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foreveia · 5 months ago

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take two ⤨ iwaizumi hajime

⨭ genre; fluff, idiots to lovers but like they're actually so dumb

⨭ pairing; iwaizumi x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 5.7k

⨭ descriptions; your boss has been trying to set you up with her son for months, but as it turns out at the holiday party... you've already met him before.

⨭ warnings; explicit language and dialogue, no graphic content tho, alcohol

⨭ a/n; fun little short fic to fill the fix to publish something lolol enjoy this iwa love dump as i work on my next long fic (tell me in the comments if y'all like these better)

song i listened to writing this: 'hold your breath' by chase atlantic

one.

There are exactly three things you know to be true about Iwaizumi Emi:

She is the best divorce attorney in Tohoku, possibly the country.

She is the kind of woman who could negotiate her way out of murder charges and secure the victim’s house in the settlement.

She is, without a doubt, trying to set you up with her son.

You respect her. You admire her. You are, on occasion, lowkey terrified of her.

Which is why you’re currently sitting at your desk, nodding at all the appropriate intervals while she breezes through yet another pitch about why her son and you are, in her professional opinion, a perfect match.

“He’s back from Irvine for the summer,” she says, skimming a property settlement document like it personally offended her. She tosses it onto your pile nonchalantly, and you let out a short sigh because it’s just more backend filing to do and, despite your adoration for your career path and real passion towards legal work, entry jobs in the firm are mostly busy work. “I really think you’ll like him. He’s—”

You tune out. Not in an obvious way, of course—no, you’re a professional. You sprinkle in the occasional mmhmm and sounds great so she doesn’t catch on, but this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve heard this pitch before—multiple times. Hajime is intelligent, responsible, not an idiot like some of these men out here, blah blah blah.

It’s not that you have anything against him, really. It’s just that you’ve spent months perfecting the art of dodging your boss’s matchmaking attempts, and frankly, you don’t have the energy to entertain her latest scheme.

“You’re finally going to meet him at the firm’s ball this weekend,” Emi continues, finally looking up from her paperwork, her smile entirely too satisfied.

You blink. “Oh.”

“He’s excited to meet you too.”

Now that is new. Usually, these monologues are strictly one-sided—I told him about you! and You two will get along so well! But he’s excited to meet you too? That’s an escalation. That’s a game-changer. That means he knows about you. He has an opinion about you.

You resist the urge to groan. Instead, you summon a polite, professional smile—the same one you use when dealing with particularly insufferable clients. “Looking forward to it,” you say, because what else are you supposed to say to the woman who could single-handedly end your career if she wanted to?

In reality, the only thing you’re looking forward to about the ball is the open bar. Being in your early twenties means being woefully broke, and you’d be lying if you said the thought of unlimited free alcohol wasn’t a strong motivator.

So, you strike a deal with yourself: you’ll put on a fancy dress, endure painful heels, and let Emi parade you in front of her son like a prize show poodle—all in exchange for an endless supply of pinot noir, cocktail shrimp, and, if you play your cards right, an entire bottle of champagne to sneak home in your purse.

It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make.

two.

Because you’re an adult with an absolutely thriving social life (read: you have two friends who are willing to tolerate your bullshit after 6 PM), you, Yachi, and Kiyoko are now seated at your favorite little izakaya, wedged into a corner booth with plates of karaage and a pitcher of beer between you.

Kiyoko is talking about wedding venues. Because she’s engaged. To Tanaka. Which is objectively insane because in your head, they’re still in that “grossly obsessed with each other but pretending they’re just friends” phase, even though they’ve been together for years. The whole thing is a crime against single people everywhere, but you are supportive because your already jaw-dropping friend is somehow glowing even brighter now that she has a fat rock on her ring finger. She looks lighter, happier. She deserves it.

Yachi, meanwhile, is explaining—between delicate sips of her beer—that she’s too swamped with work to even think about dating. Which, yeah. Fair. The woman works harder than most people you know, so you respect it.

Then, as the conversation naturally shifts to your love life (as it always does, because you’re the group’s designated mess), you sigh, sinking into your seat dramatically.

“I haven’t had sex in months.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kiyoko and Yachi both roll their eyes in unison, like they rehearsed it.

“Oh my God,” Yachi mutters.

“You cannot still be caught up on GDD,” Kiyoko says flatly, pouring herself another drink.

“Okay, first of all,” you say, holding up a finger, “it is not about him. It’s just a general fact about my current state of being.”

“Uh-huh,” Kiyoko hums, entirely unconvinced.

“Second of all,” you continue, undeterred, “GDD was life-changing, and I feel like I should be allowed to mourn the lack of that level of—of excellence in my life.”

“Life-changing,” Yachi repeats, deadpan. “You hooked up with him once.”

“Yeah, and my life was changed.”

GDD—Good Dick Dude, as he has been dubbed by your dear, unsupportive friends—was a guy you hooked up with in January after a truly legendary New Year’s Eve party.

The night itself had been pure chaos. Hinata had somehow scored an invite to this insane rooftop party—one of those bougie, exclusive, if-you-know-you-know events where you absolutely do not belong but somehow manage to fake it enough to get through the door. He’d gotten a few plus-ones, which is how you ended up there, sipping champagne you definitely couldn’t afford and making out with a guy who, to this day, remains one of the most mind-blowing hookups of your entire life.

Gorgeous, buff, and dangerous with his hands. The kind of guy who knew exactly what he was doing, which, honestly? A rarity these days. You barely remember his name—something short, easy to moan—but you do remember his stupidly perfect smirk and the way he all but ruined you against the nearest flat surface.

But then the party ended, the night faded into a haze, and you never saw him again.

Which is fine. It’s fine. Really.

You’re definitely not still thinking about it.

Kiyoko takes a sip of her beer, unimpressed. “You’ve been on, what? Five Hinge dates since then? Six?”

“Seven,” Yachi corrects.

You point at her. “Exactly.”

Kiyoko gives you a long, slow blink.

“I mean that as proof that I am not hung up on him!” you clarify. “I’ve been trying, okay? But the bar is in hell. Do you know how many ‘we should get drinks’ texts I get from guys who put crypto investor in their bios?”

Kiyoko sighs. “Okay, but let’s be real—are you actually giving any of these guys a chance?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Frown. “I mean… like… conceptually?”

“Right.”

Yachi, forever gentle but devastatingly perceptive, tilts her head at you. “Is it possible,” she says carefully, “that maybe none of these guys are measuring up because you’re subconsciously comparing them to him?”

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”

Is it ridiculous?

Because, okay, maybe—just maybe—no one has quite lived up to that night. And maybe you’re being a little unfair to the dating pool by expecting every single guy to have that same kind of chemistry with you. And maybe you do occasionally find yourself staring at random ceilings, wondering where GDD is now and if he even remembers you.

But still. That doesn’t mean anything.

You’re pretty sure.

“I hate you guys,” you grumble, stabbing aggressively at a piece of karaage.

Yachi pats your hand sympathetically. ��We know.”

Kiyoko, ever the queen of smooth topic transitions, nudges the conversation in a new direction. “Speaking of your questionable taste in men, your boss is still trying to set you up with her son, correct?”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the booth. “Unfortunately, yes. And now, apparently, he’s excited to meet me.”

Yachi perks up. “Wait, so you are meeting him?”

“At the firm’s ball this weekend,” you say, waving a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get a little wine drunk, take advantage of the seafood bar.”

Kiyoko raises an eyebrow. “So, you’re not going to entertain the idea of this Hajime guy at all?”

You scoff. “Absolutely not.”

Yachi hums, tilting her head in that way she does when she’s about to say something devastatingly reasonable. “I mean… what if Emi’s right?”

You blink. “What?”

“What if this is it?” she says, half-teasing, half-genuinely curious. “Like, what if you meet him and he’s actually your soulmate? Imagine if this whole time, your boss has been playing the long game, orchestrating your love story like some kind of corporate fairy godmother.”

You snort. Loudly. “Right. Because that’s totally my luck.”

Kiyoko and Yachi exchange a knowing look, but they let it go.

You take another sip of your beer, shaking your head. Hajime Iwaizumi—whoever he is—is not the love of your life.

That would be insane.

three.

You had to pull out your graduate school formal gown from the back of your closet for this, but wow, you really forgot just how good you look in red.

Your day-to-day work attire consists of pantsuits and button-ups, neatly tucked into cautiously ironed trousers, so you’ve honestly forgotten how nice it is to get dressed up once in a while. There’s something about slipping into a gown that fits like a dream, sweeping your hair up just right, and swiping on that perfect shade of lipstick that makes you feel invincible. Like you could negotiate a million-dollar deal, steal the firm’s best clients, and seduce someone’s husband all in the same breath.

Not that you would, obviously.

Probably.

The venue is ridiculous in the way all law firm events are ridiculous—held in a ballroom large enough to house a small country, chandeliers dripping in gold, servers weaving through the crowd with trays of champagne and fancy bruschetta topped with fucking caviar of all things. All this just to celebrate another year of making money off people’s divorces. Incredible the way capitalism works.

You’ve barely made it through your first glass of wine before Emi finds you.

“There she is,” she croons, linking her arm through yours. She looks positively radiant in an emerald gown, diamonds at her ears, and the kind of effortless elegance that comes from winning. You’d respect it more if she weren’t actively dragging you toward your inevitable doom. “Come on, sweetheart. Hajime’s here, and I cannot wait for you two to finally meet.”

You bite back a sigh, because of course. No warm-up period, no buffer—just straight to the matchmaking. “Can’t I get a few more drinks in me first?”

She waves a hand, utterly dismissing your complaints. “You’ll like him. I know you will.”

You doubt it. But you let her lead you anyway, mostly because you know resisting is pointless: your boss has the world’s most spell-blinding smile and enough charm to always get her way. Emi always wins.

She stops near the bar, where a man stands with his back to you, broad shoulders wrapped in a sharp black suit, one hand resting on the counter as he talks with someone just out of view.

Emi squeezes your hand. “Hajime,” she calls, her voice warm.

The man turns.

And every thought in your head immediately ceases to exist.

Because standing before you, looking unfairly good in a tailored suit and sipping from a glass of whiskey like he isn’t single-handedly ruining your life, is GDD.

Good Dick Dude.

Hajime Iwaizumi is Good Dick Dude.

Your brain short-circuits. This is not happening. This is some kind of fever dream, a cruel trick played by the universe to punish you for your sins.

Hajime’s sharp green eyes land on you, recognition flickering behind them, and then—oh no.

He smirks. Like he knows exactly what’s running through your mind right now. Like he remembers everything.

Emi, completely unaware of your crisis, beams. “Hajime, this is the associate I’ve been telling you about.”

His mischievous, more than just amused smile widens. “Oh, I know who she is.”

Your soul leaves your body.

Because that voice? That voice is the same one that had whispered filth against your neck four months ago. The same voice that had laughed when you moaned his name. The same voice that had ruined you in ways you still haven’t fully recovered from.

You are going to die. Right here, right now, in the middle of this godforsaken gala.

“Hajime Iwaizumi,” he says smoothly, offering a hand. His palm is rough when you take it—calloused, strong, a stark reminder of exactly where those hands have been. His grip is firm, steady, and entirely too knowing.

You swallow, pasting on the best Oh wow, I am totally not spiraling internally smile you can manage. “Yeah,” you say weakly. “We’ve met.”

“Oh!” Emi beams, clasping her hands together like she’s just delighted by this new revelation. “That’s wonderful! I knew you two would get along.”

You let out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a strangled choke. Hajime is still watching you, head tilted slightly, like he’s enjoying this: like he can see the exact moment you realize how deeply, horrifically screwed you are. Because there is no way Emi knows. She’s too composed, too pleased. If she had any inkling that her son and her associate had met four months ago in a completely inappropriate context, she’d have you both buried in litigation faster than you could say conflict of interest.

Which means Hajime is choosing to be a menace.

God, you’re going to kill him.

“Hajime just got back from Irvine a few days ago, for the start of his summer break,” Emi continues, completely oblivious to the absolute war waging behind your polite smile. “I’ve been telling him all about you, of course.”

You almost choke on your drink. “You have?”

“Of course I have!” Emi nods enthusiastically. “She’s one of the brightest associates we have, Hajime. Sharp, diligent, absolutely ruthless in negotiations—she reminds me of myself when I was her age.”

Your lips twitch. You do enjoy being compared to the most terrifying woman you’ve ever met, so it’s really too bad that this entire situation has you currently dying inside.

Hajime hums, eyes still locked on you. “Yeah,” he says, voice dipping just slightly. “She’s definitely memorable.”

Your entire body lights on fire.

Memorable.

Oh, he’s being insufferable on purpose.

Emi sighs happily, taking a sip of her champagne. “I knew you two would hit it off.”

You want to scream. You want to throw your drink in Hajime’s face. You want to rewind time and never step foot into that rooftop party.

Instead, you just smile tightly. “Mm-hmm.”

Hajime grins at your suffering. “So,” he says, tilting his glass in your direction, “how have you been?”

