#so i can do a little bit of guessing and expand on what is already known about them through the stars 🌟

[hartpisces]

release ur limited star knowledge (i wanna know 🤨)

im so glad u asked!

it started when i found out ant is a leo and kat is a scorpio, which was SO wild to me because it just makes perfect sense?? heres the post i made about them when I was going insane about this revelation —>

(take the moon signs with a grain of salt, since the exact birthtime isn’t known)

For jalen specifically, hes a VIRGO which again, very intriguing because from what i’ve seen, he does very much present as a hardworking, nitpicky, perfectionist, reserved guy (fe: almost every argument he has with josh involves nitpicking, his press conferences.. THE LOCKER CONVO “your locker looks like a tornado hit it” OK VIRGO!!!) Virgos are also known to be shy/easily embarrassed especially when receiving praise, which is so insane to me seeing how he responds to josh (being rendered speechless oml), donte, the media, literally anyone complimenting him. He is a textbook humble virgo!! (also the sign of the virgin btw, lmfao)

Now it gets spicy when you consider that his moon sign is Aries, meaning his emotions are ruled by this fiery, defensive-ass sign, and he acts this way with the people he’s most comfortable around. This is totally represented when he tries to poke Josh’s buttons constantly, but it ultimately backfires every time because Jalen can be short tempered, and a bit spiky. Him being a virgo, he wants to prove how chill, “normal” as he says, he is. But at the end of the day, someone who KNOWS him, and is intuitive (will get to that later) will know how easily flustered he gets. I see why he is such a great leader (im a knicks fan so i have to glaze rq) he gets the precision/composure from his sun, and passion from his moon, bam leads a team through the playoffs.

Now for his venus (sign of beauty, love, romance) his venus is in cancer! ♋️ 🦀 🦀 these people are sensitive, cautious, CLINGY (“we have to hangout everyday”) when it comes to relationships you kind of have to approach them like a crab 🦀 because they WILL cling forever (he literally refused to let go of Donte and Josh, and never will). Very emotional lovers, but they will avoid emotional confrontation in fear of getting hurt. Also soo sentimental! (his reaction to josh being traded while he was at Villanova, you know this man loves feeling nostalgic). Cancer lovers want to be consumed, to belong entirely to someone (if i speak…)

Also gonna do Josh because i make everything about Jalen and Josh. Josh is a pisces sun, taurus moon. Being a pisces, he dreams big, is emotional, VERY intuitive, and he has this ability to sort of be a chameleon and fit in with very diverse groups. This could explain his passion for podcasts, since he’s had two in his career and had all sorts of guests. Pisces can unfortunately be TOO sensitive (cough, beating bitches up in college). While they are dreamers, they are notoriously late to everything, and prefer to chase after them at their very specific pace (explains Josh’s hatred for practice? also moving into his bestfriend’s house during highschool because he knew it would help his grades, environment matters to him). As for his intuition, Josh is very understanding of other’s emotions and his own, more so than Jalen. The most important part about josh being a pisces to me is that it proves he is a full on LOVER BOY and can see through a prickly guy like Jalen.

His moon is in taurus. To his core he is dominant af (literally was described as a dog that needs to mark his territory, always wants the upper hand in arguments). He’s stable, steady, calm (he IS the one who always gets into Jalen’s head first, not the other way around) and is uncomfortable with surprises. I don’t have a link but I read an article where he was talking about how terrible his trade from the lakers felt; he overall resists change. Taurus is also the sign of pleasure and is often aligned with materialism and a love for food (his watch collection? obsession with mike & ike’s??) Overall hes very chill and has soo many lover traits, just do not threaten his dominance lmfaoo.

(I was the most shocked with this placement) Josh’s venus is in Aquarius. The approach people with this placement take with love is friends first, full trust, and then they’ll consider a relationship. They are unpredictable in their advances (josh calling jalen cute on camera twice?? josh’s unpredictable ways of touching jalen and donte whenever he feels like it???), and will try to impress their person of interest with provocative jokes and their rebelliousness. They don’t want to be tied down, but they don’t mind setting rules for their partner. They also might avoid an actual *love* confrontation/confession. The independence of these types aren’t always a bad thing, since their partner will receive a lot of space/won’t feel suffocated.

Accurate or not, this is such a sharp contrast to Jalen’s Cancer venus. Jalen doesn’t WANT space, he could cling 🦀🦀onto Josh all day and still feel too far. There might be conflict in terms of communication; Josh might flirt as a “joke” and Jalen would feel that it’s real, being the more emotional, hopelessly romantic one. This doesn’t mean Josh doesn’t feel the same way, his Aquarius-approach to love just makes him way more cautious about committing to love. His Pisces sun might want him to fall in love, but the Aquarius energy in him is yelling NO! Josh will touch Jalen like he’s his, will leave Jalen stammering, flustered. Jalen will look at him and smile with so much longing, but it’s just another thing they won’t talk about. Jalen is just too careful, awkward and Josh is ever-so conflicted. Jalen fell first, Josh fell harder??👀👀 (hypothetically ofc) (maybe)

i wish i could find out their rising signs because that would be so interesting to me, but obviously nba players don’t care to know their exact birthdate in the name of astrology😭

TLDR

these boys got issues to sort out

[bobzora]

in a tremendous moment of sudden genius i've figured out that if i want to see tatsuya. i should play tatsuya's scenario. he's really going thru it isnt he :(

[felassan]

More on the Varric deaths stuff, two, as well as on DAII Exalted March and DA:I -

