin' naughty thing." His hand left your breast and found a new home around your throat, turning your head to face him and receive a sloppy kiss. III moaned at that.

"You two are fuckin-- ah shit. I'm close, fuck. Give it, give it to me."

Vessel's laugh against your lips made your walls constrict.

"Just like that!" III practically yelled, digging his fingers into your thighs, alternating to your hips, changing the tortuous pace. "Fuck, 'm gonna' bust, sweetness. Fuckin' cum inside you all nice and deep. Make it stick."

"Fuck me." You hung your head and rode it out, nothing but pure pleasure and bliss was shared between the three of you. And it was worth it. "Oh you guys... aha! I'm gonna' cum."

You couldn't remember the last time you came that hard with a partner and never with two! They both rubbed their hands and mouths over your skin, groping over your sandwiched body. Vessel's chest stuck to your back like glue, III grabbed and pushed both of your breasts together as he came shortly after with a grunt of your name, stringing along a beautiful array of obscenities. 

"I've got you, I've got you both in my clutches now." Vessel's voice sounded like silk on glass next to your ear as he continued to thrust, spearing III's load all over your gummy walls. III reached out a lazy hand and Vessel took it, lacing their fingers together over your shoulder. 

Skin on skin on skin.

III leaned up for another smooch with you greedily enjoyed, smacking your spit and lips together until all you could feel and hear was Vessel shudder behind you.

....

Vessel couldn't stop smiling as you giggled, helped to your bedroom, wedged between them on your bed as they cleaned you up. You would certainly need to clean up that side of the couch later. III was careful of your more tender bits, being stretched out and filled, removing black grease paint of where they were.

He drummed his fingers over your arms when he was finished, molding his body to yours. His head against the side of your neck. III soon joined in the snuggle, jumping into bed and under the covers with you. He gave you another kiss before pulling his mask back down, and pet Vessel's head.

Your phone buzzed when your boys had fallen asleep, you had a feeling of who it might be and if this is how the future looked; there was no way you were gonna' give this up.

[tboygareth]

the anatomy of a home run

written for lex's spicy six summer challenge | rating: E | word count: 5.7k | prompt: baseball | cw: barebacking, virgin eddie munson | READ ON AO3

beta and editing by the incomparable @steves-strapcollection <3

First Base

The first time they fool around, it’s not so much fooling around as it is an impulsive makeout session wherein Eddie finds himself sat astride Steve’s lap with his hands in his hair. Steve’s hands are fisted in Eddie’s tee shirt and they’re panting into each other’s mouths, sucking on each other’s lips and tongues and swallowing one another’s moans, and Eddie’s cock is straining against his fly so hard it’s a fucking miracle the zipper hasn’t popped. 

Eddie doesn’t know shit about baseball but he’s pretty sure this is first base. Right?

They’re not touching each other, not really, not in a way that matters, but the air between them is hot and sticky, the summer humidity clinging to their skin. Eddie’s hair is plastered to the back of his neck with sweat while Steve’s mouth learns the shape of his throat and his teeth scrape lightly across his Adam’s apple.

If Eddie were to spread his legs a little more, if he were to fully sit down in Steve’s lap, he’d have to live with the knowledge forever that Steve is erect beneath him. For now, he can’t handle that. He can’t cope with the knowing, with his own anxieties that he’s never gone further than this before, that at the rate they’re going he’s eventually going to get to watch Steve come under his hands or his mouth or fuck, maybe on his cock.

“Steve,” he groans, pulling back a little as Steve’s hand creeps beneath the collar of Eddie’s shirt to rest against the notch in his throat. “Fuck, sweetheart, much as I’d love to keep doing this… don’t you have a job to get to? A Robin to pick up?”

Steve’s voice comes out as something between a growl and a purr, his teeth latching onto the bolt of Eddie’s jaw and he murmurs, “When did you become the responsible one?” 

“I’m gonna be so very honest with you, Stevie, I’m mostly just nervous I’m gonna bust in my jeans if we keep going.”

With a mean smile, Steve grips Eddie’s hips and presses them firmly together. The hard line of Steve’s cock drags over Eddie’s and punches a whine from one of them - Eddie, probably - and if they don’t put a stop to this soon the single will turn into a double and then Eddie’ll hit a home fucking run all over this stupid threadbare couch that Wayne managed to save from the old trailer.

Just when Eddie’s ready to stop Steve, to tell him it’s time for them to dial it back and pick this up another time when Steve doesn’t have a clock ticking down to his scheduled shift, Steve pats him on the thigh and starts to push him up. He’s sighing unhappily as he does it, like this is the last thing he wants, too, but responsibilities are starting to outweigh desire and y’know what? Eddie’s pretty fucking proud of their self control, even if he is still hard as a rock in his jeans.

“Come over tonight?” Steve asks as he stands and adjusts his monster of a cock in his own jeans. “We can pick this back up then?”

Eddie wants to ask, What is this? What are we? What does this mean to you?

What he says instead is, “Sure. Gonna show me second base?”

Steve captures his mouth in another hard, wet kiss and murmurs, “Keep talkin’ baseball to me, babe. You’ve got no idea how hot it makes me.”

“Of course it fucking does,” Eddie huffs. “Get to work, slugger, I’ll see you tonight.”

***

Second Base

Eddie realizes he’s not gonna make it past second base tonight the moment Steve gets his hand on his cock. They barely manage to get Eddie’s jeans and boxers down. They’re hanging off of one of Eddie’s legs now and Steve’s got him laid out on the bed, his fingers pressing into the give of Eddie’s thighs, spreading them apart for him to lie between them, while his mouth zeroes in on that spot on his throat that made Eddie keen earlier. 

Steve’s hand is big and firm and warm when his fingers wrap around Eddie’s dick and there are fucking stars dancing behind his eyes, his voice coming out in broken whimpers and he finds himself spreading even further for Steve. He wants to touch him, wants to guide Steve’s cock to his hole and beg to be fucked dry if that what it takes to get him inside.

Eddie’s hands, clumsy and distracted, tug at the fly of Steve’s jeans to draw him out and stroke him -- hopefully, god fucking willing -- at the same rhythm that Steve is stroking him. When he finally manages to shove Steve’s pants down to bunch around his thighs and gets his hand on him -- the skin of his cock smooth and hard beneath his palm -- Steve hisses and nips hard at the skin of Eddie’s neck.

Steve pulls away, just a little, just enough to spit on his fucking hand before getting back to work on Eddie’s cock, and Eddie barks out something that might have been fuck or it might have been Steve’s name but there’s too much ringing in his ears to be sure. Steve is leaking all over him, the sound of his hand stroking through the precome nearly as loud as their panting breaths.

“Faster,” Steve breathes against Eddie’s neck, “give it a twist near the head, baby, yeah fuck that’s it. ”

“Fuck,” Eddie groans. He tosses his head back, the hot breath on his throat making him dizzy and warm.

Steve’s pace is quick and dirty, the pressure relentless as he draws little noises out of Eddie on every upstroke. He digs his thumb into the slit of Eddie’s cock and there’s starbursts in his head with the intensity of it.

“There’s no fuckin’ way you never did this before,” he whines, and Steve’s breath on his throat comes out in a huff of a laugh, followed by a quick lick and kiss to the pulse point there.

“Just on myself,” Steve insists. “ Fuck, Eddie. So hot, you’re so fucking hot. Leaking everywhere for me like this. So wet.”

Eddie tries to tell him, You too, but it comes out garbled, unintelligible nonsense around a broken off cry when Steve tightens his grip and quickens his pace.

“Not -- hah, oh god -- not gonna last, Eds. Your hand -- fuck -- keep thinkin’ about how I’m gonna come all over your hand.”

“ Oh, fuck yeah, Stevie. Fuckin’ paint me with it, sweetheart, shit. ”

Steve’s hips are moving now, thrusting to meet Eddie’s strokes and Eddie’s hyper aware of his own hips doing just the same. The wet tip of Steve’s cockhead brushes up against Eddie’s and leaves a slick trail of precome behind to mix with his own. Eddie’s head is swimming, the heavy feeling in his gut tightening as his release draws closer, closer.

Steve kisses him, their tongues meeting in the scant space between their lips, and it’s so brief Eddie thinks it might not have even really been a kiss at all because then Steve is using his other hand -- the one not currently bringing Eddie’s entire world to its fucking knees -- to push his tee shirt up to rest at the dip in his throat. Steve’s mouth moves to bite at his chest, lick and suck at Eddie’s nipple as they thrust against one another.

Eddie’s free hand fists into the soft silky hair there and holds Steve in place, a silent plea for more attention to that nipple and Steve gets it, draws it into his mouth and adds teeth.

“Oh, fuck, Steve, yeah -- yeah, god, shit, just -- just like that, fuck! ”

“Gonna come?” Steve asks. “Gonna -- Eds, you gonna come with me? Close, baby, so close.”

“Yeah, yeah me too. Just a little more.”

“Can’t wait to fuck you. Can’t wait to get inside you, Eds, make you scream my name.”

“ God. ”

The rhythm of Steve’s hips is beginning to stutter and everything in Eddie’s brain is abandoning ship, rushing to his dick where he’s sure it’s about to spurt out all over Steve, paint him with jizz and brain matter and every ounce of fluid in his fucking body at this point. He’s gonna say something stupid, gonna tell Steve that he fuckin’ loves him or some shit because he’s never been this fucking keyed up before. 

He meets Steve for a kiss again, and it’s wet and sloppy and Steve is swallowing the noises Eddie’s making -- his whimpers and his whines and his desperate moans -- and giving those sounds right back to him in kind.

“Here, here,” Steve whispers, frantic, knocking Eddie’s hand away from his cock so that he can take them both in his massive hand and Eddie sees fucking stars.

Steve’s cock, hot and smooth and weeping at the tip, is dragging along the length of Eddie’s own, the head catching on Eddie’s and smearing their precome together. Steve lets loose this fucking whimper, so raw and fucked out it barely even sounds like him at all, and Eddie feels the way his cock twitches a split second before the hot dampness of his release splashes against Eddie’s stomach, his pubic hair, the head of his dick, and then Eddie is throwing his head back with a shout to empty himself into Steve’s hand.

It comes in fucking waves. Eddie’s never come this hard in his life. He feels like he might be turning inside out from the force of it, wrung dry, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a drum.

“ Holy Christ, ” Eddie breathes in the aftermath, his head swimming and his fingers tingling. His mouth is dry and he’s hot all over. His muscles throb and their combined spend on his skin is cooling, feels a little gross but goddamn if it’s not the hottest thing Eddie has ever experienced.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, flopping onto the bed beside him. “Holy Christ, Eds. Why weren’t we doing this months ago? ”

“Thought you were fuckin’ straight.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m not?”

“Still trying to wrap my fuckin’ head around it, honestly.”

“I meant it,” Steve says quietly. “I really do wanna fuck you.”

“Take a guy to dinner first, though, huh?” Eddie jokes.

“Mmm, maybe I will. Seafood or Italian?”

“Seafood. I can put away some crab legs.”

Steve makes a face. “Bet you look so sexy with melted butter all over your mouth.”

“Oh, I’m sure. ”

They don’t talk about how it’d be dangerous for them to go out on a very public date, or how they’re going to tell the others about this development in their friendship. They don’t talk about what they are. They laugh about the drying cum on Eddie’s skin, and the way Steve shook apart when he climaxed, and the size of Steve’s cock in comparison to Eddie’s.

But they steer clear of feelings. They steer clear of vulnerability. 

Eddie will have to tell Steve eventually that he’s got very real feelings here, that he wants Steve to be his boyfriend and not just a buddy he fucks around with, but he figures he can test those waters out a little later, maybe after he’s gotten Steve’s cock in his mouth. Or after they go all the way. If he’s gonna destroy their friendship he might as well lose his virginity first, right?

This is gonna suck when Steve inevitably tells him he doesn’t feel the same way.

***

Third Base

Eddie’s not entirely sure how this is supposed to work. He’s never sucked a dick before in his life. He’s thought about it, fantasized about it all the way back in the day when his older friends were starting to get their first girlfriends and getting sucked off for the first time, but… the reality of it is so much different than his fantasies.

For one, Steve’s cock is… well, massive might be overselling it a little bit. It’s sure as shit not small, though. Eddie’s worried he might have to actually unhinge his jaw like a weird snake creature just to get him in his mouth all the way. For another thing… what’s Eddie gonna do when Steve comes? Will he take it in his mouth, swallow it down? Is he supposed to? What if he gags on it? What if it tastes terrible and makes him choke?

When the time comes, though, Eddie’s worry is stripped from him with the quickness of his own jeans being stripped from his thighs and tossed across the room.

He’s barely even hard yet, and Steve’s mouth is enveloping him in wet heat.

“Fuck, Stevie, I was gonna suck you off.”

“You can do me next,” Steve tells him, drawing off enough to stroke him to full hardness before getting back to work. “Been dying to get my mouth on you for ages.”

Oh, fuck, Eddie is going to make a fool out of himself here. He’s barely been hard for a full minute and already the tug in his gut is telling him it’s almost time, that he’s going to come in Steve’s mouth before they’ve even really gotten started here.

“Fuck, Stevie. Not gonna last, sweetheart, it’s so -- Jesus fuck, there! ”

Steve pulls back, gives Eddie some relief as he squeezes the base of his dick.

“That good?” Steve asks, his smirk cocky and teasing.

“Don’t get a big head about it, okay?”

Steve is kneeling between his legs, and from his place there he looks up at Eddie from beneath those long beautiful eyelashes, Eddie’s cock resting against his bottom lip, and he maintains eye contact as he presses the tip of his tongue to Eddie’s slit.

“Ah, fuck.”

“Mmm, first time, huh?”

Eddie says, “Fuck you,” but it comes out breathless, his voice a little wrecked, and Steve chuckles deep in his chest before taking Eddie to the fucking hilt again.

Eddie throws his head back, closes his eyes, his hand resting gently in Steve’s hair as he just gives himself over to wet heat and suction.

He does his best not to thrust into Steve’s throat, but it’s so hard. Steve’s drooling on him, pearly strings of spit connecting his lips to the tight ring of his fingers where he holds Eddie’s cock steady. It’s a fucking sight when Eddie’s brave enough to actually look at him.

And the sounds Steve is making -- the wet squelch of his mouth around Eddie’s dick, the low groans in the back of his throat when Eddie twitches for him, the literal fucking slurping noises as he applies that delicious fucking suction to the head -- they’re all threatening to do Eddie in once and for all.

Eddie’s not entirely sure how long it’s been -- might be five minutes, might be fucking two seconds for all he knows -- but it becomes very clear very quickly that Eddie’s gonna blow. He hears himself mumble out a vague warning as if from far away, grabbing at Steve’s hair and shoulders to push him back rather than come in his mouth but Steve holds firm, sucks him down to the root of his cock and opens his throat.

Steve gags on him and that’s what fucking does it. Eddie’s vision goes white and he cries out when the coil in his gut finally snaps. His eyes cross and his hips stutter and he floods Steve’s mouth with his spunk but Steve… Steve moans like it’s the nectar of the gods and he drinks Eddie down, his throat bobbing as he swallows, his lips still wrapped tightly around the head of Eddie’s dick.

When it’s over, after Steve has milked the last of Eddie’s release from him and he’s beginning to get too sensitive to let it go on, Eddie pushes him back and collapses onto Steve’s bed.

“Jesus,” he pants. “ Shit, Steve, where’d you learn to do that?”

“Does it matter? Just made you come in…” he checks his watch, “three minutes.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” Eddie should probably be embarrassed at how quickly he came, but he isn’t. “Take it as a compliment, alright?”

“Oh, I do. You lasted longer than I did my first time.”

“Yeah? King Steve comes early, then, does he?”

“Wanna test that theory?”

“I don’t… I don’t think I’m gonna be any good at it,” Eddie admits quietly. “Especially, like… I’ve never…”

“Me either” Steve shrugs.

“Yeah, but you’ve received a lot of blowjobs, so.”

“I have, but…” Steve pauses, like he’s not sure he wants to say what he’s about to. “I haven’t had one from you. I think… even if you aren’t experienced, I think it’ll probably be the best one I’ve had. Because, like… it’s you. ”

Eddie scoffs. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

“Told you already, Eds,” Steve says, getting on the bed to take Eddie’s mouth in a kiss. “Just you. Always just you.”

Even as he presses Steve to his back and pops the fly of his jeans, Eddie is nervous. Even as he drags those jeans down Steve’s thighs, his heart is racing. Even as he spreads Steve’s legs on either side of his own body, Eddie can’t fucking believe this is happening. He strokes Steve a little bit, occupies their mouths with more kissing while he works up the nerve to finally get him in his mouth.

Eddie’s going to be terrible at this.

He puts his all into it anyway. What he lacks in experience, he is determined to make up for in sheer enthusiasm alone, so he stores his anxiety away in the back of his mind and he gets to work. He swallows Steve down as far as his gag reflex will let him -- barely halfway down his fucking shaft, apparently -- and he listens to Steve groan above him.

“So warm, baby,” Steve whispers. “Use your tongue.”

Glad for the direction, Eddie uses the flat of his tongue to stroke up the underside of Steve’s cock, pleased when Steve makes a little noise of pleasure above him. He sucks on the head and Steve jerks a little bit. He presses the tip of his tongue into the slit of Steve’s cock, the way Steve did for him, and there’s a hand tightening in Eddie’s hair.

Oh, so he likes that.

Eddie does it again before sliding his mouth a little further down and doing his level best to open his throat but he gags anyway, and the sensation must do something for Steve because his dick twitches out a blurt of precome against the back of Eddie’s tongue.

Eddie moves, bobbing his head and licking at the glans of Steve’s dick and Steve is chanting yeah, yeah, yeah above him in time with his movements. His back is arching a little bit, his head thrown back, and the hand not in Eddie’s hair is fisted in his blanket like he’s holding on for dear life.

He takes Steve down again, as far as he can, and Steve’s moan when he gags again is high pitched and tightly wound.

“Eddie, oh my god, fuck, you’re -- you’re gonna make me come, babe.”

Eddie’s heart leaps in his chest at the pet name. He loves that -- loves it when Steve calls him babe.

Eddie pulls back, focuses a little more on the head again, and Steve’s hips actually do begin to buck up to shove his cock deeper in Eddie’s mouth. Eddie sucks hard, and Steve cries out, goes tense, his voice loud and frantic as he warns Eddie.

“Now, now now now, Eds, I’m --”

And he does. And Eddie takes it. It tastes fucking awful but Eddie swallows it anyway, each heavy spurt hot and slick on his tongue. He gags through it and it makes Steve whine even as he pulls his softening cock from Eddie’s mouth.

“Beautiful,” Steve whispers. He sits up and reaches for Eddie, pulls him to crawl up his body until he’s straddling Steve’s hips and kissing him deeply, the taste of them mingling in the kiss and making Eddie hot all over again.

“God, Eds, you’re so good, so fucking good for me,” Steve whispers against the kiss. “Wanna do this with you forever, babe. Forever. Fuck. I’m all yours, Eds.”

Eddie could cry at the declaration. He is so certain it’s just the orgasm afterglow talking, that Steve can’t possibly feel that way for real, but god, if there was ever a chance for Eddie to reciprocate out loud, it’s now.

“Forever,” Eddie hears himself say, echoing the sentiment, and Steve is dragging the shirts off of both their backs and tucking them beneath the covers on his big, soft bed. He pulls Eddie close, their lips meeting again and again, their legs tangling and knees knocking together. “Think I love you, Stevie.”

Steve brushes the hair away from Eddie’s face and whispers, “Tell me again tomorrow when you’re not riding the third base high and I might believe you.”

“I mean it,” Eddie insists, doing everything he can to inject as much confidence and certainty into his voice as he can. “Been meanin’ to tell you for… for weeks, okay? I just… you’re outta my league, Harrington.”

Steve kisses him again, groaning as he does. “You gotta stop with these baseball metaphors. I can’t get it up again yet but you’re makin’ me wanna try.”

***

The Home Run

When Eddie was fourteen, he learned the chords and lyrics to MeatLoaf’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light, and that’s been the extent of his baseball knowledge, intentionally, ever since. He’s having flashbacks now, the lyrics of that song sitting heavily in his head and in his gut as Steve drags him by the shirt to the backseat of the Beamer. 

It’s a humid night, the rain showers from earlier in the day did nothing to cool it down and made the air muggy and thick, even all the way out here on the edge of town where they’re parked. They’ve been sitting in the car in the field out past Merrill’s famous pumpkin patch for the better part of two or three hours, just talking and trying to figure out where their relationship stands.

Eddie came clean earlier, told Steve he meant it the other night after they’d blown each other, when he told Steve that he loved him. It’s been building and building in him for months, since the moments of quiet while they waited for the world to end back in March. They’d talked about the perception of Steve’s straightness, how he’d always had really intense friendships with other boys and how in retrospect now he can see them for the crushes they were.

And then they’d gotten down to making out. And they’d undone one another’s flies and gotten their hands on each other, panting and moaning into their kisses over the gearshift. And the whole time, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid song, the baseball interlude part with the announcer declaring the characters safe at second base while they made out in the car.

And now, here’s Steve, climbing over the center console to the backseat and dragging Eddie with him. It’s a tight fit back here, the windows cracked and the engine off, keys still hanging from the ignition. It’s humid in the car, smells like sweat and Steve’s expensive shampoo, and Eddie’s tee shirt is a little damp when Steve peels it off of him.

Steve drags his own shirt over his head too, punching the roof of the car with a sharp curse as he does, and Eddie’s frantic with the way he shoves his jeans and boxers off of one leg. Steve elbows him hard in the hip while he’s pushing his own jeans down far enough for his cock to spring free, and then Eddie throws one leg over Steve’s lap to straddle him.

Just like the first time they made out. This time, with far less fabric between them.

“Ready to hit this home run, sweetheart?”

Steve reaches around his to dip his hand into the pocket on the back of the passenger seat and pulls back with an unopened bottle of lube. 

“Think we can make it a grand slam,” he says as he pops the seal on the bottle and pours it over his fingers.

It’s a tight squeeze, getting Steve’s hand between them to creep underneath, where he pets and prods behind Eddie’s balls in search of his hole. Eddie jumps a little when he finds it, one slick finger rubbing circles over the tight, hairy clench of muscle he finds there. Eddie’s gazing down at him, and Steve is gazing right back up at Eddie, and his pupils go wide as he sinks his finger inside of him. The sensation makes Eddie gasp, his jaw dropping in surprise at the size of just one of those fingers as it slides home.

“Okay?” Steve asks in a whisper. He’s inside Eddie to the last knuckle, not moving, and Eddie can feel the way his second finger is curled against the skin of his asscrack right beside the first.

Eddie can’t find his breath, nods encouragingly for Steve to keep going, to move his finger, and Steve does. It slides out, and back in, and back out and inside again, and Eddie can feel the way his body is relaxing around it, the lube easing the way. Steve takes his cock in his other hand and strokes Eddie to keep him hard, and he whispers something but Eddie’s ears are full of cotton. He nods anyway, like he actually fuckin’ heard him, and a moan punches out of him when that second finger presses in beside the first.

It’s a stretch and a burn and Eddie is holding onto Steve’s shoulders for dear life as sweat pools in his collar bones and on his upper lip. Eddie tilts his hips back a little, seeking friction, and Steve begins to move the way he was before when it was just one finger, but this time every time he pulls back he spreads his fingers to open Eddie’s hole up more. Eddie can feel the way his pulse quickens with each outward stroke of those clever fingers and before he knows it he’s moving, fucking himself on them, clutching Steve’s wrist to hold him where he wants him while he takes and takes and takes.

“More,” Eddie hears himself say, and it comes out whiny, almost demanding, but Steve’s mouth finds Eddie’s throat at the same moment he shoves a third finger into Eddie’s asshole. He doesn’t hesitate anymore, thrusting those fucking fingers in and out and in and out, spreading them and pressing deep and curling them in a way that makes Eddie breathless with need, desperate for even more of that stretch and burn.

His hips are urgent, pressing down onto Steve’s fingers and up into the circle of his fist around his cock. Peering down to Steve’s lap, Eddie’s only a little surprised to find Steve hard and leaking, the slit of his cock shiny and red and swollen with need. If he could focus on anything more than the feeling of being stuffed full of Steve’s fingers and fucking into his hand he’d touch him, spread the lube over Steve’s cock himself so he can finally fucking impale himself on it like he’s been dreaming of for the past - fuck - several months.

“Your cock, Stevie,” Eddie gasps, whining as Steve finds that place inside him again that makes Eddie’s head swim and his vision spark with stars. “Need it. Ready for you. Where’s the lube?”

Steve’s hand leaves his cock to fish for the bottle, discarded and leaking, still open on the seat beside them and he presses it into Eddie’s hand. Eddie dumps the stuff into his palm and takes Steve’s cock in his hand, giving him a good hard jerk as he spreads it over the hot flesh of him. It sounds so fucking wet, Eddie’s hand moving over Steve’s cock like this, and Steve’s hand has stilled where his fingers are inside him. He’s groaning, thrusting into Eddie’s hand and slowly pulling his fingers free of his body for Eddie to gape and flex around nothing.

“C’mon,” Steve whispers as he guides Eddie’s hips into position over his cock. “Get over here.”

“Ready for this, slugger?” Eddie breathes, capturing Steve’s mouth in a filthy open mouthed kiss.

He shifts, maneuvering Steve’s cock against his hole and he sits, slowly, so fucking slowly.

“Ah, fuck, ” he grits out when the head pops through, and he forces himself to breathe.

Steve is staring up at him, his mouth falling open and gaping, a sound trapped in his throat as his brow furrows at the sensation.

Carefully, Eddie lowers himself more, hissing at the stretch and the slide of Steve’s cock into his body. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated in Steve’s lap, where he finally pauses to just bask in it. Steve is inside him. Steve’s cock is completely and totally inside Eddie’s hole, filling him up and stretching him out, making a home for itself. Steve is clutching him, his fingernails digging into the skin of Eddie’s hip and thigh, and there’ll be finger shaped bruises there by morning and Eddie’ll get them fucking tattooed to keep this memory forever if he has to.

Eddie leans back, hooking an arm around each of the headrests on the front seats, watching Steve’s eyes roam over his body as he does.

“Fuck me,” Eddie hears himself say. “Please, Stevie. Please fuck me.”

Steve does. He takes Eddie’s hips in his hands and lifts him up before driving into him and it’s like something breaks between them then. Steve plants his feet, lifting his hips off the seat and he sets into a steady, punishing rhythm. He’s got his head thrown back, the long line of his body taut and muscled, abs flexing with every thrust, his chest hair damp and curly with sweat. There’s no way the car isn’t rocking with the force of this thing between them, Steve’s brutal thrusts into Eddie’s body, the roll of Eddie’s hips as he meets him every single time.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good, Eds.” Steve says it like it’s all one word, the way you’d say amen at the end of a prayer. “Gonna live with my dick in your ass forever, fuck. ”

Eddie never thought sex would be like this. The sweat, the heat of it - that he expected. The hands on his skin, though, the reverence in Steve’s gaze as he looks at him, the little sounds they’re both making, the chants of “I love you I love you I love you” - this , he never anticipated.

“C’mere,” Steve whispers, reaching for Eddie, and Eddie goes to him. He takes his arms from where they’re hooked around the headrests and he pitches forward until his hands find Steve’s hair, until Steve’s mouth finds his own, until they’re kissing. It’s slower like this, pressed together, Eddie’s hips still rocking in time with Steve’s thrusts. The smell of Steve surrounds him like this. It’s all expensive shampoo and sweat and sex, and if Eddie could bottle it to keep he would.

Steve’s hand finds the small of Eddie’s back and presses, guiding him forward to rock down onto him and take him even deeper. Eddie’s cock drags along the planes of Steve’s abs and makes him dizzy. He’s amazed he’s lasted this long and certain he’s coming up on his release quick. Steve’s whispering into his mouth, moaning his name, calling him beautiful, calling him a good boy and Eddie’s got no idea why that’s doing it for him but it drags a whimper from somewhere deep in his soul. Eddie gasps when Steve finds that place within him again, and Steve sucks Eddie’s lip into his mouth.