You resist the urge to kick him in the shins. “Busy,” you say, voice clipped. “Working.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, that does sound like you.”

You stiffen. Hajime, you realize, is having the time of his life watching you squirm. And it’s only going to get worse.

Because Emi suddenly claps her hands together, eyes bright with mischief. “Oh! I should leave you two to chat,” she says. “Get to know each other properly.”

Oh. Oh no. Emi. Emi, please.

But before you can protest, she winks at you—winks, like she’s a fairy godmother orchestrating the perfect romance—and disappears back into the crowd.

And just like that, you are alone with him.

Hajime watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes gleaming with amusement. “So,” he says, smirking, “I see you haven’t forgotten me.”

Your jaw clenches. “You smug little—”

“You look good,” he interrupts smoothly, scanning you from head to toe. His gaze lingers, appreciative but blatantly teasing. “Red suits you.”

God, you want to strangle him. You cross your arms, willing yourself to stay calm. “You knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

He chuckles. “I had a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

He tilts his head, as if contemplating. “Well,” he says, “it wasn’t confirmed until I saw you.”

You glare. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss that reaction?” He grins. “Not a chance.”

You hate him. You hate that he looks so effortlessly good in a suit. You hate that his voice is still just as devastating as you remember. You hate that even now, months later, you can still feel the phantom weight of his hands on your hips, the rough scrape of his callouses against your skin, the way he had murmured just like that, baby against your ear—

You inhale sharply. Nope. Absolutely not. We are not thinking about that right now.

Hajime, unfortunately, definitely knows what you’re thinking about. His smirk is downright criminal. “So,” he says, leaning in slightly, voice low, “been a while, hasn’t it?”

You refuse to give him the satisfaction of blushing. “Oh, shut up.”

He laughs, warm and amused, and you are horribly aware that this night is only just beginning.

four.

Hajime happens to actually be a pretty intelligent and funny person, which is making it much, much harder to dodge his attempts at flirting and his mother’s attempts at forced-proximity matchmaking.

It was supposed to be easy. You were supposed to sip your wine, endure some polite small talk, and then fade into the crowd before Emi could corner you into any serious you’d make such a beautiful couple talk. But instead, you’re somehow still here, talking to him, because Hajime Iwaizumi is annoyingly easy to talk to.

Which is not fair. It’s not fair at all, actually.

He makes it look effortless, like this isn’t completely unhinged, like it’s not absolutely deranged that your boss has spent months trying to set you up with a man who has already—

You take a sip of your wine. You are not going to finish that thought.

Hajime watches you over the rim of his whiskey glass, looking entirely too entertained by this whole situation. “You seem tense.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t argue. “Hey, could be worse,” he says. “At least my mom has good taste.”

You choke on your sip, feeling the bubbles tingle in your nose and really regretting every life decision you’ve made in the last six months. “Oh, my God.”

He laughs, tilting his glass in a mock toast.

You squint at him, wary and slightly annoyed, unable to fathom how he’s not also dying at this situation. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I mean…” He shrugs, all easy amusement. “I’m just saying—this could be a lot worse. Imagine if she was trying to set you up with someone actually terrible.”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, swirling your wine. “You’re already pretty high on my list of worst-case scenarios.”

“See, now that hurts.”

You roll your eyes. “You’ll live.”

Before Hajime can respond—before you can regain any sense of control over this conversation—Emi appears out of nowhere, her eyes shining.

“There you two are!” she says, absolutely beaming. “It’s time for the first dance!”

You freeze.

Hajime—the absolute traitor—just raises an eyebrow. “First dance?”

“Yes! It’s tradition,” Emi says, already ushering you toward the ballroom floor. “Senior partners and their dates open the dance floor—it’s been that way for years.”

You dig your heels into the floor. “But I’m not—”

“Now, sweetheart,” Emi interrupts, entirely ignoring your panic, “you wouldn’t want to break tradition, would you?”

You stare at her, betrayed.

She smiles.

Oh, she planned this.

Hajime, standing beside you, lets out a quiet, amused sigh before draining the last of his whiskey. “Well,” he says, offering you a hand, “guess we should give the people what they want.”

You glare at him. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “That’s why you’re still holding my hand.”

You drop it immediately.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop him from leading you on to the dance floor. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you gently to the center of the ballroom; you’re struggling to ignore the far too many pairs of eyes on you two as he rearranges your arms around his neck.

And—oh, hell.

You forgot how solid he is.

His grip is firm but steady, his palm warm where it rests against your back. He moves easily, like this isn’t completely ridiculous, like your brain isn’t currently melting out of your ears.

“Relax,” Hajime murmurs.

You scowl. “I am relaxed.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah, totally.”

You hate him. You hate the way he’s looking at you—amused, interested, entirely too smug for someone who has already ruined your life once.

He leads you into a slow, easy step, and goddamn it, of course he’s good at this, too. His movements are effortless, confident. He keeps the rhythm perfectly, and you hate that you match him so well.

He tilts his head, watching you. “You’re thinking really hard about something.”

“No, I’m not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Right. So you’re definitely not thinking about how good I am at this.”

You promptly step on his foot. He laughs, and it ignites your hatefire even more.

“Asshole,” you mutter.

“I was going to say you look good tonight,” he muses, unfazed. “But now I don’t know if you deserve the compliment.”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

Hajime smirks. “Touchy.”

He spins you as the music hits a crescendo, dropping you abruptly into a dip that catches you heavily off-guard. It makes you lock your fingers tighter around his neck, and when he lifts you back up, you nearly slam right into his very, very firm chest (what the hell, is this man made entirely of protein?), face first.

“What the fuck?” you huff, a little winded. “You are actually a horrible human being.”

Hajime hums, tilting his head slightly, his eyes flickering with something too smug, too entertained. “You keep saying that,” he muses, voice low enough that it barely carries past the space between you, “but I think you just like having someone to complain about.”

Before you can deliver a scathing reply, he tugs you a fraction closer. It’s subtle, barely noticeable to anyone watching, but you feel it—the shift of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, the way your body slots against his just enough for warmth to pass between you.

Your breath catches, and it’s infuriating how he notices. How his hold tightens, like he can read every single thought running through your head and is thrilled by it.

“You’re such a dick,” you frown, shifting slightly, trying to put some space between you.

Hajime chuckles, and the sound is entirely too satisfied. His mouth is right by your ear, so you practically feel it more than you really hear it, when he murmurs, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Because that—that—is not fair.

That is the kind of thing a man should not be allowed to say in that voice, in that low, teasing rumble, into your ear, while holding you against him like this.

It happens before you can even think about it.

Before you can register that you are, in fact, in the middle of a ballroom at your company’s annual gala. Before you can process the reality that Emi is somewhere in this crowd, and she has already been insufferable about this whole ordeal.

Before any of that can hit you, you grab the lapels of his stupidly well-fitted suit, tilt your chin up, and kiss him.

It’s instant, sharp, devastating. Your hands tighten against his chest as you crash into him, and Hajime—because he is the worst person alive—immediately reacts.

One hand presses firm into your back, the other finding its way to your jaw, fingers curling just slightly as he deepens the kiss without hesitation. His lips are warm, just the right mix of soft and steady, and when he angles his head just so—his nose brushing against yours, his thumb skimming your cheek—you feel yourself sink, like he’s pulling you under and you don’t even mind drowning.

It should not be this good.

It should not set your pulse racing like this, make you forget for a single, damning second that this is the worst possible thing you could be doing right now.

But it does. And for just a moment, nothing else exists. Not the party. Not the music. Not the fact that literally everyone is watching you right now. Just the heat of his mouth, the firm press of his fingers at your back, the way he exhales sharply like he wasn’t expecting this either, but he’s not about to stop it, not for anything in the world.

And then you remember where you are.

You rip yourself away, blinking rapidly, your brain racing to catch up with what you just did.

And that is the moment you hear it: the loudest, most delighted squeal of your entire existence.

Your stomach plummets.

Because standing at the edge of the ballroom, her hands clasped together in sheer glee, is none other than Emi Iwaizumi herself. And she is positively vibrating with joy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she gushes, and the way she looks at you is the exact way someone would look at their child who just announced they were getting married. “I knew it! I knew you two would be perfect together!”

Your soul leaves your body. You stare at her, horrified. You slowly turn back to Hajime—who, because he is an absolute menace, is still standing entirely too close, still holding you just slightly like he isn’t ready to let go.

And he is smiling.

The kind of smile that says I win. The kind of smile that says he is absolutely going to remind you of this for the rest of your natural life.

You physically have to stop yourself from shoving him away.

Instead, you inhale, sharp and deep, and will yourself to stay calm. Emi is still talking. She is still gushing. And you cannot deal with whatever she’s about to say next, so before she can so much as breathe, you turn back to Hajime, seize his wrist, and drag him off the dance floor, because if you don’t get away from this immediately, you are actually going to die of secondhand embarrassment and shame.

five.

This is because of your dry spell.

Your dry spell is the reason why your entire sense of self-control and awareness have gone out the window, and the reason why, now that you and Hajime have successfully escaped the ballroom onto the balcony, he is doubled over laughing and you are actually freaking out.

“Jesus fuck,” you groan, pressing your hands to your face. The cool night air does nothing to soothe the absolute catastrophe unfolding inside your brain. “I kissed you. I kissed you in front of everyone.”

Hajime straightens, still grinning like an asshole. “Yeah,” he says, entirely too pleased. “You did.”

You drop your hands, glaring. “Fuck you, dude. You’re not helping.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t aware I needed to.”

You let out an incoherent noise of distress.

Hajime, because he is insufferable, just leans against the balcony railing, watching you unravel like it’s the best entertainment he’s had all night. His tie is slightly loosened now, his jacket unbuttoned, and somehow, he looks even better like this—a little rumpled, a little amused, looking at you like he already knows how this is going to end.

That is actually unacceptable.

“This is your fault,” you snap, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You goaded me into it.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so I made you kiss me?”

“Yes,” you declare, with full conviction, even though you definitely grabbed him first. “You set me up.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You really can’t handle taking the L, huh?”

“I can handle it,” you insist. “I just don’t want to.”

His lips twitch like he’s trying very hard not to laugh again. “So you kissed me against your will?”

“Yes.”

Hajime tilts his head, amused. “Interesting. Because you seemed pretty into it.”

Your jaw drops. “I—you—shut up.”

He chuckles, and God, his voice is all warm and low and pleased with himself, and you really need to get it together before you do something stupid again.

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms and shifting your focus to the city skyline instead. Sendai stretches out before you in a sea of golden lights, a stark contrast to the absolute nightmare happening in your head.

This is fine. You can recover from this. You just have to never, ever acknowledge it again.

You square your shoulders, turning back to him. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. We are going to go back inside, pretend this never happened, and move on with our lives.”

Hajime hums, considering. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna work.”

You squint. “What do you mean that’s not gonna work?”

He pushes off the railing, taking a step closer—too close, enough that you feel it again, that ridiculous, stupid warmth that shouldn’t still be there after all this time. “I mean,” he says, slow, deliberate, “you’re acting like that kiss was a mistake.”

You blink. “Because it was.”

He lifts a single eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, but it comes out way too defensive, and Hajime knows it.

He grins. You decide that you hate him.

“I’m sure,” you insist, crossing your arms tighter, like that will somehow make this whole situation less insufferable. “It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. A lapse in judgment. That’s it.”

Hajime tilts his head, thoughtful. “Okay. So if I kissed you again right now, you wouldn’t like it.”

Your entire brain short-circuits. The audacity. The unbelievable nerve.

You gape at him. “You wouldn’t.”

His grin widens. “Wouldn’t I?”

You hate how smug he looks. You hate that your stomach flips at the idea of it. You hate that you don’t immediately shut it down.

He watches your expression carefully, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, like he won’t actually do it unless you give him some kind of sign. Which is so much worse, because it means he’s giving you the chance to say no, to walk away, to end this before it can spiral any further.

But you don’t.

And that—more than the kiss itself, more than Emi’s squealing, more than the public spectacle you just made—is what finally sends you into full-blown panic mode.

You do want him to kiss you again.

You stare at him, pulse thrumming, brain caught in a violent tug-of-war between denial and desire. And Hajime? Hajime is watching you with the patience of someone who knows he’s already won.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

You scowl. “Say what?”

“That you want me to kiss you again.”

Your jaw clenches. He’s baiting you, letting you choose, waiting for you to meet him halfway. You exhale sharply, tilting your chin up. “You’re so full of yourself.”

His mouth twitches. “Not an answer.”

“Fine,” you snap. “I want you to kiss me again.”

Hajime grins. “That’s all I needed.”

And then, he does.

This time, it’s slower, deeper, not rushed by the heat of the moment. He takes his time, like he’s savoring it, like he’s memorizing the way you melt into him. And you? You let him. Because, goddamn it, you were never winning this battle.

When you finally pull away, breathless, he smirks down at you. “See? Not a mistake.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

He laughs, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead that feels far more intimate than a casual pair of friends-with-benefits should. You, scandalized, shove him away, but Hajime just grins, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, pressing your fingers to your forehead, like that will somehow stop the ridiculous heat crawling up your neck.