"This expansion was going to be called Exalted March, and here, Varric was going to finally step out from the interrogation room so we could play in the present day, so to speak. It was also here that Varric - in a climactic confrontation new villain Corypheus, introduced in Legacy - was going to die. "So what I wanted to do with the expansion was: there's a lot of stuff we cut and I really wanted to put a bowtie on the Dragon Age 2 story," former lead writer David Gaider told me earlier this year while chatting about the creation of the Dragon Age world for a piece about maps. "It had the confrontation with Corypheus and the whole thing. We'd introduced him in a DLC, which I didn't want to do, but we did it, so I wanted to sort of tie that off. And I wanted to kill Varric because he was the viewpoint character and I'm like, 'This is his story, it needs to end with his death.' "He was the unreliable narrator, right?" he added. "I felt like it had to end with him. So we had this great moment where Corypheus is using the Red Lyrium and it's growing out of control, but [Varric is] a dwarf so he's a little bit immune, so he's able to do the Wrath of Khan Spock thing and get in close and destroy it. And he gets Corypheus enough so the party can take him out, but then he's dying from Red Lyrium poisoning so there's this nice moment with him and Hawke as Hawke says goodbye. And with his death, the story ends. And I felt that's appropriate for Dragon Age 2's arc." Exalted March, however, was never released. BioWare cancelled Exalted March to refocus the studio on new game Dragon Age: Inquisition and the move to new engine Frostbite. The expansion was "cannibalised", as Gaider put it, talking to me, and expanded to become Inquisition. Which is how Corypheus suddenly became the main villain in Inquisition, and how Varric managed to stay alive. It didn't stop Gaider trying to kill him again, though. "I tried to kill him in Inquisition," he told me. "I think mainly because I didn't get to do it in [DA2]. And everyone was like, 'But the Inquisitor isn't Hawke! It lacks the same meaning.' And I was like, 'Yeah, I guess you're right.'" Still, it was a difficult thing to let go of. "I was a little bit upset," he said, "and I remember I went and said - because they wanted to start work on Dragon Age 3 immediately - 'Well, you can make me do that, yes, and I will just be the guy in the meetings doing this [he makes a standoffish posture]. Or you can let me go home for a month or so, get this out of my system and grieve, and I will come back. And I swear, when I come back, I will be ready to go.'" He was true to his word, but he still wasn't entirely done trying to kill Varric. In March last year, Gaider revealed there were once plans for Corypheus to attack the Inquisition's mountain castle base, Skyhold. "The threat of Corypheus after Haven was never truly realised," Gaider tweeted. "An attack on Skyhold would have upped the ante. Maybe I could have killed someone finally... but instead, Corypheus remained a remote villain you chased but were rarely chased by. "By the way," he then added, "if you're wondering who I would have killed in Skyhold, given the chance, the answer is obviously Varric. That dwarf was meant to die in the (cancelled) DA2 expansion and escaped his fate despite having been in my crosshairs ever since." Varric survived again. "After Dragon Age Inquisition came out I'd already left the Dragon Age team," he told me."

[source]

what I'm reading, if I understood it right, is that Varric has survived death at least 3 times thus far.. (；・∀・)

[i-cant-sing]

i was just minding my business like scrolling to find new fics to read since i was so so bored and while i was finding some delicious fics (ahem ahem: yandere big brother bakugou x little sister reader) ur post suddenly idk the word (lumitaw (its a filo word)) and i was screaming and immediately dropped what i was supposed to read to read yours 😭😭😭

i got the worst memory ever to exist because i keep forgetting their names but i think i'll grasp them once the next chapter is out (hopefully) but yeaaah!!! baris reminds me of abbas in a way but ig he's a bit more.. brute yk what im talking about????? ig he's ok..

OH! and i have a theory about the painting, y/n's face getting smudged maybe because baldwin or SALAUDDIN decided to smudged it to forget how they look due to heartbroken (prob not baldwin,, but i feel like salauddin would do that ??) i guess im getting married again 😔😔 i feel like im betraying my pookie salauddin 💔💔💔🙏🙏 BUT ANYWAYS THANK YOU FOR THE UPDATE SNOW!!!! AMAZING AS ALWAYS!! can't wait for the next one already!! 😭😭😭 i think i'll send more of my thoughts if something crosses over my mind (prob when im in the shower)

ooohh i like your theory(portrait pictures at the end). i like it a lot. expanding on it:

Baldwin would probably cause the painting to be smudged because he's kissing it, kissing your lips, drunk off his mind, tears streaming down his cheek as he spends hours sitting in front of it, talking to the painting as if u still exist, begging u to come back from heaven, even apologising for all he's done, just please- come back, angel...

Meanwhile Salauddin would probably be staring at your portrait angrily. He understands why you had to leave but.... you couldnt have told him where you were goinh? Do you not think he couldve protected you? He wouldve used his whole army, gathered Muslims from all around the world to protect you. Did you... did you not have the least bit faith in him? deep down, he knows u did this to prevent a war between him and baldwin but.... Salauddin wouldve gone to war for you. Happily. This wasnt your decision to make alone. Now, he stands in front of your portrait, he has it in his palace now, and he doesnt say voice it out like baldwin, but he has complaints. HE keeps them inside, mentally talking to you, telling you just how stupid you were for sacrificing yourself, for jumping off that stupid cliff. How u shouldve just- just asked him for help ONCE, and he wouldve fought until his last breath if it meant keeping u safe. In his mind, u sacrificed yourself to protect Baldwin from murdering innocent muslims or anyone else u wouldve seeked help from.

And now? All Salauddin can do is pray for you. He wakes up late into the night and sits on the prayer mat, making dua for you for hours, reading Quran for you, has animals slaughtered on eid on your behalf, even doing charity and hajj (pilgrimage) on your behalf, just so that you can have more good deeds in your name. He still has the chess board u gifted him, but he's stopped playing chess. He never played the game again, it was only a painful reminder of you. The one person who he could never beat.

As for your painting, why it was smudged? Salauddin didnt want anyone to see your beauty, thats why he kept the portrait hidden in his room, but then he feared that one day when he's not around anymore, someone will see you. So, he used a rag soaked in turpentine to smudge your face, but couldnt do more than just the bottom half of your face. He thought that was fine, after all, thats how u did often appear when you were around, wearing a niqaab, a veil that covered your face.

Now that he looks at your eyes, he realises his mistake. He heard the wise tell him-

"Eyes are the windows to the soul."

He now knows it to be true.

This is what I think the portraits look like:

Notice that this is the earrings Salauddin gifted Y/n when she was in the market with him:

How Baldwin's been:

[pumpkinbxtch]

— two people, one umbrella ∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠° headcanons

the hoO boys when starts to rain and there's just one umbrella. ft. apollo

who's here: frank zhang, jason grace, leo valdez, percy jackson and apollo

warnings: none

a/n: its friday, so headcanons arrives here. kisses for y'all. enjoy.

— frank *⁠.⁠✧

This guy doesn't hesitate for a second, he's got you covered with the umbrella, most (if not all) of it.

"I don't want you getting sick," he says while holding the umbrella.

He's so tall he doesn't need to raise it any higher than necessary, and you keep pushing it toward the center so each of you gets at least a little covered.

He might pretend he's covered, but his shoulder is getting terribly soaked.

He's thinking about the shape-shift, imagining what it would be like if you had a canary on your shoulder while walking in the dry, safe rain.

But in the end, he obeys you. He takes your hand and tries to cover both of you (because he thought he might get sick, then you'd want to help him, and he doesn't want to bother you).

— jason *⁠.⁠✧

Once the umbrella is fully open, he figures out the best way for both of you to be covered, always putting you first in his mind.

He moves you in front of him, but he can see you might trip.

He considers just covering you, but he knows you'd both end up fighting and getting wet anyway.

So, he wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer. Now, you're both under the umbrella, dry.

He smiles at you and takes advantage of the closeness to kiss your cheek and your knuckles.

“let me, my love” he says soflty if you try to help him with the umbrella.

He's the type to hold your hand and tuck it into his jacket to keep you warm.

Another thing he could do is control the air so the umbrella holds itself up and you can walk together even more comfortably.