“I love you,” Steve says again, and Eddie’s too breathless, too consumed with Steve to say it back so he kisses the words into him instead, licking into Steve’s mouth as he quickens the pace of his hips to chase his release. It’s there, it’s building, it’s within sight now and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop it when he gets there.

Steve’s hand comes between them to touch Eddie, wrap around him and move against him.

“Ready to come for me?” he whispers against Eddie’s lips, and Eddie is. He is very, very much ready to come for Steve, ready to bust all over his hand, in his chest hair, ready to lick him clean afterwards.

“Come inside me,” Eddie says, and Steve groans. 

Briefly, Steve’s rhythm falters a little. His thrusts get jerky, twitchy, and then he presses deep with a cry, spilling deep into Eddie’s body. There’s a flood of warmth, slick and perfect, and Steve’s hips don’t stop, his hand flying over Eddie’s cock to bring him off and there, right on the precipice of release Eddie cries out. He lets it wash over him, barrel through him, and he makes a mess of Steve’s skin with every splash of cum against his chest.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes when it’s over. “Holy fuck, Stevie, shit. Is sex always like that?”

“Sex has never been like that,” Steve laughs. “Jesus Christ, Eds. Jesus fucking Christ. You’re it for me, I think.”

“Well, shit, after that I’d fuckin’ hope so.”

“Maybe a bed next time, huh?”

Carefully, Eddie lifts himself up off of Steve’s lap, Steve’s cock falling free from his hole and -

“Oh, Jesus, it’s leaking out of me, what the fuck? ”

Steve laughs again, drawing Eddie back down into his lap so he can kiss him some more. He threads their fingers together and holds him there, his other hand coming up to push Eddie’s hair out of his face. They’re tacky with sweat and cum but it’s perfect, and distantly, Eddie hears Steve begin to hum a little tune. Eddie thinks he recognizes it, but his brain hasn’t come back from wherever he threw it earlier and he can’t seem to…

“Take me out to the ball game,” Steve sings under his breath, and Eddie snorts. 

Yeah. That was it. Fuckin’ jocks.

tag list <33 @patchworkgargoyle @thefreakandthehair @sidekick-hero @stobinesque @starryeyedjanai

[rip-quizilla]

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Summer brings feelings to the surface; maybe not enough to bloom, but certainly enough to grow.

Word Count: 6K

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Part 4

Summer, 1983

Summers are for (fill in the blank).

For you, summers were for stuffing your piggy bank. For Eddie, summers were for spending his time doing whatever he wanted to do rather than what someone else told him to do.

For Robin, this summer in particular was for keeping score of every time she caught Eddie staring at you from across the corridor in Starcourt mall. He had a clear view of Scoops Ahoy’s serving counter from his checkout counter at Radio Shack, which seemed to be a double-edged sword; he could see you perfectly, with no obstructions other than the odd passers by, but this also meant that Robin could see him ogling you clear as day. 

She had bought a dry-erase board specifically for the purpose of keeping track. The words “Stalker Score” were scrawled across the top in black, sporting a tally mark for each time that she’d caught him staring at you, enraptured by the way you just…Eddie wasn’t sure, exactly. Existed? Moved? Smiled? Glowed? 

Dial it back, Munson. 

Eddie shook his head, dark curls that had escaped from his ponytail swishing around his fluorescent-lit face. The vignette that had formed around you in his mind, blurring out any surrounding details in his periphery, cleared away until he registered Robin Buckley grinning smugly at him from behind your unsuspecting frame. She glowered in the little window behind you, brandishing the white board that now showcased six tallies. 

Shit. He needed to work on his subtlety. 

So far this summer, it had become apparent to Eddie that Robin was under the impression that he had a crush on you. It was ridiculous- was Eddie really the only person at his school besides you who believed in platonic male/female relationships? Was everyone else that small-minded? 

Duh, he reminded himself, you’re in Hawkins. 

Eddie pulled himself out of his reverie when he felt a hand give him a friendly clasp on the shoulder. “You’re good to clock out, Ed, we’re slow enough that I think I’ve got it from here.”

Half-smiling with his eyebrows raised, Eddie turned toward his boss excitedly. “You sure, Bob?”

Bob- Eddie’s manager- smiled kindly, sending a conspiratorial nod towards Scoops Ahoy. “I know you’re going straight over there anyways once you’re done. If you want to thank me, you can bring me over a vanilla shake.” 

Bob was probably the only kind of manager that Eddie could see himself keeping a job for. When you’d suggested he apply for the new Radio Shack opening up across from Scoops at the mall, he’d actually cringed. Like, physically cringed when he pictured himself in a polo and khakis. However, when he thought about how nice it would be to have some money to throw Wayne- not to mention play around with for himself- he’d actually seen more pros than cons. When Eddie had actually been offered the job, he was surprised by how much he actually enjoyed the idea of working over the summer. Part time employment meant his shifts only lasted about five to six hours, and because the location was new, Bob had been happy to accommodate Eddie’s request to line his schedule up with yours. 

Because he was your ride to work. Not because he was some kind of stalker or anything. 

Eddie grabbed his things from a small cubby in the back with his name on it, hopping into the staff restroom/supply closet to change out of his uniform. Summer was a respite from daily encounters with asshats who seemed to think close proximity was the only reason they needed to beat him up. Eddie wasn’t about to stroll out of his place of work in khakis and a firetruck-red polo and give said asshats a different reason to make giving the freak a black eye their summer pastime, too.

Your smile when Eddie entered Scoops was sunlight after an afternoon bathed in artificial light. Surrounded by the overwhelming and tempting scent of vanilla and waffle cones, he wondered whether the sudden increase in his heart rate was a sugar rush he was getting simply from the sight of you. Was it possible for something to look so sweet, it spiked your blood sugar?

“Bob let you off early!” you said, cheerily. You were shoulder-deep in a tub of rocky road, scraping the last delicious bits of chocolate goodness from the crevices at the bottom before replacing the tub entirely. 

A small boy stood with his mother at the counter, waiting patiently for you to finish scooping his ice cream. Eddie didn’t miss the way the mother looked at Eddie- his ripped black jeans, his Iron Maiden tee, his bag that sported pins and patches displaying various offensive words and quite a few hellish creatures drawn in sharpie on the canvas material by Eddie himself. He saw her eyes harden in disapproval as she tugged her kid protectively closer to her leg. 

You, however, smiled at him like he was the most harmless thing in the world- and to you, that’s exactly who he was. Harmless Eddie. Familiar Eddie. Couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried Eddie. 

He was okay with you seeing him that way. It meant that you let your guard down for him- it was like you had a fence around the real you, the parts of you that he had never really seen before this year. Eddie was harmless, so you trusted him with those parts of you- and now that he’d been allowed behind that fence? He never wanted to leave. You were becoming his favorite exclusive, VIP-access-only club. 

“Yeah, and all I have to give him in return is a vanilla shake.” Eddie leaned against the counter, batting his eyelashes at you as he gave you an award-winning smile. 

You raised an eyebrow, nestling a perfect sphere of rocky road into a cake cone and handing it to the little boy over the counter as the mother handed you a five. “Well sure thing, one vanilla shake, coming up!” you opened the register and handed the mother her change as your eyes landed on Eddie, “That’ll be $2.50.” You punctuated your sentence with the mechanical sound of the cash drawer closing. 

The mother was quick to take her son by the hand and turn tail to exit, but not without throwing one last disapproving glance in Eddie’s direction. He thought about flipping her the bird, but with you here, he felt like taking the high road. Eddie met you at the register, setting his elbows on the counter and pouting. 

“But what about the best friend discount?”

Robin appeared in the window behind the counter as if summoned on the spot. “Excuse me, the what discount?” 

You replied to Robin without looking, keeping your eyes on Eddie. “Robin, a person can have multiple best friends, this isn’t the fifth grade.” Unbeknownst to you, behind your back was an ever-so-smug Robin Buckley, adding a tally to the Stalker Score. 

Eddie shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. She was quick to hide the board when you glanced over your shoulder to see what Eddie was shaking his head about. You shrugged, smiling wryly at Eddie. “I’m assuming the ‘best friend discount’ is free?”

He smiled widely, nodding ‘yes’ with eyes that reminded you of a toddler begging for a cookie. You tried to hold your ground, you really did… but those eyes were your kryptonite. 

You sighed, shaking your head exasperatedly as you began scooping vanilla ice cream and dropping it into the blender bowl. 

This was how most days went now- without school to hinder either of you from spending your time how you wanted to, you both spent the majority of your time with each other. Sometimes Robin was there too, or some of the Hellfire guys, but you were always together. At first, the reason for that had been your lack of a car- but the third week of summer vacation, you’d received a call from the mechanic that your old sedan was finally road-ready. Eddie had driven you there to pick it up, and if he was being honest with himself, he’d been genuinely afraid that this meant the end of your constant company. He’d been surprised when he received a call from you the next day asking why he wasn’t parked in front of your house, ready to drive you to work.

“You aren’t driving yourself?” He’d asked, confused. 

Your voice was crackly over the phone, but he could still hear your frustrated sigh. “We work across the hall from each other, Eddie, we save on gas if we carpool.” 

Relief washed over him like summer rain. It nurtured the soil, helped his confidence grow taller. 

“I’m not sure you’ve ever even offered to split gas with me, ace.” Eddie leaned his shoulder against the wall, fiddling with the telephone cord as a smirk got cozy on his lips. “Is this you offering?”

You huffed out a laugh. “I walked right into that one.” 

Eddie shook his head, cheeks hurting from the size of his smile. “Sure did.” he chuckled. “But I would never ask you to pay, seriously. Just throw me free ice cream every once in a while.”

“I will do no such thing, that’s against company policy-”

“I’ll be at your house in five!” Eddie chirped, interrupting you completely, “If you can have a scoop of cookies & cream ready for me at the end of my shift, that’d be great!”

He snorted upon hearing your scoff across the line. “Oh, it’d be great, huh?”

“And do you guys do that chocolate fudge dip thing? Yeah, if you could just drench that fucker in chocolate sauce too, that’d be spectacular, ace.”

“Since when am I ‘ace’?”

“See you in five, ace!”

Even though you didn’t need to catch a ride with Eddie, you still did. Your car worked perfectly fine, and yet you barely drove it. You enjoyed those precious moments with him too much to give them up. He drove you to work. He drove you to Robin’s. He drove you to Gareth’s whenever he had band practice (you loved tagging along, even if it was just to sit and listen. Sometimes you brought a book and pretended to read it. Sometimes you didn’t have enough self control, and just stared the whole time- Eddie getting lost in the music, you getting lost in him.)

When the temperatures got unbearably hot, Eddie drove you and Robin to Lovers’ Lake. The three of you would make a day out of it, bringing towels to lay across the sun-bleached wood of the dock and a cooler filled with sodas even though you all knew you should probably be drinking water- but you were young and stupid in little, non-life-threatening ways. You let yourselves get drunk on the sun and each other’s company.

For Eddie, lake days were dangerous. 

He had always known that your body was not a difficult thing to look at- he wasn’t blind. But there had always been a barrier between Eddie and the understanding of just how not difficult to look at you were. That barrier had been clothes. 

The first lake day, you’d climbed into his van wearing trendy, high-waisted shorts and a cropped tee. Safe. Basic summer clothes. Eddie hadn’t thought much of it. 

Then, once the three of you had set up all of your things on the dock, you kicked off your flip flops, brought your fingers to the waistband of your shorts, and unbuttoned. Then, Eddie heard the sound of your zipper. And he just…froze. Because he knew what happened next, and in the back of his head he knew it made sense that you were taking your shorts off in front of him, out here in the open- you were probably wearing your swimsuit under there. You were at the lake, so of course he was going to see you in a swimsuit. Duh. It wasn’t a big deal. 

But then your ass just… popped out of your shorts. 

You brought the shorts down over your hips, and that ass… he saw a lot of your ass. You were the kind of girl that kept up with the trends, and the current trend was a very high-cut hip. You delivered. Your hips were front and center, accentuated by the cut of your suit. The morning’s movement had caused the fabric to wedge itself further…up. In? Eddie didn’t know which preposition to use, but he knew he was thankful for it all the same. Your back was bare, save for just about an inch of fabric that made up the strap of your top. He saw more skin than fabric, more skin on you than he’d ever seen. His brain was short circuiting. 

You turned. He forgot to look away. When your eyes locked on his, you smiled shyly. You’d hoped he would look at you. You had bought this suit despite your better judgment- normally you didn’t show this much skin, but for Eddie you wanted to. You wanted him to see you and want you. 

And want you he did. Eddie did everything he could to hide it, but oh… every time he laid eyes on you, he never wanted to stop looking. It was a problem. Specifically, his problem was that little fleshy part where your hip became your thigh, where your fat folded just so and formed a little sideways V-shaped crease. He wanted to touch that spot on your skin, wanted to grasp it, palm it, lick it, bite it. 

This was bad.

Eddie wasn’t supposed to see you that way. That wasn’t part of the plan- you were his friend, he wasn’t willing to jeopardize that friendship just because he saw you in a bikini and liked what he saw. Liked it a lot. Platonic, guy-girl friends were all he would ever let himself see the two of you as, because anything else came with a whole lot of complications that he really didn’t want to have to navigate. Was terrified to learn how to navigate.

Besides- friendship was simpler. Comfortable. It almost scared him how comfortable it felt, being around you. Eddie had never been good at romance; never allowed the warm fuzzies and butterflies to evolve into anything more than pulling a girl’s pigtails or swiping his sweaty palms on his thighs.

Or dressing up like Jason and scaring girls through their bedroom windows. 

Whatever. Eddie could handle this. He was mature enough to simultaneously want to squeeze the skin of your hips and know that he shouldn’t. Won’t. 

He was mature enough. Seventeen years old, practically a grown-ass man. 

Growing ass man. Definitely an ass man. Growing harder by the second, staring at that ass. 

Good lord. Horny bastard, calm the fuck down.

You giggled out a girlish squeal, shielding yourself from the splash of the lake water from Eddie’s cannonball that sprayed you where you sat on the deck. Eddie hadn’t had much of a choice- you and Robin would only see his burgeoning boner while it was above water, so underwater he went. 

When his head popped above the surface, however, he accidentally gasped water into his nose and lungs when he realized he was eye-level with where you sat on the deck, dangling your toes into the water. He hoped his coughing hid the effect you had on him, a vision of midwest summer decadence. 

Knees, shining with sunscreen that glinted in the sun. Thighs met hips. Hips met love handles, creasing into a little dip that made his dick go from halfie to hard-on.

You were not going to make this easy on him. It was almost like you were trying to get him to break his vow to keep things platonic, because the things he wanted to do between those thighs right now were not platonic. Were you doing this on purpose?

Eddie escaped underwater, and you giggled smugly in his absence. 

Yes. Yes, you were.

***

“He was staring at you so hard, I thought he was going to set fire to the deck.”

Ever since Eddie had dropped you and Robin off at your house, she had been spending the better part of an hour trying to get you to admit that there was even the most remote possibility that Eddie might like you back.

You’d finally admitted it to yourself before the end of the school year; you were head over heels for Eddie Munson, fallen victim to a crush of the highest degree. You were aware… but that didn’t mean you were ready to admit it to Robin, especially after an entire few months’ worth of time repeating to her over and over that you and Eddie were “just friends”.

Which was true, but that didn’t mean you wanted things to stay that way. 

“He’s a teenage boy and I was next to naked,” you said, trying not to grin like an idiot (and failing). “-of course he was going to look. That doesn’t mean he like likes me.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “He was like liking you so hard, I think I saw him drool.” Throwing herself onto the edge of your bed, she grabbed the magazine you’d begun half-heartedly flipping through and flung it to the floor. 

“Hey! I was reading that!”

“Bullshit, you’re avoiding your feelings.” Robin leaned in, burning a discerning, focused stare into your retinas. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not crazy for that dingus.”

You wanted to meet her challenge, you really did… but instead, you squeezed your eyes tight, sighed heavily, and let the words rush out at a rapid speed that rivaled your pounding heart. “I can’t, I am crazy for that dingus.”

“I KNEW IT!”

You clutched desperately at her knees, which were tucked excitedly up to her chin to frame her giddy expression upon hearing your admission. “You can. Not. Tell him.” You pleaded, desperation in your eyes.

Robin was cackling in the face of your pain, still high on the feeling of being so incredibly correct. “Oh I’m not telling him anything.” She giggled matter-of-factly. “You are.”

You blanched, taken aback and immediately defensive. “Like hell I am!” you screeched. “I am doing no such thing, thank you.” 

“What’s the harm? He is so blatantly in love with you, it’s hard not to laugh when I see his big ‘ole ridiculous goo-goo eyes-”

“Whoa, I think ‘in love’ is a very strong way to put-”

Robin’s eyes were comically wide. “Because the way he feels is very strong!” Her arms were flung out to either side, flabbergasted at how blind you could be to something that, from her angle, was clear as day. “Eddie Munson feels very strongly about you, if he feels any stronger, he’s gonna combust. You might combust.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s a massive exaggeration.”

“Or…” A smile crept onto Robin’s lips, eyes narrowing slyly. “...you both just get so pent up that you combust together-”

Whatever might have followed that sentence was cut short by a pillow thrown into Robin’s face, met with muffled cackling on her end and helpless groans on yours. “What am I going to do?” you whined, flinging yourself back onto your mattress and smacking your palms over your eyes as if applying pressure might just ease the anxiety in your chest and the butterflies that fluttered lower when you thought about her insinuation. What might that look like- combusting together? 

“Well, the way I see it,” Robin chirped, entirely too happy about your situation, “-you have two options. Either you make the first move, or you sit and wait for him to do it.”

You remained unmoved, eyes covered in your anguish. “What about a third option, where I keep on doing the same thing I’ve been doing and acting normal and just crushing so hard I want to cry while I pretend that everything is fine?”

Robin was silent for a few long moments before finally jabbing you in your side and causing you to yelp and convulse away from her. She knew you too well- your subtleties, your tickle spots, and especially when you were in denial. 

“One of you is going to crack eventually,” Robin said, “and unless you want to wait around for Eddie Munson, lord of avoiding his problems- another way that you two are a match, by the way, you’re masters of evasive action- then I suggest you make the first move.”

You considered her words- Eddie was a serial procrastinator. If Robin was right, and he did like you back, he would probably rather wait around for you to say something about it before making any moves himself. 

So the question was, were you willing to bring it up? To change your whole friendship, flip everything you two had built since the spring, based on the hope that he might return your feelings? 

“Worst case scenario,” Robin continued, “he doesn’t like you back.”

“And he stops talking to me.” you added glumly.

“I don’t think he could if he tried.” Robin smiled. “Look, whether it’s romantic, sexual, platonic, whatever-” you exaggerated a shiver at the word sexual in the context of Eddie Munson, even though the two of you knew quite well that you were anything but disgusted by the idea. “-he’s crazy about you. Whatever you think that means, it’s probably right.”

You grinned shyly, ducking your head lower to avoid Robin’s eyes. “I’m pretty crazy about him too.” 

Now it was Robin’s turn to smack you with a pillow. “Yeah, no shit!” she guffawed. 

The two of you descended into giggles, and for the rest of the evening Robin continued to pester you with quips about Eddie and your massive crush on him. Each time you pretended to be annoyed, but in actuality each joke about how you loooooved him just solidified the idea in your mind of the two of you as an item. You imagined Eddie holding doors open for you in a boyfriend way. Stopping by your work to pester you, but the way a boyfriend would. 

Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. 

Eddie Munson, your boyfriend.

You wanted to speak it out loud, just to taste it on your tongue. 

To capture it in a polaroid. To feel it in your hand. His hand, yours. 

Boyfriend. 

***

Eddie cared a lot about his clothes. 

You knew this, it wasn’t a surprise to you. Everything about him projected the type of man he wanted to be perceived as, so his appearance was- unsurprisingly- carefully curated to his tastes. 

Now, he seemed to think that his own personal aesthetic needed to extend to you as well. 

“Eds, I already have enough shirts, why do you keep handing me shirts? I need shoes-”

Your sentence was cut short by Eddie piling yet another T-shirt and a matching flannel into your arms. You were sure that whatever the limit was for how many items you could bring into the fitting room of this store at a time, you were pushing it. 

“Come on, just try them on for me? Please?” Eddie’s hazelnut eyes rounded out in a pout that you knew would be the death of you one day if you weren’t careful. “I don’t know if you’re ever gonna let me pick out your clothes again, the opportunity to dress you up like a paper doll is just too good to pass up. Humor me?”

You sighed heavily, making your way to the fitting rooms and hoping Eddie wasn’t perceptive enough to notice that you were a little too happy that he was so excited to look at you in any capacity, even if it was technically the clothes he was excited about and not necessarily you. 

If Eddie could hear your thoughts, however, he’d argue that you couldn’t be farther from the truth. He didn’t want to dress just anyone up in a wardrobe of his own design- no, he wanted to see you in clothes that he picked out. 

See, Eddie had been fantasizing about you more and more lately. Not in a weird way… just in a ‘it would be kind of cool to see my best friend wearing the kind of clothes that I like to wear’ kind of way. Was that weird? Regardless, Eddie had convinced himself that it wasn’t weird. 

So there you were, shoving a plethora of denim, flannel and T-shirts into a fitting room. Sure, you owned a flannel or two for when the weather got chilly, as well as at least one pair of black jeans. You had a trusty denim jacket. Why was Eddie so hell-bent on seeing you in these clothes specifically?

You understood once the clothes were on. 

“Eddie?” 

“Yeeees?” You could tell from his voice that he was smiling on the other side of the fitting room door. 

Unable to hold back a smirk as you assessed your reflection, you replied, “Was it your intention to turn me into the female version of you?”

Eddie’s heart just about skipped a beat. His palms were suddenly clammy, his face hot. Why did the idea of that turn him on so much? It’s not like they were his clothes. 

You in his clothes. Now Eddie was picturing it. Picturing it… then shaking his head hard enough to make the image fall out his ears. Focus, Munson.

“Bold of you to assume you look as good in black as I do, ace-”

And then you opened the door. 

Black jeans with rips at the knees. Forest green flannel tied snug at your waistband. Tight black cotton hugging your curves and puckering at your chest. A denim vest hanging loosely over your frame, allowing bare shoulders to peek out the sides. 

Eddie’s heart just… stopped. You looked adorable. Fierce. Terrifying and brilliant. You somehow took all of the things he associated with himself and had turned them into things he liked. On him, these clothes looked rebellious to Eddie; they were like armor, meant to scare- keep those who might harm him at a distance. On you? They looked beautiful, striking-

“Amazing.”

Eddie saw your eyes light up and quickly realized he’d said that last part out loud.

 “Amazing!” he repeated, this time, slightly less aghast and more enthusiastic, as if he’d known the whole time that you would rock the metalhead look even better than he did. As if the sight of you in a denim vest that looked an awful lot like his didn’t have this effect on him. “But you’re missing something.”

And then his hands were brushing the skin of your shoulders, pushing the denim vest down your arms. You didn’t fight him as he worked, focusing on the way your arms shifted behind your back, the way your chest inflated forward with the motion just enough for the peak of your chest to kiss the lapels of his leather jacket. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. You hoped that he couldn’t see the evidence that you’d noticed through the fabric of your black tank top.

Haphazardly folding the vest and placing it on the floor of your fitting room, Eddie then began to remove his own jacket. He slinked behind you and held the black leather as if to drape it across your shoulders, but stopped just short of letting the body-heated lining touch your skin. You realized he was waiting for you to reach your arm back and thread it through the sleeve, so you obliged. 

Eddie’s face was so close; you felt the stray baby hairs at his shoulders tickle your chin when you barely turned your head. As you worked your other arm into the sleeve, he exhaled a little heavier and you felt it as it blessed the back of your neck. You reveled in the goosebumps that rolled down your arms; wanted to know what that breath might feel like everywhere else- anywhere else.

He bent to pick up the vest and hand it to you, but then stopped short as he caught you looking at the new and improved outfit in the full-length mirror. You stared at yourself, decked out in black and plaid but infatuated with the fact that you were wearing a part of him. 

Eddie dropped the vest back to the floor, standing up straight again behind you. He didn’t move away, didn’t move to step back and relinquish your personal space- something about seeing the way your eyes couldn’t leave the black leather in your reflection was acting as some sort of visual pheromone. He couldn’t look away, wanted to melt into the light that he’d never noticed refracted off the surface of that jacket until you were the one it clothed. He wanted to drape himself over you the same way the jacket had, wanted to beat this jacket’s record for square inches of your skin being touched at the same time. 

You had no oxygen left when you saw the way his face had slotted itself in the right angle of your neck and shoulder, had no resolve left to put on a brave face and pretend you weren’t molten beneath these foreign clothes. Your jaw went slack, eyes wide and wanting. His gaze was…possessive, if you dared to call it that. With it, he painted you in his image and signed his name in black leather. 

You would be a willing canvas if only he asked. Was this him asking? Dressing you up like his own personal paper doll? 

Eddie Munson’s doll. You liked the sound of that.

“I’d get it if you didn’t want to walk around school in my jacket,” Eddie said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “If anyone recognized it as mine, you might get some…”

“...unwanted attention?” you finished for him. 

Unwanted. Of course that’s what you thought it would be. Eddie moved to take the jacket from you, but your hand flew up to stop him. 

Your fingers curled around his hand, a vice on his skin that begged like a child pleading for five more minutes. “Can I keep it on, actually?”

Eddie froze, confused. Hadn’t you just admitted that you didn’t want the attention that would come with wearing his jacket around?

“It’s cold in the mall.” You looked at him with wide eyes that shone in the fluorescent lights, and for a second he let himself believe that maybe you wouldn’t mind being seen with him; wearing him. Of course people at school knew that you hung out with him, but wearing a boy’s jacket told a different story, sent a different message. Did you know that? Would you mind that?

“Uh, yeah… you sure?” Eddie breathed the words like smoke, exhaling them into your air after holding them in to mull over until he was sure about them. However, the smile on your face when you answered knocked any air left from his lungs.

“Of course I’m sure…wearing it feels like you.”

His lips revealed a smirk that you’d been sorely missing. “Feels like me, huh?” his hand darted out to squeeze your side, causing you to squeak as your waist went concave, bending away from his fingers on instinct. You giggled, breathy Eddie! Stop!s bouncing out of you as you avoided his hands that made to take advantage of the tickle spot he’d long since figured out. 

“What’s the matter, ace? Thought you liked the way I feel?”

His fingers wiggled mischievously, and you retreated into the fitting room before closing the door in his face. “No,” your voice rang through the door, “I like the way your jacket feels.”

Bullshit. Eddie had heard you. No amount of saving face now on your end would be able to wipe the joy from his smile. 

Feels like you. Wearing it feels like you.

You changed in silence, Eddie separated from you only by a vinyl door about one inch thick. On your side, you pulled his leather jacket back on, pulling the collar up around your neck until it enveloped your skin the way you wanted Eddie to. You quietly inhaled the scent of the well-loved leather, smiling at the way his jacket so eagerly melted into your reflection, like it had belonged there the entire time.

On the other side of the door, Eddie leaned against the wall dividing your fitting room from the next. One tennis-shoed foot rested up against the wall, propping up his knee. Hands slotted into his jeans’ pockets, face tilted upward- he would have made the perfect picture of nonchalance had he not been smiling like a lovesick fool at the ceiling. 

When you finally emerged, the two of you walked toward the counter to pay for your new clothes until something caught your eye, bright enough to stop you in your tracks. 

Platform Chuck Taylors. Canvas dyed a gorgeous stewed-cherry shade of red, the soles still shiny and new- a whole two inches thick- with that trademark black stripe down the middle. Eddie watched as you stared at the beautiful shoes, and he could have sworn he saw the pupils of your eyes turn to little hearts.