Hajime hums, smug. “And yet, you’re still standing here.”

You are still standing here. You could have left, could have walked back into that ballroom and pretended this entire thing never happened. But instead, you’re here. On this balcony. With him.

You shift, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “So… what now?”

Hajime leans back against the railing. “Dunno. Guess that depends on you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why do I feel like you already have an answer?”

“Because I do,” he says plainly, in a way so nonchalant and effortless it could only be said like that by him.

You exhale sharply, tilting your head up to the sky, like the stars might have some kind of solution for this. “You know this is gonna be a thing now, right?”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “A thing?”

“Yeah,” you say, making a vague gesture between the two of you. “A thing. Emi’s gonna lose her mind. She’s probably already telling the senior partners that her matchmaking career is a success.”

Hajime laughs, the sound easy, effortless. “Yeah. She probably is.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “I am never going to live this down.”

“Probably not.”

You squint at him. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

Hajime shrugs, then reaches for your hand, tugging you forward so suddenly that you nearly stumble into him. His hands slide down to your waist, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress. “I could,” he murmurs, close, too close, “but we both know I wouldn’t mean it.”

You scowl. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he says, smug, “you still kissed me. Twice, actually.”

You glare. “Stop counting.”

“No promises.”

You groan, pressing your forehead to his chest in sheer exasperation. “This is my villain origin story.”

Hajime just laughs, wrapping his arms fully around you, and you hate—hate—that it feels nice, that it feels right.

“Hajime,” you say, voice muffled against his suit jacket.

“Yeah?”

You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze. “If we’re doing this, you are legally required to make it up to me with at least two fancy dates. Minimum.”

Hajime smirks, like he was already planning on it. “Deal.”

“And no getting too smug about this, either,” you squint.

He tilts his head. “Define ‘too smug.’”

You groan, shoving at his chest. “God, I hate you.”

Hajime just catches your wrist and grins, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your knuckles. “Sure you do.”

You really don’t. And both of you know that very well, because he has his mother’s spell-blinding smile and you have always been a sucker for them both.

⨭ closing; churned this out over one 3 hour writing sesh bc i got this idea in my head and had to see it through. not proofread and very very hastily written, but i like her anyway. #comment #reblog #lemme know ur thoughts mwah xoxo

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heartyluv · 13 days ago

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Note: I was completely inspired by @stargirlygirl and her werewolf!caleb story, so please go check it out! I adored it. I bounced some ideas back and forth with her, too—like she’s just amazing. This is something new, something that kinda makes me delve a little more into the writer in me, so I hope you guys like it! Enjoy!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Warning: SonOfSatan!Caleb/Reader (if that offends you, just don’t read), demons are prevalent and a problem, you get attacked, killing, blood, guns, swords, knives—literally just a lot LOLLL, Caleb’s nickname for you in this series—if we continue—is Phoenix

Word Count: 3K

Summary: A night that was supposed to be normal—routine—is flipped upside down when you’re attacked by a demon.

Devilish Expectations - Part One

You look at Mr. Arthur Winfred with boredom and slight amusement as he tries to explain to you why he’s making his fifth return of the week—and it’s only Wednesday. The older man had a habit of buying items, using them for whatever he needed, and bringing them back when they’ve fulfilled their purpose.

You understood a hustle—hell, you appreciated it. It didn’t hurt a multi-billion dollar cooperation if customers did things like this every now and again. But where you worked wasn’t that.

It’s a small tool and home improvement shop owned by an older couple who actually went to high school with the bald man in front of you. They told you all about how he used to do sly things like this back then and at first, it wasn’t a big deal to them.

Until he kept doing it.

The cycle began with one item every other month that then became at least three. Once he started making it an almost weekly occurrence, they had to put a pin in it—as they were losing profit and materials.

None of the workers and cashiers are allowed to let it slide after boss man made it explicitly clear to turn him away or threaten to call him if he didn’t heed the warning. It was a funny factoid to learn that despite the borderline scamming, Arthur was scared to death of Richard Leland.

The rule was clear: He’s still allowed to shop, but he is to keep his purchases. No returns.

“Mr, Winfred, you know I can’t accept this.” You look down at the torn box that contained a clearly used power drill. The least he could do was return the item in pristine condition to give himself a little credit, but his level of not-giving-a-damn was kind of admirable.

“I don’t know why! You accepted the last few items this week!” The wrinkles in his forehead shift as he tries to make his case, seemingly having this idea that he isn’t wrong.

“I accepted one item and that was only because Mr. Leland said I could,” you quirk a brown and push the box back to him. He was costing the Leland’s money with his scheming, no matter how funny you thought it was.

“So you’re not gonna take it?”

“I won’t. But I can call Richard—”

“Nope, nope,” he waves his hand in the air, sliding the box off the counter and under his arm. “You got it. I’ll just go somewhere where customers are heard and appreciated!”

“I’ll see you next week, Mr. Winfred!” you call out as he pushes the door open, causing the bell above it to jingle.

You huff out a breath as you look at the time. 8:17 PM. You need to get home soon. Like clockwork, your phone pings with a text message from your uncle.

Uncle G: You on your way home?

You: Not yet. I clock out at 8:30 today.

Uncle G: You know the rules. In the house before 9 and lock every door and window til I get back.

You: And don’t open the door for anyone, I know.

Uncle G: Good. I’ll see you in the morning.

Uncle Gabriel is the coolest and most secretive man you know. After your mother died for reasons he refuses to share until he believes you’re ready, he took his sister’s only daughter under his wing. He’s told you the story before—how he uplifted everything to move to this small city to give you a better life away from the town that harbored too many bad memories.

He’s been successful thus far and you couldn’t be more grateful for him.

There was a time where you once tried to figure out what happened to your mother, to all the family that you didn’t have besides Uncle G, but he was very serious in his words when he told you to stick to what you’re “supposed” to.

“The time will come where you will wish you didn’t know. Enjoy the bliss of ignorance while you have it.”

He’s dramatic like that, but you’re not some rebel who needs to go against his words so blatantly that it could put you at risk. You trust your uncle and he’s never steered you wrong. If he tells you not yet, then there was reason for it—but that didn’t mean you needed to conclude your own search entirely.

He didn’t know that you would pick the lock to his office to rummage through his notes and old material that unfortunately always led to a dead end. Every journal, note, map—it surprisingly did absolutely nothing for you when you tried to utilize the contents to seek answers.

Even if you wished there was another way, you’ve decided to settle for the reality: When the time comes for you to know—whatever it is—you can only hope that the damage it may cause you isn’t irreparable.

It’s your uncle being the protective man he is that you respect his choices. He used to believe he could keep such a crucial part of himself from you. One could only go so long with having pristine blades, fully loaded guns and ammunition, and new scars that showed up on the daily before the five year old they had stumbling around wanted to know what it was all for.

Demon Hunter, he told you with the straightest face. And you believed him. You had no reason not to.

But he decided to show you how serious he was when he took little you to witness him kill a demon for the first time in a controlled environment. You never forgot the way it screeched, hissed—how it taunted and teased with mirth in its eyes. It was a small thing, but it reeked and looked like something that came straight from Hell. Uncle G cut it down with precision, but he gave you his keynotes as he moved with grace.

They’ve always been among us.

They do not have fear.

They do not have mercy.

They will kill. And they will laugh as they do it.

Of course it stuck with you. Uncle G used to call himself a naive idiot for thinking it was better to keep you in the dark than it was to prepare you. He just wanted to let you grow up normal. You respected that. But you didn’t want to be like the rest of humanity who would fall victim to the unknown.

It was unfortunate that you couldn’t shout from the rooftops that demons were real, but Uncle made sense when he said, “Human beings are not reasonable creatures. They will target the ones trying to warn them rather than the things they are being warned about. It’s not selfish to keep it a secret. It is for our protection.”

They were starting to learn their existence though, as attacks started becoming more and more frequent around the country. Of course people tried to come up with “realistic” explanations for what the creatures were. While the damage being caused and the conversations sparked worried the both of you, there was only so much you could do as an experienced hunter and one who only knew how to take down a few small ones at a time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. and Mrs. Leland!” you call out shortly after 8:30 hits to the couple that are briefly organizing some things before they close up.

“Get home safe, hon!” Mrs. Leland’s pitchy voice bids you.

When you step outside, you’re greeted by the heady smell of rain and the discomfort it brings in humid temperatures. You hated summer, but you adored the rain it brought.

You look down at your phone on your way to the bus stop, concluding that seeing it being further away than you’d like, it made more sense to do the twenty minute walk over waiting.

With your headphones popped in your ear, you make quick work to text your best friend for whenever she gets off work tonight, too.

Me: Heading home. Call me later?

You expected to have to wait at least an hour, but she texted you surprisingly fast.

Viola: You got it, babe.

Smiling to yourself, you pick a playlist to begin your short journey. You admire how the quiet city passes you by, all the cars with individuals inside living and experiencing their own lives without a thought in the world that there is in fact something bigger than them out there.

You turn down the alleyway that gets you home quicker, thankful for the warm light the store owners keep lit when the sun goes down. It’s not long until you’re walking down the sidewalk that leads to the small home that’s big enough for you and Uncle G. Nothing is out of the ordinary as you hum to yourself.

Until you get closer to see the blood on the porch and the door that’s wide open.

“What the hell…” you mumble to yourself. You quickly look around to see no neighbors disturbed or any sense of urgency. And you don’t hear anything, but you know there’s a problem. Besides the blood, Uncle G was thorough and he’s never done anything reckless like leaving your door wide fucking open.

You reach in your bag for the small pocket knife you keep with you, switching the blade to be revealed as you carefully make your way to your residence. When you’re greeted by the stench that you’ve become too familiar with, worry consumes your heart with each foot that goes up the wooden steps.

“Uncle G?” you whisper, passing the blood trail that leads into your home and onto the floors you just mopped two day ago. The reality of how things can change so fast settles disturbingly in your gut.

There’s no light on besides the dim one on the pirch behind you and it doesn’t illuminate up your path well enough the deeper you go. Finding the switch on the wall to your left, you gasp when you see the house in complete disarray. The coffee table was flipped and broken, the TV was destroyed, and the doors to all the rooms were broken off the hinges.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think this was a home invasion. Because of the smell that never fails to make you gag, you know this wasn’t a human being’s doing.

You frantically reach into your pocket to grab your phone to see if you could reach your uncle at all. As you get ready to select his contact, you hear the loudest footsteps making their way up the back steps, then ramming into the door that leads to the backyard over and over as the sheer force makes the contents around you shake.

In shock, you freeze when the weak wood is breached, a slimy gray hand with absurd fingers trying to grab at anything it can. The putrid smell grows and the reality that there is a big fucking demon right outside confirms everything you were thinking.

Your home was found and invaded.

This is what Uncle G has prepared you for. You put your knife in your pocket, run to your bedroom and grab the gun he gifted you a few years ago, making sure it’s loaded before you come back out to lay every bullet you have into this thing.

The acrid smell of gunpowder stings your nose with every pull of trigger.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you exclaim. It doesn’t even seem to be phased.

The demon laughs as if to mock you in your attempts to kill it, not disturbed at all by the hot metal that should’ve at least slowed it down. The slide of the gun locks to reveal that you’re empty after you release your last few, but you have no time to try and reload when the horrid beast pushes into the space it now makes tight, growling with teeth so sharp it makes your skin crawl.

It comes at you full speed with as much of it that its heavy weight allows, knocking down any and everything around and in its path. You dodge its gnarly grasp, running toward the kitchen to retrieve the katana like blade your Uncle hid for situations like this that had the potential to arise.

You used to think it was ridiculous to hide weapons in the house—that demons would never find where you rested your head. It’s working out for you now.

Well, you thought it would.

As you charge to get your first swing at the tall demon’s ugly face, it grins with pride when it stops your attack with its bare hand. Black blood pools down the weapon as you look up at it in shock. You‘re stunned by it’s lack of reaction to the pain, how it accepts the deep cut in its palm.

You’re not ready. Not for whatever the hell this is.

You try to make a run for it, remembering Uncle G’a words.

“There is no shame in fleeing. If it means you will live to defeat another, then flee.”

But it’s fast, grabbing you by the back of your shirt with its other bloated hand. Lifting you into the air, you screech when it slams you back down, completely knocking the wind out of you. You cough heavily, struggling to bring your breath back.

You can’t even move because of the sharp pain from being thrown into the hardwood floor without care.

“No,” you mumble when it moves closer, the mighty hand coming down to lift you up by the throat. You try to beat on its arm as your feet dangle, but you’re so weak and it’s stronger than anything you’ve ever known.

Your legs can’t reach far enough to kick and your fists are just as useless as the katana. With loud bangs, you’re hit against the wall three times.

Pain blooms all along your body.

Was this it? Dying before you even had the chance to try?

Just as you start to accept this unfortunate fate because you’re not really in the position to do anything else, a fist surrounded by a mix of blue and orange fire tears through the skin and muscle of the monster. You never thought that today would be the day you’d learn that the smell of a demon’s sizzling flesh is even worse than what it is on its own.