— leo *⁠.⁠✧

"I already anticipated that!" he exclaimed when he saw that both of you weren't completely covered by the umbrella he was carrying and smiled eagerly at you.

He presses a button on the umbrella's handle and it expands even more, Hurray! You're both covered.

But...

As you continue walking on the sidewalk, Leo looks at other couples in similar positions, only much closer, cuddling and lovingly playing around, while the umbrella with the improvements he invented works so well that you even walk a bit away from him.

Oh no... :(

He wants to do those cheesy things with you too, and he plays the fool.

If a child of Hephaestus can fix something, they can also break it, so he presses the button too hard, for breaking it. The extra space is gone.

"What happened?" you ask confused, some drops start to wet your hair, and Leo smiles seeing how beautiful the dew looks on you,

he just shrugs "I don't know, I guess it doesn't work anymore" he says uninterestedly, and he pulls you to him impatiently,

definitely using some of his warmth so you don't get cold.

He adjusts himself, hugs you, and you walk together.

— percy *⁠.⁠✧

He literally gives a fuck if it rains or not, so the problem is, he never carries an umbrella.

But that's because he can control his waterproofing. If Percy Jackson doesn't want to get wet, he won't, but you're not him.

"Don't worry, babe," he says with a confident smile as you cover yourself with your hand from the increasingly heavy rain.

He bites his lips and looks above you, now the rain avoids you both, and you're no longer getting wet.

He winks at you, and you hug him sideways. Let the mist take care of what others see, and he leans in for a kiss. You give it to him.

suddenly feeling the drops hitting your hair again. For a few seconds, neither of you cares, and he hugs you, prolonging the kiss.

A kiss in the rain.

When the water trickles down your noses and you can taste some of those drops, you break apart with a giggle.

"Oops," he says, and he focuses again to keep you both rain-free.

Though you run to get home as soon as possible because for Percy, it's hard not to want to stop and kiss and cuddle you.

— apollo *⁠.⁠✧

He's a god, and the god of the Sun. He could literally make a few calls to get rid of that silly rain bothering his beloved.

But oh no, Apollo lives for the drama, for love, it's for the feelings he exist, so he conjures up an umbrella and covers you.

Apollo will definitely sing "Singing in the Rain" while dragging you along and giving you gentle spins.

For him, it's such a mundane moment, but because he's with you, he wants to turn it into the greatest musical ever told, because it's for the two of you and for him, it's better.

He takes your hand and swings it with great humor.

He's literally a sun walking on the streets full of people grumpy because of the bad weather and a gray, cloudy landscape.

When he sees you smile and chuckle, his spirit overflows with joy, and unintentionally, the sun appears among those clouds, and the rainbow makes a nice trio in the sky.

He gives you a peck on the lips when you raise your eyebrows at his mischief.

"I can't help it," he says with a smile and links your arm with his to continue the walk.

*⁠.⁠✧

[anneapocalypse]

What is "the occult" in FFXIV?

Ever since I first laid eyes on the EE3 bit about Urianger's parents I have been noodling on one thing in particular. Encyclopedia Eorzea volume 3 refers to "the occult" as Urianger's parents' field of study (and the reason they were so absent from his life). Every since that discovery, I have been curious what that actually means. What is "the occult" in a universe where magic is real, measurable, and a highly legitimate and prestigious field of study?

So, where else is "the occult" referenced in the game?

Thanks to this invaluable searchable transcript, I've found a few other references in MSQ.

The first use of the term "occult" in MSQ that I've found is way back in the Gridania starter quests when some Ixali "Occultists" are trying to summon Garuda at the Guardian Tree. In isolation I'd take this one with a grain of salt since it's very early in ARR, but I think it's consistent with other usages. The description for Whorleater Extreme also uses the term, referencing "the occult knowledge of the Ascians," so from the start there is an association of the occult with Ascian magicks and specifically with summoning.

The only other mention in MSQ comes from Alphinaud in Endwalker, where he and Krile are giving us the tour of Sharlayan, and specifically Phenomenon:

Alphinaud: As the center of what would later become the Studium, it was established to promote the study of aetherological phenomena, hence the name. Alphinaud: Though with aether being a fundamental aspect of nature, its scope expanded to include every conceivable facet of life and even the universe itself. Alphinaud: And then, in the four hundred and thirty-second year of the Sixth Astral Era, Phenomenon was decreed complete and the Studium officially opened as a place of learning. Alphinaud: With a long and storied history, it is without question the world's leading authority in aetherology, the arcane, the occult, astromancy, and countless other fields, standing proud as─ Alisaie and Krile: ...Sharlayan's foremost educational institute!

Okay, so "the occult" clearly falls within the general field of aetherological phenomena and magic, though that we could have guessed already. Something that catches my eye is how in more than one place, "occult" is contrasted with or referenced as distinct from "arcane." This is the case in Alphinaud's speech above, as well as in the Blue Mage quest "Everybody Was Fukumen Fighting," wherein Bluehood says, "No occult tricks or arcane incantations can contend with the all-surpassing might of blue wizardry!"

In the Loporrit Allied Society quests, we also get this odd little quest "Hare-Raising Thrills," in which we're asked to make "Occult Paraphernalia" for a Loporrit called Thrillingway. Depending on crafting job, dialogue with Keepingway will elaborate thus:

"It seems he requires a pair of shears─but not just any pair. No, he desires blades sharp enough to carve fur clean off!"

"He wants a sturdy coil of rope suitable for binding all four limbs of…a 'friend,' allegedly."

"Seems he wants a highly acidic gel for some dubious purpose I did not have the heart to inquire about. Honestly, I think it's best if we don't know."

Which. I mean. Okay. lol. Do what you will with that.

But probably most illuminating is the use of the word "occult" in a couple of Red Mage quests, and in the Sky Pirate raid quests.

In "The Weeping City," Cait Sith says, "Thus did the Mhachi magi construct an occult device that would more securely bind the voidsent to their will..."

And in the Red Mage quests "With Heart and Steel" and "Traced in Blood" we have, respectively:

"The tomes with passages pertaining to the voidsent Lilith are all forbidden occult works..."

and

"...the secrets behind Lambard's occult transformation."

In both contexts, "occult" seems to be connected to voidsent, specifically to Lilith in the case of the Red Mage quests.

And this ties back to the references in ARR as well, since from the beginning Ascians have been connected with the Void, even before we knew what the Void actually was. So it's safe to say at this point, I think, that "occult" can refer to magicks connected to the Void and to Ascians.

There's just one more reference I found that flummoxed me a bit, and that's this description of the Arcanist class, which refers to arcanist weapons as "occult grimoires." I found it odd initially because in most other contexts "occult" seems to refer to magicks seen as illicit, as opposed to the socially acceptable "arcane." But it does make a kind of sense, given that it is from Arcanist that we get Summoner. If summoning of primals is occult, then by extension so is summoning in the arcanist sense, even if it's not truly the same thing. This would seem to be the exception to "arcane" and "occult" being distinct categories, which leads me to believe that the distinction is more cultural than ontological.