And then he watched you check the price tag.

A pained hiss came from your lips as that little sticker on the bottom of the shoe dashed your wish before his eyes. Eddie winced, slightly afraid of the answer. “How bad?”

You shook your head sadly. “They’re $45, which is absolutely ridiculous. A regular pair is only twenty!”

Even twenty dollars for a pair of shoes was pushing it for Eddie; he was a thrifty guy, excited to find a new-ish pair of sneakers at the secondhand store for less than $5. However, Eddie wasn’t going to tell you that. He took pride in what he wore, kept his things clean and in good condition for as long as they would serve their purpose. He was raised by Wayne to be that way.

You wound up purchasing a classic white pair of Chucks instead. “They’re just shoes,” you’d said, “and how often would I really have worn platforms anyways? I’ll get much more use out of these.” But Eddie didn’t miss the way you glanced longingly back at the cherry-red dream shoes. They’re what tugged on his heartstrings enough to make him do something stupid. 

Back to school shopping with Wayne was one of the old man’s least frugal times of the year. First impressions, he’d always said, are everything, boy. Start the year fresh, and you wipe the slate clean. It’s a new year, so you’ll need a new pair of shoes, brand spankin’ new. 

Each August, Wayne would hand Eddie a twenty dollar bill. It was meant to go toward a new pair of school shoes. And this year, they would still go toward that. 

They just wouldn’t be Eddie’s.

In the middle of your lunch at the food court, Eddie pretended to go to the bathroom. He was gone a little longer than what would usually be considered normal for a restroom break, and he knew that you’d give him shit for taking a shit when he got back. But it would be worth it.

In actuality, he had the sales associate at the store hold the red shoes for him. He’d return to purchase them after dropping you off at home, and he rationalized this decision by saying he’d just give them to you in a few months as a Christmas present. He would have bought you one eventually anyway… what was the harm in spending the money a little early?

His face hurt from smiling. Funny, he’d been smiling so much more this year that he was surprised that the muscles in his face weren’t used to it by now. You did that to him- you, the girl who’d run around the playground in red mary janes. You, the girl who’d chased him down on Halloween. You, who’d somehow gotten him to think a little higher of himself and start believing he might be worth a damn. 

Looking up as he re-entered the food court after securing those red chucks in his name, his grin went from subtle to blinding when he laid eyes on you once again. 

You, the girl who wanted to keep wearing his jacket because it felt like him.

Part 5

Taglist: @emma77645, @rustboxstarr, @sheneedsrocknroll92

[thefallennightmare]

Moment of Weakness-sixteen

*credit to whoever created the gif. found on google/Pinterest *

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Notes: Last one for tonight!

Tags(closed): @splendidreads @sebsgirl71479 @mdpplgtz03 @pattiemac1 @unaxv @elizacusi-blog @alana4610 @broadwaybabe18 @themayzittcha @playboystark @raajali3 @ozwriterchick @ragamuffin285 @screamingdying @themorningsunshine @kenziekugler22 @calwitch @sebastianstansqueen @stanaddict @stucky-simp03 @sleyeveryday @loustan90 @lyra-black13 @valsworldofcreativity @cjand10 @tesseract69 @batprincess1013 @subwaysurf45 @arsonfrogger @yoruse @5moremin @lipstickandtanqueray @mandijo17 @joannaromanoff @justsebstan @winters1917

With a soft breath, I turned over in bed and brought the pillow closer to my chest in hopes it eased my beating heart. Everything was so confusing, Bucky or Steve, and my mind was tired from trying to make a decision, even when the answer was pretty obvious. 

I let my eyes shut, thinking back to a couple hours ago with Steve’s lips on mine. 

Loud ringing from his phone caused us to jump slightly and we stared at one another, both of our pupils black with lust as we did our best to calm our breathing. 

Steve caught my lips in another kiss before he answered his phone, with a cough to mask the arousal in his voice. 

“Yeah?” 

His shoulders went rigid for a moment. “Hey Buck, yeah she’s fine. We're fine.” 

My stomach dropped at the mention of his name but yet I had no urgency to move away from Steve’s embrace. 

He looked at me with a raised brow. “Are you sure? No, I can do it but what about Y/N?” 

“What?” I asked, heart racing. 

“I’ll call you when it’s done,” Steve nodded before hanging up. 

I urged him once again, wanting to know what they were talking about. 

Steve ran a hand over his beard. “We figured out how to stop the hit.” 

My eyes doubled. “How?” 

“I’ll explain everything once I’m back. I have to go take care of something,” Steve said. 

“Wait,” I grabbed his hand. “You’re leaving?” 

He brought our linked hands to his lips, placing a kiss along my knuckles. “Sam is right outside in his car watching your house. No one is getting in without him noticing.” 

My racing heart settled, only slightly. Even if Sam was outside, I couldn’t help but feel afraid since I would be all alone inside. 

“Call me when you’re back home?” I asked. 

Steve nodded while his thumb ran over my bottom lip. “You know he’s never going to leave her, right?” 

There was a loud ringing in my ears as my mouth ran dry, unsure what to say. 

“Steve, I-.” 

He hushed my words with another kiss, this time shorter but still forceful with passion. 

"I know that you're dealing with a lot right now and it's such a dick move to make it harder for you but I couldn't wait anymore. I needed to let you know how I felt." 

Steve left me with another kiss and so much more to think about. This morning, everything seemed perfect. Bucky and I were together in our own secret affair but the nagging voice of reality had become too hard to ignore now. 

But my heart knew what it wanted, deep down. It wanted to be loved by Bucky even if it was an impossible task to complete. 

The clock on my end table told me that it was nearing two a.m and I still had yet to hear from either Bucky or Steve, which made me worry about what exactly they had planned for tonight. 

I brought my phone to my ear, the number dialing immediately. 

On the second ring, it went to voicemail which meant that he ignored the call. I swallowed the pain I felt in my stomach but still decided to leave him a message. 

“Hey Bucky. I’m wondering where you are. I haven't heard from you at all tonight, which isn’t like you. Listen, I think we should talk so if you get this message tonight, feel free to come by.” 

Only a few seconds passed with me pocketing my phone that there was a knock to my front door. All of the hairs on my body stood on end as fear filled my veins. 

“Doll, it’s me. Open up.” 

I eased, hearing Bucky’s voice, and hurriedly ran out of my room to let him inside. 

“Hi,” he breathed, leaving a kiss on my cheek. 

“Where have you been? I was expecting you to call or even text,” I stated while shutting the door behind him. 

He pinched his tired eyes shut. “I’m sorry. My date ran longer than I would have liked. Natasha kept wanting to do a bunch of different things, almost as if she wanted to keep me busy.” 

I snickered with my brows raised. “Yeah, it sure seemed like it.” 

Bucky shook his head, confused, so I pulled my phone out of my pocket to show him the picture Natasha had posted earlier in the night. 

“Shit,” he cursed. “Well, what else do you want from me, Y/N? You practically sent me away on this date.”

 “Are you kidding me?”, I scoffed. “Bucky, she’s your fucking wife. If you keep breaking these promises you made her, she’s going to suspect something is going on.” 

Bucky shook his head. “She doesn’t.” 

I ran a hand through my hair. “She’s already accused you of having feelings for me. How sure are you that she doesn’t already know?” 

He remained silent, only placing his hands on his hips.

“Did you stop the hit?” I asked, changing the subject.

There was slight hesitation in his breathing but gave in with a nod. “I had to pay Clint off in order to do so but it’s done.” 

“How much?” 

Bucky shrugged. “It doesn’t matter how much.” 

“Yes, it does,” I exasperated. “It does when you were the one to pay for it. I can’t have you spending your money for me, Bucky.” 

This time I allowed him to close the distance, bringing me into his arms. “Doll, you’re worth way more than what I paid for your life tonight.”

I searched his eyes, gaining the courage to bring up what I had been dreading all night. 

“I-uh-I think we should maybe slow things down,” I stammered over my words. 

Bucky’s face blanched. “What?” 

“Everything's happening so fast between us. It’s only been a couple of months with our affair and I’m so confused about everything,” I admitted while not meeting his gaze. 

His eyes searched all over my face before resting on the skin of my neck, his grip around me tightening. 

“What’s that?” 

Immediately, I knew what he was looking at. 

“Did something happen tonight between you and Steve?” He asked through gritted teeth. 

I stepped away from him, not liking the tone behind his question, but knew that there wasn’t any point to deny or try to hide it from him. 

“We kissed,” I admitted.

Bucky leaned back; shock written all over his face but the hurt that I saw pool in his eyes made my heart drop. 

 I stood my ground, not wanting him to see me break. “But you have no right to get upset with me. You were out on a date tonight.”

Bucky’s nostrils flared as his jaw clenched. “That you practically sent me on. I could have spent the night here with you.” 

“She’s your wife, Bucky!” I repeated those same words from earlier. “Don’t you get it? Whether you want to believe it or not, you care deeply for her otherwise you wouldn’t keep going back to her every night!” 

He remained in place at my outburst. 

“You come here almost every night, fall into bed with me, and then you’re gone without a care in the world on how bad it hurts me!” 

Tears welled in my eyes and I blinked them away, the salt tasting bitter on my tongue. 

“I do,” Bucky nodded, trying to reach for me now.

I pushed his hands away with force. “Bullshit! Because if you did, you wouldn’t keep doing this. You come here in waves then leave me in your wake to save myself from drowning.” 

My feet began to pace the space of the living room, almost as if I was building up the courage to confront him about everything. I stopped, momentarily, to look at him with bloodshot eyes from crying. 

“For all I know, after you fuck me, you go home and make love to her,” I sobbed. 

His hands felt soft underneath my chin as he forced me to look into his eyes. “I’m not, I promise you.” 

I shrugged. “You’ve been lying to your wife for months. How do I know that you’re not lying to me, Bucky?” 

Bucky kissed me with so much force that I stumbled in his embrace, the intensity behind it made my head spin. His tongue brushed over my bottom lip and I granted him access into my mouth, exploring every inch of it almost as if it was his first time. 

“No,” I pushed him away. “I can’t keep doing this.” 

“Why not?” He asked. 

“Because I’m scared!” My voice bellowed off the walls of my home. 

Bucky tilted his head. “Of what, doll?” 

I choked out a sob. “Of falling for you and you breaking my heart.” 

We stood in front of each other, silent, neither of us expecting this would be how the night ended. 

“Do you want me to go?” Bucky whispered his question. 

I grabbed my own elbows to create a protective barrier around me and nodded. “It’s not fair to Steve, Natasha, or even me if we continue this. I just need some space to think things over, but I’ll be back to work on Monday.” 

He gave me a weak smile. “I’ll be counting the days, doll.”

With one last kiss upon my cheek, Bucky left my house and as the door closed behind him, I fell to my knees with my cries.

[beefrobeefcal]

Beefro, I'm on my period rn. Tell me why the only thing I can think about is having a beefy pedro boy to cuddle. One who would rub my lower tummy with big warm hands to help with the cramps, and his belly would press into my lower back and we could just watch rom coms and Star Wars movies. It's giving Frankie vibes, but I also can't stop thinking about retired agent Jack Daniels and that southern drawl.

Oh Redy! I’m too riding the crimson tide…

Who would be the best chubby!P-boy for this job?

Let's find out...

We're-all-in-this-together regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

Chubby!Frankie - 9/10

Of course, our resident military snugglepuss would be ready to take orders. Need supplies? Text him a picture of what tampon/pad combo you want. Don’t feel like cooking? He already knows he’s in for a few days of take out and he’s not complaining. Want comfort? Already has plans to cuddle on the couch and his big body is JUST RIGHT for warm snuggles. Frankie is ready to take on your period and has a strategy for every variable and Is the ideal candidate for the job.

Chubby!Dieter - 7/10

While he may lack in empathy, he has the drugs you need to quell your pain. Uppers, downers, side-to-siders - he's got the gambit and he'll partake what ever you choose. He's also got every take out restaurant on speed dial and a private chef. It's not for everyone and some of his remedies might be questionable, but his heart is in the right place... that and he's a human heating pad.

Chubby!Joel - 7/10

He's done this before - had multiple female partners, had the teenage daughter. Periods are just a part of life and Joel has seen his fair share of blood before (periods or not). Unphased, he's be your matter-of-fact pillar to lean on and offer advise (unsolicited and otherwise). While you love the support, the know-it-all attitude he carries might get on your nerves, but he's quick to apologize and remain supportive in any way he can... while also telling you what to do as he gives you one hell of a backrub.

Chubby!Peña - 6/10

Probably the most uncomfortable with any talk about your 'monthly', he would be supportive albeit a bit clueless. He'd probably get either Connie or one of the other girls in the office to pick up supplies and he'd nervously look at you like a beaten puppy as you sit doubled over on the couch in pain. He'd eventually find a system to help, but it would take a lot of guidance. Perk? You'd get to watch him stress eat over the whole situation.

Chubby!Dave - 3/10

100% out of his wheel house. This is a woman's issue and Dave is not a woman, therefore it's not his issue. Tell him what you need, but don't expect support beyond a pat on the head and a kiss. He might give you a good pain killer if he's feeling sympathetic. You're better to keep your period stuff to yourself, according to Dave. He does get a mark deducted for being terrible at sharing his snack hoard with you.

Dark!Frankie - 0/10

As much as he'd like to think he's great at everything, this is an area that requires empathy. Unfortunately for you, unless the solution to your monthly woes is fucking him or cooking for him, BigFish is out of ideas. He doesn't want to see you in pain though, and he'll tell you that... less to offer comfort and more like an order for you to get in line... The only way it could be worse is if you had to deal with PORP.

Honorable Mentions:

Benny Miller: We'd all be so lucky to have a Benny. We see how he is with Honey (when his good intentions come out wrong.) Chubby!Jack Daniels: Not yet part of the Bistro, but maybe soon? I think you're right, Redy - this old, fat cowboy would be heaven sent. Chubby!Javi G: If he was a Cannon P-Boy, he'd clock a 58/10 on the scale. Homeboy's love language is MADE for dealing withy your period.

[cirque-dhomosexual]

My own personal Scooby-Doo re-imagining canon includes:

-out and proud lesbian Dominican/Puerto Rican Velma (yes I'm projecting, leave me alone)

-Velma has audhd

- velmaphne happens eventually

-sapphic/unlabeled daphne

-ace/homoromantic and autistic Fred Jones

-he's dating Shaggy who is a pan Trans man

- they are adhd/autism boyfriends

-fuck it, they're all autistic and you can fight me

-Velma and Fred have a shared special interest in machines and will talk about it with each other. They love to share what they know or what they learned and talk about improvements to designs and the like.

-daph and Fred grew up together. Daph's family works in politics and Fred's dad is running for governor or some other government role. Maybe daph's dad is a congressman.

-Daphne is very romantic and tried to liken their relationship to that of a fairytale with Fred being her prince charming but it didn't work out that way

-the two are fs soul mates just not the ones Daphne wanted originally

-she did play match maker to shaggy and Fred and it was a feat. Although, she couldn't clock velms would practically break her back bending over backwards for her.

- they meet in college where velms is majoring in forensic science , Daph is double majoring in business and hospitality (because of her parents) but she switches to journalism where she is much happier, Fred is in Mechanical engineering (idk it makes sense imo) and shaggy is majoring in veterinary science or culinary arts.

-they met in a creative writing class for their humanities credit where they find out they have a shared love of horror movies and mysteries. They did seriously debate on creating a Vincent Van Ghoul fanclub.

- they don't become an actual mystery solving group until they find out about a missing person's case for a student in their class and decided to take matters into their own hands

-found family™ they understand each other like no one else

-besties shaggy and daphne! Daph is a huge foodie and runs a vlogging channel with him! They love romantic comedies and this one novella in particular and will have frequent sleepovers where they do each other's nails and hair and gossip and fan tf out

- Fred joins in on occasion. He loves it even though he doesn't know what's going on. He does engage when he can though and somehow becomes very versed in the relationship dynamics of the show

-shaggy plays wingman for velms and daph and will listen to both of them pine over the other. He is tired.

-velma is fluent in 5 languages and uses them frequently, even to flirt.

-Daph can speak 3 but mostly just to talk business.

-daphne tries so fucking hard to live up to the expectations that her parents has for her and she does but they are never completely satisfied. Her whole arc is finding her own sense of self outside of her family.

-she's head of the cheer team, debate club, and the fashion column in the school's newspaper and graduated saludatorian at her high school

-Velms is also a journalist and she will try and work with daph when she can

-Supernatural occurances does happen. Eventually at least. In the beginning it's their regular whodunit shtick until they meet cosmic horrors that even Lovecraft couldn't imagine and cults (gasp)

-there will be stakes! It will be mature and dark but bc the plot calls for it

-daph was a part of the hex girls as she roadie and backup to Thorne, she did use this fact to flirt with velms.

-They are their brujas on speed dial.

-The gang doesn't know how Daph did it or for how long and they'll never get a straight answer. One day daph will say she found them practicing in an abandoned space and the next she might say they met at a commune. Her favorite thing to say is "oh. You know." as cryptically as she can and just stare off into the distance, just for kicks. Shaggy is convinced Thorne is Daphs twin sister or clone and they won't try and convince him otherwise.

-the hex girls are a polyam couple

-Scooby is young dog instead of having grown up with shaggy. Great Danes only have like an 8-10 year life span where 6 is average. Shaggy found him a injured and wandering on the edge of the woods that's next to the school.

I do plan on writing out this fic but idk if it has any merit. If I do write it would anyone be interested in reading?

[liz-allyn]

heat of the moment, pt 6 - carpe diem (finale) [tasm!peter x reader x groundhog day au]

summary: everything ends, eventually.  angst; fluff; humor; final destination vibes; and yes this is in tribute to my favorite episode of television ever written - “mystery spot”

words: 11.6k

warnings: death. a lot of it. repeatedly. in this chapter: tw description of death by car accident, fire, drowning, asphyxiation, self h*rm, mass casualty event.

a/n - don't you hate it when stories just dump a ton of exposition in the last chapter? haha fuck

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

The sun had long set as you crouched down stealthily on a roof overlooking an industrial complex next to the Holland Tunnel. It was near the entrance on the New York side of the Hudson River, far from the dumpster you sought out. 

After leaving Claire, you had met Peter across town and inspected the burned-out site tediously. There wasn’t much left behind, save for a few singed sheets of paper nearby. Shipping invoices for an address on the other side of Manhattan. 

Alarms went off in your head at the perplexity of someone dumping their trash all the way over here. You were determined to follow this lead, and quickly. 

Working against time, you were now in pursuit. You gazed out over the street below as you studied the tall, rectangular, art deco-style, brick structure. The exteriors looked repainted and somewhat modernized, part of ongoing renovations to the Holland Tunnel, you figured. Now at the heart of the tallest building, a 50-foot-wide clock face doubled the size of ‘Big Ben,’ with golden dials that added to the aesthetic.

The clock face leered maliciously at you, like a hungry dragon perched on a tower. Like the hands would come alive, and spring out sharp teeth that gobbled you up.

What a way to go.

The face stares down at you, knowingly, like a proverbial ‘Eye of Sauron,’ meeting you at the edge of Mordor. The minute hand lurches past 10:50 to 10:51, reminding you of its quicksilver nature.

You’d never made it past 10:30 PM before. 

You’re deep behind enemy lines. 

Wearing the Spider suit, Peter swung to your position, his feet landing on the roof as gently as a cat’s. He crouched down to your level, lifting his mask from his sweaty face.

“Okay, so something is definitely off with that building,” Peter whispered. “It’s using a ton of power. Way more than any New York City building should.” He noted your distant look and silence, hypnotized by the ominous feeling the clock gave you. He eyed you suspiciously, “Exactly what are we looking for here?”

You pursed your lips, observing the slow crawl of vehicle traffic clogging itself into the tunnel. You could see the lights of a construction crew near the tunnel entrance. You smelled the heavy fumes of semi trucks trickling in between passenger vehicles. You felt the wind chilling the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Something bad,” you replied grimly.

Peter stared at you incredulously, brow furrowed, waiting for further explanation. The humor was beginning to evaporate from his mood, a heavy tension settling in between you. No further explanation followed.

“Okay,” he declared, more firmly now. “We’re done here.”

That caught your attention. He reached for you and you flinched back. “No, wait, we can’t leave!”

“Honestly, this has gone on far enough,” Peter replied with a serious tone, his mocha eyes filled with concern. “You start talking about time loops at breakfast and then you throw muffins at me and ghost me for hours, you won’t answer any of my questions, you can’t just lay shit out like that and not explain yourself—”

“We have to get inside that building.”

“Why?!” he snapped, temper flaring. You knew his frustration was branching from his anxiety, and you had to find a way to diffuse it.

“Something inside that building is affecting your abilities!” you whispered harshly. You were also losing control. “Why don’t you want to find out what it is?”

A deep crease formed in his brow, stubbornness feeding indignation. “Tell me why. Why can’t we just go home right now? Tell me the truth!”

You pulled your eyes away, dropping them to the ground. “We can’t go home, Peter,” you firmly stated, and it sounds like you’re admonishing a child.

“Tell me why right now, or I throw you over my shoulder—”

“Because I never make it back home alive!” you blurted out.

He blinks at you. Eyes narrow. Observes you. Brow furrows. Head tilts. Pupils go wide. Face pales. Heart rate increases. 

“What do yo—” the words trickle off, shrinking away as they leave his mouth. With them, they take the air from his lungs. His shoulders tense. “What does that— what are you talkin’ about? What’re you sayin’?” On reflex, he grasps at your arms. His face searches yours, betrayed.

You reach out for him, gripping his shoulders. It begins to ground him, but doesn’t release the building pressure. You steady yourself. Meet him in his own time.

“Peter, listen,” you softly cooed, “it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” 

He exhaled a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. His eyes looked like he was torn between the urge to argue, and the need to hold you. 

He swallowed hard, his fingers finding yours, gripping your hands like he used to hold his stuffed animals. “I don’t under—”

“What I’m about to say is going to freak you out, but we need to be on the same page about this,” you slowly explained. “Every day for the last... I don’t know how many... several-thousand Tuesdays... I wake up. And it’s Tuesday. And then, somehow, it ends with me dying. And then I wake up—and it’s Tuesday again.”

He stares. Eyes glazing black.

“Stay with me, Pete,” you pleaded, your hands cupping his cheeks. “I think whatever is causing this to happen is connected to something in that building.”

“No,” Peter said. Darkness enveloped his voice. “You’re not gonna die. Don’t say that.” He shook his head. An unsettling firmness crept into his tone.

“I have this feeling,” you explained, “that it’s all connected. The time loop. Your abilities not working right. The dying—”

“You’re not gonna die,” he asserted, with even more resolve.

You pursed your lips, falling silent. For a moment, you let yourself drown in the dark pools of his gaze. They’re like thick, dark storm clouds. Heavy blackness crackling with bolts of lightning. You read his face carefully, choosing your words delicately.

“I believe you,” you answered, finally. It was the truth. He studied your reaction too, and tension released from his shoulders slightly. “But we have to get into that building.”

He nodded once, swallowing back his anxiety, then took you by the shoulders. “But you’re not going in there. You’re staying put.”

You rolled your eyes. “Peter, we don’t have time for this!”

He shook his head, jaw firmly set. “I’m not doing this again.” He wasn't talking about last Tuesday.

“I am not Gwen,” your voice bellowed.

He went silent at her name, still dumbstruck by shame and grief. It was like you slapped him. He dropped his eyes to his feet, sorrow building steadily.

You softened your expression and your tone. “You aren’t the ‘you’ from then, either.”

The sharp, smooth line of his jaw quivered for just a moment, and you brushed your fingers along the freckles there. His lashes fluttered closed at the gesture. 

“I know that you’re afraid of what you’ll lose,” you whispered, featherlike. Like telling a secret. “I know you think it’ll break you. But I’ve seen the best and the worst of you, Peter Parker.” 

He looked up at you, and the utter endearment on your face was enough to take his breath away. It brought tears to his eyes. 

“I believe in you,” you stated. As certain as the sky is blue. “Every day. Forever. Even if you don’t believe in yourself. So please. Believe in me.”

Peter grimaced, fear piercing his chest. He pushed it down. He nodded. “Always.”

You held his gaze lovingly. Despite your predicament, you strangely wished you could freeze the moment.

“Okay,” you smirked, eyes bright. “Let’s do this. Remember, there’s no fate but what we make, right?”

You moved to stand, but he reached out and grabbed you. “Wait.” You glanced back at him, catching the puzzled look on his face. “When did you see Terminator?”

You quirked a brow, teasingly mysterious in your reply. “I’m a sci-fi nerd, now. What about it?”

11:14 PM

After careful effort, and more minutes than you wanted to lose, you made it inside to find your suspicions were correct. 

You were standing inside of a control room next to two knocked out, webbed-up security guards. You closely studied a vast array of CCTV monitors above you. Your boyfriend was hunched over a screen, listening intently to the conversations of plant workers—some of which he’d recognized as former science division employees of Oscorp. You recognized some of them too, from Alchemax. And Horizon Labs. And Roxxon.

“Okay,” you asked, glancing warily at the time. “Do we have any idea why these guys are all in this building? Was there a mad scientist convention or something?”

“Is it weird that I’m low-key, kinda offended that I didn’t even get an invite?” Peter grumbled, shaking his masked head bitterly. “Am I weird for thinking that? Is that bad?”

You gave him an incredulous glare. “I’m sure it’s in your spam folder.”

“It’s fine,” Peter flatly declared. It wasn’t fine. 

He uncrossed his arms to lean his weight on his palms, staring at one of the screens intently. “Here,” he noted, calling your attention to a computer screen visible on the security camera. “These are plans. They’re building something. We need to find out what.”

11:22 PM

Deeper inside the facility, you hid behind the door of a windowless office. Your palms were clammy, and sweat poured out of you. It wasn’t just the tension. It was the heat. A massive source of energy, Peter had explained, from some part of the building.

A bespectacled, bird-like, middle-aged man wearing a lab coat entered the office. You slammed the door behind him. Startled, he turned around and spotted you, a mix of confusion and growing alarm. He opened his mouth to yell just as two red gloves reached down around his head and clamped his jaw shut. 

You looked up at Spider-Man, dropping from his hiding place on the ceiling, as he muffled the screams of the captive. The scientist flailed uselessly in Peter’s arms, overcome with panic. You shuddered as you noted Spider-Man’s grip was little a rougher than normal.

“Spidey,” you soft admonished. He looked up at you and spotted the timid anxiety in your eyes. He took the hint.

Peter turned the captive scientist around and sat him down in his own desk chair. With a couple of webs he was bound to the fake leather padding. 

The man gaped up through wire-rimmed glasses at Spider-Man’s towering frame, his eyes wide with terror. Without being prompted, you reached into the pockets of the lab coat, snatching his ID badge off its lanyard. You pocketed several keys, metal and magnetic. You flipped through his wallet for clues.

Spider-Man kicked his leg up on the seat of the captive’s chair, leaning on his own thigh crassly. “Hey, buddy!” the vigilante greeted with a bright, cheery smile as you searched him. 

You glanced at the name on the scientist’s ID badge. “Joseph,” you supplied.

“Hey, Joe!” Spider-Man corrected. Despite the chipper tone, the muscles in his neck were pulled taught. He looked like a dog about to snap. “Whatcha buildin’ under here?”

Your boyfriend released the scientist’s mouth. His wild eyes darted anxiously between the two of you. ‘Joe’ attempted to calm himself down, stuttering as he sought out what’s left of his courage.

“Do you have any idea where you are?” he spat ferociously. “You two are screwed! You’re not getting outta here. You’re in way over your heads! I’m not telling you anything! You can’t make me talk—”

A web slapped over Joe’s mouth, gagging him. You shot your boyfriend an impatient glare. “We don’t have time for this,” you warned him.