For the first time, it yells in pain, its grip loosing to drop you entirely.

Dry heaving on the floor, the sounds of struggle mingle and become a blur in the background.

“Master…Caleb?” the demon questions as if betrayed before roaring in determination.

Master? A person sent this?

You don’t bother watching, already hearing that whatever is happening is something you need to get away from. You need to find your Uncle now.

As they fight, the person who you assume to be Caleb is speaking, but you’re in so much pain that it’s incoherent. With all the strength you can muster, you start to drag yourself toward your phone that fell from you during the struggle.

But you freeze when the noise around you does the same.

You turn your head as best you can, seeing the demon of that magnitude slain in record time. Its blood soils and blackens your floor, inching closer to you the more it pools beneath the gross body.

The outline of the man beside the dead demon is blurry due to the throbbing in your skull. He starts to approach you and panic fuels in your already damaged body as you wonder if you would’ve rather tried to take on the creature or this Caleb with flames in his hands that seems to have delivered it to your front door in the first place.

You weren’t hallucinating, you were sure. You felt the flames near your face when he punched through it.

He had to be a demon, too. Being so unperturbed about everything as he didn’t even utter a sign of struggle. Being called its damn master. Flames.

You’ve seen demons fight each other. But why over you? Why in your house?

His presence becomes overwhelming behind you. With your arm that rests on the floor, you struggle to use your fingers to dig your knife out of your pocket. Boots thud on the hardwood floor and the smell of something sweet battles with the smell of the dead demon when he gets closer.

With the brief second that passes, you believe he’s crouched. It’s like you can feel him studying you closely. So with your last bit of fight, you thrust your knife out and into him. Weakly, you grunt as your hand drops when you push out your final shot of effort. The man doesn’t even react before he flips you on your back, forcing you look up at him.

Even past your disorientation, you can tell he’s handsome. Damn prick.

You smile to yourself to see that your blade did in fact make contact, lodged right in his shoulder. You’re proud of yourself even if it doesn’t seem to have bothered the brute.

“That’s no way to thank the man who just saved your life, now is it?” he teases, making you clench your jaw. Similar to that demon, he doesn’t bat an eye when he pulls out the blade. You want to be relieved that his blood is red rather than black, but a strong demon can deceive. You’ve heard of the shapeshifter ones. Maybe it’s making you see things.

“Can you move? Well, anymore?” he tilts his head with a smirk. “Seems like you’ve exhausted yourself in that final attempt.”

You don’t offer him any response, simply scowling at with all you can. Trying to to seem intimidating despite your state is all you’ve got going for your right now.

“You want me to leave, don’t you?” he chuckles breathlessly when you barely nod.

“It’s too bad that we need to talk. Us and your uncle. I’ll take care of you until he gets back.”

You want to fight, to stand and handle him until it kills you—demand how he knows about your uncle. But the nauseating ache in your bones won’t even let you try.

“Rest, Phoenix. I got it.”

The gentleness of his tone is the last thing you hear before your eyes involuntarily shut.

A/N: Be COMPLETELY honest with me. KEEP GOING OR NAHHH!?!? I know stories like this isn’t everyone cup of tea either, so if you don’t want to be tagged, please don’t hesitate to let me know! I completely understand.

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @asiaticapple @ashirelle

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lads x you #lads caleb #lads

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saywhat-politics · 2 months ago

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By The Associated Press and AZFamily Digital News Staff

Published: Apr. 23, 2025 at 2:27 PM MST|Updated: Apr. 23, 2025 at 3:32 PM MST

PHOENIX (AZFamily/AP) — A dozen states, including Arizona, are suing the Trump administration to stop its tariff policy, claiming it is unlawful and has brought chaos to the American economy.

The lawsuit said the policy put in place by President Donald Trump has left the national trade policy subject to Trump’s “whims rather than the sound exercise of lawful authority.” Officials are challenging Trump’s claim that he could arbitrarily impose tariffs based on the International Emergency Economic Powers Act.

The Trump administration has implemented tariffs on cars, steel, and aluminum, as well as 25% import taxes on most goods from Canada and Mexico. The White House has also imposed 10% tariffs on nearly all imports, and a huge 145% duty on goods from China, although smartphones and computers have been exempt. China has retaliated with 125% duties on U.S. goods.

“President Trump’s insane tariff scheme is not only economically reckless – it is illegal,” Arizona Attorney General Kris Mayes said in a statement. “Arizona cannot afford President Trump’s massive tax increase. No matter what the White House claims, tariffs are a tax that will be passed on to Arizona consumers.”

#donald trump #second term #tariffs #lawsuit

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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"Passed in February [2024], a massive subsidy program to help Indian households install rooftop solar panels in their homes and apartments aims to provide 30 gigawatt hours of solar power to the nation’s inventory.

The scheme, called PM-Surya Ghar, will provide free electricity to 10 million homes according to estimates, and the designing of a national portal—a sort of Healthcare.gov for solar panels—will streamline the process of installation and payment.

The program was cooked up because India had fallen woefully behind on its planned installations for rooftop solar. In many parts of the subcontinent, the sun is absolutely brutal and relentless, but by 2022, Indian rooftop solar power generation topped out at 11 gigawatts, which was 29 gigawatts under a national target set a decade ago.

Part of the challenge, Euronews reports, is that approval from various agencies and departments—as many as 21 different signatures in some cases—was needed to place a solar array on your house. Aside from this bureaucratic nightmare, the cost of installation was often higher than $5,000; more than half the average yearly income for a working Indian urbanite.

Under PM-Surya Ghar, subsidies for a 2-kilowatt solar array will cover as much as 60% of the installation costs, falling to 40% for arrays 3 kilowatts or higher. Loans set at around 7% interest rates will help families in need get started. 750 billion Indian rupees, or $9 billion has been set aside for the project.

Even in New Delhi, which can be covered in clouds and smog for days, solar users report saving hundreds during summer time on their electricity costs, with one apartment shaving $700 every month off energy bills.

PM-Surya Ghar is also seen as having the potential to cause a boom in the Indian solar market. Companies no longer have to go running around for planning and permitting requirements, and the government subsidies ensure their customer base can grow beyond the limits of household income."

-Good News Network, April 10, 2024

#india #new delhi #solar #solar panels #clean energy #solar power #renewables #rooftop solar #climate policy #climate action #climate hope #renewable energy #good news #hope

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angel4astraea · 11 months ago

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hnnggg price with an offputting/strange wife

ཐི♡ཋྀ let's face it, price has seen a lot in his life but when he clicked with u, he's holding on for liiiiife

ཐི♡ཋྀ the amount of strange things he's seen you do, like the time you shouted at rather unpleasant neighbour that you texted the spiders their address, he's not phased anymore.

ཐི♡ཋྀ he tries to keep up with the gossip from your workplace and friend group but it's so vast. god forbid he mixes up clarissa from HR with alyssa from your friend group. (the names sound too similar)

ཐི♡ཋྀ somehow he always is invited in schemes, legal ones of course.

ཐི♡ཋྀ he had to explain to the lads that he couldn't join them at the bar because his wife wanted to stake out her friend's boyfriend's house because she thought he was cheating (he was).

"wait, wait, what? i thought we were just staying here for an hour, honey?" price spoke quietly, checking the time on his phone.

5 minutes after ten pm. it was getting late by now.

"well no, did you see the movement outside? they're smoking.." you respond, using the binoculars to spy on them. "oh god, is that..."

you gasp softly and pull out your phone, taking pictures as proof. well, until the guy got up suspiciously. you panic and start the engine, pulling off down the street with giggles.

"wanna stop off at that place you like as a thank you for coming with me?" you ask, putting your phone in the console.

he'd never say no to you.

ཐི♡ཋྀ speaking of, the boys (mostly soap and gaz) love hearing about the gossip. working in a military base and not having much social lives themselves catch up sometimes. hearing about all the dramatic stuff happening can cheer them up and are eager to hear back about what happened.

ཐི♡ཋྀ ghost, on the other hand, is amazed that his captain even settled down in the first place. he didn't expect to have such a talkative woman across the table.

"wait, so, she actually did it?" gaz laughed into his hand, eagerly waiting for the details of what transpired the previous week. soap had been nearby, sipping his beer while listening.

"she did! she actually got backshots from that guy who was in HR! can you believe that?" you swirl your drink with your straw, "i can't believe she did that twink in..."

the men laughed softly, price raising his eyebrows. that was the second time he heard that but all the same, he acted surprised to let you know he was listening.

ghost well... he shook his head. he couldn't believe he was listening to the gossip session willingly. though, it was better than the program he was going to watch tonight.

ཐི♡ཋྀ price, who watches his wife sing the song "slut me out 2" loudly in the kitchen while making a grilled cheese.

ཐི♡ཋྀ the strange walk too that the artist does on stage if he recalled correctly too. that was enough to make the man chuckle. it was barely 10 in the morning and you had your "zoomies" (you'll need a nap after)

ཐི♡ཋྀ he would never trade anything for his strange wife.

#headcannon #reader #x reader #fanfiction #fluff #cod mw2 #cod x reader #fem reader #genshin x reader #john price #captain price #price x reader

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yazzydream · 2 years ago

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Geto's Massacre Incident Report (EN Translation)

Jujutsu Technical College Tokyo School

To the Dean and Teachers

September 28, 2007

Assistant Supervisor Misato Shokinji

Investigative Report on the Murder Incident Regarding Our School's Student

I will report about the subject matter as follows.

Subject of Investigation: Tokyo School 3rd Year, Suguru Geto

1. Incident Case Record

Date and Time of Occurrence: September 23, 2007 around 9:00 PM Place of Occurrence: ██ City, ██ Prefecture (former ██ village) Discovery of Occurrence: Discovered due to the assistant manager traveling to the target site when the mission operative (Geto) was late. Five days had passed since Geto was dispatched. Damage Status: Confirmed deaths of 112 residents of former ██ village.

2. Summary of Geto's Mission

Investigate former ██ village In the village, getting spirited away has been passed down from generation to generation as a folklore. However, in reality, incidents of strange deaths of villagers frequently occur-- according to the client's information and can otherwise be understood through research. Since it was surmised that 80% of the cases were caused by a Cursed Spirit, Geto was ordered to conduct a more detailed on-site investigation and to exorcise the Cursed Spirit in question.

3. Behavior / Conjecture

On September 18, Geto entered the former ██ village alone. The mission's outline was provided by the assistant manager a week before departure. There was no prior request regarding this matter from the person himself and it was the Technical College that ordered him to act alone. The reason is, it was judged in deference to Geto's own experience points, and that it was feasible for him to work alone. In addition, the target Curse was surmised to be about a Grade 1; lower than Geto’s. In addition, there is a shortage of jujutsu sorcerers. Presumably at this time, there were no deviations from a usual mission. He didn't display any behavior at the time that he was scheming something. 9:00 am on the appointed day, we departed from the Tokyo school by car. Geto and the assistant manager (Shokinji), just the two, moved together. The target village is a village without any public transportation. It's impossible to approach the village by car, as entry is via a single narrow road. About a kilometer away from the village, near Kamiya intersection, Geto was dropped off and we parted ways. Around 4:00 p.m., Geto started to act alone. The duration of completion of the mission this time is from September 18th~September 19th; at most three days. Upon completion, I was supposed to be contacted as usual. (However, it was not a strict promise. Because of that, it's believed the discovery of this incident was delayed. Matters Requiring Improvement) With the assumption he'll be staying in the village, we'd made arrangements with the client belonging to the fire brigade (Kiyotaka Kagetani, 43 years old, living with mother) to rent a room in his house. However, details such as if he actually lodged with them, remain unknown, as both the client and his mother have died.

The following is the mission's investigative report that was conveyed by the assistant manager from inside a moving car. In the village, there is folklore about being "spirited away." There is even literature that remains. Passed down from the Edo period... It's a common enough legend. However, even aside recent years, It's characterized by how it continues to feel like a natural happening. There have been five cases in the last ten years. March 19, 1998, A 26-year-old woman disappeared. May 7, 2001, A 67-year-old man died abnormally. July 24, 2002, A 4-year-old girl disappeared. August 4, 2005, A 57-year-old man and a 46-year-old woman were found to have died abnormally. September 13, 2007, A 46-year-old man died abnormally. As features, ・Both disappearances and abnormal deaths occurred within a 50-meter radius of a limestone cave, which is considered to be a sacred area to the village. ・Young women and children → Disappeared、Middle-aged and older or men → Found died abnormally. ・The ones who died abnormally have no heads. From these and other such commonalities, it was conjectured that it is the action of a Cursed Spirit inhabiting the vicinity of the limestone cave. So, in order to confirm the truth from the legend, it is believed Geto investigated from inside the village. It is estimated that from the time he began to act alone, around 4:00 p.m. on September 18th, he opened the case, investigated, and collected the target Cursed Spirit. However, since all the villagers involved have died, there is no one left to testify. Only, if this matter was caused by a Cursed Spirit, it is certain Geto achieved destroying--

[–cut off]

　On September 19th (time unknown), a village massacre incident occurred. 　112 Villagers died. In the subsequent arson, 70% of the village was burned down. 　(On September 23rd, when the College headed to the site, there was not a single living person left in the village. There is no eyewitness testimony.) 　An investigation into the cause of death determined they were all victims of Cursed Spirits. 　In addition, according to an inspection of the residuals, it was concluded to be that of Suguru Geto's Curse Manipulation. 　It is believed that after killing the villagers, Geto set fire to the village and fled. 　Regarding this incident, Geto's motives remain unknown. 　Village resident registration information did not reveal anyone who had a blood relation with Geto, nor anyone with personal involvement with him prior to the mission. 　Note that, since there is information that there was a lineage of jujutsu sorcerers in this village, it is being further investigated to see if they share any attributes with Geto and whether that had anything to do with his motives.