So I think from the above, we can consider "occult" to be a fairly broad term that may be used in several distinct but overlapping senses:

Magic related to the summoning of primals.

Magic related to the Void, voidsent, and Ascians.

Magic which is taboo, forbidden, or otherwise outside of that which is socially accepted.

As a footnote, I think this is particularly interesting in the context of Urianger being introduced as our resident expert on primals, despite the fact that that's... really not specifically his field of study but merely adjacent to it. Urianger's primary interest is prophecy, and certainly plenty of prophecy seems to reference primals and Ascians and that's where we see him doing a lot of his research, but it's not the same field, merely overlapping.

Without more information we can't know for certain what his parents were actually studying. Maybe they were interested in primals, or Ascians, or the Void. Maybe they were studying Void-related magics. It's also possibly they were simply arcanists particularly interested in the summoner side and we shouldn't read much more than that into the reference to "the occult." Who knows.

But nonetheless, several of these interpretations would mean that in a way, Urianger has followed in their footsteps despite their making apparently little effort to guide him that way, which I find to be an interesting angle to his character and also profoundly sad in its own way--not that he found his own interests in those areas, but that the Augurelts had a child so naturally inclined toward their own interests and still took so little interest in him.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Overachiever

—

Time Written-12:01 a.m.

Jason Todd/fem!reader smut (gave up looking for an image for this guy so yea)

—

Faint blotches of muted blues and crooked gray shadows shroud your closed eyes, your heartbeat drumming in your head. Loud, thick gurgles ring in your ears, forcing all thoughts from your head.

Short, guttural grunts erupted above you. The sting along your scalp from a fistful of hair being clutched helped control your involuntary speed, coming to a sudden halt.

“I said,” his voice breaches through your muddled mind. “Keep those eyes open.”

On demand, you do so. Your watery eyes opening to a blurred vision of him; a rugged, sweat dampened mess, still clad in his leather uniform.

His hand eases off the back of your neck, allowing you to pull yourself off his fat, curved cock with a loud, lung expanding gasp. You cough after short chokes, a mix of spit and thick precum dribbling down your chin, seeping in between the valley of your breasts through your own suit.

“Look at you,” Jason huffs, guiding his heavy cock again to press against your glistening lips, feeling a sparkling pride over your ruined makeup.

“Pretty little whore. Y’see that?” He questions, guiding your head with his free hand to gaze down at him in question, focusing on the faint ring of bright red lipstick marking a good three quarters along the length.

“You’re getting better at this, Princess,” he breathlessly chuckles, tapping your outer cheek with his drenched dick.

“Bet your throat hurts, huh? Be honest.” His question has you nodding without much thought, feeling the muscles in your neck tingling after getting bullied and bruised by an eagerly horny vigilante.

“Tsk tsk. New hole’s just getting used to me, sweetheart,” Jason cooes with highly detectable mockery before leaning down, grasping your chin with two fingers to have you look at him, taking in his crinkled, amused expression.

“All that big talk when you’re stealing shit, now you got nothing to say.” After a condescending chuckle, Jason traps you in a hot, tongue heavy kiss, feeling himself throbbing at the sounds of your measly little whimpers.

“Aww, What’s the matter? Too fucked out already?” He whispers in between short pecks, swiping off a hint of spit along your chin before bringing it towards his lips, sucking the digit clean.

“Maybe it’s a little too much for ya,” Jason insists in a second guess attempt, fighting back a smirk from your growing eyes loaded up with denial. “Bit too big for you to take—“

“N-no!” You insist, your once balled up fists reaching up to grasp along his wrists. “I can do it, I know I can. Please, Jay.”

“Easy, easy. Fun’s barely starting, babygirl.” Jason displays his full smile, sharp teeth making an appearance with his chuckle.

Alongside pride, he was still giddy that he got you to agree to this.

“I know you wanna make me happy. Know you wanna earn your little reward.”

A hot, gushy load down your throat became your solid priority in an instant. Jason had that ability to suddenly render you absolutely starving in seconds, manipulating you into wanting what hadn’t come to mind before.

Your answer was a solid nod, eyes glowing in anticipation to further please him. His heavy palm clasps your throat in a snug hold, holding your head in place. His voice is low, quiet and lustful, but you hear him loud and clear.

“Tell you what,” Jason proposes with a quirk in his brow. “You take all of me; every last inch, an’ I’ll give you what you want.”

Eagerness leaves you automatically agreeing; pretty, kiss swollen lips with a pretty pink tongue eager to lap at the fat bead that threatened to drip off his length.

“That what you want, pretty girl?” He questions. “Want to make me happy? Wan’ me to make you come?”

You feel your whole body heating up from the fire that's burning deep inside you; your pussy painfully untouched and drenched. Jason promised he’d give you what you wanted if you played along in being a pretend thief, the motivation keeping you barely stable as it is.

It was like your brain was hard-wired to urge him towards his release. Or, maybe the mix of arousal and oxygen deprivation swirling around in your head was making you more submissive to set your own desires aside for him.

Eagerly nodding was your only form of answer, but Jason would gladly take it.

“Prove it then,” His hands leave your neck and head, settling them back along his sides. “Show me.”

Adjusting your sore knees against crooked gravel, you greedily lap up the fat, clear bead of precum that called your name, the saltiness drowning your tastebuds.

He lets out a short groan, brows furrowing slightly as he watches a bit of himself disappear between your lipstick smeared lips. His hum rumbles low in his chest as you bob your head back and forth at a steady pace, swirling along him with your tongue.

He's quickly drunk off of your persistent eagerness to please him, peering up at him through wet lashes. You were more focused on his reactions, watching his head slightly raise, threatening to tilt back if he wasn’t so stubborn to watch every second of it.

You looked a gorgeous sight already as you changed direction, pressing your glistening lips along the underside of his heavy cock, feeling the majority of his heavy dick rest along your face, settling against the corner of your cheek, nestled beside the small grove of your nostril.

A perfect picture to capture the memory, if it occurred to him to pull out his phone. His obedient, needy girl eager to please whenever he needed you.

He's panting harder now, shoulders rising quicker with his slightly labored breathing.

“Ready?” He had the decency to ask, waiting for your muffled hum in response before grasping hold of himself.

“Open.”

You obey, sticking out your pretty tongue.

“Eyes on me,” he taps the fat head along the muscle at least three times, too impatient to warn you of what happens if they close.

His hips lurch forward, sliding himself deep in your throat with a relieved groan. He fills your mouth up easily, his tip pushing past something hard in your throat until he's blocking your airways. You try to settle your reflex, nearly choking on him at the start.