Spider-Man kept his attention on his captive, shrugging his shoulders. “You heard the lady,” he said, almost apologetically. Peter dropped his foot from the chair and sidled up to the man, gripping his hair and yanking his head back. You flinched as you watched him brandish a blade and swipe at the webbing across the man’s mouth with cobra-like quickness. He sliced an opening in the gag, allowing his captive to breathe.

“Since we’re a little short on time, we’re gonna cut to the chase, yeah?” he explained, his pleasant-sounding demeanor coming short of masking the malice in his tone. “I’m Spider-Man. You’re a bad guy. And you caught me on a really weird day. So instead of hanging you by your ankles off the edge of a high-rise, or tossing you off the Statue of Liberty, or webbing you up over Fifth Avenue in nothin’ but your tighty-whities, I’m gonna fast-forward.” 

The vigilante tilted his head down until he was directly in front of Joe’s face, lowering his voice to a serpent’s hiss. “You’re going to tell me what you’re building here, or I’ll end you. Simple as that.”

You flicked your eyes to Spider-Man, shifting your weight between your feet. You squeezed your eyes closed, pushing images of Peter’s rage from your anxious thoughts. 

“Keep in mind, I can hear your heart beat,” your boyfriend sneered, looming over his captive. “I can tell what it sounds like if you’re lying. I can hear my own heart, too. Wanna know what it sounds like right now?”  

The scientist stared back blankly as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, eyes as wide as saucers. 

Spider-Man tilted his head, lowering the opaque lenses of his mask closer. “Murder.”

The single word hung in the air like the toll of a bell, or the echoing crack of thunder. Thick black toxic smoke that threatened to choke them. Your stomach twisted, recognizing that his teasing savagery was more than simple posturing. You’d seen him like this before. You had experience in keeping an eye on the pressure gauge.

You glanced at the clock on Joe’s desk. 

11:24 PM

“Please,” you blurted out, unsure to whom you were speaking. Maybe to anyone who would listen.

“Here it is,” Spider-Man declared. “The one and only time I’m gonna ask. What supervillain’s new gadget are you building here?”

The quivering man stared at him, dumbstruck, slowly turning so white he’d eventually camouflage into the walls. “You-you got this all wrong...” he stuttered.

“How so?” Spider-Man didn’t miss a beat. “Details, Joe.”

“...Claire?”

Your surprised tone snapped both men's attention back to you. You stood at the scientist’s desk, eyes fixed on a photo frame. You picked it up, gazing down at the faces in shock.

Joe’s demeanor changed instantly. Any sense of bravado he had evaporated. “That’s my daughter’s name,” he gulped, pulse thumping in his throat. “How-how do you know my daughter’s name?”

You stared down at the photo of your beautiful Grim Reaper, flanked by a woman you had come to recognize as her mother and the man currently webbed to a chair. The photo was taken on a bright sunny day, Yankee Stadium in the background. Claire looked much younger than she did now, as did both of her parents. Not just younger—brighter. More hopeful. More alive. 

Your mouth hung open as you glanced up at the captive. “Joseph Rivers? You’re Claire’s father?”

Dr. Rivers looked up at Spider-Man, his face going pale. “Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “She doesn’t ha-have anything to-to do with this mess. Leave her out of this. I beg you.”

Peter met your eyes, and although you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was confused. You didn’t tell him about Claire today, or any of the times she’d tried to kill herself.

Your gaze dropped down to Dr. Rivers. “Do you have any idea what your daughter’s been doing today?”

He looked perplexed. “I... I—” 

“Do you know she tried to commit suicide?” you snapped, marching up to his chair. He flinched at the information, a lightning bolt shooting to his heart. You crossed your arms, glaring down at him indignantly. “And where were you?” 

You know it’s judgmental. You know it’s unfair. But this was Claire. And Tuesday had given you enough insight into her life to feel like defensive, after everything.

“I—” Rivers was still opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “I don’t... They don’t let us have our phones—I mean, I-I knew she had troubles before...” His throat tightened, chest constricting, “Is-is she okay?” He looked heartbroken. Terrified. You saw Peter’s shoulders slump, head turning away.

You watched Rivers through narrowed lids, but you couldn’t deny the agony in his question. The fear in his face. “For now,” you answered. “Because I saved her. But she needs real help.” You leveled your gaze. “And so do we, Mr. Rivers.”

Rivers looked back up at Spider-Man, still observing the side of his mask. The masked vigilante was unable to meet his gaze. He looked over at you again, reading your resolve. His eyes dropped to the photo frame in your hands, his chin clenching. Eyes also filled with shame.

“It’s a weapon,” Rivers declared. “They tell us it’s not, but I’m not stupid. We all know what it is.”

“What kind of weapon?” Peter asked, facing him again.

“You ever heard of Havana Sickness?” Rivers asked him. “Well, that was version one.” 

Your eyes ping-ponged between the two scientists. “Can somebody translate?”

Peter explained, his gaze fixed on Rivers, as he provided you context. “Few years ago a group of diplomats started getting sick in Havana. Nausea, dizziness, ringing in the ears—all the way up to sudden, unexplained pain and trouble with cognition. Nobody ever found out what caused it. Some people think it was all in their heads, others think it was some kind of staged attack.”

“A directed energy weapon,” Rivers revealed, his voice grave. “And now it’s been perfected. This one is far more advanced than anything that’s ever been built. Electromagnetic waves charged by plasma. Its power is unprecedented.”

“Sounds rad,” Peter snipped flatly. “Probably worth a pretty penny to the highest bidder. Speaking of which. Whose bankrolling this, Joey? Is it Fisk? Is it the Osbournes?”

Rivers let out a bitter laugh. “You’re joking, right?” He stared at you incredulously. “You think you’re dealing with some greasy, mob boss? Some corporate shenanigans?” 

You and Peter glanced at each other. 

“Look around you, kids!” Rivers spat. “We’re in a secret underground base underneath the Hudson River, for godssake. This whole operation is run by Uncle Sam. It’s the fucking C.I.A., you dimwits.”

You stared at him, stunned and silent. 

Peter threw his arms in the air in exasperation. “I don’t believe it! Seriously?” He spun in a circle, hands landing on his head, then faced Rivers again, jabbing his finger in his face.

“Okay. Number one. Rude," he said, clipped. Just because I wasn’t invited to your little World of Warcraft campaign doesn’t make me an idiot, got that?” Your shot a withering look at the back of your boyfriend’s head.

“Second:” he continued, with a disgusted tone. “Billions of dollars and almost all of the greatest minds in the world and the G-Men are using this—for what—a new toy? What, did Santa not bring you guys enough guns for Christmas?!”

Rivers argued, “Technology like this would make nuclear war obsolete! It could stop any intercontinental ballistic missile—safely—miles above the Earth’s atmosphere.”

“Could also burst the eardrums of some unruly protestors,” Peter criticized with disdain. He crossed his arms, glaring down at the scientist suspiciously. “Destabilize a few unfriendly governments?”

“Burn the tiny hairs off a spider?” You asked, finally interrupting the quarrelling men. Rivers and Peter gave you a look.

You sighed, “This is exciting and all, but I can’t reiterate how much time for this shit I don’t have!” You glared at Rivers impatiently. “Congratulations, Doc. The weapon you’re building also tears a hole in the space-time continuum. Well done. Now would you please just tell us where it is, so we can pull the plug?”

The older man glanced back and forth between you. “You… can’t…?”

“It was a figure of speech, man,” Peter snapped at him. “She doesn’t actually think there’s a power cord—”

“No, what I mean is it’s already been built,” Dr. Rivers explained. “You’re too late. It’s on a truck leaving now.”

11:41 PM

This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. You’re certain of it. 

And it may very well be the last thing you ever do. 

You watch helplessly as the box truck carrying the Weapon of the Future is driven into the tunnel. Your boyfriend (who left you behind to stay put) is attached to the top of it, in an attempt to steal it. 

You think on that again. 

Your boyfriend, Spider-Man, is going to steal one of the most advanced weapons the world has ever known, from the C.I.A.

This is only the second stupidest thing he’s ever done. The top spot was recently awarded when he webbed you to Rivers’ desk and left you behind. For your safety. 

As if you didn’t have your own pocket knife on you, to free yourself from the webbing.

You had run outside just to see the unmarked white truck entering the tunnel. There was no way of catching up to it on foot.

So. Here you are, contemplating the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. 

You see a stationary police cruiser, brake lights on, engine running. Waiting in line to enter the tunnel. You recognize the single occupant in the front seat. 

“Y’know, Cage,” you declare as you saunter up to the open drivers’ side window, “you really gotta stop working doubles.” The rookie officer flinched at the sound of your voice, turning towards you in utter confusion. “Just because your wife threw you out doesn’t mean you don’t need sleep.”

He gazed at you, jaw falling open, white as a ghost. 

You reached forward and gripped the back of his head, slamming his nose into his own steering wheel. 

He hissed in pain as you opened the drivers’ side door and reached down towards his belt. You unclipped his service arm pistol, pointing it at him. Like you’d done it 1,000 times before. 

Officer Cage froze in horror, staring up at the barrel of his own gun, stunned at your speed and dexterity. Doing that never failed to give you a rush. 

“Out,” you ordered.

Hands raised, he pulled himself out of his seat and stood awkwardly next to his car. You hopped in the drivers’ seat and flipped the switch to turn on the emergency lights. 

Like you’d done it 1,000 times before. 

Perplexed, Officer Cage watched you incredulously, as you leaned out of the window and tossed his weapon back at him. 

The second it landed in his hands, he’d accidentally pulled the trigger. But no bullet was fired.

“I emptied it,” you explained. 

He looked at you like you were a witch. 

“Maybe spend some more time on the range first?” you offered gently, shifting the car into gear. “And maybe in some therapy, too?” You stepped on the gas pedal, leaving him in the dust. 

You swerved, driving around the heavy congestion of vehicles, entering the tunnel. Sirens wailing.

11:43 PM

Peter held on tightly to the roof of the cargo hold as the truck drove around the traffic, allowed by the tunnel construction crew to pass. He honestly started to wonder if the tunnel was really under construction at all, or if it was all some elaborate hoax.

Maybe you were right, he thought. Maybe everything is connected and therefore nothing is nothing and we’re all pawns living in some sort of simulated plan.

“God, I really need to touch some grass,” he groaned through gritted teeth, as he ducked his head beneath the overhanging signs of the tunnel. 

11:44 PM

You saw the truck ahead of you. You toggled the police car’s sirens, switching it to a piercer effect. 

The short bursting yelps must have caught the driver’s attention, because you saw brake lights flash. Then, they turned off as the truck sped up. Your stomach sank.

“No, no...” 

You could see the lanky limbs of your boyfriend flail as he struggled to get a better grip on the roof of the vehicle. You sighed, biting your lip with trepidation. The device wasn’t even on and already he was becoming less sticky. The truck dashed on, weaving around vehicles, disappearing from sight. You stepped on the gas and tried to catch up.

What you could not see, what Peter could not see, and—tragically— what the truck driver could not see, was the debris in the road. 

A six-inch steel ratchet that had fallen off of one of the construction trucks.

For any speeding vehicle, running over it would’ve resulted in a missing hubcap and a bent rim.

For a 26-foot box truck weighing 15 tons, traveling at 67 miles per hour through a crowded construction zone, the result was catastrophic. 

You watched, wide-eyed, as the truck jolted in front of you. 

It was simple math. 

Peter was knocked loose as the vehicle swerved like a serpentine from left to right, side-swiping vehicles on both sides. 

Every variable locked firmly in place.

Spider-Man was thrown into the hood of a stalled vehicle. You screamed as you watched his body crush the windshield. You slammed on the brakes. 

The unchanging constant. The outcome was inevitable.

Everything else that followed was like a choreographed dance.

A symphony written by fate. Every note falling into place, crescendoing to a deafening disaster.

The truck swerves. Pitches. Thrown off balance.

Road construction workers turn and shout. 

Another truck is stopped in the path. The cargo filled with flammable gasses.

There’s a collision.

A spark. A bright light.

A shockwave.

11:47 PM

Outside the tunnel, Officer Cage pauses from his frantic shouts into his radio. He turns and sees a bright light shooting out of the entrance. The shockwave that follows jolts cars, bursts glass, sets off alarms, and moves the Earth beneath his feet. 

The clockface of the Holland Tunnel ventilation tower is jarred, the hands jerking loose. The arms drop.

The time now says it’s 1:21. But it's wrong. Everything about this is so wrong.

There is no time left.

Cage turns pale as the tunnel entrance crumbles like a sandcastle, sealing all the vehicles inside. 

Another burst of light erupts. This one from the middle of the river.

11:47 PM

You’re gripping the steering wheel, and then you’re upside down, slamming into the roof. You taste blood and glass and metal.

Everything is white. You reach up to shield your eyes, but you can’t.

The light is blinding, shooting through your flesh like an x-ray. You can see right through your hands, observing every bone, vein, and capillary. 

Then.

Darkness.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”

No.

“...Tellin’ me.  what.  my. HEART meant...”

No, no, no, I need more time!

“...The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

Your eyes pop open as you are viciously ripped away from the darkness. They burn instantly from the smoke.

Your senses are assaulted by the smell of blood and gasoline and salt water. Screams and sirens invade your ears.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”

Your bleary eyes struggle to adjust to the shadows, dark shapes taking form. You see an orange flickering glow. Punctuated with flashes of red and blue. Flames. Voices call out. Echoing. Steady horn blasts. Car alarms shrieking. The shrill cacophony of dozens of personal safety alarms—PASS devices, as Tuesday had taught you—magnify as they bounce off the concrete. 

There’s a roaring sound, too. Like a train passing. 

A sheet of crushed glass blocks your view. It looks like ice and snow, like you could reach out and wipe it off the windshield. 

You remember that you’re in the police car. 

You’re on your chest. You know your ribs are broken. You’re used to the pain.

“Tellin’ me.  what.  my. HEART meant...”

Peter. You have to find Peter.

“The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

You hate this fucking song.

You push yourself up, crawling over the inverted dashboard, pulling yourself along with bloody fingers. You kick the shattered windshield out, feeling the sharp heat of crushed glass cutting into your leg. It’s no matter. If you have air left in your lungs, you have to find Peter.

When you crawl out, you’re drenched in freezing water. Your feet slosh in it as it crawls up your ankles. You take a shaky breath, and immediately sputter. Your ribs are definitely broken. And the air burns your lungs when you breathe.

You look up, trying to get your bearings. Look around. 

This is the worst, you think. This is the absolute worst. 

But no one will ever have to take your word for it, you realize. 

History will be more telling.

Around you, it’s pandemonium. 

The lights in the tunnel have gone out, save for headlamps and flashing lights of work vehicles. The red and blue police lights from your overturned cruiser are among them. And there’s fire, all around you, at both ends of the tunnel. Pockets of blackness in between the bonfires. 

It reminds you of war. Of war movies depicting the aftermath of the Blitz. Of grainy film footage of napalm swallowing a landscape, like somebody took the Sun and poured it out on a jungle.

The smell is awful and it makes you want to gag. Burnt rubber. Burnt hair. 

Dozens of cars and trucks, some of them crumpled like empty soda cans, all of them burning thick pillars of black smoke. The smoke looms across the tunnel ceiling. You can’t even see the ceiling tiles. Above you, there’s a boiling sky of black clouds. 

You hear the chorus of shouts. Shrill shrieks reverberating off the cement and tile. It sounds like people are being tortured. Like giant Grizzly bears must be ripping people apart. Disembodied voices screech for help, for God, for missing loved ones. You think you can hear an infant crying. Selfishly, you just want them to be quiet.

In the distance, the deep rumbling roar continues, like standing next to a jet engine. You also hear the echo of a synthesized keyboard riff, the wailing of an electric guitar. Asia rings out over the tinny squawk of car speakers from a battered minivan nearby. 

Because of course it fucking would be.

Massive chunks of concrete and twisted steel litter the broken asphalt. The whole roadway is flooded. A steady icy current claws at your calves, threatening to push you off balance. 

Immediately, you hear shrieks at your left, louder than the ones in the distance. You spot the figure of a man who has just woken up from the blast. 

Awful timing on his part. 

He’s engulfed in flames, burning alive. His lower half is pinned beneath an SUV. He looks like the squirming wick of a candle. The screams tear at your soul. You yank your eyes away. Your first instinct is to look for a rock to put him out of his misery. He’d thank you for it. 

Another sound jars you, the crumbling collapse of a wall nearby. You hear several sharp pops. You struggle to see through the dark. Melted bodies clad in safety orange glow clothing are right beside you. The water crests over them.

You look up towards the popping noises. Ceiling tiles, you realize. Water shoots into the tunnel under the immense pressure.

You squint beyond the dark, your eyes stinging from the acid clouds. Through the smoke and shadow you can see a wall. It’s moving. Your heart nearly seizes as you connect it to the roaring sound. 

It’s the sound of the Hudson River, pouring into the tunnel, waves crashing into the new underground cavern.

“Peter!” you shriek. Eyes darting around, remembering that you saw him fall. You turn around towards the opposite end of the tunnel. There’s nothing but rock and ash and burning metal behind you. And more screams, echoing in the dark. 

The tunnel must have collapsed, you realize. You wonder how many cars were buried beneath the rubble. Could be hundreds.

Your heart slams in your chest. You wonder if Peter is buried among them.

“Peter?” you scream, more panicked. 

Your voice cracks, and you know you’re not hoarse yet. You know it’s the carbon monoxide, the formaldehyde, the cyanide—the fatal cocktail of poison billowing around you. You can taste it in the air. You have minutes maybe.

It’s getting harder to see. You don’t want the darkness. The hellish chorus bouncing off of the cave of the tunnel. You’re struggling to hear his voice. You don’t want the quiet. 

You hear your name. Like a ray of sunshine.

You hear it again. Your boyfriend’s voice rings out.

“Peter!” you call out to him. 

In the shadows, a lanky figure stumbles out. You can barely make out the red-and-blue of his suit. His mask is off, he clutches the remnants of it in his bloody fist. It looks like he’s been dragged underneath a vehicle. The space shuttle, maybe.

He limps, his suit filthy and torn. A mix of sweat, blood, and soot coat his face and hair. 

But you can see his eyes. Black holes ripping galaxies apart. You feel a rush of relief as you wade through the water towards him.

“Peter!” you sob, unaware of when you started crying.

He spots you, and he might as well have dropped to his knees with tearful praise. “Thank god,” he gasps. He darts to you, sloshing through the water with his limp. As soon as he reaches you, he grabs ahold of you like he’s never going to let you go. You don’t want him to. 

His hands expand around the sides of your face like blinders, blocking out horrors that he didn’t want you to see. “You’re bleeding,” he exclaims, studying you carefully.

Blood streaks down the right of your face from a gash at your hairline. It’s not as bad as it looks, but now you’re aware of the pain. You don’t mind it too much. You’re mystified by his freckles. Your thumbs idly come up to wipe away the mud on them, wiping away some of his tears as well.

“Bug, look at me, are you okay?” Peter pleads. He’s still searching your face, unaware of how bad the damage is. 

The terror in his throat snaps you from your daze. You nod, salty tears stinging your wounds, as you bury your face in his chest. Your voice shakes. “I thought you were gone—”

He pulls you upright, his hands planted on the sides of your head as he steadies you. “I’m here,” Peter declares. It’s a promise. “I’m gonna get you outta here, alright?”

Your eyes widen, remembering the futility of your situation. You glance around, sparing another look to the chaos around you. 

Peter lets go of your cheeks to grip one of your coat sleeves. With a yank, he rips the fabric of the arm at the seam, clean from the shoulder. You watch in a haze, as he rolls the torn sleeve off of your arm, dipping it in the water below.

“Put this to your mouth!” he instructs, handing you the wet fabric. He has to shout over the roar of the water. “It’ll help with the smoke. We’re downwind right now. We gotta get below the flames.”

You know that’s a gross oversimplification of your current predicament. And you want to protest, because what about his lungs? But you follow his orders.

You glance from left to right, as does he. It’s pitch blackness away from the fire and water. You’re pinned between rock and river.

He holds your hand, tight enough to hurt. The shouting has begun to diminish now, which brings you no relief. You realize you can’t hear the baby anymore. You can't stop crying. You wonder what Peter must be feeling, and hope that his senses are still dampened. 

“C’mon,” he pulls you closer to the water side. That way leads further underground, but you understand the physics of it. Smoke rises, and the tunnel is acting like a chimney. Choosing to instinctively go back the way you came, to try to dig through the mass of rubble closer to the exit, would mean death by asphyxiation in less than two minutes.

You sludge through the frigid water. It’s waist-deep now, swirling around you. The further you descend the higher it gets. Peter grips you tight. It’s the only thing that keeps you from losing your mind. 

“Please help! Somebody help!”

You freeze in your steps and need your whole weight to keep Peter from pulling you along. You search frantically, recognizing that voice.

“Please, somebody help! I’m stuck!”

You see a crumpled taxi tossed on its side, teetering dangerously on a pile of rubble. Water bubbles up around the cab. Chewed fingernails with chipped polish reach out through a small gap, waving frantically. 

“Claire,” you breathe, stunned. You watch with wide eyes as the woman you saved earlier that Tuesday flails, trapped in the crushed taxi. The steel cages her in. Black water steadily creeps up around her. “Claire!”

“Help, please, I can’t move! I can’t—!” You hear coughing, gargling. 

“Peter, she’s stuck!” You point, and look up at him. The look on his face breaks your heart. He’s overwhelmed. He’s terrified. He looks at you, looks at the cab. He’s being torn apart inside. You’re asking him for too much. 

You pull away, “C’mon, help me!” Reluctantly, he moves with you, releasing your hand. He moves faster than you through the water, standing taller in the depths.

You reach the taxi as Claire’s screams become more panicked. The car is beneath boulders of concrete. You attempt to climb up on the cab. 

“Stay back!” Peter tells you. “This whole thing’s unstable!” The water is swarming, rising. Boiling, frigid, black death threatening to swallow the cab up. 

“Please, please, please,” Claire is babbling. You can barely see her bloodied face between the bars of her cage. “I-I can’t move my legs, please… I can’t—”

Peter works quickly above you to clear the rubble. “Hey, it’s me!” You tell her, your voice bright and placating. “Remember me? It’s okay. We’re here. Spider-Man’s here and we’re gonna get you out—“

Claire’s voice is weak, she’s barely able to speak between giant gasps of air. “Please, don’t—donwanna die… don’t wanna die, please I don’t want—”

You grip her hand tightly in yours. Tears sting your eyes. “Peter!”

“I’m goin’ I’m goin’!” He’s using his whole body to lift and loosen the rubble from the taxi.

The ground beneath you quakes. A rumble. Suddenly, you drop. You fall backwards to the water as the mound that the taxi is teetering on collapses. The taxi drops beneath the waterline. 

A web snatches your shoulder, keeping you above water, though the vacuum of air caused by the displacement threatens to drag you under. Peter plucks you from the water, suspending you by the web. 

“Be right back,” he huffs, like it’s nothing. He dives back in after the submerged taxi. 

You watch him disappear into the blackness, and can’t help but feel overwhelming horror at being left alone. It makes you feel ashamed. After the longest few seconds of your life, he reemerges. A body with sopping corn silk hair flops over his shoulder. 

He climbs back up to you and you drop from the web onto the hood of a floating car. The space between you and the ceiling is dramatically lower. You’re barely able to see him through the smoke. He hoists Claire up and lays her on the floating car, and you crawl towards her, putting your face to hers.

Her eyes are wide. Still. You have to be inches from her face to be able to see her terror-stricken look. 

“She’s gone,” Peter tells you, his heart breaking a little more as he says it.

You’re leaning over her dead body, seeing her bluish face for the 10,000th time. And you’re shrieking her name. Sobs wracking your body. The whole tunnel vibrates with your howls.

And that song. The notes melting away. The chorus drowns as its pulled under the river.

“C’mon, we gotta go!” Peter pleads. He grabs you by the arm. It’s not a request. He’s getting you out of there. Somehow. “We gotta climb—”

A horrible groan roars above you. You look up to see a piece of the ceiling moving downwards. It’s hurtling towards you, like a giant asteroid. Your extinction is imminent.

Peter pushes you out of the way.

You plunge back into the water, and it feels like a thousand needles pricking your skin. You open your eyes, which was a mistake, because you’re nearly blinded by the chemicals and salt water. You kick for your life. Your shoes feel like bricks, but you kick until you break the surface.

You gasp and choke and sputter. “Peter!” You gag and cough. “Peter!”

You open your eyes and you're still in Hell. Only blurrier. Darker. So quiet. No more babies. No more anyone.

You hear your name again. His voice chirps out. You look up and see the devil in question. The sight of him reels you in like a gravitational pull. You crawl over broken glass and rock and metal until you’re beside him.

Despite being half dead, your heart flutters at the sight of him—a glowing freckled face. Sparkling amber eyes. Messy crown of brunette hair, sopping wet with saltwater, motor oil, and blood.

He looks at you from the side, deliriously dazed and huffing with exhaustion.

Once he sees your face, he grins wide. Soft. Reminds you of the bright warmth of your bedsheets.

“Sunflower…” he breaths. He sounds dreamy. He sounds exhausted. His smile dims. “You’re bleeding...”

“I’m okay,” you sputter and cough, trembling from the cold and adrenaline. You're higher up now, near the ceiling of the tunnel. You can feel the water creeping up your back. Your eyes scan his face, attempting to see his freckles through the building smoke. You wrap your hands around his face just to know he’s there. “I’m okay, I’m okay... We have to get out of here, baby—Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” he nods, but he isn’t moving fast enough. He looks so tired. “Need— n-need explos...ves.” He shutters, the cold piercing him. “C-cop car. Look—look in the trunk. Needa... explosion. Flash grenade. R-road flares...” He grimaces sharply. You can’t take your eyes off the softness of his lips. “Ch-check f-for pressurized can-canister—”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying—”

“Need to create an explosion... at the ho-hole, wh-where the water... C-create a vacuum—”

“There’s nothing, Peter, there’s no cop car, it’s underwater—”

“You need to go,” he states, and you fall silent. You stare at his lips. Blood tints them. You shake your head. Pull at his arms.

Your whole body shakes. Your eyes are hard. “We don’t have time, Pete. We have to get out—c’mon, we have to go—”

Your icy fingers grip at the warmth beneath his chest. They tug at him frantically. You mean to pull him up with just your thumbs if you have to.

“Bug,” he blinks at you. Tears fill in his eyes. 

Your hands are warm. Burning hot. You look down. And that’s when you see the spear lodged in his side. A half-inch wide black, twisted piece of rebar piercing his chest. Your mouth falls open at the sight. It’s needled through his ribcage, piercing the back, slicing through his lung in a way that you can physically feel. Phantom pain from past experience. 

Peter Parker’s blood coats your palms. You can’t handle this pain. It’s too much.

You look down at him, head shaking furiously. He silently mouths your name, a hopeless apology. You don’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

“You ha-have to...go,” he chokes out. There’s more blood spilling from his lips. It’s harder for him to breathe. The water creeps up your shoulders, and threatens to drown you both. He’s going to drown before you, you realize, in his own blood.

“Pl-Please,” he says, voice breaking, “please ge-get out of here. Pl-please g-go.”

You shake your head. You grip his hands like holding onto the edge of a cliff. You hold tight, as if that could keep him with you. As if it could bring you more time.

“Ba-baby, please go... Please just go... Please, pro-promise me... you’ll get out of here...”

He’s fading, you realize, and you want to scream into the void. You want to headbutt the rebar and lodge it through your eye socket. Your chest heaves. You squeeze his hands tightly.

You nod your head. Realize that he doesn’t know what you know. He hasn’t seen what you’ve seen. There’s no way out of the tunnel. There’s no saving you. Either of you.

You nod. And he relaxes. “Just go... without me,” he pleads. His hard to hear him over the roar. You nod silently, tears roll down your face. 

“Mmm—m'sorry... so-so sorry—”

You’re still nodding as he fights to keep his eyes open. You pledge with your gaze. You promise him that you’ll survive. You lie. 