4. Punishment Here On, etc.

Suguru Geto is even now at large. In accordance to Article 9 of Jujutsu Regulations, he is subject to execution as a Curse User.

End.

#jujutsu kaisen #my translations #my jjk #suguru geto #you can totally feel that the manager is in disbelief over what happened lol #feel free to correct me on any outstanding errors #i might come back and pick at it a little tbf #jjk season 2 #nanako and mimiko #jjkdaily

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rvlse · 6 months ago

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Hiii! Could you write something with Earthspark Bumblebee?

A new years kiss perchance? Could lead to other activities.

Nsfw or sfw up to you! 😼

Hi Hi! Omg, my first request, I can't believe it.🤩

Okay, so I wasn't sure what gender you wanted, so I tried to make this gender neutral.

New Year's Kiss (BUMBLEBEE ES X GN! READER)

WARNINGS: None, this is SFW... implied freakiness tho

New Year's Day. Everybody was super excited, planning new year resolutions and praying for a good 2025.

Robby, Mo, and the other terrans had been busy all day making food and preparing games for the evening.

Bee, however, had other plans. He’d been secretly crushing on his cybertronian team member, Y/N. Every time you’d come near him, he'd go nearly insane trying to contain himself and not say something ridiculous.

At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if you thought he was crazy. He might as well be, with how often you plagued his thoughts.

So, he finally wanted to do something about his emotions and ask you out on a date. Tonight. He was jittery just thinking about it.

The terrans knew all about his crush on you, which somehow made everything better and worse at the same time. They constantly had something to say, but they had helped him plan his night out.

If all goes well, he'd ask you out, and then you’d fall in love with him, and then-

“Bee?” Mo called up to him. He turned his head down to acknowledge her.

“Mo, what's up?” He tried to act like he hadn't just been fantasizing. Mo raised an eyebrow knowingly.

“Check the time. Now or never,” she teased, putting her small hands on her hips. Bee sighed, and got up from the dusty floor next to the Malto house. It was 11:47 PM… time for his plan to begin.

As he saw you sitting there in the barn, talking with Twitch, he swore his spark skipped a couple beats. You were just… jaw dropping to him. Perfect. Everything he’d ever need and more. He took a couple slow steps towards you, scared he would mess up the first part of his little scheme.

“Uhm- Y/N?” He almost mumbled, bringing a servo to your shoulder. You turned your head with a smile on your faceplates.

“Hey, Bee, what’s going on?” You greeted him, a happy twinkle in your optics. He almost short-circuited at the sight. He nervously glanced at Twitch, who nodded excitedly and shot him two thumbs up.

Gulping, he took a deep breath.

“You mind coming with me to the roof? I got something to show you,” he managed to say calmly.

You, of course, nodded and got up without a second thought. It was one thing he loved about you.

“So, I kind of… put something together. With the help of some friends,” he rushed his words as he climbed onto the black asphalt shingles, giving a glance at the various gifts he’d put up here earlier today.

They were all cutely laid out on a fluffy cow pattern blanket. Mo and Twitch had said you would love it. He didn’t know any better, so he agreed. Now, he could only hope for the best.

He watched as you clumsily clambered onto the roof, taking a second to regain your balance.

He turned to the presents and took a deep breath in. Hopefully this will all go according to plan and-

“OOF-” He spluttered as a weight crashed into him, almost knocking him over the edge of the roof. Bewildered, he looked down only to see you squeezing the spark out of him with a big bear hug.

“Bee, you did all this for me?” You exclaimed, and he brought his servos around to your back to hug you back.

“I wanted to do something special for you…” he murmured, his gaze trained on your face lovingly. You slowly let him go and tumbled over to the cute blanket, sitting down and examining each gift closely.

He’d gotten you a crate of high grade energon, an extremely oversized cow plushie, and an absolutely massive bouquet of your favorite flowers.

He watched you as you marveled over each item, praising him and thanking him over and over again. He was so happy you liked it. At first, he was worried it wasn’t enough, or that maybe it was too much. The relief he felt was like no other.

He checked his internal time. 11:58 PM. Almost time.

“Y/N… Listen, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but these last few months…” He watched you stand up, “you… you’re all I think about. It’s really distracting, sometimes-”

He paused.

“Point is…”

11:59 PM.

“Y/N, I-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because your lips were on his, preventing his ability to speak. His optics were wide, and his servos hovered in the air, unsure of where to put them.

And then he realized exactly what was happening, and his optics fluttered shut, a shot of adrenaline rushing to his core. His servos found your waist, gripping your metal firmly. God, this was too much.

12:00 AM.

With several bangs, shimmering fireballs of dazzling colors were shot into the starry midnight sky, illuminating the Malto farm.

Bee didn’t even notice the fireworks, his circuits entranced by the feeling of your frame in his servos, the feeling of his glossa in your intake. Screams of joy and celebration were heard from all around the town, emphasizing how special of a moment New Years really was.

He kissed you for what seemed like hours, his digits gently groping your body. When you finally pulled away for a breath, the fireworks had died down and the only chatter he could hear was from the Malto family inside the barn underneath them.

He stared longingly, pathetically, into your optics, his jaw slack in wonder. How were you so pretty? So perfect? How had you managed to silence and turn him into a horny mess with just a kiss?

“I love you,” he blurted, hot energon rushing to his face. Frag, did he seriously just say that? Too soon, too soo-

“I love you, too, Bee,” you replied, bringing your own servo up to cup his blue flushed cheek.

Yeah, he just pissed himself.

HAPPY NEW YEAR I'M WISHING YOU ALL LOVE, LUCK, HEALTH, WEALTH, AND PROSPERITY!🥳

#earthspark bumblebee x reader #transformers earthspark #bumblebee #transformers #transformers x reader #cybertronians #gender neutral reader #sfw little blog #new year #happy new year

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vaguely-humanoid-form · 5 months ago

Text

maybe I haven't been looking at the sky

post-sonic 3 fic about stone. stobotnik too. oh yeah baby it's time for some pain.

word count is a bit under 3.6k

featuring: grief like so much grief, lots of hurt, a smidgen of comfort, second-person narration, so many goddamn timestamps, did I mention hurt, acknowledgement of shadow the hedgehog being like an actual teenager, shadow the hedgehog being kind of like a weird cat, the smallest hint of sonadow, and, of course, hurt.

have fun! >:3

p.s.: the title is from Maud Gone by Car Seat Headrest because I like that song and it fits too well

June 24, 2024, 3:26 AM

You wake up.

You don't immediately open your eyes, though, because if you stay in the darkness, you can pretend that everything is alright. You can pretend that nothing's changed.

You can pretend he's still here.

You open your eyes.

It's still dark, and you can only just barely make out the hotel room ceiling above you.

You can hear the soft pitter-patter of the London rain against the window.

You spare a glance at the clock on the bedside table.

You know you won't be able to fall asleep.

Four hours of rest is enough, anyway.

You get up.

You take a shower.

Your reflection in the mirror seems to bore holes through your skull.

You brush your teeth, and you get dressed.

You work, because you have nothing else to do.

You go to get shitty hotel coffee and breakfast.

On instinct, you grab two cups.

You decide you don't want coffee anymore.

June 24, 2024, 12:58 PM

Your lunch is tasteless, and not just because it's British.

You think you would've laughed at that only 24 hours ago.

You don't think about if he would've.

You don't have much to work on.

Your hands itch. Everything feels so still. So static.

You try not to think about it. You try to think about anything else.

You think about how cold it is for a summer day.

You think about the smell of rain on the sidewalk.

You don't look at the sky.

You count your steps to fill your mind with something, anything.

It takes you precisely 673 steps to get back to your hotel from the lunch spot.

You don't think about how odd it feels to walk so slowly.

You don't think about how lonely you are.

You don't think about the Crab sunk in the Thames.

You don't think about him.

June 24, 2024, 7:31 PM

It's been 24 hours since it happened.

You feel empty.

You feel empty and sweaty and gross despite the wind chill and you shower again.

Your reflection stares at you again. It accuses you, blames you. It says it's your fault.

In its eyes, you can almost see something like him.

You cover the mirror.

You get yourself ready for bed, and you lay there under the hotel duvet, air conditioner blasting, and you shiver, but you don't get up to change it.

The Doctor prefers it cold, so–

You stare at the ceiling. It looks blurrier than usual.

You don't fall asleep for another few hours.

June 30, 2024, 1:08 PM

Montana is certainly better than London. At least, you'd say so.

It was a good idea to keep paying the lease on the Mean Bean. It's something you know.

You can't decide whether the familiarity makes you feel better or worse.

At least G.U.N. doesn't want anything to do with you, which you are more than welcome to.

Your “house,” if it can even be called that, what with its studio apartment style, in the back of the Mean Bean feels foreign to you, but the warmth feels nice.

The café stays cold.

You say it's to save money on the heating bill.

You were always good at pretending.

July 23, 2024, 4:23 PM

It's been exactly one month.

The hedgehog visits you today.

You know you should be plotting against him. You should be planning your revenge. You should be scheming to get rid of him once and for all–

But you're just so tired.

And in the end, he didn't want what happened, either.

He smiles at you as he orders a hot chocolate, but you can see the tightness in his face.

You bring up the other hedgehog, Shadow, and he falters for a moment.

You don't smile, not really, but your face softens as you come to an understanding.

You can't talk about him, but listening to Sonic talk about Shadow helps to dull the pain for a moment.

Before he leaves, Sonic gives you a sad smile, and tells you he's sorry about the Doctor.

Your throat closes up.

You stand still as the door opens and closes.

Your hands are shaking as you close.

August 16, 2024, 1:15 PM

Ever since he visited you the first time, Sonic has come back every other day for a hot chocolate and a chat.

The kid seems to always have something to say. You suppose he's hyperactive in many ways.

He's nice to you, and a part of you hates it, but you can't get yourself to get rid of the kid. Even if he says he stops by to check on how you're doing, you know it's helpful for him, too.

Deep down, you feel guilty for commiserating with the enemy. The guilt is something you opt to push down, though, because it makes you think of him.

You're interrupted when Sonic walks through the door with his human quasi-father in tow. Tom, you think his name is.

If you're honest, he looks like shit. His arm is in a cast and he's walking with a slight limp. The bags under his eyes are nothing to scoff at, either, but he gives you a soft smile.

He only orders a water, and drinks it slowly as Sonic chatters at his side about the shop.

You know he's been worried about Tom, and you're glad to see he's alright, but a twinge of resentment bites at you.

Why couldn't have you gotten a happy ending, too?

August 27, 2024, 1:00 PM

He's back again, and he brought his friends: the fox and the echidna.

You freeze for a moment when you see the fox. The conversation you had with him plays in the back of your mind and you relentlessly shoo it away.

The echidna is still annoying, but it's funny to see him order a shot of espresso and then immediately choke when he takes one sip.

When you're not trying to fight each other, they're good kids. You appreciate the effort they're making, at the very least.

It's nice to have noise to fill up the air. Helps quiet the thoughts a little bit, especially when the shop doesn't get much traffic these days.

Chatting with the alien children gives you something to do, too, since you can't do latte art anymore.

Your hands start shaking the moment you try.

So, you listen to them talk: teasing each other, making bad jokes, ranting about this or that.

When they leave, they all say goodbye, and while the silence is still suffocating, you're finding it slightly easier to breathe.

September 10, 2024, 8:01 AM

It's his birthday today, and you can't get yourself out of bed.

You can't even properly cry. Quiet tears roll down your face and stain your pillow.

You can't get back to sleep, either. You don't know if you would even want to. You don't know if you could bear to see his face in your dreams.

You stare at the brick wall, bare of photos or posters or plans, and you can't get yourself to look away.

September 10, 2024, 1:30 PM

The door to your “house” opens and you jump from your bed.

Team Sonic broke into your house.

You would be angry. You should be angry. But you can't muster up the energy.

Sonic says something that you don't register, and Knuckles proudly holds out a messily-made cupcake in front of him.

When you get a closer look…

Oh.

It's for the Doctor.

When you look up, Sonic is giving you that same sad smile he did the first time he came to the cafe. He says he knows how you've been going through a hard time, and that since today is the Doctor’s birthday, he wanted to do something special.

It takes everything in your being to not burst out sobbing in front of the kids.

You all sit around the cupcake and sing to it.