Your soaking wet lips slowly passed where you last reached, your nose brushing against thick curls at his base, taking in his musk while choking on cock, hooking your fingers over the tight harnesses securing his meaty thighs.

You furrow your brows, trying your best to keep your throat from rejecting him, but you're not able to hold him there for long before you choke.

The vibrations left him shivering, watching spit bubble from the corners of your mouth, dripping slowly down your chin and neck, disappearing down your constricting suit zipper.

“That’s it,” he grunts, his head tilting back in pure, raw pleasure, feeling his balls tighten with every constrict of your throat as he fucks your face.

Maybe it was his fault, getting off on your vile, arousing gags, your sickly gray tears rolling down your ruined face. The ultimate ego boost, nothing could ever top this.

You could've cared less of the mess you became, focused on him and his pleasure alone. His deep, aggressively hot tone serenaded through your brain like melted dark chocolate, leaving you addicted for more.

A rich, heavy moan left his mouth, vibrating through his chest as his head tilts back, Adam’s apple bobbing with thin beads of sweat as the nightly breeze bats against his shivering skin.

The sight of those gorgeously shiny lips clenching along the base of his drenched dick left him teetering on the very edge, your eyes watering from the sheer size of him being a bit too much for you to take.

Jason raised you higher up on his cock, nearly forcing your buckling knees off the ground.

The sounds that came from your pretty little mouth as you reached your limit, forcing you to take more than you were used to were vile and filthy, but he loved every second of it. A private symphony just for him alone.

“Nice and messy, babygirl,” Jason rasps out, glancing down at your flushed face with heavy lidded eyes.

“Gonna clean up that messy little pussy,” he murmured through heavy panting, reinforcing his interlocked fingers behind your head. “Then fuck those wet tits next.”

[seishiroh]

— it felt like the world / nagi seishiro x reader.

— hurt/comfort (i think). light angst (real). established relationship & break-up. timeskips. pro-player!nagi.

when you were seventeen, figuring out that nagi seishiro didn't mind you at all felt like the world.

when you hand him your heart on a silver platter and his gaze is warm and he replies okay, (like you're meant to understand what okay even means) there's a brush of pink on his cheeks.

he takes your hand because you're walking home together, pauses, then speaks, "i don't know how to be a boyfriend though…"

your answer is a smile, like you're happy enough just to be with him.

"just be yourself, nagi." you say.

he can do that—be himself. it's easy and being with you is easy, too. being with you feels nice, even if he isn't quite sure how to describe it—that should be enough for now. thinking too much about it is too much of a hassle anyway.

it's enough for quite a long while, actually. up until he's inside the blue lock building and reo is persuading him to stay.

"this is lame, though. i'd rather go home to y/n," he says.

but ego jinpachi and reo knew exactly just what to say to keep him in blue lock. after that, you're stuck with occasional calls and a few texts.

even with this, even just a little bit, nagi starts feeling like he's a world away. it’s probably the puppy love of it all, that you want more of his time with you. you're reckless enough to let that thought slip through when you're talking to him. 

"what if you get eliminated, though?"

"hmm? s'not possible, reo won't let that happen…" and nagi sounds so sure of himself, all the time.

"you'll be gone for much longer, then?"

"i guess. training is such a pain. i just want to sleep and play games with you."

you laugh a little, silently, because he sounds so sleepy teetering the edge of knocking out.

"i wish they'd let you out, though. even just for a day… you feel so far away…" you trail off, the silence follows you, and you think he's finally asleep.

you wish him goodnight before hanging up, before the corners of your lips quiver into a frown.

it takes nagi two days.

two days after your last call, there's a knock on your door just as you finish watering choki.

when you open your front door and find your boyfriend standing there, phone blaring with the sound of his game, eyes trained to the screen—you can't help but hold your breath. there’s an echo of game over through the speakers of his phone before his grey eyes finally meet yours.

then, nagi smiles. he slips his phone inside his pocket, places his hand on top of your head, then leads you inside as if he owned the place.

but ah, well… with the love you had for him, you’d probably let him have all that was yours anyway.

all you get is a day with him, but it's enough for you to feel like your chest is expanding, like you're full of affection just for him. he seems different already from your time apart, but it's a good different and you're happy for him.

he's cuddled up against you and you feel like this is all you'll ever want—him. you've only been together for a few months and he seems rough around the edges, but you're starting to understand that nagi's love language is the way he's always touching you and pressing soft kisses against your skin like he's constantly telling you, silently letting you know, that he loves you.

but all you get is a day, then he's back in blue lock. the next time you see him is in the bleachers of their match against the JPN U-20 team and you're nothing short of captivated. it feels surreal to see him in the field like this, beaming with energy—he looks like he belongs with the stars, like he's exactly where he's meant to be.

there’s no question about him going pro. he will. and even when he starts feeling like he’s worlds away again, you couldn’t possibly love him less.

until he had to leave you.

you're standing opposite from each other in your living room. you're upset because you don’t want him to go, he can tell, but he's unyielding.

"this is something i want, though," he tells you, just factually, like this is just something you had to accept without a fight.

it's funny, because you had a lot of fight in you, actually. but you wanted him so bad, loved him so much.

in the end, you could only pray that the long distance works.

at twenty-one, nagi leaves you to join a team in england. he leaves you with choki and a promise he'd come back, visit you when he can. but each day spent without him, your chest empties out the affection it had once been full of. it's slow because nagi actually loved you, you knew this. he called as much as he could, he'd tell you to watch him play through the television and once in a while, rare as it is, there's a bouquet of flowers at your front door.

love is enough except when he comes home to you briefly for your anniversary, nagi knows something is wrong. somehow, despite the warmth in your eyes and your happiness that he’s there, you’re privy to his touch.

like he’s completely unfamiliar to you.

it doesn’t stop him from proposing, it doesn’t stop you from saying yes. you keep thinking you don’t want him to slip from your fingertips but nagi knows you’re slipping from his. he moves in with you, you're hopeful again.

it wouldn't kill you if you couldn't hold his hand whenever you want. you think perhaps this is enough. it had to be.

it doesn’t stop him from flying back to england after. he still called as much as he could—but the time difference remains difficult, the press is ruthless with assumptions when nagi's partnered up with models in brand endorsements, and nagi hears less of you when he's too tired from his games. eventually, you stopped picking up every call because you'd rather be busy with your life than wonder what your lover was up to, miles away from you and knowing this wasn't enough.

you realise it when your heart is finally breaking, that you’re asking this over the phone instead of right in front of him.

“my parents have been asking, seishiro… when are we getting married?”

you've been engaged for over a year and no plans have been made—but it’s worse when you’re met with silence. the future blurs further, you’re not sure if you could do this alone anymore because this was his decision. when he said he’d come back, you probably should’ve asked how long he’d be gone from you.

“we can figure it out when the contract ends, planning a wedding's a pain anyway,” he mutters through the phone.