The light is gone. In his eyes, and in the tunnel. His grip loosens in your hold. The water crawls up your chin, and your head hits hard rock. You don’t want to let go. You don’t want to look away.

The water takes him, but you’re still holding onto his hands.

“It should’ve been me,” you cry. To yourself. Alone. In the dark. Underwater. It's the last thing you get to say.

You’re fighting to keep your eyes open, to see through the murky depth. You want to remember every freckle on his face, even as they’re drenched in tears. Darkness settles in anyway.

It’s hard to see how beautiful he is in the dark. 

Your lungs burn. There’s nowhere to go.

It should’ve been you. Not Peter. 

Every cell in your body screams at you, telling you it should’ve been you. You open your mouth to scream back. A heart-wrenching yowl. Water fills your mouth and your lungs.

You want to wake up. You want to go home. You want to go back. You want anything but this. 

Why aren't you waking up?

Elsewhere, above the Hudson.

A clock turns.

11:59...

TUESDAY, 7:00am

Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT

Tellin’ me.  what.  my. HEART meant

The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

You opened your mouth wide and let the air fill your lungs. You can still feel the heat. You can smell the water. You gaze up at the stark white of your ceiling as giant tears flood your vision.

Tuesday.

Tuesday again.

You laid there. Shook with an odd mix of horror and relief. It was like waking from the most vivid nightmare of your life. Visions and sounds latched onto you like leeches. You cried silently like a child, cradled by your soft pillows and bedding. The only thing that keeps you from screaming out hysterically is the grounding feeling that comes with faith. Unquestionable. Undeniable.

You will die today.

It’s gospel. Inevitable. You’re supposed to die today. Not just you, you know now, through divine revelation. So many others. 

Regardless of how you meet your fate, nothing will prevent that horrific weapon from leaving that facility. The truck will drive into the tunnel. It will hit that debris. It will crash. And everyone in the tunnel will die.

Including Peter.

That is how the day ends, should you be alive to see it. That’s how his life ends. 

“Mornin’, Sunflower!” a pleasant voice rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, Peter Parker’s head poked around the corner. His expression serenely naive of your gory last moments. 

Your heart shattered at the sight of him—a glowing freckled face, his sparkling amber eyes, a beautifully mischievous smile, and a messy crown of brunette hair. 

The memory of his dead face sliced through you. 

You looked away, grimacing. Sat up in bed, tears welling in your eyes.

You know what’s going to happen and you know what you have to do. No matter how painful. 

Today is the last day of the end of your life. 

“Babe?” he questioned, appraising you with a fading smile. He sensed your distress. He could smell your tears. “What’s the matter? You okay?” 

You stared at the blankets for a long while, your weight leaning back on the heels of your palms. You remained still, contemplative. The silence goes on longer than he is comfortable with.

You turned your face toward him, eyes sorrowful. 

“I’m breaking up with you, Peter.” 

It was quiet at the top of the Empire State Building. That’s why it was his favorite spot. Hair slicked with sweat, cheeks damp with salty streams of tears. Tragically, only sort of drunk. Peter’s mask was discarded beside him, next to an empty 3-liter bottle of McCormack’s. 

He took a swig from an identical bottle, nearly empty as well. Sourness set heavily on his tongue and it made him even more bitter. He couldn’t even afford the good stuff.

Fucking loser.

He swallowed down the acid water with disdain and self-contempt.

In his other hand, he toyed with the velvet box he kept hidden in his bedside drawer. Today, of all days. 

He was past the shock. Past the denial. Past bargaining. Somewhere between anger and depression. Actually, he was a mix of all of the emotions. 

You’d killed him. Crushed him. Murdered him in less than 100 words. A shot straight to the heart, without batting an eye. You were the deadliest assassin he’d ever known. You were savage, the cruelest villain he’d ever faced. 

You were his everything. He was the problem. 

That’s what you’d told him, swinging the axe down and cutting your ties. He was always gone. He was always late. He was always Peter Parker. 

Peter Parker would always be Spider-Man. 

And that was the nail in the coffin. That was reason enough. The killing blow.

As stunned as he was, he was almost… relieved. He knew this day would come. He knew you were too good for him, too good to be true, and this was a natural progression of that.

He always knew would lose you. He was grateful that at least he wasn’t standing over your grave this time. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been crying. He wasn’t sure what time it was. Time was meaningless.

The buzz of his phone was the first thing that broke him from his pity party. He flinched as he frantically dug for the advice.

Shamefully, he prayed that you were calling him to tell him you changed your mind. Or your conversation this morning was part of an elaborate hoax. The world’s greatest ‘punking.’ Ashton Kutcher springs out of nowhere. He’d happily laugh it off. He’d chuckle like a fool and rush home to scoop you up in his arms. Sick burns and all.

Fingers fumbling, he accepted the call and slapped the phone to the side of his face.

The whimper of his voice was pathetic. Truly. “Bug?” 

Fucking loser.

“Peter?” A middle-aged woman’s voice shattered his hopes.

Confused, he pulled the phone away to look at the screen: KIM MANNERS.

Fuck. Your mom had his number. He knew it was a risk, reaching out behind your back. She’d been calling him all week, adding steadily to the pressure of his upcoming proposal. No wonder she drove you crazy. She’s probably wanting details about when he was going to pop the question. 

Fuckkkk.

“Peter? Are you there?”

He put the phone back to his ear, and briefly considered throwing his phone off of the Empire State Building. 

With a flayed voice, he replied, “Hi, Mrs. Manners.”

“Peter? Where are you? What’s going on?” She sounded like a parrot. A parody of a typical New England voice. “What happened?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuckidity—

“Sorry, Mrs. Manners, I-I was gonna call—”

“Peter,” your mother interrupted with a sultry tone. If he wasn’t such an idiot he’d recognize the cougar purr of her voice, “you know I told you to call me Kim.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, his head pounding. Not just from the alcohol. “Ugh, yeah—” He tried not to make it sound like a gag reflex, but it crept out anyway. “Yeasshh, I, uh, sorry, I gotta little tied up—”

Ew! Gross, noo, fuckfuckfuck.

“Now’s not a good—”

“Is my daughter with you?” 

FAHHHHHK… She doesn’t know? Of course she wouldn't. She's not subscribed to the 'Watch Peter Parker Get Fucked Again This Week' Newslet—

Ahh! No! Gross! Ew! “Uhm… no, I—”

“Do you know where she is? She’s not answering her phone.” 

“I… I-I don’t think she wants to talk right now—”

“I think something weird is going on,” Kim blurted, still oblivious to the fact that Peter had spent the last few hours sobbing on roofs of several New York landmarks.

The concern in her voice pricked the skin on the back of his neck. He stiffened, his spinal column locking in place. Peter shook his head confusedly, “I’m… I’m not sure what you—”

“Peter, listen to me, I know my daughter. I think something is wrong.”

Peter felt faint all of a sudden. “Waddya mean? What’re ya—what’re you sayin’?”

“I think she’s in trouble,” she explained. “She left me a weird message. She can be so moody sometimes. She gets that from her father. I can sense these things, y’know. I’ve always told people I have a sixth sense about this stuff. You know, my grandmother said she could—”

His heart is pounding, threatening to break through his chest. “Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean ‘trouble?’ What message? What did she say exactly?”

Silence on the other end of the line. Peter felt like he was going to vomit.

“She said that she loved me, and she was sorry,” Kim finally said, with an exasperated tone. Equal parts embarrassment and concern. “And that she forgave me.” She said the last part with a growing sense of dread. 

“And she called me ‘Mom.’”

Peter’s mouth hung open, every cell in his body alerting him. Something was wrong. He pulled the phone away from his ear, glancing down. 

He also had a voicemail. From you.

This was the stupidest thing you’d ever done. But damn was it thrilling. You should’ve been a car thief in another life. 

“Hey, Peter,” your voicemail recorded a few minutes ago said, “I realize it’s probably hard to listen to this message, but it’s important that I say this, so I need you to listen...”

You’d hotwired the box truck carrying the weapon and detoured away from the tunnel. You stepped on the gas pedal, increasing speed steadily. 

Fifteen minutes before, you’d found Dr. Rivers. You told him urgently that his daughter was going to hurt herself, and that you would tell him when and where she could be found, and that information you were going to give freely, because it was the right thing to do. That despite his past absence, his daughter needed him more than ever. They both deserved a second chance. 

Everyone did. And that’s why you needed him to tell you how to destroy the weapon safely.

And he did. 

“I’m sorry that this is how things need to end. It’s not what either of us had planned, but life is like that. This isn’t your fault. You really need to know that. In fact, I have to thank you.” 

Now you were running. Driving a hot wired truck carrying one of the most powerful weapons ever created, stolen from the C.I.A. You pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. 

“You’ve taught me the meaning of life, how fragile and precious it is. How important. I want you to know that what you do matters. Even when it feels like it doesn’t.”

You glanced in the rear view mirror, seeing a flurry of red and blue light behind you. Sirens wailing. You smirk. You wonder if Officer Cage is among them.

You switched on the radio.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT…”

Your smile widens. You fucking love this song.

“You have no idea how many lives you touch. Including mine.” 

The pier is ahead of you. At the end of it, your watery grave. You were pleased as pie, knowing that at least you were taking this bitch down with you. 

You sang along, “Showed in your eyeeeeeeeeeeees—”

The pedal is on the floor. The truck launches off the end of the pier. Curves in an arch. Collides with the water. The windshield crumples in front of you as the frigid water pours in, surrounding you, submerging the truck, sinking the weapon. 

You feel so alive. Your heart is pounding. Your body is sizzling with energy, even as you’re dragged into the water. 

“Did you know that you have the prettiest fucking smile? I can wake up to that smile 10,000 times, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’m so grateful for every second of it. Even the painful parts.” 

It’s getting dark. It was beautiful today. And now, darkness. Rising steadily. Coming up to cradle you in its arms as you sink further below. This is how it ends. You’re certain.

You look up out the window, enjoying the rays of sunlight poking down from the surface as they get further away. Your chest is burning, like a flaming sword through your heart. Lungs aching. Ribs threatening to implode. The pressure is unbearable. But you don’t mind. You’re used to the pain. 

It’s worth it. Just to say goodbye to the rays of sunlight. To thank them for keeping you warm. For rainbows. Sunsets. Sunflowers and pineapples. For lighting the eyes of the man you love, casting them in a golden hue. 

“Live your life. Be better than you were yesterday. And don’t be too hard on yourself, because you can be better tomorrow. Do good things.” 

Speak of the devil. A figure torpedos through the surf, descending lower. You see him in the murky haze of the water, the familiar red and blue catching your eye. 

Peter’s eyes widen as he recognizes you in the passenger seat. His mask is off. You smile at him. You wave, as water shoves itself down your throat. 

“And don’t worry about me. I think everything is gonna work out.” 

It’s time to go home, you think. Safe and warm. Where your ancestors await you. You’ll see Nana Manners there. You’ll see your old cats there. Your grandparents. Your parents. Maybe you’ll finally get to meet Gwen. Meet Uncle Ben.

Peter will be there too, one day. You’re certain.

“One way or another... I’ll see you later.”

Peter swims up to the window. He’s scared, but he needn’t be. You can still move your arms, even though they’ve gone heavy. You place your hand on the glass.

“Goodbye, for now. I love you. Forever.”

There’s a message written on your palm. You hope he can read it. Hope he sees it. Takes it to heart. Holds it there. Believes in it as you believed in each other. Forever.

Three simple words.

'SEIZE THE DAY'

The light fades from your eyes. 

This is how it ends.

Or so you’d thought.

Round, mellow notes fill the air. Clean, thick strings, weaving together. Vibrating with warmth. Delicately rising, like steam from a hot spring.

Over the hum of a vintage, six-string, acoustic guitar, peppered with banjo plucks, and the crisp ring of a distant electric hardbody, the gentle crooning of John Denver filled your ears.

“He was born in the summer of his 27th year

Coming home to a place he'd never been before

He left yesterday behind him, 

You might say he was born again

You might say he found a key for every door...”

Your eyelids creaked open, as dim lights swam in your vision. Your eyelashes fluttered. The ceiling foreign. The room cast in shadow. A machine steadily beeps, off-tempo from the music. Your eyelids are heavy. 

Why?

“...When he first came to the mountains his life was far away

On the road and hanging by a song...”

You drew back the curtains of your gaze again, going crosseyed for a moment as they attempted to adjust to the light. You focused on a single, blurry shape, willing it to be still and come into focus. 

You squinted, your head aching. Your chest felt sore. Like you’d worn a vise as a bra. Or spent a day as a shake-weight in a gym for giants.

Your vision sharpened. It’s Peter’s eyes—doe-like, dreamy, warm, and so, so tired—that pulls you from your slumber.

He’s so pretty, you thought, and your lip stung from the grin that stretched your face. He sat in a chair at your bedside, dressed in wrinkled clothes that were a little too worn to be clean.

You blinked a few times and really took in the sight of him. 

Dark circles colored heavy bags under his eyes. He’s even more pale than usual, you noted. His skin looked dry, like all of the moisture had been squeezed from his body. Through his bleary eyes, you assumed, observing how bloodshot they were. 

Peter was worse for wear. 

But he was so damn pretty. 

Your heart ached at the sight of him. And seeing your eyes illuminate had a similar effect on his. Despite looking utterly exhausted, like he’d been awake for a few millenia, his cheeks pinched up and he could no longer hide his teeth behind his lips.

He smirked at you, then glowed as he drank you in.

Despite this, there was a melancholy in his red-rimmed eyes.

You gazed around at your surroundings. A darkened hospital room. You were in a hospital bed. 

You remembered where you’d been and realized you weren’t where you were—the jarring discrepancy confusing and overwhelming you. 

“Hey, hey, hey, shh, you’re okay,” Peter whispered, leaning forward out of the chair. Instinctively, he reached up and brushed a lock of hair from your face. He shifted his body closer to you, scooting in the chair, like he was magnetically charged to gravitate to you. 

“You’re okay,” he cooed. “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe. You’re... you’re gonna be okay.”

You were dead, you recall. 

You were sinking, lungs filled with water, brain shutting down.

You glanced over to see an outdated clock radio plugged in on a table nearby, this one with a 30-pin dock meant for a first-generation iPod. You gaze at the retro white device, recognizing the music.

“...But the string’s already broken and he doesn’t really care

It keeps changing fast and it don't last for long...”

You blinked. Your jaw hung open. Tears pricked your eyes. 

“This song,” you breathed, and probably sounded crazy. You felt giddy. You felt like laughing and crying and screaming at the top of your lungs. “It’s... it’s not Asia...”

“Uhm, no,” Peter replied. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s John Denver. Sorry. It’s lame. I, uh, I didn’t get a chance to make a playlist, or anything—”

He swallowed hard, his shoulders tense. He looked away from you—to the wall, to the floor, to the space on the pillow next to your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. It looked painful, like a rock is lodged in there.

“Wha-what day is it?” you stuttered, gazing up at him. You’re still trying to decide if you’re dreaming. If this is Heaven.

Peter’s brow quirks suspiciously. “Wednesday,” he replied, and you take pity on the exhaustion in his voice. “You’ve been out for almost 20 hours—”

You laughed. “It’s Wednesday?”

He stared at you, his concern growing. “Y-yeah...?”

You giggled uselessly, relishing in the sensation of hot tears streaking your cheeks. “It’s Wednesday!” Your chuckling grew louder, until your throat trips and you cough. Your lungs feel like paper mache.

“Easy, take it easy,” Peter softly admonished you, as he brushed his hands over your face possessively. He didn’t take them off this time. You don’t want him to. “You need to rest,” he replied. “You... got banged up... pretty bad...”

You gazed at the redness of his eyes, and realized what must have happened. You’re stricken with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Peter,” you muttered, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

He shook head, refusing to make eye contact. “S’okay. You’re okay.”

“No, no—”

“You’re alive,” he bit off, a little more firm than he needed to be. “You’re going to be okay. That’s all that matters.” 

His thumbs rubbed circles into your jaw. You sensed that he was at war with himself, debating between pulling away from you and stapling himself to you. His fingers gripped you with a compulsive anxiety. A phobia that he would be forced to let you go, and this time, lose you forever.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you.” You looked up at him like you were staring through pearly gates. Like you could see souls being formed with the stars. “I didn’t mean it, didn’t mean any of it—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated, but the tears welling in his eyes told you the opposite. “None of that matters,” he stammered, still unable to look at you. 

He felt so far away. You needed him closer. You needed to be wrapped around him, smothering him like a koala. 

You giggled and pulled at his arms, squirming in the hospital bed. The movement made you wince. You felt your pulse in your head. 

“Just relax,” he fretted, pinning your shoulders down gently. The weight of his palms felt divine. “You gotta rest, Bug. Doctor’s orders.”

He pinched his face, like he’d bit his tongue. That caught your attention. You stared up at him, noting the discomfort he was failing to hide from you. He hadn’t looked at you yet.

“Bug, listen. There’s—” He winced again. “You were out a while. The-the doctors, they ran some tests, and... um, they... Somethin’ came up on the MRI.”

You study the brown of his eyes. It reminds you of whiskey. Of chocolate. Of mahogany. 

He struggled to speak, failing to keep his voice calm. “They, um... They s-said there was, uh, a-a shadow of some kind. On your brain.”

You curved your eyebrow as you focused on his mouth. Simultaneously listening to the words on his lips, and watching how his lower lip quivered. You wanted to kiss it. To steady it with your own. Your fingers ached to pull him in.

You must have been squirming again, because before you knew it, Peter grasped your hands up in his, holding them tightly to his chest. He hovered over you, practically whispering in your ear.

“You were already under,” he quickly explained, the rest of the words tumbling out at once. “The-they did a biopsy. Just a little cut, and-and they said they were going to send the tissue off for a-a lab test. And... and when it comes back, we’ll know more about it, but... but the doctor said, he said it was good, whatever it is. Good that we caught it early. He said—” 

Peter’s voice broke, and then his eyes met yours. They welled up with tears. He looked deeply shaken, pulled taut. Like his limbs were made of matchsticks and he would crumble or go up in flames at any moment. 

He looked so afraid. 

He looks as scared as you should be. Your brain moves like molasses to catch up with the fact that it nearly caused your ultimate demise. 

Your mind spun with what-ifs and destiny and alternate universes and higher purpose and you have to stay focused on the chocolate of his eyes because that’s the only thing that mattered to you. 

Peter swallowed hard, digging out his voice. “They said that you coulda had an aneurysm any day now. Like, you’re there one minute and just... you’d be gone.”

You gazed up at him, spotting the tremor in his chin again. He bit down, to keep it steady. You wanted to pepper his chin in kisses for the next 100 years, or 100 minutes, or 100 seconds. Whatever you could get.

“I, uhm,” he struggled to continue. “I don’t know what I woulda done if... you... if you’d...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t, you realized. 

“Pete,” you softly replied. 

He looked up at you, and he’s so beautiful, it hurts. 

You gazed lovingly at him and showered him with adoration. Looking at you is too much for him. 

His brow creased with sorrow as he buried his face in your joined hands. Shoulders shaking. You felt him sob into your skin, tears soaking your hospital gown. 

“It’s okay,” Peter said with a sniffle, for both of you. He pulled himself upright. He was trying so hard to stay strong. “S’gonna be okay. You’re going to be okay. I-I promise, whatever happens. I’m not gonna leave your side. We face it together. I don’t care if I’m not with you, or we’re not together anymore. It’s—-this isn’t about me. I’m there for you. ‘Til the end, okay? I swear to you. It’s going to be okay.”

You watch him like you’re watching a sunrise. Like a rainbow is forming behind him. Sunlight piercing heavy rain clouds. You’re in exactly the right place. Exactly the right moment.

Time is meaningless. Time is priceless. Time is everything.

You cried happy tears. “I know.” 

If he asked you to marry him right now, you’d say yes in a heartbeat. 

You couldn’t help yourself—you ran your fingers through his hair. Across his chin. You wanted to map every freckle with your fingertips. Draw invisible lines in his skin. “I know it will, baby, I know. I believe you.”

His expression softened at your smile. He let himself get lost in it. Letting waves of hope crash over him and pull him along with the tide. His lips curved gently, and he returned it. The muscles in his body relaxed slightly.

“We’re gonna be okay,” you promise him, with no real way of knowing.

No way of predicting the future. 

And yet, no doubt. 

“Because today is Wednesday,” you explain, heart floating in your chest, swelling with gratitude. “And we have today.”

The End.

A/N: Thank you for riding with me for this story. I hope that it brings you peace and healing and happiness.

Take care of yourselves!

Did you like this story? Please share your thoughts with me via comment, ask, or reblog! Thank you for reading, and thank you for supporting fandom and fandom writers!

[deanstead]

Snowstorm

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Requested: no

Summary: Jay takes Y/N on a short getaway, but a snowstorm hits unexpectedly, putting them in a dangerous position.

Square Filled: Snowed In for #resa.3kfiestabingo

Word Count: 2,399

Warnings: mild language

A/N: I had this idea, slightly different from a typical snowed in prompt but I guess it works? I hate my brain because I liked the idea and then had a lot of difficulty putting this into words lmao. So if it come off weird, I'm sorry HAHA. Apologies for any inaccuracies, just enjoy the fic, maybe? <3

JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST

“And as reported earlier today we are experiencing heavy blizzard conditions, we’re advising everyone to stay indoors as temperatures continue to fall.”

The news went on in the background but you weren’t paying attention, getting down on your knees and peering under the bed.

Jay had finally managed to put in some of his furlough to take you away to a treasure of a cabin for a weekend getaway. It had been a surprise for your anniversary and Jay had even packed your things for you, so you’d literally been whisked away, straight to the cabin, where Jay already had a pretty bouquet of flowers waiting for you and to top it off, a pretty necklace that you remembered looking at when the two of you had been out a few weeks ago.

But of course your stupid ass had lost it.

You remembered keeping it safe before cuddling into Jay’s side for the night. Jay had helped you put it on in the morning, his fingers trailing across your neck as he clasped it on before he pressed his lips against your cheek.

You remembered playing with it sporadically when you and Jay had gone out for a walk, your hand pressed in his, both of your hands tucked warmly into his jacket pocket. You remembered thinking that you'd forgotten how good it was to be surrounded by nature, just the two of you, flinging little balls of snow towards each other like you were teenagers out for a first date.

But when you’d next raised your hand to touch it again, it was gone.

The dread that you’d felt when you’d first realized it was missing was now spreading across your gut, making you a little nauseous, especially since you still remembered the fight you’d had with Jay when you’d lost the earrings he’d given you for your birthday.

It hadn’t been a big fight, but you felt you’d really hurt Jay’s feelings so you’d told yourself to be extra careful. And yet, here you were…

You glanced out the window at the snow coming down heavily, coming to the last conclusion left. You'd practically turned the cabin upside down so the only place you could have lost it was outdoors.

Jay put down the phone, slipping it back into the inside pocket of his jacket before he jammed his hands into the outer pockets.

He frowned a little as his fingers came into contact with something and he pulled it out, smiling a little as he found himself looking back at the necklace he’d given you just the day before.

You’d asked him to keep it safe for you that afternoon while the both of you were outdoors and you’d obviously forgotten totally about it.

Slipping it back into his pocket, Jay made a mental note to nag you just a little gently, reminding himself that he’d slightly overreacted the last time.

But when he opened the back door to the cabin to come back indoors, it was too quiet. And empty.

“Y/N?” Jay called, peering around the door to the bathroom, half expecting to see you in there.

“Babe?” He called again, but was met with silence.

He frowned, glancing at the time on the clock sitting on the small table next to the double bed in the bedroom before he glanced at his phone to see if he’d missed your call. It was late and you rarely even left your own house this late unless there was an emergency, but even then he’d be your first call.

Jay was about to pick up his phone to dial your number when he caught sight of a loose paper dangling off the table on his side of the bed.

Hastily making his way there, he pulled the paper out, your hastily scribbled handwriting scrawled over it.

I’m sorry, Jay. I didn’t mean to lose track of it again, I’ll be back soon. Love you.

Jay didn’t react immediately, taking another second before it sank in. You thought you’d lost the necklace and you’d gone to look for it. Outside.

The television was still on, reports on the heavy snow and dangerous low temperatures still playing on the television as Jay glanced out the window.

Damn it, Y/N.

The thought barely crossed his mind before he was out of the room, quickening his steps to head outdoors, the door slamming behind him.

“Y/N!”

Jay’s voice echoed around the trees that surrounded the cabin, Jay heading deeper in for the clearing the both of you had just been in a few hours ago.

“Y/N!”

Visibility was crap, the light from the moon could barely reach to the ground because of the falling snow, much less any light that could filter through the trees. The snow felt like it was getting heavier as well. Jay could feel the cold reach his bones but he couldn’t even focus on that as he felt his heart hammer against his chest.

This was all his fault. He should never have overreacted that one time. That was probably what had prompted you to go out to find the necklace despite the weather because all you had been thinking of were his feelings. Jay really hated himself right about now, but he pulled his focus to the forefront. He needed to find you.

His boot sank into the snow, making his movements slower, which really irritated him, but he pushed a branch out of the way as he made it into the next clearing, barely taking one step in when he paused, something catching his eye.

“Y/N!” Jay raised his voice, quickening his footsteps when he realized it was you, laying barely half conscious in the snow.

Sinking to his knees, Jay pulled you up towards him, supporting you gently in his arms. “Y/N? Wake up. Are you with me? Y/N!”

“J…” Your voice was weak and Jay had no idea how long you’d been out here for since you’d quietly left the cabin before he’d come back.

“Stay awake, alright? Don’t go to sleep.” Jay said, as he pulled you onto his back a little awkwardly.

You let out a strangled sob. “I’m… sor…sorry, Jay…” Your teeth chattered against each other despite the fact you barely had any energy left.

Jay felt his heart give a squeeze. “Shh, I got you. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”

Jay propped you a little higher on his back, glancing back the way he came but the blizzard was so strong he could barely see a few feet in front of him. For all he knew, that wasn’t even the way he had come.

“Stay awake, babe, okay?” Jay called towards you, angling his head towards you so you could hear his voice. “Just stay awake for me.”

Jay knew he just had to move, turning back to where he thought he’d come from, focusing on the fact that he had to get you out of the cold.

But after about five minutes of trekking back through the snow, Jay realized he was probably heading the wrong way. He should have been able to see the cabin by now.

Fuck.

Jay glanced around, barely spotting a roof a few feet ahead.

Screw this. He had no idea if that was another occupied cabin, if it was a shed, or what it was, but he didn’t care. It had a roof and that was all he needed so he pushed himself quicker.

Jay knocked, even though there were no lights on inside. Even so, he barely waited a few seconds before he barged his way in. The place was empty, and looked like no one had been here in a while, although Jay didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Finding an empty corner, Jay quickly lowered you back onto the ground, turning to look at you. “Hey, you with me?”

You didn’t respond and Jay gently held the sides of your face. “Baby. Stay awake for me, alright?” Jay whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

You felt Jay’s hand sweep against yours and you caught his hand with the little energy that you had left.

Jay turned to glance at you, before he bent down again. “I’m just going to see if there’s anything we can get warm with, alright? I’ll be right back. Promise.”

You gently let go of his hand although Jay wasn’t sure if it was a conscious action or not, before he quickly headed to the other side of the empty cabin to see what he could find.

Jay scrounged up as much as he could with whatever was lying around. It was barely enough for a candle flame but Jay didn’t have the luxury of waiting around for a miracle that the flames would grow.

Dumping the one blanket that he’d found in another corner of the empty cabin by your side, he knelt beside you, his fingers fumbling with your jacket to get it off.

You turned to look up at him now. Your whole body still felt heavy, and your eyelids were half closed but at least you felt a little more conscious. "What… Jay… wh-what are you…”

“I need to get you warm, alright?” Jay’s voice was almost pleading. “I need to get you out of these wet clothes and warm. Trust me.”