You falter on the name. They don't seem to mind.

You can't bear to eat any of the cupcake, so you stick it in the fridge.

The second those kids are out the door, you cry so hard you can barely stand.

September 12, 2024, 1:12 PM

Tails bursts through the shop door, startling you and the single customer sitting at a table in the corner.

He starts talking, so fast you can only make out a few words.

Before you can tell him to slow down, Sonic runs in after him, smiling brighter than the sun and presenting to you…

…Shadow?

You nearly short-circuit.

How is he alive?

You ask as much, and they all shrug their shoulders, minus Shadow who stands there staring at you without expression.

Apparently, Shadow has some sort of minor amnesia. He can't remember much immediately before…

Well.

But, still, he's alive.

And that sparks something deep in your chest.

You wouldn't dare to believe anything. You know he's… gone.

But a tiny, near molecular voice in the back of your head says what if?

And you can't give into it, but the voice, small as it is, nestles itself in between your cerebrum and cerebellum.

Back to reality, the alien children have decided that Shadow will stay with you.

Their home doesn't have the room for yet another anthropomorphic hedgehog in it, apparently.

You don't seem to have a say in the matter.

You can't say you mind too much.

September 12, 2024, 4:25 PM

You take him in and set up a futon in a clear area of your house.

You give him a tour, which really isn't much considering there are only two actual rooms.

He follows you around, nodding or shaking his head slightly whenever you ask him a question. He's quiet. Shy, even.

You make a simple dinner in silence, and he mumbles a thank you when you hand him his plate.

He falls asleep while you're working, and when you get a closer look at him…

…Did he always look that young?

Minus the 50 years he spent in stasis, he couldn't have been more than 15. Maybe 16, if you're being generous.

His brows furrow in his slumber, painfully familiar, and you're suddenly reminded of the fact that he is, in a way, a Robotnik.

You draw in a sharp breath and blink away the stinging in your eyes.

Maybe you'll sleep early.

September 23, 2024, 1:08 PM

Three months.

It's been three months since it happened, and the pain has only barely dulled.

You're starting to wonder if the coping mechanism of bottling everything up as much as you possibly can isn't working as well as you thought it would.

Shadow has opened up more, at least. He's still quiet and sometimes stares at you, wide-eyed and expressionless, but you've had a good few conversations with him.

You've shown him how to operate some of the coffee machines, even if he isn't quite tall enough to reach them very well on his own.

Every day you spend with him, the more it sets in just how young he is.

For the first week or two after… what happened, you resented him for being a part of it all. But now?

You just see a scared kid.

Team Sonic has been back to the Mean Bean a few times since Shadow arrived. He's incredibly socially awkward and is not one for idle chit-chat, but you've seen a hint of a smile on his face a couple times, and that's enough for you.

His memories have been returning slowly. Despite the voice screaming at you at every waking moment, you don't want to hold out hope. You don't want to be crushed again when the inevitable reality hits you that he is really gone.

You remember when it happened, when three months ago, you watched the Doctor dedicate his last words to you.

You remember going through every stage of grief and then some all at once.

You remember thinking you were done with that process, then, after it hit you like a freight train in all of 20 seconds.

You checked into a hotel, perfectly calm. You went up the elevator, fine. You unlocked the door to your room, ok.

Then you shut the door behind you and realized you'd accidentally gotten a room with two beds.

You remember the taste of bile at the back of your throat.

You blink and you're back where you were, alien children conversing at the counter in your coffee shop. You realize you've been holding the same empty mug and towel for a while.

When you set them down, your palm is indented from the fabric.

October 12, 2024, 2:00 PM

Shadow has warmed up to everything a lot more since he arrived last month.

You've seen him shoot back straight espresso like it was water, which drove Knuckles insane, and, for whatever reason, made you glow with pride.

He's slowly started asking for things directly: meals, things to do, what have you. You finally got to make that revenge guac for you both. It was great.

You had to try to not choke on it.

He's insanely excited for Halloween. It's refreshing to see him like this. He's usually a pretty doom-and-gloom type of guy, and there's a pain within him that you resonate with. But right now, he looks so happy, asking if you can decorate the cafe for the holiday. Of course, you do.

His memory is almost fully restored, too. You're happy about it, but it also instills an intense anxiety in you.

You aren't sure which situation it is that's making you feel like this.

Maybe both.

It'll be 4 months in a little under a week.

You don't think it's stopped hurting.

When you get a moment to be alone, it all comes rushing back at you, and suddenly you feel like you did when it first happened.

But the hurting isn't that bad all the time. Not anymore.

It settles in your chest when you're distracted by something, knocking on your ribs when you're reminded of it.

It's constant, like a bruise that just won't go away.

But it's manageable.

What is less manageable, however, is the voice.

Every day that passes, the voice gets louder, crawling further into your brain and making itself known.

Hell, it's even shown up in your dreams.

As annoying as it is, though, it makes you think about your grief beyond what you had been.

Whenever you have one of the dreams, you wake up and shower, and sit in the water and think.

Mostly, your brain has focused on his absence. The fact that he's… gone.

But, then you start to wonder.

Would this have happened if you'd told him? Would he be gone if he knew how you felt?

Would that have even changed anything?

You have to stop before you spiral too far. Asking questions is dangerous.

You convince yourself that it's just the shower water running down your cheeks, even if your eyes burn.

October 23, 2024, 1:02 AM

You wake up.

You don't immediately open your eyes, though, because if you stay in the darkness, you can pretend that everything is alright. You can pretend that nothing's changed.

You can pretend he's still here.

You open your eyes.

The room is not silent. Faraway thunder rumbles in the sky and Shadow lightly snores from where he sleeps.

It's four months now, and you've suddenly forgotten how to feel numb.

Your hypothesis about emotional suppression seems to be correct.

You sit up.

You stare at your hands.

You can't breathe.

At first, you think someone is trying to kill you. That's the obvious answer.

But then you feel the tear drop down to the tip of your nose.

And then you break.

You lose all sense of time as your vision is flooded. You hiccup between sobs and you know you've always been an ugly crier.

What makes it worse is when you feel a hesitant hand on your shoulder, and look over to see Shadow looking at you with so much concern and understanding.

You don't want to cry in front of him. You're meant to be strong for him, for this kid that you've grown closer to, for this kid that you want to take care of.

But when he reaches up to hug you, all you can do is fall apart on his shoulder. And you feel so bad, because no kid should ever have to be the one to comfort an adult, but the tears keep coming and you can't make them stop.

You don't know how long you sat there, weeping on him, when it seems the well has run dry.

You try to mutter an apology to him, but he gets up and walks away. You stare at nothing in front of you and curse yourself for making this child have to support you, but he comes back with a glass of water, averting his eyes nervously.

You think back to the first week he was here.

He'd had a nightmare and woke up screaming and crying. When you'd gone to comfort him, you brought him a glass of water.

You had awkwardly stuttered about how crying can be dehydrating in a sad attempt to make him feel better, social skills be damned, and it had worked.

That was the first time he'd really smiled at you.

And now he's doing the same for you.

He says something similar about water and dehydration and you can't entirely understand what he's saying, but you smile as best you can through the tears in your eyes and take the glass with a choked thank you.

He lights up at the affirmation, and you feel a warmth bloom in your chest as you realize that you are to Shadow as Tom is to Sonic.

You gently ruffle the top of Shadow's head, the corner of your mouth quirking up. He flusters at the action and tilts his head, almost like a cat, you think, sporting a ghost of a smirk.

You tell him you're alright now and to go back to bed, and you yourself fall asleep with the knowledge that you are this weird alien hedgehog’s weird quasi-father, and you don't mind it one bit.

October 31, 2024, 5:30 PM

Turns out Tom and Maddie made a costume for Shadow. Sonic had apparently told them about something Shadow said about it after one of his trips to the Mean Bean, and they'd decided to surprise him. Needless to say, he was ecstatic. Others may not have registered the level of happiness he was at, but you know Shadow.

You know your boy.

Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails somehow convinced Shadow to go trick-or-treating with them. You encouraged him, too. He seemed a bit nervous, and even sort of embarrassed, but he ultimately agreed, smiling as he waved goodbye to you.

This was the first time in a while that you've been really alone. The pain starts to catch up to you and for a moment, you feel incredibly empty. Your throat begins to tighten.

You take a deep breath as the grief curls up once more, resting for the moment. It makes you cold.

You make yourself a simple latte and draw a little jack-o'-lantern on the top. Your hands still shake, but it's not too much to deal with.

You doubt anyone else will come into the shop. You already planned to close early for Halloween, and the sign at the front tells as much to any prospective customers.

You turn to begin dealing with the back counter, cleaning the machines and putting things back to where they belong. You've grown fond of the routine.

Then you hear the door open, and turn around to see Shadow running into the shop. His eyes are bright, brighter than you've ever seen them.

He tells you that he remembers everything now. He says, excited—God, it makes you happy to see him excited—that his memory is back and he can tell you what happened to–

The door opens again.

You look up.

He's there.

He's alive.

You stand there for a moment, completely still, completely silent.

You almost scream.

You leap over the counter, running and tackling him in the tightest hug you've ever given anyone.

He smells horrible. Like smoke and sulfur and dirt and grime and he's alive and he's holding onto you just as strong as you are and the voice is cheering and exploding into fireworks in your brain and the pain squeezes your heart in its hands and he's alive.

You don't even notice when the tears begin to fall. You only notice his pulse, alive, his breath, alive, his arms around you, alive, alive, alive.

When you finally pull back after what feels like both an eternity and a millisecond, you get a look at his face, and you put it in your hands and holy shit he is alive.

He looks absolutely disheveled and it's possibly the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, and then he smiles, wide, genuine, warm, so rare, so real, and then he leans forward and kisses you and you can't think anymore.

He tastes awful and you've never loved him more than you do now.

#ripley doesn't say stuff #ripley doesn't know how to write #stobotnik #sonic 3 #sonic the hedgehog #sonic movie 3 #agent stone #shadow the hedgehog #ivo robotnik #fanfic #im really proud of this one #made my sibling want me dead (this is a good thing to me)#im having a little bit of brainrot #you know how it is #genuinely though this might be one of the best things ive ever written???#which is crazy considering its sonic the fucking hedgehog fanfiction #but what can i say im good at writing pain #also i did so much like. way too in depth research for this #i was looking up the weather in places on specific dates i was looking up sunrise times.#im normal. i swear. (lying)#fun fact if youve made it this far for some reason:#shadows costume is a clockwork orange!#ive never seen the movie myself but i feel like maria would've gotten her hands on it and watched it with shadow #ouuhh the siblings.....#anyways.#youve got better things to do than listen to me ramble in the tags #SCRAM!#angst #angst with a happy ending #teehee

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umangharyana · 7 months ago

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प्रधानमंत्री आवास योजना 2024 | गरीबों को मिलेगा अपना घर, जानें आवेदन प्रक्रिया!

नई दिल्ली: भारत सरकार की प्रधानमंत्री आवास योजना (PMAY) का मुख्य उद्देश्य देश के गरीब और जरूरतमंद लोगों को उनके खुद के घर दिलाना है। इस योजना के तहत केंद्र सरकार शहरी और ग्रामीण इलाकों में रहने वाले गरीबों को घर बनाने के लिए आर्थिक सहायता प्रदान करती है। खास बात यह है कि यह योजना उन लोगों के लिए है, जो गरीबी रेखा से नीचे जीवनयापन कर रहे हैं। महंगाई के इस दौर में जब खुद का घर एक सपना लगता है, भारत…

#Apply for PMAY #Benefits of PM Awas Yojana #Financial Assistance for Housing Scheme #How to Apply for PM Awas Yojana #PM Awas Yojana 2024 #PM Awas Yojana Application Process #PMAY Application Online #Prime Minister Housing Scheme 2024 #Prime Minister Housing Scheme Application Process

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acute-crashout-jeyuso · 6 months ago

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Sacrifices (Book 2 of 3 BTR Series) a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 25: Maybe..

March 1st, 2025 2:11 PM

Jey worked out in his home office, sweat dripping down his back as his feet pounded rhythmically against the treadmill. He’d set the incline high and pushed himself hard, his focus on maintaining his stamina and strength despite his limited in-ring schedule.

Rhea was out with her parents, shopping in Stamford. It wasn’t often her parents visited, so Jey had encouraged her to spend the day with them. Meanwhile, their home buzzed with its usual chaos. Jesse and Jeremy made their rounds outside the property, ensuring everything stayed secure. Jeremiah watched as Bella and Barry, the playful dogs, were running around the yard, occasionally barking at nothing in particular. Storm, the aloof cat, was nowhere to be found—probably off scheming in some hidden corner of the house.

Jey’s focus was abruptly shattered when his phone began to ring on the desk next to the treadmill. He slowed the speed to a walk, breathing heavily as he grabbed a towel to wipe his face before glancing at the caller ID. Jonathan’s name flashed on the screen.

With a sigh, Jey accepted the call. “Hey, bro,” he greeted, his voice still slightly breathless.