“but i want you home, sei.” and it’s the most honest you’ve ever been to him in the past two years.

“i can’t just leave, though,” he replies. you wonder if he'd ever thought the same two years ago, before he left you.

you wonder if it would be petty of you to ask if he ever thought he couldn't just leave you.

he gets a vacation on the next year, just a year before his contract with manshine city ends. but you’re with him on the couch when he tells you he’s being offered a better contract in spain. that he wants to take it. you want to be happy for him, but the breaking of your heart is loud enough in your own ears. it’s so loud that the words slipping from your mouth are unfiltered and uttered without thought.

“what about us, sei? what about me?”

nagi frowns like he doesn’t understand what you mean.

“it's not like we're in a hurry to get married, y/n. we can just do it whenever.”

“would you leave me then, too?”

"it doesn't matter, we'd still be together." but you couldn't give him the answer he wants and the ring on your finger is starting to feel heavier.

your silence is all that he's met with and the uncertainty frustrates him. if he's honest, realising you might not want to be with him anymore hurts. so instead he asks again, "do we have to figure this out now?"

"you've been away from me for years, sei. when will you come home? or am i just not worth staying around for?"

he stands from the couch, phone in hand, "i dunno, maybe you're not."

he says it so nonchalantly. as if it wasn't enough to break you. you know he's about to walk out the door, leave again.

"i miss you, you know. i want to feel like you still love me… but you're so far away from me," you try while you're watching him shrug his hoodie on, reaching for his keys.

watching him leave.

"you've been saying this for years. you're just being a pain, y/n."

then he's out the door.

one week later and six years of your relationship with nagi runs down the drain.

you wonder what hurts more: letting him go or in another universe, being married to him while you're stuck apart from each other—because leaving you was easy.

your place is rid of nagi's things, it isn't much, he simply loads it up in the back of his car. for either of you, it's yet to sink in.

until you're slipping the diamond ring from your finger, standing in front of him.

"take care, nagi," you tell him with a tight smile, the ring falling into the palm of his hand and an ache settling heavy on his chest.

he hums, eyes trained on the ring he got for you. he says okay and then he's driving off. you're left to wonder where you go from here.

nagi comes back to england early and news of your split is quick. 

a few months later, rumours of him taking an offer from a team in spain circulates and your heart hurts again because even if this is how you split up, you wish you could still hear his voice after he wins a game—telling you he's tired, telling you he wishes he could just go home to you.

but nagi doesn't know what to do with himself after every win anymore. when his teammates invite him for a celebratory drink, he comes only because he isn't sure he can handle the frustration of knowing he can't call you, or that you won't pick up even if he did.

he has a few months left with manshine before he could sign a new contract. the frustration never ends though; every moment slipping by him, the ring he keeps on a chain around his neck is a weight heavy with your absence.

he thought that this is what he wanted, that being far from you never really mattered, that it's okay if he couldn't feel you against him anymore, couldn't kiss you like he's telling you he loves you without the words.

he wonders if you felt like this the whole time he's been away for years.

it's a pain that he figures he never wants to feel anymore.

so when the year ends, nagi finds himself at your front door instead of spain.

your door opens and there you are, pretty as ever, eyes bright with a kind of carefree edge to them. but you're pretty, even with the shock painting your face that he'd usually tease you for.

it's all he could think of, that you're so pretty and so, so close to him again and there's so much he wants to say with no idea how to say them.

"nagi… what are you…?"

"i missed you," is the first thing he says. they're words enough to make your lips quiver and eyes sting. "and i'm sorry, i left thinking i'll be fine even if i loved you."

he speaks while he's trying to etch into memory the way you say his name again, so clearly, so softly. you miss him a lot too, you want him back without question, but you think you can't just take him back to let him leave again.

"but you're supposed to be in spain—" you mumble, confused. he's shaking his head before you could finish, a pout settled on his lips.

"i don't want to be there, though. i want to stay here with you, if you let me again..."

"i don't understand, what about soccer?"

"doesn't matter anymore, i could just join the japan u-20. they'll let me do that, right? but everything else is a pain if you're not there." he sounds so sure of himself, like he thought about it everyday since you were gone from him.

it's difficult to process because you've wanted this for so long, to finally have him back to you. it takes you so long that he gets nervous, because what if you don't want him anymore?

he shifts his gaze, suddenly flustered but all the more certain, "i love you, y/n. i'll prove it to you if i have to."

to be honest, nagi isn't sure what he would've done if you didn't want him anymore. perhaps he could've tried his best to win you back, even if it took him too much effort. he'd do it only because nothing truly makes him as happy as he is with you. nothing is that much troubling or that much boring as long as he had you.

it's just you he needs, really.

luckily for him, he doesn't really have to dwell on it—because your warmth engulfs him, your arms around his body.

and he says, finally, "i'm home, y/n."

[sweetsweetjellybean]

After the kiss you can't forget about, your past and present with Eddie collide under the glow of the city lights and the glittering stars at the City Beats launch party.

Masterlist Listen to Clumsy Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Stop being such a baby and just let me look.”

The light in Eddie’s bathroom buzzes with a slight flicker, casting a pallid tint over the worn linoleum and water-stained sink.

“I don’t recall anyone asking for your services here, Florence Nightingale,” Eddie grumbles, perched on the edge of the vanity with a blood-soaked washcloth pressed against his forehead. The knuckles on his right hand are swollen and split, and the scrape along his jaw is already turning colors. 

You pour a little iodine on a cotton ball you grabbed from the first-aid kit— the one your dad made you keep in your car for emergencies, though this probably isn’t what he had in mind. “Who else is going to patch you up?” you question, shifting until you’re standing in the space between his spread legs.

With a sigh, he lowers the washcloth and tosses it into the sink. Blood wells up in the gash above his brow, the skin around it swollen and purple. As gently as possible, you dab around the cut with cotton.

“Oww.” He winces and leans away. “That shit stings.”

"Sorry." You push up on your tippy toes, drawing closer, one hand resting on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. The scent of his apple shampoo tickles your nose as his hand moves to your hip, anchoring you. You purse your lips and blow gently over his wound to soothe the sting. His chest expands with a sharp intake of breath.

"Better?" you whisper, a flood of butterflies taking flight within you. His fingers press tighter into your skin, your shirt inching upward, eliminating the barrier between his touch and your warmth. 

"Yeah." His throat bobs, his gaze roaming your face.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” 

His grip on you loosens as his eyes fall away.

You pick up one of the butterfly strips, pulling back the adhesive tabs. “You said you weren’t going to do anything. I asked you not to.” 

The faucet drips into the cracked tub as you press the strip into place. “It was my choice to end things, Eddie. It didn’t feel…it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

He grabs your fingers, holding them away. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have been running around with him in the first place.”

The anger in his tone has you stepping back until you can feel the towel bar pressing into your shoulders. He stands and faces away from you, shaking his head.