You didn’t have enough energy to tell him that of course you did, of course you trusted him. But Jay didn’t seem to need that assurance from you as he gently helped you out of the wet clothing you had on as he quickly removed his own wet ones, pulling the blankets over the both of you. He wrapped you tight into his side, your skin touching his.

At least you could feel him. That was a good sign, right?

Jay pulled the blankets tighter over you as your body shivered gently against him. Jay pressed his lips onto your forehead, his arms going tighter around you, pressing you so tight against him it felt like your bodies were about to merge as one.

“Just a while more, Y/N. Just stay awake a while more. We’ll just get warm and wait for the blizzard to die down and we’ll go back to our cabin, alright?” Jay whispered. “We haven’t done this in a while, talking all night? Let’s do that, alright?”

You nodded, trying to focus on the sound of his voice, still shaking a little, trying to ignore the cloud fog in your brain from the cold and the fact that the both of you were stuck in a deserted cabin in the middle of a snowstorm.

It took a little longer than Jay expected for the storm to finally die down but he’d kept you awake for those few hours, the both of you pressed together, keeping each other as warm as possible.

The moment the storm subsided, Jay helped you get dressed and took you to a hospital, your lack of protest only serving to worry him, at least until he’d gotten you to Med.

“Jay.” Will called to his brother as he closed the treatment room door behind him. “You said you were taking her up somewhere. You should have just gone to the nearest…”

Jay looked up. “Is she okay?”

Will paused, stopping his nagging to study his brother's expression before he nodded. “Yeah. It’s mild, so we’re just giving her warm IV fluids and it should help to warm her up. We’re monitoring her.”

Jay nodded, without saying anything.

“Jay?” Will probed.

“Would she be better if I’d gone somewhere nearer?” Jay asked quietly.

Will shook his head, regretting nagging his brother and making him feel worse than he already did. “Look, she’s fine. Her vitals are pretty good considering the two of you were stuck in a cabin with no heating last night. Her hypothermia’s mild, you did a good job keeping her warm last night.”

Jay sighed. “You know how she gets with hospitals. I just thought at least if I got her here and she sees you, she'd be...”

Will patted his brother on the shoulder. “Yeah, I know, just like you.” Jay offered a small smile, before Will continued. “Did you get yourself checked out?”

Jay nodded. “Maggie wouldn’t have let me out of the other room otherwise."

Will chuckled. “Good. You can go in and be with her. She’s alert. I'll get you a hot drink.”

Jay let out a small breath of relief. “Thanks, Will.”

When Jay slid the door open, you were sitting up in bed and a look of relief passed over your face when you finally saw him.

Jay just exhaled quietly, heading towards you.

A small frown rested on your face. “Jay..? Are you really mad? I didn’t mean to lose it, I just…”

Jay reached over, putting his arms around you gently and holding you tight against him without a word. “Don’t you ever do that again.” Jay said in a low voice. “You really scared me.”

You exhaled into his shoulder. “I didn’t…”

“Y/N.” Jay pulled away, his voice still serious. “Nothing, I repeat, nothing, is more important than you. You hear me?”

You just blinked back at him.

“Y/N. Promise me that you’ll never put your own safety above anything.”

“But…”

Jay pulled it out from his pocket now, pressing the necklace in your palm before he gave you a smile. “Especially not for something like this. I’m sorry I overreacted the last time. It wasn’t you, it was… me. I’m sorry. But what do you expect me to do with this if you'd frozen to death?”

You shook your head. “It’s not your fault, Jay. Let’s not do this, alright? We’re not playing the blame game today. Let’s just…”

Jay smiled and nodded, reaching forward again to press his lips gently on your forehead but you moved back so that your lips would touch and you heard him chuckle even before his lips lifted from yours.

“I love you.” Jay whispered, as he settled quietly beside you, putting an arm around you.

You rested your head gently against Jay as he perched on the bed next to you now. “I love you too.” You whispered back, Jay gently closing his hand tightly around yours, just glad that you were now safe.

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[officialaemondtargaryen]

Trick For A Treat

Summary: When Steve has a date on Halloween night, you and Eddie are put in charge of driving the party around for trick-or-treating.

Characters: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Trigger Warning: Fluff

Author’s Note: Happy October! Enjoy this little spooky-themed fic. I wrote this for @felteppsters who not only gave me the idea for this but has been the most supportive friend and I love her. Can be read as gender neutral, I believe. I didn't really put any gender-defining slang in here.

There were whispers of a party at Tina's house tonight. Roxanne mouthed the words, "are you going?" to which you shook your head; eyes glancing up at the clock, leg bouncing anxiously, waiting for that last bell to ring. It was Halloween, and it was Halloween on a Friday, which made it even better. Either you could party all night and not have to worry about coming to school with a hangover, or you could stay up all night, watching scary movies and eating all of the candy you could get your hands on.

You had already made plans for the latter.

When the bell rang, some of your classmates cheered at the sound. You all but fell out of your desk as you hurried towards your locker, grabbing your History textbook and your notebooks so that you could study for your test on Monday. Though, you weren't exactly sure how much studying would get done on Halloween weekend, yet, you still shoved them into your messenger bag and headed towards the double doors.

As you walked out to the parking lot, you could see a familiar white van parked towards the back and a familiar mess of shaggy, brown hair head-banging in the driver's seat. You smiled to yourself and shook your head- his music played so loud that you could hear it over the commotion of kids running to their busses, the hollering, and laughing.

Eddie smiled up at you as you stepped up to the passenger side and wiggled the door handle. "This is my favorite part!" He yelled through the closed door as an aggressive guitar riff began to blare through the tiny speakers, the whole van was vibrating.

"Unlock the door!" You called over the music as he played the entire guitar solo; his fingers flying through the air, strumming imaginary strings. His tongue stuck out between his lips as he concentrated on the notes, all you could do was laugh as you watched him. "Eddie!"

As the song came to an end, Eddie reached up to dial back the volume. Your eyebrows were raised as you gestured to the door, jiggling the handle a few more times before you heard the click of it unlocking. You tossed your bag in the floorboard and climbed up into the passenger seat, giving him a look.

"What?" He asked, completely oblivious.

"You couldn't have done that earlier?" You asked. "It's cold outside!"

He rolled his eyes with a smirk, "Sweetheart, did you not see that I was shredding?"

"Let's go, doofus!" You rolled your eyes with a smile as you buckled the seatbelt.

Eddie had asked weeks ago if you wanted to have a horror movie marathon with him this weekend. Three whole nights of scary movies, snacks, candy, and getting to hang out with your best friend- who could say no to that? You already had most of the supplies, but you had to make one last stop at Family Video to pick up the movies. There was a five-movie minimum per customer, so you thought it smart to go together in order to get ten different VHS tapes- which should last the whole weekend, but Eddie was sure that you were going to have to stop in for more movies before it was over.

"I can't not go, Robin, and you can't drive them." You heard Steve's voice as you pulled open the door to the video store, and gave him a head nod upon seeing him standing behind the counter, propped on his elbows as he wrapped the phone cord around his finger. "Actually," Steve continued. "Let me call you back."

"I hope they have a good selection," Eddie muttered as he stepped in behind you and made a bee-line to the horror section. Moments later he sighed heavily and you saw why when you joined him at his side; the shelves were almost empty, save for some pretty bad titles. "Why did we wait til the last minute again?"

"Because you were working," you reminded him.

"Right," Eddie sighed, picking up a couple of tapes, some you had never heard of before.

"You guys having a movie marathon tonight or something?" Steve asked as you made your way over to the children's section hoping to find something.

"We were hoping to," you said as your eyes glossed over a hundred different movie titles. "Ah! Ghostbusters!"

"Sweet!" You heard Eddie from across the store. "I found Poltergeist and Poltergeist 2!" You met Eddie at the checkout counter moments later with a couple of tapes, compared to the six or seven that he was able to find. "I also found Little Shop of Horrors!"

You grabbed the tape out of his hands and smiled before making a face, "Feed me Seymour! Feed me!" Eddie laughed.

Steve stood staring at the two of you for a moment. "You two are so weird." He commented. "Anyways, I have a favor to ask."

"Weird he says," Eddie looked over at you with a smirk playing on his lips. "Yet, favor he wants."

"I know that you guys have plans to watch whatever this is," Steve said as he picked up one of the tapes with a very bloody cover on it. "But what if you didn't do that?"

"What would we do, then?" You asked, your interest genuinely peaked.

"Take the kids trick or treating?" The look on his face was pleading. Both you and Eddie's faces fell. Not that taking the kids, who were almost too grown to go trick or treating anyways, but blood and gore sounded like a much more fun evening. "Look, I've got no one else to ask-" Steve added.

"You want to go pick out some more candy?" Eddie asked you.

"Duh," you replied.

"Please, guys, I'm all but on my hands and knees here." You heard Steve beg as you made your way over to the snack stand to pick up a few more items for your already giant collection of goodies.

Their voices became hushed and you knew that your movie marathon was about to be postponed, at least for a few hours, in order for you and Eddie to take the kids trick or treating. Eddie could never say no when it came to doing something for the party, he was just too kind and cared about those kids too much.

"Just make sure that you take them to Loch Nora," Steve added and you rolled your eyes as you walked back up to the counter. "They give out the full-size candy bars at that one house on the corner with the green door."

"Yeah yeah," Eddie replied. "Add these on there," he motioned to the candy. "Don't forget the friends and family discount, big boy."

"Don't drive like a maniac either, Munson, okay? Does your van even have seatbelts?" Steve asked.

"Yes, my van has seatbelts," Eddie replied. "Do you want me to take them or not, Harrington?"

Steve sighed, "Sorry, I just worry about them, you know? Dustin expects to be picked up at 7:00, don't be late. He'll give you shit about it for an entire week."

"Yes, mom." You laughed. "No late fees if these aren't back in time!"

"Ooh! Yeah!" Eddie exclaimed as he held the door open for you. You turned one last time to wave at your friend stuck behind the counter. "Add that to the list, too! No late fees til the end of the year!"

You climbed back up into Eddie's van and buckled yourself in. Eddie tossed the bag of VHS tapes in the back.

"So," you prodded. "What did we get in return for this venture?"

"Friends and family discount and, of course, thanks to your genius, no late fees until the end of the year. There was something else, but it's a surprise!"

"You know I love surprises!"

"Yeah, I know." He smiled.

At 7:00 you and Eddie pulled up outside of Dustin's house and honked the horn twice. Judging by the look on Dustin's face, Steve did not tell him about the change in plans and Dustin argued about it all the way to The Wheelers. To which Eddie mentioned that he was happy to take him back home.

He shut up then.

"Hell yeah!" Max beamed as she walked up to the van. "This is much better than Mr. Mom driving us!" You noticed Eddie's proud smile and couldn't help but smirk.

"You're okay with this?" Dustin asked with shock.

"Uh, yeah!" Mike replied. "Y/N and Eddie are so much cooler than Steve 'I'll-have-them-home-by-nine' Harrington."

The kids piled up in the back of Eddie's van and you were off to Loch Nora for full sized-candy bars. You and Eddie trailed behind as they ran up to every house with a porch light on, making your way through the vast neighborhood. Street after street, you walked, chewing on the candy that you had picked up at the video store; laughing at some of the more obscure costumes that you saw, Eddie jumping out from behind trees to scare the younger kids- he got Lucas really good after Max mentioned how easy he was to scare.

"Alright, I think we've bled this place dry!" Eddie mentioned as he got back into his van.

"Yeah, I think it's time to get you kiddos home!" You joked, but the kids thought you were being serious and whined.

"Come on!" Mike pleaded. "Don't be a lame douche!"

You raised your eyebrows and looked over at Eddie who was smirking. "Alright, alright!" He caved. "There's a real hoity-toity place over in Culver, but if I take you there, you cannot tell Harrington, alright? I don't want him gettin' any ideas, okay? You tell him you like hanging with us more and he'll be pushing you guys off on us every chance he gets. You assholes are cool and all, but-"

"Just shut up and drive, already!" Max yelled.

The Highlands, it was called. The houses were twice the size of the ones in Loch Nora, and every single porch light was on. There were cars lined up on each side of the street, and the decorations were insane. One person had a whole haunted maze in their yard. There was a man grilling hot dogs in his driveway- and he had a line.

"This place is amazing!" Dustin stammered, and he, Will, Mike, and Lucas took off through the sea of trick-or-treaters.

"Hey guys, can you try and stay close?" Eddie yelled, following behind them.

Max stayed back with you, rolling her eyes at the boys.

"How come you and Eddie aren't dating?" She asked out of nowhere. You stopped for a moment, taken off-guard, then turned to look at her. "I mean, you guys are always together and it's obvious he's like in love with you or something."

You laughed, almost snorting through your nose. "Eddie is not in love with me."

It was Max's turn to return the laugh, "Whatever you say," she mentioned as she ran off towards the other party members.

You stood still for a moment in the middle of the street. Was it really that obvious? So obvious, in fact, that you didn't even notice? Yeah, the kids always made little remarks, and you had heard Dustin and Mike teasing Eddie before about it, but you always shrugged it off. Eddie was your best and closest friend. He didn't love you as anything more than that.

Right?

"What's on your mind?" A voice pulled you out of your thoughts as you walked in almost a trance, weaving in and out of costumed children and teenagers.

"Hm? Oh, nothing." You shrugged, looking down at your feet.

"Oh, nothing, my ass." He quipped. "Something's got you thinking."

You shrugged your shoulders again, kicking a small pebble around with your foot with each step. "It's just something that Max said."

Eddie stopped and then you stopped, turning to him and looking up into his deep brown eyes. "What did she say?" He asked, squinting.

"It's nothing, really."

"Tell me."

"Fine," you sighed. "She asked why we weren't dating and-"

"What?"

"She said that you were in love with me."

He sighed, "god damnit., Max."

"But you're not, though, right?"

"I was going to tell you tonight, actually." Eddie sighed again. "Then Harrington kind of delayed my plans." He was staring into your eyes so intently it felt as if he was trying to drown you with them. "You're the happiest part of my life, Y/N. When I'm not around you, it's like I'm being starved. All I want is to hang out with you, talk to you, talk about you. I don't even remember when it happened, it's just sort of always been that way." He had grabbed your hand, his thumb ran over your knuckles. "I understand if you don't feel the same way."

"You do?" You asked.

"Yeah!" He dropped your hand and waved his through the air.

"Well, I do." You said just as fast. "Feel the same way, I mean."

"You do?"

"I think it's always sort of been that way for me, too." You replied with a small smile.

Eddie stood towering over you, his fingers intertwining with yours. All you could focus on was the fact that his lips were inching closer and closer to yours until you felt the warmth of his breath; and when he placed his lips upon yours, all you could do was laugh. You felt Eddie smile against your lips before he pulled away.

"Sorry!" You were still smiling.

"No, it was definitely weird." He laughed.

"Let's try again?" You asked.

Eddie nodded before inching back towards your lips. His lips were warm against yours, soft, and gentle, and tasted like candy. He pulled you closer to him as his arms snaked around your waist.

"Ew, God!" You heard from behind you. It was Dustin.

"Get a room, that is so gross!" Mike chided.

"Finally," Lucas added.

"You owe me five dollars, Dustin." Max chimed.

"I think it's time to get you little shits home," you stated and Eddie nodded. "You've gotten enough candy to last you a year."

You dropped everyone off at The Wheeler's for their slumber party and left a couple of the D-list horror movies with them, as well, on the promise they wouldn't tell their parents- or Steve. Eddie drove you back to his trailer with his hand on your knee the entire time, and you chewed on your lip to keep yourself from smiling so hard that your cheeks cramped up.

Eddie made a bowl of popcorn and tossed you a king-sized Kit-Kat from the bag of candy you had been collecting. He snuggled in at your side and placed the popcorn on your lap.

"One more thing," he muttered as he dug into the Family Video bag. "I told you that I had a surprise for you. I saw it behind the counter being held for someone else, so I told Steve that we'd take the kids if he'd let me rent it." He placed your favorite horror movie in your hands and you smiled.

"You want to put it on now?" You asked.

"Yeah, we can, but I'll be honest I don't know how much of it we're actually going to watch."

He set the popcorn to the side and pulled you closer to him, placing a finger underneath your chin and bringing you to look up into his chocolate brown eyes, once more, before placing his lips on yours.

"Is it way too early for me to tell you that I love you?" He asked, his lips still within centimeters of yours. "Because I totally fucking love you."

"It's not too early when we've been wanting to say it for years," you suggested.

"Good," he smiled. "I love you."

"I love you, too." You replied. "Now shut up and kiss me."

[commissionsopened-cruxred]

Part 1 here

Part 2

Continuing on Miss Heed's PoV

The days went by without a hitch. Cecilia was excited for this week's Tuesday because this is the day she gets to become the most beloved hero in the whole world! She lay on her bed, kicking her feet up and down like teenage girl. She looks up at Goldheart's Facebook and admires him. Even though they aren't friends online, it won't really matter because they will be dating soon. But then her mind drifted to Flug's face when they met in the cafe. She began to remember how..... intense and mysterious Flug's gaze on her they were taking. It was like his violet blue eyes were beckoning her to kiss him. And the way that he sat! Oh, she blushed on the thought that if she hadn't had the self-control, she would have sat on his lap in front of everyone in the shop to see. Flug has really changed since the last time she saw him in middle school. From a guy that always shy and hid his face to a more confident and elegant man held up in high regard by many. It was like a daydream getting to hear and see him again. But she can't really put him on top of her love for Goldheart....... right? "No.... there must be another way...." she said to herself as she looked up the name 'Kennings Flugslys' in Google. Tons of images of Flug popped up. The more she stared at it, the more she got obsessed with the thought of having Flug. Goldheart was handsome but in a more masculine way..... Flug, however, was.... more feminine like? In all the times that she has been his friend when they were young, she never got the chance to see his face. Now that he's taken off the habit of putting on masks, she noticed a lot of things as she stared in the thousands of pictures of this man on the internet. His unbelievably clear skin, his long eyelashes that would make any woman jealous, his blond locks that shined even brighter as the sun hit it. Not to mention his influence and absolute domination over the science industry was unfathomable. His placement in society was high, even higher than hers. His looks, his fame, his intelligence, and power...... she wanted that. She wanted him to become hers and hers alone, just like Goldheart. She smiled at the thought of being praised and cherished by both men. She bites her lip, "You're also going to be mine, Fluggy~," she says as he giggles and kisses a picture of Flug displayed on her phone. Flug and Goldheart were going to be hers forever. Whether they like it or not, they don't have a choice.

☆IN FLUG'S LABORATORY☆

Flug sneezed hard, "Ugh, who would be awake thinking about me at this late hour?", he says to himself as he looks at the calendar on his desk. He smiled evilly, 'Your clock is ticking, Cecilia~ You better enjoy your last hours of joy.', his mind echoed as he dials phone number on his phone, "Hello? Himiko speaking, who is this and what do you want?", the person the other end says. He smiled, "Hello, Himiko, I would like to have you in service by tomorrow. I'll pay you any price you want just come by this location. I'll meet you outside. Don't be late." He hung up before she could get another word in and send the factory's location. Hiring villain is against P.E.A.C.E's rule, but not like double crossing is uncommon amongst people from P.E.A.C.E anyways. In a matter fact, politicians often use for hire villains to get rid of any potential competitors, and so does P.E.A.C.E. It's also a lot easier for him to do his double crossing considering the fact that P.E.A.C.E still needs his genius ass for their agendas. He takes a bath and changes to his pajamas. As he lay on his bed, he smiled. There are consequences to one actions and boy, Cecilia's consequences for her past actions will bite her hard.

The last two parts..... I'll do it tomorrow or something.

~Red

[abyssal-ali]

JaySteph Dating Alphabet Headcanons

I used @/imagine-mcu's alphabet prompts

Join the JaySteph Server ao3

A - Asking out: It starts as ‘just friends’ hangouts during or after patrol, but one day after Jason orders her usual order and brings it to her because she was busy with an assignment  Steph asks if they’ve become dates. Jason says no, if they were dating, she’d know. He then asks her out on a proper date.

B - Being best friends: They get along like a house on fire. They have regular competitions to see who can sass Bruce more and cause a headache first.

C - Celebrating their birthdays: Steph loves birthdays, whether they’re hers or someone else’s. Jason doesn’t quite see the appeal but reciprocates by making Steph breakfast in bed and planning a date she’ll love. With Steph’s love for both birthdays and Jason, she celebrates Jason’s birthday and a day she picked as his resurrection day, to remind him how much he means to her and how happy she is that he’s alive.

D - Double dating!: JaySteph are so busy with the rest of their lives, both as civilians and vigilantes, that when they can be alone they prefer to have a private date, but sometimes they’ll join a friend on a double date.

E - Eating dinner: Jason cooks, Steph eats. Alfred often sends leftovers from Family Dinners for when they’re too busy to cook, or they take out food from their favourite holes-in-the wall. Steph has her favourite Indian place on speed dial and Jason has an in with his favourite Chinese restaurant. His usual will be ready in ten minutes.

F - Flirting: They are insufferable flirts in public, simply because it weirds out the rest of the Bats. In private, they keep it much more low-key.

G - Getting protective: Jason and Steph are both extremely protective of the other. They know they can hold their own, but if they can help the other, they will.

H - Hugging: Their hugs usually happen in the wee hours of the morning. Jason had a nightmare and Steph wakes up to hug him until he can try to sleep again. Steph had a stress-fueled cry on Jason’s shoulder about balancing school and vigilantism, and he didn’t let her go until she was almost asleep. Their hugs are always warm, solid, and grounding.

I - Inviting to team up/join their organisation of heroes: Steph is an honourary Outlaw and gets along great with all Outlaws, present and former.

J - Joking around: When they’re in public, Jason and Stephanie are usually acting; Jason prefers the grouchy, snarky act while Steph favours the put-together happy mask. When they’re together, they’re just Jason and Steph. They don’t joke as much as they do in-mask (vigilante or civilian), though they have plenty of light-hearted moments.

K - Kissing: JaySteph are constantly kissing. Little pecks before patrol; longer kisses to reassure themselves that they’re both okay after a dangerous operation; slow, sleepy kisses in the morning; hot and heavy makeouts against a wall during a slow patrol…

L - Lounging around on a lazy day: The days when they both have nothing to do and nowhere to go are few and far between, but they make the most of it. Sleeping in if possible, curling up and reading together, maybe having a playful spar? They also enjoy playing civilian and doing domestic stuff like shopping and cooking together.

M - Making breakfast: Usually Jason is up first, either from nightmares or because Steph likes to sleep in as much as possible. On the rare occasions Steph is up first, she likes to race the clock and see if she can get it made and possibly to him in bed before he is up.

N - Netflix and chilling: There’s not a lot of time to Netflix and Chill when you’re heading out on patrol in the evening, so if they do have time, it’s usually in the morning or early afternoon.

O - Overcoming a fear: They’re both terrified of the other leaving like they were nothing. After the first big fight, when Jason showed back up at Steph’s door and they worked it out like adults, Steph cried for half an hour. Jason was worried she’d either not answer the door or answer it to say they were done. He cried a little bit too.

P - Partying: Steph wants a full university experience so she’ll attend one or two parties a semester, with Jason accompanying to keep an eye on the happenings and make sure nothing non-Red-Hood-approved occurs.

Q - Quarrelling: They usually clash over their different reactions and outlooks on subjects that touch their trauma, as the heightened emotions make it more difficult to detach and consider things logically and from the other’s POV. Once they’ve calmed down (and maybe had a talk with their therapist(s)), they’re quick to try to understand and support the other and fix the issue if possible.

R - Rescuing: They’re both vigilantes. Most of their rescuing comes in the form of creating an excuse to drag the other away from family dinner or one of Bruce’s lectures.

S - Sleeping over: At the beginning of their romantic relationship, they both had their own apartments/safehouses and usually crashed at whoever’s was closer. Later on, they got a centrally located apartment, btu of course they have safehouses scattered around with both of their stuff in each other’s. Su casa es mi casa and all that.

T - Taking care when sick: It’s usually Steph sick because Jason has an enhanced immune system from the Pit. He is the best nurse she could ask for, making tea and chicken soup and reading to her if he can.

U - Using technology: They prefer face-to-face when possible, but they also have a regular string of text messages as well, usually memes and a way to subtly joke about Bruce when he’s in front of them (not that they have anything against needling Bruce to his face but sometimes subtlety is better, such as when he doesn’t yet know about a prank).

V - Vexing each other: One thing Steph does that Jason hates & just doesn’t understand is how much hair she sheds down the shower drain and how often he has to clean them out. Steph hates how much Jason relies on the Pit’s enhanced healing factor and himself to protect her. She doesn’t mind the protecting part, just that he does it at his own expense, saying better him than her because she would take twice as long to heal.

W - Waking up to: In the beginning of their romantic relationship, and even in their platonic relationship, one would wake up to the other crawling into their bed because they had a nightmare.

Y- Yelling at each other (for the angst!): Again, it’s usually because one of them was in danger and did something reckless. When they’re truly mad, Steph goes quiet and Jason leaves until he’s cooled off so he doesn’t make things worse.

Z - Zoo date!: Of course they can’t have a normal date. Damian comes along and demands to make sure all the animals are being taken care of properly. JaySteph love the little gremlin though and have mentally adopted him.

[onecantsimply]

Cannibal

Ya’ll remember the first part of teen reader? The label that Jack has? Yeah- He’s still a platonic Yandere- A full established Dad as well- SO HE MIGHT BE FUCKING SOMEONE UP THIS TIME- BUT (Y/N) HAS THEIR CHANCE TO SHINEEE- I made this because I was mad at a fucking creep that approached me at a damn McDonalds bro- 

Warnings: Slightly long chapter. Mentions of Cannibalism, murder, abduction, torture, mutilation of corpses, (Y/n) having murderer potential, as well as some good old angst with some small comfort. 

- 

“Hey, (Y/n)! Could you consider doing overtime for Zuri?! She had to leave early for something!!” A woman questioned. (Y/n) peeked over. “For how long?!” They replied. “... Maybe a few more hours?!” The teen then looked at the clock. 

They would be there until 3:00. It was 12:00. 

“... I’m not sure if my Father would really let me...” (Y/n) mumbled. “Zuri needs this, and people already have some plans to do...” The woman walked over. “I’ll double your pay and let you off for the week.” (Y/n) blinked. “... That’s major.” They mumbled. “Well... working a teen too much has its disadvantages. I don’t need you getting too overworked. This is already enough. And... your Father is pretty scary...” (Y/n) softly smiled. “Mari, he’s not that scary... He’s just... worried.” The woman gently chuckled. “He’d better be.” She then looked back. “I’ll get to doubling your pay. Thank you for taking Zuri’s shift.” (Y/n) nodded. “Not a problem. Tell her that she owes me next time.” They walked over to the phone as Mari walked towards the back. (Y/n) dialed in a number, waiting for the receiver to pick up. 

- 

Within Jack’s area, he softly sighed, placing his newspaper down on the table. He then walked towards the ringing phone, picking it up. “Yes?” He spoke. “I took an overtime job~” (Y/n) sung. Jack seemed to softly sigh. “Do I need to remind you of what Red Widow told you?” He questioned. “No, but my pay is doubling, and I get a full week off. We can spend some time together.” Jack blinked. “Are you sure your manager isn’t lying?” He questioned. “Mari isn’t the type to lie or set things up. So I’m pretty sure we have some good time with each other.” (Y/n)’s voice seemed happy about this. “...” Jack looked down. “... Okay.” He nodded. “When will you be home?” He questioned. “Around... 3:30.” Jack blinked. “... I’ll be safe.” The male softly sighed. “... Alright...” He mumbled. “Okay... Just stay extra cautious... I don’t want you getting abducted or killed...” Jack spoke, closing his eyes. “Got it.” The line ended after that, keeping the male in faint worry. He softly placed the phone down, gently face palming. “Goodness... What am I doing...?” Jack then looked to the side. “...” He then walked towards the table, reading his newspaper to take his mind off of things. 