“Hey, man,” Jonathan’s voice came through, casual but warm. “We were thinking about coming up to visit for a bit. Trinity said a weekend wasn’t enough time, so we figured we’d come up.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Jey said, stepping off the treadmill and stretching his arms. “I don’t mind. What day you thinking about flying in?”

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, as though gauging Jey’s reaction. “We were thinking Tuesday. Jaciyah’s birthday is Friday, so we figured we’d stay till Sunday.”

Jey froze, the words hitting him like a freight train. “Fuck!” he blurted out, his hand immediately running over his face in frustration.

On the other end of the line, Jonathan’s tone turned incredulous. “Wait, wait, hold up—you forgot your firstborn son’s 18th birthday?”

Jey groaned, pacing the room now, his frustration with himself growing. “Man, it’s been so hectic lately. Between Rhea’s pregnancy, Rhea still not opening up, her parents being in town, and everything else going on, it slipped my mind. Damn, Jon, I feel like shit.”

Jonathan laughed softly, though it carried a tone of disbelief. “I get it. But come on, this is Jaciyah’s 18th. We gotta do something good.”

“I know, I know,” Jey muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll make it up to him. I’ll plan something special.”

“You better,” Jonathan said, his voice lighter now. “We’ll help out when we get there. Trinity’s already thinking about what to buy for him.”

Jey let out a breath, grateful for his brother’s understanding. “Appreciate it, man. I’ll figure out how to make this the best birthday he’s ever had.”

Jonathan chuckled. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Definitely.” Jey said, cracking a small smile. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”

After hanging up, Jey leaned against the desk, staring at the blank wall in front of him. Guilt gnawed at him. Jaciyah was his firstborn, his pride and joy, and forgetting his birthday—even amidst all the chaos—was a blow to his own sense of responsibility.

Jey began to pace around his office, phone in hand, as he called his son Jaciyah. The line rang a few times before Jaciyah finally picked up. Jey paused his pacing briefly..

“Hey, Dad,” Jaciyah greeted, his voice casual but warm.

“Hey, son,” Jey replied, his tone light. “How’s everything over at your mom’s?”

Jaciyah chuckled. “It’s going good. Mom made brownies the other day, and man, I had a dang sugar attack. I was bouncing off the walls.”

Jey laughed, the image of his son hyped up on sugar making him smile. “I bet you were. Listen…” Jey hesitated, trying to find the best way to steer the conversation. “So, I hear someone’s got a birthday coming up soon.”

There was a pause before Jaciyah cut straight to the point, his voice brightening with excitement. “I want Rhea to make a triple-layer yellow cake with chocolate icing, I want a BBQ, and I want you to meet Daya.”

Jey blinked. “Hold up—who’s Daya?”

Another pause hung in the air before Jaciyah’s sheepish voice returned. “The girl you caught me with.”

Jey leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, so that’s her name. Alright, alright.” He chuckled softly, but his tone shifted to something more serious. “You sure about introducing her to the family? That’s a big step.”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m sure,” Jaciyah said confidently. “She’s important to me, and I want her to meet everyone.”

Jey nodded, respecting his son’s decision. “Okay, I hear you. So, no big party? Just a BBQ and cake?”

“Yeah,” Jaciyah replied. “Just something small with the family. Nothing too crazy.”

Jey smiled, a wave of relief washing over him. A smaller gathering would make things easier to manage, and he liked the idea of keeping it intimate. “Alright, son. I’ll make it happen. It’s gonna be a birthday to remember.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Jaciyah said warmly. “Oh, and tell Rhea I’m counting on that cake.”

Jey chuckled. “I’ll let her know. Love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

Hanging up, Jey leaned back in his chair, already making mental notes of what needed to be done. He’d need to talk to Rhea about the cake and reach out to Trinity and Jonathan about the BBQ. And then, of course, there was Daya. Meeting his son’s girlfriend for the first time felt like a milestone of its own.

Jey couldn’t help but smile to himself. This birthday might’ve caught him off guard, but he was determined to make it a special one.

—

Rhea entered her and Jey’s house, bags of baby clothes in tow, her heart light with the excitement of the day’s shopping. The air felt comfortable and familiar, but there was a slight tension in her chest as she walked toward the living room, where Jey was waiting for her. He rose from his seat and kissed her cheek as she handed him the bags. Jey smiled as he saw all of the contents and set the bags gently on the coffee table.

“How was the trip to the mall?” Jey asked, a soft smile on his face.

Before Rhea could answer, her mother interjected, holding up a small onesie with a white and grey dinosaur design. “Oh Joshua, I brought the perfect onesie for my grandbaby.” Rhea’s mom was beaming, her eyes filled with love as she held up the gift, a pair of white booties and a matching beanie in her other hand.

Jey took the items from her mother and examined them with a smile. “It’s cute,” he agreed, his tone affectionate. He put the items into the bag and sat down on his spot on the couch.

Rhea, feeling the weight of the day catching up with her, collapsed onto the couch next to Jey. Her body ached from shopping and the long day, but seeing her parents’ happiness made it worth it. Her mother smiled at them both before excusing herself and Rhea’s dad, taking them to the guest room for some rest. The house settled into a peaceful quiet, just the two of them now.

Jey’s gaze was lingering on her with a mixture of affection and concern. “I forgot Jaciyah’s birthday,” he said, his voice tinged with guilt.

Rhea looked at him, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the underlying frustration. “I know you did, but I didn’t,” she replied softly.

Jey looked at her, confusion flickering across his face. “How?”

“I remember birthdays better than you,” Rhea teased, but the humor didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her tone held a hint of frustration, an emotion she had been carrying for days now.

Jey ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “What would I do without you?” he asked, his voice sincere, though a little playful.

Rhea’s smile faded as she leaned back against the couch. She exhaled deeply, her gaze distant for a moment before she spoke, her voice quiet but steady. “I don’t know… maybe think about that before you say something stupid like what you said to me in Titusville.”

Jey’s expression softened, his eyes searching hers. “Babe, I love you, but you’re still not over it?” His voice held a trace of frustration, but more than that, there was concern. He didn’t understand why this one thing was still lingering in her mind.

Rhea looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Joshua, what you said really hurt me,” she said, her voice steady but thick with emotion. “If you can’t see why I’m not letting this go…” She trailed off, feeling the weight of her words.

There was a long, heavy pause. Jey opened his mouth to say something, but Rhea cut him off, shaking her head. “Forget it,” she muttered under her breath.

Without waiting for his response, she stood up from the couch, her movements brisk as she grabbed the bags and turned away from him, heading toward the stairs.

Jey watched her, his heart sinking as he processed her words. He had hurt her, and despite his love for her, he couldn’t understand the depth of the pain she felt. He heard her footsteps fade as she ascended the stairs, leaving him alone in the quiet of their home.

Rhea, on the other hand, made her way to the bedroom, her thoughts racing. She didn’t want to let the hurt fester between them, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that what Jey had said in Titusville had exposed something deeper. Something he didn’t fully understand about her—about their relationship.

She laid the baby clothes on the bed and sat down beside them, her mind still on the conversation. She needed time. Time to process, to breathe, and to find a way to heal from the hurt.

For a moment, all she could think about was the weight of everything—the baby, her future with Jey, and the small things that seemed to pile up without resolution. Rhea sighed heavily, trying to find a way to center herself.

Meanwhile, Damian descended the stairs, his casual demeanor slightly dampened by the weight of the conversation he knew was coming. He took one look at Jey and, with a shrug, said, “What’s up?”

Jey sighed, his frustration clear. “Rhea again.”

Damian couldn’t help but laugh, more out of disbelief than amusement, as he grabbed a Sprite from the fridge. He sat down on the loveseat across from Jey and took a sip. “You really pushed her with that shit you said,” Damian remarked, his tone more serious now. “And you know what? I don’t blame her.”

Jey ran a hand through his hair. “I fucked up,” he admitted, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “I know that. I’ve admitted that. But why can’t she just forgive me and love me?”

Damian set his drink down, the weight of his words catching Jey’s full attention. “You do realize this is like the fourth time you kinda fucked up, right?” he said, his voice even but firm.

Jey shot him a confused glance. “What the hell do you mean?”

Damian leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Well, first there was Portland, where you pushed her. Don’t even try to deny that one. Then there was keeping Jeyce from her after Takecia threatened you. She almost killed herself, Jey. She nearly ended it all because she thought she’d never have a chance to be your wife or be a mother to Jeyce. That’s not just a fuck-up. That’s something you need to really own. Thirdly, there was that argument back in January, when you called her out… if I remember correctly she needed to learn how to stop running away from shit.” Damian paused, his eyes narrowing. “Fourthly… Titusville.”

Jey looked down, guilt washing over him as each instance rolled off Damian’s tongue. But Damian wasn’t done. “And that’s not even mentioning the shit you did when you two weren’t together,” he added. “Like asking her to leave Matt while you stayed with Takecia. That shit? Took the cake. It was messed up.”

Jey winced, his chest tightening as the full weight of his mistakes hit him. “Okay,” he said quietly, trying to process everything.

Damian sat back, his tone softening. “Man, I get it. You love her. I can see it, but the way you’ve been treating her—it’s been a lot. And she’s been through enough shit already. She doesn’t deserve to keep dealing with your mistakes. You have to show her, not just tell her, that you’ve changed. That you’re not going to keep repeating the same shit over and over.”

Jey didn’t respond immediately. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the weight of everything Damian had just said. He wanted to argue, wanted to justify his actions, but he knew Damian was right. Every word cut deep, and he couldn’t pretend that things were as simple as just saying “sorry” and hoping things would go back to normal.

Finally, Jey spoke, his voice hoarse. “I just want her to forgive me, man. I don’t know how much more I can do.”

Damian sighed, his expression a mixture of frustration and sympathy. “You can’t just expect her to forgive you because you say sorry. You have to prove it. You’ve hurt her in so many ways, and she’s been loyal to you through it all. But now, she’s at a point where she’s probably wondering if you’re ever going to change. If you’re going to keep breaking her heart.”

Jey slumped further into the couch, the weight of it all bearing down on him. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I love her, but… I don’t want to lose her.”

Damian gave him a stern look. “Then stop making excuses. Stop taking her for granted. You’ve got to show her that she’s your priority. And more importantly, you’ve got to show her that you’ve learned from all this.”

Jey nodded slowly, taking in the advice. He knew deep down that Damian was right. He had taken Rhea for granted more times than he could count, and now it was time to prove that he was capable of doing better. If he didn’t, he feared he might lose her for good.

“I’ll do better,” Jey muttered, more to himself than to Damian. “I just need a chance to show her.”

Damian stood up, stretching out his arms. “Well, it starts with not making the same mistakes again. She deserves better than that, and if you really love her, you’ll show her that.”

—

Later on in the day, Jey gently tended to the roses in the greenhouse, carefully trimming away the dead petals, when he heard the familiar creak of the door opening behind him. He turned around to see Rhea’s father stepping inside, a look of quiet admiration on his face as he gazed at the barely-blooming sunflowers.

“I hear from my daughter that you have a green thumb,” Rhea’s father said, a slight smile on his lips as he took in the rows of plants.

Jey chuckled softly, wiping his hands on his jeans before straightening up. “Yeah, my mother was the gardener. Had me and my twin helping her every weekend morning growing up. It’s a bit of an inherited skill, I guess.”

Rhea’s father nodded, a look of understanding crossing his face. “Where’s your father in all of this? Was he around to help?”

Jey’s expression shifted as he thought back to his childhood. “My father was having a wrestling career,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I only saw him about two months out of the year. So it was mostly my mom, us kids, and the garden.”

Rhea’s father frowned sympathetically. “I can imagine how that must have been tormenting.”

Jey shrugged slightly, trying to push the old memories aside. “I managed,” he said simply.

The two stood there for a moment, the peaceful hum of the greenhouse filling the air as Rhea’s father moved to admire more of the plants. After a beat, he looked at Jey again, his tone a little more somber. “I believe you are the one for my daughter.”

Jey froze, a curious but cautious look in his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

Rhea’s father glanced over at him, his eyes softening. “A few years ago, Rhea took care of her mom by paying for her entire cancer treatment,” he said quietly. “That woman was on her last leg, and Rhea… she did everything she could. Every month, without fail, she sent money for everything. I couldn’t afford it on my own because my retirement wasn’t enough to cover the medical bills. But Rhea, she kept us afloat. She did all of that without ever asking for anything in return.”

Jey’s expression turned somber, his gaze shifting to the ground for a moment as the weight of the conversation sank in. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t realized how much Rhea had been shouldering on her own, all the while dealing with everything in her life.

“I didn’t know Mrs. Bennett had cancer,” Jey said quietly, his voice full of genuine surprise and sorrow.

Rhea’s father looked at him, his eyes distant for a moment as he remembered the hardship. “Breast cancer. Almost took the love of my life away,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Rhea’s father sighed, taking a step back to admire the plants again, as though the memories were easier to face this way. “My memory does serve me right.. yup.. for about four years, every month, Rhea would send money. We couldn’t have made it without her. She worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known, and she never let us feel like a burden. Even when it was hard for her, she never let it show.”