“So what? I’m a slut now?” Your voice is small in the cramped space, bouncing off half-filled bottles of shampoo and shaving cream. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him about losing your virginity to Parker Hayes in the backseat of his mom’s Chevy last weekend. But that’s something you tell your best friend, right? Eddie has certainly never shied away from sharing his sexual exploits with you. Maybe, deep down, you had been hoping for some kind of reaction, but not this. 

“No.” His shoulders slump as he turns to face you, the hardness in his stance softening. “I don't think that way,” he explains, his voice growing gentler, “and I'd never think that about you. I want you to date. I want you to have everything. I just want to…” The rest of the sentence dies in his throat as a familiar shadow falls over his eyes, dimming their warmth. “I guess this is what happens when you're friends with a chick,” he chuckles.

“Might have been easier if Gareth had moved down the street instead of me.” You switch gears to match his tone, a familiar move after all this time.

“Yeah, you’re a pain in the ass,” he says, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Speaking of Gareth, I got a thing.” His gaze drops to his wrist, but he’s never worn a watch. “Lock up when you leave, alright?” 

You're still standing in his bathroom when the front door clicks closed. 

Your hands smooth down the skirt of your long-sleeved mini-dress. Its modest front sits elegantly at your collarbone, but the back—you twist your head to check the mirror behind you—the back dramatically plunges to just above the curve of your ass.

“Wow.” Steve stands stopped in his tracks at the entrance of your walk-in closet, his eyes drinking you in. “You look like a sunset.” He moves behind you, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder as his hand slides over the rose gold sequins covering your dress. 

“You’re not too shabby yourself, handsome.” You turn to get the full effect of his designer camel-striped suit with a bright mustard tie. “I always like you in yellow,” you tell him, running a finger down the cool silk. 

His smile widens as he grips your hips, spinning you back towards the mirror, wrapping his arms around your middle. “We should do this more often,” he says, holding your gaze in the reflection.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms over his. “Launch streaming radio services?”

“No, smart ass.” His lips find your temple. “Get dressed up like this and go out. With everyone coming, do you know what it reminds me of?”

“Dare I ask?” You flutter your lashes. 

His grip on you tightens in a deliberate firmness that has you tensing. He steals another kiss, pausing for a moment before saying, “Prom.”

“Uck,” you moan, stepping out of his arms and moving to the island to pick up a pair of earrings. “Your parents went to prom? How sad.”

“Come on. Not them.” He shoves his hands in his pants pockets, his gaze tracking your movements. “Everyone else, though. Didn’t you have fun at prom?”

“I don’t remember,” you shrug, attaching the diamond to your lobe.

“Of course not. How stupid of me,” his tone drips sarcasm as he shakes his head, “How could I have forgotten about your Hawkins amnesia.”

The shrill melody of his ringtone sounds from the bedroom, pulling him away before words can escalate. Lately, high school memories seem to invade every conversation, leaving a residue of guilt that clings tighter with each mention. Alone, you face the mirror, taking a steadying breath. He’s under a lot of pressure. This is his night. You plaster a smile on your face, forcing a semblance of calm. You owe him.

With a final glance, you slip on a nude pair of heels and move to the bedroom to let him know you're ready. Steve’s phone is discarded on the bed beside him, where he sits with slumped shoulders and his hands raking through the hair he had just spent time styling. 

“Baby?” You keep your voice soft as you sit down next to him, your hand moving to rub circles on his back. “What’s going on?”

He glances up, only now becoming aware of your presence. "It's my parents," he murmurs, his lashes fluttering with rapid blinks as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "They've decided not to come."

“What? But they’re at the hotel.” Your mind races over the possibilities, “Are they okay? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, my dad ran into a client. That’s what happened.” Steve's voice hardens, taking on a bitter edge as he echoes his father's words, “Business is business, Steve. You understand, don’t you, son?” 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you say in a near whisper, covering his hand with yours.

“It’s my fault. I didn’t really want them here, you know? But when I dropped by the hotel this afternoon with the tickets, my dad actually seemed proud of me for once. Fuck. I feel so dumb for getting excited.” He pulls his hand from yours to tug at the messy strands falling over his brow before his eyes find yours again.  “Did I ever tell you about my baseball coach in middle school?”

“No,” you shake your head, shifting on the bed to move even closer beside him, offering what comfort you can.

“Coach Patterson.” His eyes fall to his lap. “He tried talking to him once when he dropped me off for a game. He told him that it would mean a lot if he’d stayed and watched me play. But Dad…” Steve's voice falters, “He just looks at me and says, ‘I've got better things to do than watch you lose.’”

“Steve-”

His eyes bore into yours, filling your chest with an ache. “The thing is, we did win, but he still never stayed.  He didn’t believe in me. I guess he still doesn’t.”

His phone screen brightens with an incoming call, and he picks it up, silencing it with a push of a button. “I've poured everything I have into this, trying to be perfect, what they—what everyone—expects me to be.” The frustration builds in his voice,“But no matter how hard I try, it'll never be enough. Not for them. And maybe... not for you either.”

You cradle his larger hand between yours, wishing he could see himself through your eyes. “You’ve always been enough.”

“I want to give you everything–”

“Steve, stop. You can’t live for other people. Pursue this because it brings you fulfillment, not for anyone else. Think about everything your dad has given your mom. Do you think it’s made them happy?”

He pulls his hand from yours, a fleeting shadow crossing his features as his gaze drifts to some distant point in the room. “I’d never treat you the way he treats her.” 

“That’s right.” Gently, you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his jaw, coaxing his gaze back to you. “You’re better than him. And if he can’t see that or celebrate your wins, that’s his shortcoming. Tonight is going to go off without a hitch, and Richard is going to thank his lucky stars for having the good sense to have assigned you City Beats.”

Leaning in, you press a soft, deliberate kiss to his lips. “You deserve your success.” His hand rises to cover yours, and your face softens into a smile. “Now, can we go? I need you to dance with me during the slow songs. I’ll even let you pretend we’re at prom.” 

The corners of his mouth rise, his chuckle warming the space between you as he leans in, your foreheads touching gently. “What would I do without you, Ace?” The words are gentle as his lips seek out yours. A car horn blares from the street below, breaking the moment. “I think our driver is getting antsy.”

“Well then, handsome,” you say, a gentle determination in your voice as you smooth out an imaginary crease on his jacket. “Let’s go to a party.” 

Dozens of spotlights pierce the night, illuminating the iconic Adler Planetarium. Limos and sleek cars roll up, dropping off the who’s who of the city—celebrities, influential politicians, and tech moguls—onto the red carpet-lined stairs. Banners emblazoned with the City Beats logo wave from the art deco building's great dome, set against the dark waters of the lake and the distant city lights. 