-

“You sure with taking an overtime job?” Dylan questioned while (Y/n) cleaned their glass. “Yes. Coming back home safe means that I can spend more time with Jack.” They spoke. “Just make sure to go home safe.” Dylan placed the tray of glasses down. “From what I heard, people your age have been going missing.” (Y/n) nodded. “I... got news of that.” They spoke. “And you’re still taking the job?” Dylan seemed to arch an eyebrow while (Y/n) washed the glasses of beer and alcohol. “... Listen, I love all of you and this place, but I want to stay home. I’m getting a double pay, as well as a week off, so I’ll take it. Plus, Zuri will owe me one.” The male nodded. “Favoritism... I see...” He and (Y/n) softly chuckled. “Favoritism-? Mari has a favorite kid-?” A woman walked over. “Vanya ale.” She spoke. “Got it...” (Y/n) grabbed one of the glass mugs before softly grabbing a glass of ale. They popped the cork off, pouring some ale into the mug. The teen softly placed it down, allowing for the woman to gently grab it, and serve it to a customer. “What did Zuri need to do again?” (Y/n) questioned. “Getting ready for a funeral. One of her friends died and she wanted to attend the funeral.” Dylan answered. “Oh, got it... No wonder she seemed down today.” The teen continued with cleaning the glasses. A few males had entered the bar, soon taking a seat by the counter. “A Canadian whiskey and a Scotch please.” The male spoke. “Right with you, Sir.” (Y/n) smiled faintly, grabbing the bottles and mugs while the correct amount of money was paid. They then filled them up, gently pushing the mugs towards the pair. “... I don’t think a kid like you should be working here at a time like this.” One of the males spoke. “Well... I suppose I just have a natural pull to working hard.” (Y/n) replied, going back to cleaning the last glass. “I see... What’s your name?” They saw Dylan snap his head towards the two males. “... Let’s not do that. We’ll keep it to Waiter and Customer.” (Y/n) spoke. The two males nodded. “... I understand it’s not really... easy to trust a couple of strangers. Well, I can tell you care about others.” (Y/n) softly nodded. “My name is David. He’s James.” They bowed their head. “Nice to meet the both of you.” They spoke. 

-

“Luck? No, no... No such thing as luck. You know, I think that everything happens for a reason.” (Y/n) arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?” They spoke. “I do. And I can prove it to you. Now, this place... is especially cruel because of the Industrial War. A few weeks back, uh... I sent a group of men out to collect some pays that a couple had. And... I don’t ever think... any of them came back except three. They said that... the others had been... slaughtered by a crazy man...” David softly chuckled. “And get this, he- a crazy guy that had abducted a teen with (H/c) hair.” (Y/n) faintly tilted their head, their hand slowing down as they cleaned their glass. “You see? Everything happens for a reason.” Dylan walked over. “Okay. Get out.” He spoke, putting a hand in front of (Y/n). “Now don’t get upset. It’s not their fault.” David spoke. “They’re just a kid.” He looked at James. “Keep your hand off.” (Y/n) and Dylan looked towards the male’s friend, seeing him... rather cautious. “Hand off. It’s only the guy that did this. Not them.” James seemed to faintly scoff. “... No one will be happy about this.” He spoke. “I’ll take care of it. It isn’t your concern.” Dylan nodded. “Great. Now get out.” He ordered, pointing to the door. “... You won’t survive long, being by a mercenary’s side. But... I can protect you.” Dylan leaned forward. “Enough.” He spoke. David and James looked at each other before they got up, walking out of the bar. “... Are you okay?” (Y/n) nodded. “What was that guy talking about?” Dylan sat on the counter. “Not very sure.” They answered, looking at the clock. “... Think I should wait a bit before clocking out?” Dylan nodded. “Yeah. You need me to accompany you?” He questioned. “I mean...” (Y/n) took out their switchblade. “... Maybe.” They spoke. “That’s a pretty unique knife.” Dylan chuckled. “Jack gave it to me. He said I might need it.” (Y/n) walked into the back while the other male sighed faintly, closing his eyes. Though, within a few minutes, (Y/n) had walked out. “Alright. Let’s go.” They spoke. The pair walked outside of the bar, not happening to see anyone. They then walked off, striking up conversations to push aside the tense air, as well as the cold wind that had blew by. It seemed to work throughout the entire walk, since (Y/n) and Dylan had made it home safely. “Thank you for accompanying me, Dylan.” (Y/n) spoke. “Not a problem. I don’t need a work friend to go missing.” He looked back. “... I’ll get going now. Sleep well.” (Y/n) nodded as the male walked away. They gently unlocked the door to the house, walking in. Though, only minutes after doing so, they had felt arms around their necks with intentions to at least pull someone unconscious. (Y/n) flipped their switchblade out before they attempted to stab at the person’s neck. He caught their wrist. “Trying to save you here-” David muttered. (Y/n) just couldn’t seem to keep their consciousness any longer. And thus, they had fallen to David’s hand. “There we go...” 

-

Upon waking up, (Y/n) seemed to hear rustling. They gently stirred with a soft groan, slowly looking around after putting a hand over their head. (Y/n) then slowly sat up, taking notice of how they were within a cell. Their figure immediately went towards the cell, softly grabbing the bars. (Y/n) then saw James cutting off a Human hand, sliding it onto the floor. Feet and hands were on it, clearly lifeless. (Y/n) immediately took a few steps back, clearly stunned at what they were seeing. This had made James turn around to look at them, revealing the torso of a Human. The male seemed to faintly scoff and walk away, leaving his knife on the table. (Y/n) shook at the iron bars with their hands, now much more intent on getting away. They attempted to move the bars to the side, using an way they knew to try and get away. The teen then looked around to see if there was a sort of opening they could use. And yet... there was none. “And how are you feeling?” David’s voice questioned. (Y/n) froze up before taking a few steps back. “... Super... Utterly fantastic about being caged up again.” They spoke. David faintly chuckled. “Here.” He put a plate of meat down, softly sliding it towards (Y/n) from under the door. “You should eat.” David spoke. “I know you’re hungry.” He spoke, seeing (Y/n) simply glaring into him. “... You’ve been out for quite some time as well.” The male smiled softly. “... What is this that you’re serving me?” (Y/n) questioned. “... Deer.” David answered. “...” (Y/n) looked down. “... With some Human helping on the side?” They questioned, looking back at the male. David seemed to chuckle. “No. No, I promise.” He spoke. “It’s just deer meat.” (Y/n) silently looked at the Human torso on the table. “You’re an absolute animal.” They got down on one knee, starting to eat. “Well, awfully quick to judge.” David got down on one knee by the cell wall. “... You and your... Father now, right? How many did both you and him kill for the sake of survival?” (Y/n) looked at David. “They never gave us a choice.” They then bit off some deer meat. “And you think we have a choice?” David questioned. “... You’re a politician with options. And you still choose Humans. You’re capable.” (Y/n) looked at the male. “... You kill to survive. And so do we. We have to take care of our own. And by any means necessary.” (Y/n)’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then now what? You going to chop me up into tiny pieces like you did to my friend?” David chuckled. “I’d rather not.” He spoke. “... Please tell me your name.” He spoke. “...” (Y/n) shoved the food back. “You’re full of shit.” They then got up as David did the same. “On the contrary...I’ve been quite honest with you.” He softly pulled the tray away. “Now I think it’s your turn.” The male turned to the door. “It’s the only way I’d be able to convince the others.” He spoke. “... Convince them of what?” (Y/n) mumbled. “That you can come around. That you have heart. You’re loyal. And you’re special.” David walked towards the bars, placing a hand over (Y/n)’s. Their eyebrows furrowed. “Oh...” They mumbled. (Y/n) then gently placed a hand over David’s. A second later, they snapped his finger back, attempting to grab at his keys. He slammed their face and shoulder into the cell, injuring them. “Fuck...” They muttered after falling to their back. “You stupid little kid...! You are making it very difficult to keep you alive...!” David muttered. He looked towards the door. “What am I supposed to tell the others now?” He questioned. (Y/n) brushed some blood away from their nose. “... (Y/n).” They spoke. David looked at them. “What?” He spoke. “Tell them that... (Y/n) is the little kid that broke your fucking finger!” David softly sighed. He then looked at his finger. “... How did you put it...? Hm...?” He then looked at (Y/n). “Tiny pieces? See you in the morning, (Y/n).” They softly scoffed, brushing some blood away from their nose. 

- Time skip - 

Within the morning, Jack had finally woken up, hearing the rough padding of rain. He softly sat up with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes before getting out of bed. The male walked out of his room, and into (Y/n)’s to check if they were home. And yet... upon not seeing them in bed, Jack felt his heart sink. He immediately walked out of his room, looking around. “(Y/n)? Are you awake?” Jack called out. He looked at the clock. It was already morning. “... (Y/n)?” The male then walked towards the phone, dialing in their work number. It had picked up within a few seconds. “Excuse me for calling so early, but is (Y/n) still at work?” Jack questioned. “...” He looked around. “No? I thought they got back?” Dylan’s voice replied. “... They’re not here.” Jack spoke. “... Oh.” Dylan sighed. “Uhm. There were these two guys that recently freaked them out back in the bar.” Jack’s expression had visibly darkened. “... Do you have any names?” He questioned. “David and James.” Dylan spoke. “...” Jack stopped. “... Oh... Thank you...” He immediately ended the call, jogging towards his room. Jack then searched through the files of his jobs, grabbing a hold of the most recent one. He then looked through it, seeing the details of his target. 

(David Ino, a politician... -Jack) 

“... Good enough...” He immediately changed into some other clothes. He slipped his blazer on, as well as his coat and top hat before clipping his pouches by his legs. Jack seemed to make sure they were completely filled with his weapons, whether they be his piano wires or his knives. He then walked towards the front door before stopping. Some objects of (Y/n) were right in front of it, limp, with some other things on the floor. Jack softly got down on one knee, his eyebrows furrowing. His worry could only grow much more. But there was another emotion from within. It was growing. Festering. Sprouting much more than he expected it to. Whatever this emotion was... he liked it. The male immediately put their things on the counter before walking outside. (Y/n) wasn’t there either. Jack could feel his worry deepen more. He then looked around further. 

“There he is!”  “Make sure he doesn’t escape!” 

Jack looked towards the group of males, seeing them advance forward. 

“...” The male softly cursed before he hid behind the wall, taking a few knives and piano wires out. Jack then took a peek to memorize his opponent’s whereabouts before throwing his knives towards them. 

All they had saw was a glint, as well as the wooshing of an object before two of them had gotten a knife to the forehead. 

“Shit! Don’t let him get you!”

Jack clutched his knife. 

(I’ll keep two alive... -Jack)

He made sure to fling his knives at his enemies, killing them with what accuracy he had. “Start running!” 

Oh. Oh? Absolutely not. 

Jack made sure his footsteps were absolutely quiet as he ran after the smaller group. Upon reaching the gate of his residence, he slowed down, now clenching his knife upon seeing the flicker of a color. Jack climbed onto a platform, seeing the other colors waiting for him. 

(One way or another... you will tell me... -Jack)

He then threw one of his knives at the other males, killing one. 

Jack then used his piano wires to reflect a bullet, killing the other male. 

He jumped to the other side, trudging around. 

As he walked through the still dark alleys of London, upon walking past the entrance, he felt someone grab him from behind.

 “Finish him off!” 

Jack looked at the knife of the male in front of him while struggling against the person behind him. 

He then roughly kicked at the second man’s leg, swinging the back of his head into the male behind him with a wince. 

Jack slammed him into the wall, keeping him stunned before going for the other male. 

He had gotten no mercy, receiving a kick that had stunned him. 

“You... are coming with me...” Jack muttered, dragging the two males away. “Let me go...! I’ll... fuck you up...!” The first muttered. 

-

Within only thirty minutes, Jack was beating the other male up senseless. The second man was tied to a chair. “What the fuck?!” He spoke, seeing Jack land a punch to the male by the wall. He then sighed. “... You... wait here...” Jack then walked towards the male by the chair, dragging another in front of him. “Now...” The blond sat in front of the male. “That teen... Are they alive?” Jack questioned. “What teen? I don’t know no kid.” Jack softly nodded. “Is that so?” He questioned, staring right into a lying color. “Damn right...” Jack then smiled faintly. “Okay...” He stabbed the man’s leg, purposely avoiding a much more painful spot. And yet, it had seemed to be much more than enough to get him to scream. Something that seemed... enjoyable to Jack. 

Normally, he never cared for the pain of others. Only looks and colors of fear. But this time... this time... he wanted to see every bit of pain and suffering his own enemy had if it meant getting (Y/n) back. “Fuck...!” The male muttered. “Now, now... Focus. Right here.” Jack lifted the male’s chin, his heterochromatic eyes staring forward with enjoyment. “If you don’t stare forward on your own, I will pop your knee off.” Jack warned. “Now, the teen.” The male slowly nodded. “.. The kid’s alive...! They’re David’s newest pet...!” 

(A pet... -Jack)

“Where?” He questioned, his tone now increased to a growl as he increased the man’s pain by dragging the knife around further. “In the town nearest by London...! Just there...!” Jack nodded, taking the knife out. He then placed the handle of his knife into the male’s mouth, pulling up a map. “Now you’ll mark it on the map. And it better be the same exact spot your friend points to. Mark it.” Jack ordered The male seemed to mark a spot, spitting the knife out. “There, it’s there! You can verify it! Go ask him!” Jack nodded, getting up. He then walked past the tied up male before stopping. His eyes seemed to overshadow before he put his arm around the male’s neck, making the painful process as slow as possible. Perhaps not as slow as he had liked... The snapping of a bone had come too much sooner than he had liked. Jack pushed the male on the chair to the floor before walking towards the man by the wall. “... Fuck you, man...! He told you what you wanted...!” Jack chuckled. “I ain’t telling you shit!” He then grabbed a rusty pipe by the counter. “That’s completely fine...” Jack spoke. He then looked at the pipe, softly nodding before looking at the man with nothing but a sinister smile filled with joy. “I believe him!” The man stopped. “No wait-!” Jack had already swung the iron pipe into the man’s skull, caving it in instantly. 

-

Back with (Y/n), they felt a rough shake to their shoulders. “Wakey wakey!” David spoke. He dragged (Y/n) to the table as they struggled against his grip. “Let go!!” They yelled, only getting grabbed by James. (Y/n) bit at his hand, getting a knee to the stomach. This had made them let go, only getting slammed to the table. As they were kept down. David grabbed his butcher knife. “I warned you!” He spoke. “David! Our men were killed already!” The pair looked back at the male by the door. “... Already?” David looked back. He stabbed his knife into the table. “He’s already getting closer and killing more of us. We need a better plan!” (Y/n) sighed. “... Everything happens for a reason right...? Just like you said...” They chuckled. “... That guy is more than enough to kill all of us. So what the hell is he still doing alive?” James questioned. “He’s being held at bay, we have enough time to hit him where he hurts the most!” David answered. “Well we don’t have much time!!” James replied. David sighed, taking one hand off of (Y/n)’s wrist as James let go of their other hand. This had given them the best opportunity, and they had taken it, grabbing the butcher knife and slicing James’ throat. He fell to the floor with a scream as (Y/n) rolled off of the table, dodging a gunshot from David’s pistol. They ran off, pushing some meat away and avoiding more bullets. (Y/n) seemed to lean against the wall with a soft sigh, looking towards a table. They immediately grabbed their switchblade before running at the window, jumping into the rainy surroundings. “Shit...” They muttered, keeping themself quiet while jogging around. 

(What the fuck is wrong with these people...? I thought it was just one... Not a whole group... -(Y/n))

They softly ran around, attempting to find their ways out of the town. The teen then softly opened a door. 

(I need a gun... -(Y/n))

They softly pulled a table away from the door before crawling under the boards. They heard people talking from outside. 

“Where are you going, (Y/n)?! This is my town!” “We heard gunshots!” 

(Y/n) then softly crawled out of the building, walking into another. 

“Tired of this shit! He crossed the line this time!”  “He’s coming.” “What?”  “The kid’s Father. He’s caught on and is already coming this way.”  “Alright. I need you to round up everyone who isn’t armed and get them to clear out of the area. We’re going to find that kid and kill them so that their Father knows where it hurts.” 

(Y/n) climbed onto a window, jumping out before sighing as they slowly walked through an alley, laying low. The tolls of bells was heard as they got closer to a sheltered bonfire, seeing no one there. 

“Where the hell is this fucking kid...?” 

(Y/n) then climbed a small building. 

(These guys are everywhere... -(Y/n))

They then heard a man walking by, making them walk around to avoid him. Wind blew by, drenching (Y/n) even more. Yet, they had kept going, walking past a fence. They walked into another building. 

“What if he gets here before we can kill the kid?!”  “Relax, it normally takes a while to get here from London!”  “I’m saying that we can have a real situation here!”  :We already have a situation and we’re going to take care of it. Now stay focused and find the kid.”

(Y/n) crawled out of the window, sneaking past a male who had entered the building. 

(Where do I go...? -(Y/n))

They walked towards a ramp, walking up. They then walked towards another rainy area, sneaking past a few others. Soon enough, they had made it into a... sort of restaurant, walking around to see what they could grab. Though, they quickly walked towards the entrance of the building, about to open the doors. But they were soon grabbed by David. “You’re easy to track...” (Y/n) was pushed into a counter before getting thrown to the floor. “So, how did you get a man like him to soften up for you?” (Y/n) crawled back as David saw a fire starting to spread within the restaurant. This had allowed them to run off with their knife. “That’s alright!” David spoke as (Y/n) hid behind a seat. “There’s nowhere to go!” The teen immediately crawled around, making sure to keep quiet. “You want out?” David questioned. “You’ll have to come get these keys...” (Y/n) crawled around to David as he walked around. “I know you’re not normal! No one this normal would be experienced in staying alive in so many occasions!” (Y/n) snuck up behind David, before jumping on his back, stabbing their knife into his shoulder. They were then thrown off, with (Y/n) hiding behind a counter before they could get shot at. “That was good, kid..” David put his gun away, pulling his machete out. “It’s gonna be alright...” (Y/n) immediately lunged away, crawling away from David as he walked around once more. “You know, you keep surprising me... It’s just a shame that you never came around...” (Y/n) accidentally stepped on some broken glass. “There you are, (Y/n).” They silently lunged away, hiding behind another counter with a mental curse. Though, they crawled around David as he walked towards the broken glass they had stepped on. Upon stepping behind him, they had stepped on the broken glass again. But David didn’t really react, based on how he had gotten stabbed in the back again. (Y/n) ran off once more. “Run, little rabbit! Run!” David yelled. (Y/n) hid behind another area, using their hearing to see where David was. They seemed to intentionally step on more glass before silently lunging away, crawling around the glass to see where David was. He had ran towards it before crunching down. (Y/n) crawled around him, staying silent and simply watching while he took the cautious steps. Though, right as he stepped forward, the teen lunged at him, stabbing him in the chest. He backed them against the table as (Y/n) struggled to keep the knife in. Yet, they were thrown forward, making the pair pass out. 

-

The tolling bells were heard as Jack advanced forward, keeping the rain out of his face. He then ran forward, going quiet upon hearing other voices. 

“This is pointless, I can’t see a thing in all this rain!”  “Just keep searching! If they come through here, we need to catch them!”  “We should be guarding the shelter! We have two dangerous people running around, and we’re guarding the damn exit!!” 

(Good... They’re still holding their own... It seems that the lessons I taught them worked well... -Jack)

He jogged into a building, sighing from how drenched he got. 

“Look. The kid is deadly and we don’t know where they’ll turn up next. Just keep your eyes and ears open!” 

Jack seemed to pull on the knob of a shed door, only to see that it was locked. He used one of his knives to open the door, pulling it open. “There...” Tolling of bells were heard much more as Jack grabbed a stray bottle. He then tossed it away, hearing it shatter. The male ran forward immediately. taking his chance to slip into a building without notice. His eyes took immediate notice of the clothes and shoes that had been on the cases. He walked forward, grabbing (Y/n)’s bag. 

(They’re close... -Jack)

He then walked into the next room, stopping when he saw tied up bodies that had hung by the ceiling. “Christ....” Jack muttered. 

(Calm down... I”ll find them... I have to... I need to... -Jack)

He pushed upon the front door, stopping when he had saw the flames that had enveloped a certain restaurant. 

-

It didn’t take long for (Y/n) and David to wake up. They both stirred, getting up. (Y/n) then saw how David’s machete was under a seat, so they crawled towards it with the remaining strength they had. Before they could grab it, they had gotten a kick to the chest. (Y/n) grunted as David chuckled. “I knew you had heart...” He muttered. “You know, it’s okay to give up. Ain’t no shame in it.” (Y/n) slowly crawled forward once again, hearing David chuckle. “I guess not...” He muttered. “Just not your style, is it?” He spoke. (Y/n) got yet another kick to the stomach, making them cough. David than forced their head down, making them freeze up. “You can try begging... I’m at least better than your Father... Your real Dad...” (Y/n) scoffed. “Fuck you.” They were then turned right to their back, David’s hands clamping around their throat. “You think you know me? Huh? Well let me tell you something..” (Y/n) attempted to reach towards the seat, struggling against David’s hold. “You have no idea about what I’m capable of...” They could feel it. They could feel the handle of the machete. (Y/n) quickly grabbed it, and swung it at David. He had gotten a deep gash into his arm just by trying to block it. He rolled off of them with a scream, leaving (Y/n) to get on top, and mercilessly keep stabbing at his face with what energy they had. They just... never stopped, stabbing even if David’s face was now unrecognizable. “(Y/n)-?! Stop-!” Jack ran over to them, pulling them away. “No! Don’t fucking touch me!!” (Y/n) yelled, struggling against Jack’s hold as he tried to quiet them down. He quickly turned them around. “It’s okay...! It’s me! It’s just me!” He spoke, making (Y/n) look at him. “Look and breathe!” Jack could see nothing but the colors of relief flood through (Y/n) as they melted into his touch, quickly hugging him close. “He tried to-” Jack nodded, making sure to hug their face close to his shoulder. “Oh, Dear...” He muttered, hearing (Y/n)’s sniffles as they sobbed into his shoulder. “Jack...” Their voice had wavered as they muttered, feeling nothing but their Father figure’s comforting touch. “It’s okay now...” He muttered.Jack then gently pulled away, softly caressing (Y/n)’s face while they looked at him. 

They had a scratch on their nose, as well as blood everywhere on their face. Jack gently cleaned it off with his glove. “You’re safe now... We’re going to get you out... and we’re going to get you patched up... And when we get home... we’ll be free to do whatever you’d like... okay?” Jack spoke, caressing (Y/n)’s face as they softly nodded, their tears still gently flooding their face. The two then got up, walking out of the restaurant, leaving David and his mutilated face, as well as his bloody machete in the floor. 

[autisticlancemcclain]

Look, Keith knows it’s not a wonderful choice, okay? He knows shoplifting isn’t great. But his student aid application was denied again, and sue him for wanting to eat a fresh vegetable once in a while. (That being said, maybe he should’ve gone for something a little less obvious than fucking cabbage. A carrot, or something, Jesus. He’s not dumb, but he’s a bit of a dumbass.)

“I’m so sorry. I don’t usually do this,” he says to the employee who’s just walked in on him stuffing the damn cabbage into his hoodie pocket.

The employee — a tall lanky guy, maybe like an inch shorter than Keith, with curly brown hair and the largest eye bags he’s maybe ever seen — barely even glances at him.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” he says, shoving some cans on a shelf, “I get paid less than minimum wage, which is legal because I am a student. My manager has yelled at me no less than four times since I clocked in, one of which was for the fact that it was raining and I did not beg god hard enough to stop it. If you fold your hand into the shape of a finger gun and inform me that you’re robbing the store, I will personally put every dollar from the register in your pocket and then ask you to pull the trigger. My soul is so dead that I don’t even have a joke for it. I don’t give even an eighth of a shit if you steal that cabbage.”

For the first time since his speech, the employee glances at Keith, and then does a double take. Some light seems to return into his deep brown eyes.

“Actually, you’re cute as hell,” he says, and Keith goes red. “Take two cabbages.”

Keith dutifully takes a second cabbage. The employee grins at him. His smile is so beautiful that Keith genuinely feels like he might die, a little.

He runs out of the shop.

———

“You did what?”

“I know, I know, stealing is bad —”

“No, Keith, I don’t give a shit about that. Stealing from Wal-Mart is fine; you can do that more if you want. I’m concerned about the hot employee. He called you cute, encouraged you to steal a cabbage, and you didn’t get his number?”

The judgey incredulousness in his annoying brother’s voice makes Keith’s hackles rise, a little.

“What do you know! It took you seven months to realise Adam liked you, and he wrote you a ‘do you like me yes/no’ note!”

There’s a pause on the other end of the phone.

“That’s different,” Shiro says haughtily. “I’m autistic.”

“He told you to your face that he liked you and your lips were kissable —”

“…My oven is exploding. I have to go. Goodbye.”

And Keith doesn’t even have a chance to give him even an ounce of shit before the dial tone is ringing in his ear.

“Bastard,” he mutters.

Coincidentally, as he’s glaring at his shitty Acer phone he bought for $97 dollars at Costco four years ago, he notices that it’s 2:36 in the morning. The same time the hot employee was working last night.

He bites his lip. He really should not return to the scene of his crime.

But he found a dollar on the subway today. He can buy a poptart, this time.

He likes poptarts.

———

“I see you’re paying this time,” the employee — who’s name tag says Eatyay Ymay Assyay, but Keith knows enough pig latin to assume that it’s a, ahem, pseudonym — says, scanning Keith’s singular package of chocolate poptarts. Keith flushes a little and looks down.

“Found a loonie on the subway,” he mumbles.

Hot Employee snorts. “I’ve always wanted to marry a rich man,” he teases.

Keith can’t help the laughter that bubbles up in his throat, which makes a pleased smile grace Hor Employee’s handsome face.

God, his eyes are so gorgeous.

“You have a nice laugh,” Hot Employee says. His voice is very earnest, and only a little dead inside. Considering the fact that the guy is working the night shift at Wal-Mart, Keith thinks it’s the equivalent to dancing a jig and clicking his heels.

Keith coughs. He doesn’t know what to say. He runs out of the store, again, a little.

When he reaches into his bag to stress-eat the poptart, he notices an orange that he did not purchase. Hot Employee must have thrown it in.

He wonders if that’s flirting. He’ll have to ask Adam.

———

“I hate gay people,” Adam says.

Keith snorts. “Interesting.”

“Seriously. We’re all so annoying. Especially you. Is it flirting, he says. Of course it’s flirting! He called you cute to your face! He said you have a nice laugh! He stole you an orange!”

“That could be platonic!”

Adam takes a long, noisy sit of tea. He levels Keith with a glare as he sets the cup back down to angrily bite a cake pop.

“Is it Shiro’s turn with the braincell today?”

“It’s never Shiro’s turn with the braincell. Besides, I sold it for profit six years ago.”

“I see.”

Keith sips his coffee that Adam bought him, because Adam is a Real Adult with a Real Job. (Accounting, or something. He’s explained his job maybe seven million times, and even took Keith to his office, once, when Keith was maybe nine, but if you put a gun to Keith’s head and asked him to tell you what Adam does then that would be it. Hello, fiery depths of hell. (Keith would say pearly gates, but he once had a wet dream about Jesus Christ Himself when he was like fourteen, so his fate is sealed.))

“If you don’t ask that boy on a date I am going to pay Pidge to hack your Spotify and play country music for one hundred consecutive hours to permanently destroy Wrapped day for you,” Adam informs him.

Keith chokes on his coffee, a little.

“That’s a hate crime.”

“Correct.”

———

Keith would like to say he’s up late again because he’s doing homework. In reality, he’s been drawing Pidge as the poop emoji from The Emoji Movie in as much detail as possible because that’s what you do with your friends.

He glances at the clock.

It’s probably weird to go to Wal-Mart again for no reason.

But, like. It’s not like he’s busy, or anything. Besides, he could use some butter.