Jey stood quietly for a moment, processing the gravity of what he was hearing. Rhea’s strength, her loyalty, the burden she carried all on her own for so long—it made everything that much more profound.

“She’s in remission now?” Jey asked softly, almost afraid of the answer but needing to hear it.

Rhea’s father smiled, though it was a bittersweet smile. “As of April 2022. Thank God,” he said, his voice heavy with relief.

Jey let out a soft breath, the weight of it all sinking in. “Thank God,” he repeated, as if to himself. He could hardly imagine the pain Rhea had gone through, and now it made so much more sense why she was the way she was, so fiercely independent, always carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“She’s a hell of a woman,” Jey said quietly, his voice filled with admiration.

Rhea’s father looked at him, nodding slowly. “That’s why I trust you with her,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “You love her. And I can see it, Jey. But you have to understand, there’s a lot of hurt she’s carried. She’ll never show it, but it’s there.”

Jey met his gaze, understanding the silent warning. “I know,” he said softly, his voice determined. “I won’t let her down again.”

Rhea’s father studied him for a moment longer before giving a slow nod. “Good. She deserves everything, Jey. Don’t forget that.”

Jey nodded back, his heart heavy with both the responsibility and the love he felt for Rhea. This was his chance, not just to prove himself to her, but to truly understand what she had been through—and do whatever it took to make things right.

Jey stood there, the weight of the conversation pressing deeper into him. Despite hearing the story of Rhea’s strength, something still gnawed at him—something he couldn’t quite shake.

“Did Rhea ever speak of me when she was with Matthew?” Jey asked quietly, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of lingering doubt.

Rhea’s father paused for a moment, his gaze distant as he seemed to search through his memories. Then, with a slow nod, he responded, his tone thoughtful.

“She did,” Rhea’s father said, his voice laced with a heaviness Jey hadn’t expected. “I didn’t know this at the time, but at their wedding, my daughter asked us if she chose the wrong person.”

Jey’s breath caught, his heart tightening as he processed the words. He could almost hear Rhea’s voice asking those questions, torn and uncertain, just like the woman he knew.

Rhea’s father let out a long sigh, his expression softening. “I didn’t have it in my heart to tell her yes,” he continued. “So, I just told her that whatever she decided, we would be beside her.”

Jey swallowed hard, feeling a knot form in his chest.

Rhea’s father walked over to one of the sunflowers in the greenhouse, absentmindedly brushing his hand over the petals as he spoke again, his voice low and reflective.

“On her 27th birthday, I tried to talk to her about Matt’s behavior. I tried to tell her she deserved better, but she didn’t listen. She was stubborn, as always,” he said, a slight chuckle escaping his lips despite the seriousness of the conversation. “I love my daughter, I do, but sometimes she has to make a mistake in order to learn. And when she falls, I’ll always be here to help her get up, to help her learn from it.”

Jey absorbed the words carefully, understanding the deep care and frustration in Rhea’s father’s voice. It was a painful reality—that Rhea had to go through that period of uncertainty and heartache on her own, trying to find answers, trying to make it work with someone who wasn’t right for her.

Jey’s heart began to sink further. He had always believed in Rhea’s strength, but hearing how her family had witnessed her struggle, her father’s silent support, it hit him harder than he had expected.

“You did the right thing,” Jey said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. “Sometimes we have to let them make their own mistakes.”

Rhea’s father turned to face him, his gaze hardening slightly but filled with understanding. “I believe that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I could see it in her eyes when she married him. She wasn’t fully sure. She was still running from the choices she had made, even though she was trying to convince herself she wasn’t.”

Jey nodded, the truth sinking in deeper. The guilt of not being there for Rhea when she needed him was still a heavy burden, but he knew now more than ever that he couldn’t dwell on the past.

“I’ll make sure she never has to feel that way again,” Jey promised, his voice firm.

Rhea’s father studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod of approval. “I hope you do, Jey. But remember, it’s not just about the promises you make now. It’s about showing her every day that she can trust you, that she can count on you when it matters most.”

Jey’s chest tightened with resolve. “I understand.”

Rhea’s father gave him a nod of approval, then returned his attention to the flowers in front of him. “Good. I can see she’s in good hands. Just don’t break her heart, Jey. I’ve seen her hurt enough.”

Jey stood still for a moment, reflecting on the weight of his words. He knew what he had to do now, not just to make things right with Rhea, but to prove to her family, especially her father, that he was the one she deserved.

—

Later on in the night, Jey was searching for a good birthday gift for Jaciyah when he heard laughter. He put his iPad down and got up, heading down the hallway. He spotted a room door ajar and quietly peered inside. He could hear Damian and Rhea talking, and although he didn’t want to eavesdrop, the soft sound of Rhea’s voice made him stop in his tracks.

“That little thunderstorm you have brewing in your stomach is going to be in style,” Damian said, his voice playful.

Rhea’s laughter echoed through the hallway, and Jey smiled to himself. “You would get my baby a Judas Priest onesie,” she responded, amusement in her tone.

Damian chuckled. “Have you thought at all about who would be the godparents?”

Rhea sighed. “I wanted you and Kayden, but more than likely Jey is going to convince me for Jon and Trinity.”

Damian’s voice grew softer, and Jey’s curiosity deepened. “You have a say in this, you know. It’s not just Jey’s kid, it’s your baby too.”

Rhea’s response was filled with an unspoken sadness, and Jey felt his chest tighten. “I know, but I might as well just do what Jey says. Don’t want to get him angry.”

Damian’s tone became more serious, concerned. “Rhea… mamas’, you have to start caring about yourself.”

Jey stood frozen in place, listening intently, unable to tear himself away. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do with the thoughts racing through his mind.

Rhea sighed deeply before replying, her voice quieter now. “I know, I know… but it’s not just about me. It’s about Jey and his kids.”

Damian’s response was firm, a steady reassurance in his voice. “They are your kids too, Rhea.”

Jey felt the weight of those words. His kids. He hadn’t realized that Rhea might still feel like an outsider, even now. The thought of her doubting herself hit him harder than he expected.

Rhea’s voice broke through the silence, her vulnerability more apparent now. “I just don’t feel enough anymore. I honestly think my hormones are getting to me… everything makes me feel sad.”

Damian’s voice softened, a comforting presence. “Don’t blame your doubts on your hormones, Rhea. You’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling. But you have to start listening to yourself too. You’ve been so focused on everyone else—maybe it’s time you focused on you for once.”

Jey’s heart ached hearing that. He could feel his own guilt gnawing at him. He truly hadn’t realized how much Rhea was carrying on her own.

Just as he was about to step into the room, he stopped and Damian’s voice grew more distant as Rhea responded.

“I don’t know, Damian. I just… I can’t seem to get it right. It’s like everything is slipping away from me, and I’m just trying to hold on.”

Jey closed his eyes for a moment, pain and concern flooding him. Maybe today was the wake-up call he needed. Maybe he’d been so focused on his own guilt, on his own issues, that he hadn’t truly seen what Rhea was going through. He knew he had to make things right, and that started with understanding her—truly understanding her.

“Thank you for the gift, Damian, honestly,” Rhea said, her voice still carrying the warmth of their earlier conversation.

Jey quickly ducked back into the bedroom, hearing Rhea’s footsteps approach. He scrambled back onto the bed, grabbing his iPad, trying to act casual. He could hear her moving down the hallway, but didn’t know how much time he had before she’d come back.

A few moments later, the door creaked open, and Rhea stepped inside, holding the onesie in her hands. She walked to the dresser and gently laid it down without saying a word. Jey could see her silhouette in the soft light from the hallway, her movements deliberate but quiet.

She didn’t glance his way as she undressed, changing into her pajamas with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. Jey watched, his heart aching as he realized just how distant she seemed in that moment. She climbed into bed on her side and immediately reached to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The space between them felt suffocating.

Jey set his iPad down, staring at the back of her head as he lay beside her. He reached out tentatively, his hand moving toward her shoulder, hoping to pull her close. But just as his fingers brushed against her, Rhea’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Not tonight.”

Jey froze, his hand hovering in the air. His throat tightened, but he swallowed, trying to fight back the hurt. “I need my button nose back…” he murmured, trying to make light of the situation, hoping she’d soften.

But Rhea didn’t respond with the usual warmth. Instead, she swatted his hand away, her voice cold. “Jey, I’m not in the mood right now at all. Just don’t touch me.”

Jey felt a sharp pang in his chest, the weight of her words settling heavy in his stomach. “Rhea, please,” he pleaded softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m trying here. I just… I miss you.”

Rhea didn’t move, her body still facing away from him, the space between them growing. She exhaled deeply, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with something raw. “I don’t have the strength right now, Jey. Just please… leave me alone.”

Jey’s chest tightened, but he couldn’t let it end like this. He needed to hold her, needed her to know how much he loved her, even if she couldn’t feel it right now. He reached out once more, but the distance between them felt so insurmountable. “I love you, Rhea,” he whispered, his voice thick with vulnerability. “I love you so much.”

Rhea’s voice came out sharp, a small quiver of emotion beneath the anger. “I love you too, Jey, but don’t fucking touch me right now.”

Jey pulled his hand back slowly, his heart sinking. He wanted to respect her space, to give her what she needed, but the ache inside of him was unbearable. With a deep sigh, he turned over onto his side, his back to her, and let the silence fill the room.

Both of them were there—physically, at least—but emotionally, they felt a world apart.

—

The next day, Rhea said her final goodbyes to her parents at the airport, hugging them both tightly. “I’ll send pictures of the bump soon,” she promised, her voice thick with emotion. Her mom kissed her forehead, telling her how proud they were, while her dad gave her a final piece of advice to take care of herself.

After parting with her parents, Rhea hugged Damian, wishing him well on his return to RAW. “Take care of yourself, D. I’m proud of you.” Damian smiled, patting her shoulder. “I’ll see you soon, and I’ll be keeping an eye on that baby bump.”

With the goodbyes said, Rhea made her way to the entrance of the airport, ready to head home. She walked out into the crisp air, spotting Jeremiah pulling in with her plum-colored Tahoe. She got into the passenger seat, offering him a tired but grateful smile. “Let’s go to Trader Joe’s,” she said, her mind already thinking of what she needed. Jeremiah nodded and quickly set the address into the GPS, pulling away from the curb.

Meanwhile, back at home, Jeyce and Jaciyah were glued to the PS5, completely absorbed in their game. Jey, on the other hand, was outside, making his way through the greenhouse, carefully tending to the roses. He wasn’t sure why, but he found comfort in the act of nurturing something. Maybe it was because it was something he could control in a time where everything else felt so uncertain.

As he focused on the roses, he heard small footsteps approaching. Turning around, he saw Barry, Rhea’s dog, trotting over to him with his tail wagging. Jey bent down, offering the dog a smile and a pat on the head. “I hope your mom forgives me soon,” he murmured to the dog, his heart heavy with the weight of his unresolved tension with Rhea. Barry let out a soft bark, as if in agreement, and Jey couldn’t help but smile.

Shaking his head, he returned to trimming the roses, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a text message from Jon. It read: “Hey, we’ll be flying in on Tuesday. Our plane lands at 9 pm.”

Jey quickly typed back, offering his help: “I’ll pick you guys up at the airport. See you then.” After sending the message, he sighed, wishing he could find a way to make things right with Rhea. But for now, he focused on getting ready for Jon and Trinity’s arrival.

He glanced back at the roses, hoping that one day things would bloom again between him and Rhea.

—

Flashback: August 9, 2018 - 11:57 PM

The air in the hallway was thick with tension as Morris opened the door to the dimly lit room. Inside, the fiery redhead, Valerie, was lounging on a bed, her legs crossed and her attention focused on her phone. She didn’t look up immediately but continued texting as if the world around her didn’t exist.

Morris stepped into the room, his presence commanding attention, and the moment Valerie glanced up, her sharp green eyes locked onto his. “Why do you have so much regard for Black Mamba?” she asked, her voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something dangerous.

Morris chuckled, a low, dangerous sound, and leaned against the doorframe, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her. “When did you think it was okay to start asking questions?” His tone was casual, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable.

Valerie shrugged nonchalantly, though her eyes flickered with the same intensity she had in her earlier question. “I’m just saying… my sister knows her, and she isn’t all that great in the—”

Before she could finish, Morris moved with lightning speed. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, pulling her face dangerously close to his. His breath was hot on her skin, and his grip tightened painfully.

“No one speaks about Mamba,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and threatening, the weight of his words hanging in the air like an iron chain. “Am I clear?”

Valerie froze for a moment, her eyes wide with the realization of just how serious he was. She swallowed hard, her defiance fading as fear crept into her chest. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, her voice strained but obedient.

Morris held her gaze for a beat longer, then slowly released her hair, stepping back as if nothing had happened. Valerie, still shaken but attempting to maintain her composure, quickly looked away, her phone now forgotten in her hands.

Morris gave a nod, his smirk returning as if nothing had transpired. “Good,” he said, turning to leave the room. “Remember, Valerie… some things are better left unsaid.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, the room was left in silence, the air heavy with unspoken tension.

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