(The brick he already has is lonely, or something.)

(Whatever. He doesn’t need an excuse. He’s a grown ass adult.)

———

“See, now it’s a pattern,” Hot Employee says.

Keith smiles.

“I don’t know what your talking about.”

Hot Employee — holy shit Keith needs to learn his name — rolls his eyes, but his expression is playful, almost excited.

“You see, Hot Criminal Boy —” Keith flushes a little at the name, although he supposed it’s no worse than Hot Employee — “the first time we met was obviously an accident. I was an unwilling witness to your crime.”

“I barely even shoplifted! And you encouraged me!”

Hot Employee waves his hand. “Eh, semantics. Every time I try to remember the incident I am distracted by my own memory of your dazzling eyes and ridiculous hair.”

Keith goes redder, both because he’s flattered and a little indignant. He touches his hair, loose because he forgot a hair tie again.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” he mumbles. Hot Employee grins at him.

“Never in my life have I seen someone pull off a mullet. I am truly bamboozled. But no question that you do, caliente. Dios.”

Sultry brown eyes and a saucy wink paired with smooth, unhesitant Spanish just shuts Keith’s brain the fuck down. A beeping noise echoes through his head. Error 404. He’s sure his face must be near purple now, gods above. He thinks of any possible way to divert the subject so he has even half a chance to come out of this conversation as a cool person.

He’s desperately wracking his brain, trying to think of a pickup line he saw online or something, but is saved from entering that clusterfuck of a situation by a crackling noise coming from Hot Employee’s walkie talkie.

“Lance, come in.”

Hot Employee — Lance, apparently — sighs deeply, all traces of joy vanishing from his expression. He holds up a finger.

“Just a sec,” he says. “Duty calls. Yeah, Martha?”

“You better not be fucking socializing, McClain,” the voice growls.

Lance rolls his eyes.

“Of course not, ma’am. Helping a customer, is all.”

The voice scoffs. “Yeah fucking right. Get to work before I fire you, lazy ass.”

“It’s funny she says that,” Lance says, tucking his walkie talkie back into his pocket, “since I know what she is currently doing is watching T.V. in the back, on her fourth hour of her thirty-minute break.”

Keith snorts despite his worry.

“Sorry for keeping you,” he offers. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Lance laughs, some of the humour bleeding back into his eyes. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m the diversity hire, she can’t fire me. Besides, if she fired me then she’d actually have to work, so. I’m good.”

“Still. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Lance grins at him. “Very sweet of you, Hot Criminal Boy.”

“Oh — um, my name is Keith. Keith Kogane.”

“Cute name for a cute face. Now, back to my theory — what’s your excuse for coming to visit me now? Because the third time is a pattern, you know. Second time I figured it was a coincidence, but c’mon. No one wants to visit Wal-Mart three nights in a row except for gay reasons.”

Keith laughs, because Lance clearly sees right through him.

“I’m here for butter,” he insists anyway.

Lance raises an eyebrow, studying him for a moment.

“I have a proposition for you, Keith Kogane.”

“I’m listening.”

“You are very clearly into me at least a little. I am very much into you. My shift doesn’t end for another three hours. How would you like to go on the worst date of your life, mójol?”

Keith grins. “Pretty high bar for yourself, huh?”

Lance grins right back. “Maybe. You want to follow me around as I pretend to stick shelves and ignore real customers?”

“If you think that’s the worst date I’ve ever been on, you’re kidding yourself. I’d love to.”

To say Lance lights up is an understatement. His smile glows, illuminating the dreary misery of the store and also Keith’s heart. It’s incredible.

“C’mon then, Keith Kogane. Tell me about your worst date as I open and close the freezer doors.”

Keith does. He lightly embellishes the story of the man who asked him to dinner, took him to McDonalds, made Keith pay, took Keith’s change, and then tried to rope him into a pyramid scheme. He puts every ounce of high-school-drama-class he has into that story, and by the end of it Lance is crouched over with tears in his eyes, begging him to stop. Keith realises that he would do literally anything to hear that laughter every day for the rest of his life.

Lance, in turn, tells him about the time he put maple syrup in between the mattress cover and fitted sheet of his brother’s bed after he found out the man sold his favourite pokémon DS game to have an excuse to talk to the pretty girl who worked at the GameStop. He claims he hid in the attic for two days after because he thought his brother might kill him. His tone is so serious that Keith would believe him, but the sparkle in his eyes and the twitching of his mouth gives him away.

Keith wants to kiss him so bad he can barely think straight.

(It’s ridiculous, feeling this strongly about a stranger he’s only met three times. But Lance is funny, and charming, and sweet, and he’s proven to be an ideal provider. Keith wonders if this is how those Victorian woman felt, because he genuinely feels like he’s gonna swoon, a little.)

“You a student, too?” Lance asks.

“Yeah. Visual arts.”

“Oooh, tortured artist. I’ve heard you guys kiss better than anyone else.”

Keith snorts, even as his heart pounds. “Yeah? Who’d you hear that from?”

“…Okay, okay, you got me. I made that up. I think it’d be a fun theory to test, though.”

Keith knows he’s not hallucinating Lance flicking his gaze to Keith’s lips.

“I’m a physics major, you know,” Lance continues. “I’m big on testing theories.”

Keith swallows. He flicks his eyes to Lance’s lips, full and pink and maybe a little shiny.

“Physics major?” he asks, a little breathy. “You must do a lot of math, huh.”

Lance hums. He leans closer, a little. “Lots.”

“I’ve got a math question for you, then.”

“Hit me.”

He’s definitely leaning closer. Keith does, too. He can feel the warmth of Lance’s breath on his face. It smells sweet, like strawberries.

“What’ll we get if I add your lips to mine?”

“Let’s find out,” Lance breathes. He finally closes the distance, pressing their lips together.

Keith gets all those corny romance novels he pretends he doesn’t read, now. Sparks really do fly.

———

“Someone is looking chipper,” Allura comments drily as they set up their easels.

“I had a good night,” Keith says. He can’t stop his smirk.

“Clearly. I’ve never seen someone look so smug with so many bags under their eyes. What did you do? Or who, rather.”

“I didn’t fuck anyone. I went to Wal-Mart.”

“No one is that happy about going to Wal-Mart at night, you liar.”

Keith sighs dreamily. He can’t help it. All he can think of is Lance, Lance, Lance. He wants to yell it from the rooftops. He wants to tattoo his name on his body. It’s insane.

“I met this boy, a few days ago,” he says.

Allura pumps her fist. “I knew it! Tell me everything immediately.”

“He’s just… he’s gorgeous. He encouraged me to steal a cabbage. He gave me an orange. Last night I hung out with him for hours and we kissed in the baking needs aisle. I am in love, Allura, I swear to God.”

“Oh my God, are you Hot Criminal Boy?”

Keith whips his head up, meeting the eyes of their nude model, Hunk. (Hunk’s a cool guy, and Keith’s favourite of all the models they have. He’s really good at staying still, and genuinely a fun guy to talk to. He was building his own bike, which Keith thinks is so fucking awesome. They talked about it a lot.)

“Is Lance really calling me that to other people? Oh my God. It was a cabbage. He encouraged it.”

Hunk manages to laugh without moving a single muscle, which confirms Keith’s theory that Hunk is not of this realm.

“Only to me. And his siblings. And his mom. And anyone who asks at all. He really doesn’t shut up about you, dude, I’ll be honest. He talked about you to the person who was atuck next to us at the red light with us this morning.”

Keith flushes. Allura fucking dies laughing.

“…Does he really?”

“Yeah, dude. He had the mooniest smile I’ve ever seen when he told me y’all kissed last night.”

Allura chokes on her laughter. “You kissed someone? And you didn’t fucking tell me? Whore!”

Keith shrugs, smiling a little. “I wanted to keep it to myself for a little.”

“Yeah, clearly, ya gay ass.”

All three of them turn back to focus on their work, the sound of even breathing and brushstrokes filling the air. Keith sinks into the painting, trying to get the curve of Hunk’s fluffy hair just right.

“You really like him?” Allura whispers after some time.

“Yeah,” Keith whispers back. “He really feels like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Allura smiles softly, eyes never leaving her paint. “Good. You deserve it.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah. Also, if I had to hear about you whining about how badly you wanted a boyfriend for even one more day I was going to get you one my damn self, ya simp.”

“…And there goes the moment.”

[madmarchhare]

Report from the Ministry of Internal Affairs

October 13th, 18:43:36, 1983

                He tapped the last key on the typewriter, the arm pressing the character onto the yellow tinged paper. He scrolled up the paper to check what he had written for mistakes, silently scanning each line before it met his final approval, laying it flat on the desk before stamping it, the spring-loaded press stamp creaking in protest at the action. He placed the document onto a small stack of others, similarly stamped and perfectly neat. The man glanced at the time, reading from a small, worn Slava[1] travel alarm clock. It had long since passed when he could leave work, the man having lingered to manage some of the next days work, now it being far too late to remain any longer.

                He moved back his chair, lifting the faded wooden seat by the arms as he shifted back, then grabbed the black suitcase he had brought with him and opened it up. He placed the alarm clock in first, folding it back up, his thin fingers rubbing over the false suede that covered the case, before lifting a different set of documents, stamped in red ink or marked by red-white tape, and dropping them into the case with a light fwump as the paper landed on the threadbare red lining. He put in a few more personal effects before snapping the case closed and locking it, idly twisting the dials on the locks out of sequence in a single motion before standing up, opening a drawer in his desk and dumping the first stack of documents into the drawer for safe keeping until the clerks came back in the next morning, locking it with a key he quickly tucked back into the vest pocket of his suit.

Next the man tucked in his chair and stepped around his desk, to the other side of the small room, by the door. He reached over and flicked off the light, the white battalions that had held off the dark suddenly collapsing from the rear as the man stepped out through the door and pulled it shut behind him. He walked out into a small corridor, the walls made of white-painted pre-fab panels that supported an oddly high ceiling for what was typical, giving over three meters of height. He strode down the corridor, his shoes falling silently on the rough blue-grey carpet underfoot, the colour leaning more to the latter tone where it had been worn down by footsteps. He paid little attention to the rooms he passed as he walked through the halls, and made his way to the stairwell at the end of the hall, having never trusted the elevator after it fell down during construction.

He descended the stairs in a rapid but unhurried manner, his footfalls echoing heavily through the concrete stairwell as he descended from the second to the ground floor. At the foot of the stairs opened the ground floor it was a far more open space, with polished marble floors being lined with white concrete, signs displaying the name of the building near what appeared to be a reception, though no one sat at it at this time of day. He marched through the lobby like a train following an invisible track, opening the double doors until he came to the checkpoint he expected.

At the checkpoint, a small white kiosk set slightly down the main path from the building, a guard, dressed in a drab-grey uniform with red trim and long grey-black coat and grey ushanka held out a hand to stop him, which the other robotically did. The guard held out his hand for the documentation the other was already reaching to hand him, both quite practiced in their roles.

“How has your evening been, Comrade Iveshnya?” the guard asked, addressing the man as he looked over his documentation, comparing the face in the documentation before him. Pavel Ilyich Iveshnya[2] was a reasonably tall man, about six foot one, and in his late fifties. He had a long face with a tall brow, topped with black hair combed straight back. The most dominant feature on his face was his beard, it was neat and well tended-to, the clumps of marbled grey-black facial hair almost layered like roof tiles, meeting at a point about five centimetres below his chin. You could never see his mouth, hidden behind his somewhat trapezoidal moustache, leaving you with only his dead-fish eyes to inform you some detail of his mood, lest you could parse through the minutiae of his tone.

He was wearing a black suit, the jacket single breasted and double vented with matching pleated trousers, over a white shirt covered with decorated patterns on the placket and the collar, a black tie falling long across his front. On his lapel there was a soviet star badge, denoting his membership of the party, along with a badge depicting his service to the MVD[3].

“Fine, thank you, Comrade Shurokov,” the man replied in a dull, flat tone, akin to striking cast iron, reaching for his documents as he did, knowing that Shurokov would have finished his inspection. Everything had been in order, as it always was, the guard then moved to check Iveshnya’s suitcase, leafing through the documents inside to check for contraband or restricted documents. As usual, he found nothing an handed back the suitcase.

“Everything appears to be in order,” he stated in an official drone before opening the gate to allow the man through. Iveshnya nodded to him and continued on through the gate, Shurokov’s partner, a burly woman with perfume stronger than vodka and a personality to match called out,

“Have a good evening, comrade supervisor!”

“Thank you!” he called back in a loud but level tone, walking down the pale stone steps that dropped down onto the street. He strode down it, the chill night air walking along with him, a familiar friend to the man, occasionally glowing from the irregular light of streetlights, shining on the half-finished tram tracks in the centre of the road or the glistening cables overhead, blanketed in thin frost. The street was flanked by building sites, great, fantastical projects in varying states of completion, flanked by tall Breznevka’s[4] the bland buildings standing like droll monoliths over the soon to be fantastical structures in the foreground. [expand more when you have the book numnuts]

He didn’t look at the skeletal structures as he walked, continuing on down the long street as the sound of his footsteps echoed through the night air. He came to a well dressed building, single storied but long across the street, with triangular framed pillars supporting the roof, raised at the face and rear, done of clean white stone, mosaic murals depicting scenes of scientists workers and soldiers set between the pillars on the wall behind. He walked up to the door, a white sign bearing blue Cyrillic reading, ‘метро’, showing the main metro station of Nizki-Gorod[5]. He walked through, the building half-lit at this late hour, the wide lobby empty, along with the café that adjoined it, its blacked out inside staring out into the lobby to the ticket offices opposite, similarly abandoned. Pavel strode over the tiled floor, the grey stone dusty and dry underfoot, walking directly over to a set of three stairs, ringed by white bannisters and set in the middle of the floor, and descended them, the steps fine paint slightly marred even after what little use it had seen by the local builders, soldiers and myriad workers already coming to the soon-to-be city.  

The platform was well not well lit, with a tall, vaulted ceiling done in a style reminiscent of the Moscow metro, one of the few allowances to Stalinist[6] stylings in the city, the walls painted with pinkish plaster, white stone pillars standing on the wall all appearing rather dark and unnerving to most, not improved by the half-built state the actual platform had been opened in, parts of the platform simply being scaffolding over the pitch black stone below.

He stood near the centre of the platform, on the periphery of one of the few working lights to his left, checking his watch for the time, a Pobeda[7] with a black dial, gold hands, a smaller second dial at the ‘6’ position, and green numbers, somewhat matching the dark green leather strap, seeing it was now about three minutes past eight, the next train being scheduled for twenty past eight. He stood still, straight backed and stern, waiting for the train. As he waited, he felt a presence to his right. It was one that immediately made itself unwelcome, giving the same sensation of putting your hand too close to something dangerous. He felt it standing to his side, glancing to look at it. Beside himself he saw a tall figure, about two or three foot taller than himself, with an irregular, discordant form, flesh that appeared like the personification of radio static, pitch black with bristling form like a wild, monstrous, wolf standing like a man with glowing white eyes, its limbs long and lanky as it loomed tall over the man, arching down towards the old man.

“Good evening, Comrade supervisor,” they greeted in a pleasant voice, their expression shifting into a sincere smile, cocking their head to the side as they leant down to be eye-level with their superior.

“Good evening Miss. Volkov,” Iveshnya answered, nodding to her in greeting, though his face remained passive. Volkov wore a black suit, much looser than Pavel’s own and adjusted to her odd form, wearing trousers, for warmth along with her own preferences, a plain white shirt worn underneath. She wore no shoes, walking on her bare paws, semi-digitigrade in biology, further increasing her height.

“I rarely see you take the metro sir, are you going somewhere?” she asked in a kind tone, smiling at the man, taking pain to not bare her teeth as she did.

“No, this is my usual train, this is simply an unusual time for me,” he answered flatly. Volkov nodded pleasantly, wating a moment to see if he would continue, straightening back up when he didn’t, politely accepting the end to the conversation. Her superior was not exactly known for small talk. The train came after about ten minutes, the blue 81-series shining its headlamps down the tunnel, illuminating the incomplete station as it slowed, stopping astride the platform. The train was rectangular in appearance, with a flat, squarish face on the 81-717 control cars. It was made of eight cars, including the two control cars at each end. Three of the trailer cars, 81-714’s, were perfectly normal, but the other three, set at the rear of the train, were noticeably taller, giving an extra meter of headspace to the car. It was a special car, used to accommodate those of taller stature, such as Miss. Volkov who was walking over to the cars herself.

There had been some contention over simply standardising on the taller trailer cars for all of the metro cars… but the suggestion was rejected, it being deemed far to expensive by the Ministry of Construction[8] as it required national adjustments to the metro tunnels, even where no-one who needed the cars resided.

Iveshnya glanced at her as she went, stepping into a car himself, the sliding doors pressing shut just after. The interior of the car was reasonably well kempt, though dirty by this time of day. The walls were painted in a cream paint, longitudinal seats set against the wall, the brown leather somewhat matching the dark linoleum floor of the cab. Iveshnya sat down on one of the seats, keeping his suitcase on his lap as he looked out the porthole window opposite, illuminated by the white bar lights overhead.

There was only two other people in the cab, a thin man with one arm and a face wrapped in bandages stained black-blue with some scentless liquid wearing an old style of dress, and a plump babushka[9] wearing a green cardigan over a worn paisley shirt, a kerchief covering her grey head covered with red embroidery that was matched on the cuffs of a pair of slacks she wore, neat red thread done in twisting, almost Celtic patterns.

The train gave a start then steadily accelerated, continuing down the line, leaving the half finished platform behind in the half-darkness it lingered in. The black tunnels whipped past the windows of the car, accompanied by the rhythmic clacking cadence of the steel wheelsets underneath them, the trainset speeding forward. It had to do a loop through the city’s line before it turned around, rushing past the yet unopened stations, desolate with no one to yet serve in the unfinished districts. After the final stop in the line, the trainset began to quicken its pace, not by much, but enough to be noticed for those familiar with it or sensitive to that sort of things. After about three hours of quick speed, Iveshnya stood up, making sure nothing had fallen out of his pockets through the journey, then walked to stand by the door. About a moment later the driver announced they were approaching the next station, Iveshnya’s stop. The train came to a slow but sure stop, the doors sliding open as the man stepped out onto the platform.

It was far less elegant of a construction than the ones before, or at least what they were planned to be. It was single platformed, naturally becoming the bottle-neck of the expanding line, made of blue-white tiles set in hollow squares, two pillars stood just adjacent to the edge of the platform, square in profile, with posters on the inner faces. The ceiling was set low, though still tall enough to accommodate the modified 714’s, and flat, lacking any decoration bar from four red stars in each corner of the ceiling. He walked through the station, hearing the train set off again behind him, the electric whine of the engines echoing slightly behind him as he began to ascend a rather wide set of concrete steps, made so each step was a different colour than the layer before it, either a light or dark grey. The steps terminated near directly onto the pavement, being covered by a prefab shelter, a large glowing clock set on each side of the entrance  into the walls of it, declaring the time to be about thirteen minutes past midnight.

Ivehsnya turned right from the shelter entrance, walking at a flat pace. A number of cars, their wipers removed[10], were parked upon the curb, the area around the metro station not being truly built with cars in mind, though not that many could truly afford them, or would risk the price of fuel needed for any serious journey. The skyline that surrounded Iveshnya was of aged Khrushchevka’s[11] of varying types set in blocks, small shops, bars and the like shoved between low-rise apartments surrounding dark courtyards. The city was slightly distinct however in some of the more recent construction, part of a new breed of ideas from the architects [], similar to what was being constructed in Nizki Gorod. Unusual structures of fine construction, grand in near every aspect…

Iveshnya did not live anywhere near these.

He walked through the small city, the unlit streets easy for him to navigate even still. Eventually the streets began to become sparse, the clusters of houses thinning as the salient of a street struck out into the wide grasslands the city lay upon, the open space filled with dark, tall grasses and soulless wildflowers, hushing as a cold, dry wind blew across the darkness. Eventually the silhouette of Iveshnya’s home became clear. It was a five story Khrushchevka, a K-7 most likely, a small shop to its side along with a bus stop on the street. He often took it, but it was being serviced at the moment. A few other similar buildings lay on the perpendicular street at the promontory of the salient, abandoned bar from a few lingering spirits and eldritch creatures.

He walked to the entrance of the building, opening the door and stepping into the foyer. I was lit, though dimly, the almost reluctant light glowing on the blue painted staircase ahead, just wide enough to carry down a coffin. Much of the paint was peeling, a mark of its age along with the clusters of jetsam that blustered in through the door with the wind, or simple mess left by teens who used the stair as a hangout where they could not be easily seen, and succinctly, punished. He climbed up to the third floor, his footfalls echoing slightly up the stairwell. He came to the landing that led to his apartment and walked to the door, unassuming and uniform though the only one that seemed to get any use on the floor.

He pressed the key into the lock, twisting it deftly as he pushed open the door. The hall of the apartment was quite plain, intruded upon by a rack of coats and hats hung up, ready to be used. A cheap rug was laid across the entrance way, a deep red colour with various mechanically woven patterns busying its surface. The walls were white matching the celling overhead, sporting a few lights that illuminated the room. He strode forward, placing his suitcase onto a small cabinet in the living room, set against the small wall. The living room itself was occupied by a large stenka[12] on the leftern wall, the wooden surface of this furniture wall was dark brown. It was stuffed with shelves and compartments, one side with clear glass doors filled with crystal and porcelain tableware, the opposite end housing a radio, a kreslo-krovat[13] a small folding chair with pale square wooden sides and plum coloured upholstery faced it from the right side of the room, a small square coffee table sat between the two. Iveshnya walked over and turned the radio on, letting the volume swell before turning around to walk to his bedroom. It was similarly plain, occupied only by a three-wing dresser, a bed and bedside table, the bed being shoved against the wall, on which a large rug was hung to stop him from laying against the cold concrete in his sleep. He hung back up his suit, relacing his shoes for something softer and grabbing a pair of worn pleated wool trousers, greenish in colour hanging baggily from his waist.

He walked out of his room, taking a detour into the kitchen to grab a bottle of vodka and a sandwich, before flopping down into the chair in his living room. He leant back as he sat, letting his mind swim in the music, alone in the cold apartment, gripping, panicked, the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned almost white, unconsciously counting along with his watch the seconds until day. He poured himself a shot of vodka, drying out his mouth with the stale bread before he swallowed, the chill liquid not offering him much ease. He unfolded the chair, the plum coloured seat laying out like a bed, barely wide enough for a single person, especially with the wooden wings of it that constricted him. But, he didn’t mind the discomfort, falling asleep with a semi-strained expression as the radio continued to loudly play through the apartment, drifting over the two empty beds.

[1] Cлава, lit. Glory. Initially called the  Second Moscow Watch Factory, it was the second watch factory in the USSR intended for solely civilian watches in 1924.  

[2] Павел Ильич Ивешня

[3] Ministry of Internal Affairs of the USSR was the interior ministry of the Soviet Union from 1946 to 1991. Its main roles, following the separation of control over State security into the KGB as a separate agency, was control of the civilian police, investigation of fraud, maintain civil order and quashing unrest, and a number of other duties.  

[4] Брежневка. A general name for a type of buildings that began to be constructed while Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev was leader of the Soviet Union. They are usually constructed from bricks or pre-fabricated concrete panels, with between nine and seventeen floors, with over thirty different varieties being constructed.   

[5] Низкий город. A fictional city created for this story. Its literal meaning is Low-city.

[6] A type of architectural style that was employed under the leadership of Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin, also know as ‘Soviet Classicism’ or ‘Stalinist Empire’ style. It drew influence from socialist realism movements along with Gothic styles, and was used mainly on government projects.

[7] Победа, lit. victory, a Soviet watch brand established in the wake of the second world war, with Stalin himself deciding the brand name and order than the first watched be ready by the first year of victory celebration(1946).

[8] The Ministry of Construction (Министерство строительства) was a government ministry of the USSR.

[9] Russian slang referring to an old woman or grandmother.

[10] It was a common practice for Soviet car owners to remove the windscreen wipers from their car while it was parked, or otherwise unattended to prevent their theft, keeping them either in the glovebox or in their apartment until it rained and they became necessary.

[11] Xрущёвка. A general term for a type of building that emerged from the 1960’s under the leadership of then leader of the Soviet Union, Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev. The predecessors to Brezhnevka’s, they only reach up to five stories, with some lower, and feature extremely similar construction, as the later high-rises used the same construction guidelines as set in 1963.

[12] A term used to describe a combined cabinet/furniture wall that was relatively common in Soviet apartments.

[13] Кресло-кровать, a fold out chair-bed (Lit. translation), that was common in Soviet interiors.

I'm not Russian so do forgive me. I encourage anyone and everyone who can to correct me or to offer suggestions for monsters to use.

@xatsperesso @toomuchhobbies-toolittletime @guesst @truegoist @theriu @adanaac @hiddenfolk @sleepy-gry

Part II

[batmanshole]

my favourite emojis

thumbs up. salute. bomb. tulip. strawberry. sobbing. two red exclamation marks. red exclamation mark and question mark. woozy. dizzy. hand cupping. hand pointing. eye. female firefighter. female farmer. female construction worker. pregnant man. woman in wheelchair. woman in power chair. woman with probing cane. puppy face. duck. duckling. snail. ant. bee. jellyfish. whale. seal. sheep. guide dog. wing. dove. clover. four leaf clover. sprout. mushroom. lotus. bouquet. hyacinth. hibiscus. cherry blossom. rock. sunflower. coral. sparkle. star. rain. rain and thunder. snowflake. gust of wind. onion. garlic. bagel. ginger. cherries. peach. green apple. red apple. pear. lemon. orange. mango. blueberry. carrot. corn. broccoli. bok choy. potato. bread. sweet potato. baguette. pretzel. pancakes. hotdog. hamburger. sandwich. fortune cookie. rice. dango. sorbet. flan. lolipop. tea. honey. bubble tea. hockey. roller skate. fishing. woman surfing. fencing. paint palette. woman juggling. trumpet. saxophone. violin. chess pawn. guitar. headphones. probing cane. wheelchair. power chair. crutch. suspended train car. tram. trolley. train. train at station. airplane. airplane taking off. airplane landing. different airplane. ship anchor. moai head. map. roller coaster. park fountain. pink hospital. keyboard. phone with arrow. CD. DVD. minidisc. floppy disk. VHS tape. camera with flash. dial. antique clock. hourglass. hourglass with falling sand. old tv. plug. candle. lightbulb. ID card. ladder. pickaxe. saw. nut and bolt. gear. hammer. box propped up by stick. magnet. water gun. knife. axe. sword. dynamite. cigarette. gravestone. hole. bandaid. telescope. pill. broom. plunger. picnic basket. bath with bubbles. razor. toothbrush. lotion. soap. person in bath. toilet paper. toilet. sponge. bucket. key. skeleton key. bed with person in it. bed. chair. door. teddy bear. present. balloon. box. tag. scroll. document. document bent. file folder. open file folder. clipboard. office trash can. rolled up newspaper. filing cabinet. newspaper. composition notebook. plain notebook. red volume 1 notebook. green volume 2 notebook. blue volume 3 notebook. orange volume 4 notebook. stack of books. open book. triangular ruler. pin. pen. fountain pen right. fountain pen left. pencil. crayon. closed lock. pink heart. red heart. orange heart. yellow heart. green heart. cyan heart. blue heart. purple heart. grey heart. white heart. brown heart. black heart. sparkling pink heart. pink heart with arrow. pink heart with bow. double pink hearts. swirling pink hearts. glowing pink heart. vibrating pink heart. broken heart. radiation warning. libra. big red X. big red O. crossed out circle. question mark. exclamation point. warning sign. trident. fleur de lis. accessibility sign. canadian flag. brazillian flag. pirate flag. ok sign. cool sign. music notes. on arrow. top arrow. TM sign. crossed out bell. thought bubble. yelling bubble. speech bubble. spade. club. heart. diamond. gay pride. trans pride.