“Wow,” you breathe as Steve takes your hand and helps you out of the car. The magnitude of the moment takes over. Now it’s your turn to be impressed. “Baby, you did all this!” 

Steve’s signature smirk takes over his face, his cheeks tinting with a flush from your compliment. A camera flash pops in your face as you step out onto the red carpet. With a deep breath, you tighten your hold on his hand. The PR team's efforts have paid off. Photogs from all over the city and national publications line the step and repeat. The air is a blend of lake chill and expensive perfumes as you await your turn to be photographed. Steve’s reassuring hand, firm along your ribs, holds you steady as the flashes blind you. His gaze drops to yours, brimming with unmistakable pride, lending you his confidence. A quick squeeze of his hand coaxes a genuine smile as you face the cameras together.

“Not used to being on this side,” you murmur, keeping your teeth on display under the relentless flashes.

He chuckles, drawing you forward. “You're a natural,” he whispers, guiding you to the entrance with a hand at your back.

As you step into the grand foyer, your name being called pierces the hum of conversations. Rihanna waves from across the room, her manicured hand catching the light. She mouths ‘Call me’ before being swept away by her very tall date.

"Was that–" Steve asks, eyes widening. 

"I interviewed her last year," you explain, returning her smile with your own as she navigates the crowd. 

"Must have made an impression. That was the new point guard for the Chicago Bulls." His eyebrows raise as he watches them disappear into the throng of guests. Leaning in, his breath tickles your ear, “I don’t think we’re in Hawkins anymore, Dorothy.”

Light laughter bubbles from your throat. “Thanks, Toto,” you quip, threading your arm into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead you along.

Abstract designs mimicking sound waves, musical notes set into star patterns, and cosmic shapes elegantly adorn the solarium. The floor-to-ceiling windows extend the celestial theme, allowing for sweeping views of the night sky. 

“From Skyline to Bassline: This is City Beats Streaming Radio.” 

The DJ's smooth voice transitions the songs playing through the speakers as they live-stream from a platform beside a wall of digital screens alive with a social media feed and a map showing millions of listeners around the world tuning in. 

Steve lets go of your hand as he’s swarmed with department heads buzzing with reports and updates. You stand alone, crossing one hand over another as muted conversation hums under the beat of the music. The waitstaff weaves through the crowd, offering trays of fluted glasses brimming with bubbling champagne, and you gratefully accept a glass. Guests interact with kiosks exploring the different channels offered by City Beats, including specific music genres, news, and talk shows, while others move onto the themed lounges or drift out to the terrace for the small bites and views of the city.

“Harrington.” Richard's booming voice sends Steve’s staff scattering into the crowd. “Everything is looking just splendid, son.” He greets Steve with a firm handshake before his voice drops,“Now, how are those numbers?”

You look away, rolling your eyes out of view as you drain the rest of your glass. He can’t give Steve five minutes of peace. 

“According to sales, we are easily beating the first round of projections and are slated to hit our monthly target in the next hour.” Steve’s voice is filled with cool confidence, but his palm is damp when his fingers slip between yours. 

“That’s good to hear,” Richard says, the tightness in his expression easing as the redness circling his face begins to fade. He leans closer to Steve, his tone firm, “I don't think I need to remind you that Second City has a lot riding on this, which means you've got a lot riding on this.”

Steve's lips press together in a firm line as he stands a little taller and smooths a hand over his tie. Your teeth clamp down on the inside of your lip, forcing your silence. 

A waiter glides to your side, stopping to collect your empty glass. You place your flute on his tray a touch too forcefully. The clink with the other glasses is louder than intended, breaking the moment. Richard straightens, his attention drawn to you for the first time. He steps back, the wheels turning behind his eyes as he tries to place you.

His manufactured grin returns as he claps Steve on the shoulder. “Keep up the excellent work, my boy. This is impressive.” He waves a hand, gesturing around the party, “I don’t know what any of it is, but it’s impressive,” he laughs, expecting you to join him. When you only muster a weak smile, his laughter fades, replaced by a brief, awkward silence.

“I’m glad you brought the little lady with you tonight, Steve. She just gets prettier and prettier,” Richard continues, not missing a beat. “My wife’s around here somewhere, probably telling someone how to do their job,” he chuckles, then signals a waitress for more drinks. “Make sure you say hello. She loves gossiping with the other wives.” Handing you both a fresh glass, he adds, “Now, see to it our boy here doesn't work too hard, okay?” With a final pat on Steve’s shoulder and a wag of his finger in your direction, Richard moves off into the crowd.

Steve exhales quietly, the tension leaving his shoulders, as he gently squeezes your hand.

“I don’t know how you stand him,” you fume, “How many years have I worked here, and the bastard doesn't even recognize me.”

“Trust me, you’re better off not being on his radar,” Steve replies, downing his champagne in one go before passing the empty glass off to a passing waiter. “I’m sure he’s going to be on my ass when I meet with the investors.”

“But it’s such a nice ass,” you grin over the rim of your glass, letting the bubbles tickle your lips.

His eyes gleam as he leans in a little closer, but his response dissolves before it's spoken. Warmth heats the bare skin of your back as someone steps close behind you. Your stomach plummets like a rollercoaster, and goosebumps dot your arms—there's no need to look.

“Eddie,” Steve welcomes him with a handshake that shifts to an embrace. “You made it.”

Since the kiss, Eddie has honored your request, maintaining the distance you needed— a display of restraint that the high school version of him might not have managed.  But after your talk with Hopper and the shadow of the looming deadline creeping closer, it was only a matter of time before you had to face him. And the clock has just run out. 

“How could I pass this up?” Eddie’s gaze darts around the solarium before landing on you. “Doll.” He leans in, placing a light kiss on your cheek before turning back to Steve. “This is some party. Congratulations, man.” 

"Thanks for passing the word down your contact list,” Steve says, his tone sincere. “My head of PR mentioned you've made her job a hell of a lot easier." 

“Happy to help,” he shrugs, adjusting the gold cufflinks at his wrists. He’s ignored the last few buttons of his pressed black shirt and worn it open-collar, allowing a glimpse of the fine black-inked lines that grace the skin of his chest. 

“Do you own a suit that isn’t black?” You ask, eyeing the slim-fit pinstripe, that's obviously been tailored to fit him like a glove. “Or is that a rental?”

“Ace,” Steve chides.

Eddie laughs, the sound rich and easy. “Gotta match with the sweet old tats, don’t I?” The edge that once sharpened your words now fails to cut. His smile blooms into dimples, and it’s contagious. Despite the crackling of nerves and self-made promises, he disarms you. A line creases Steve’s brow as the moment hangs, and your smirk echoes Eddie’s.

A peel of laughter rises above the blend of music and conversation as the party continues. A harried junior staffer pushes through the crowd, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies as she tries to keep a stray lock of hair from escaping her updo. “Steve, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she keeps her voice low despite her breathlessness. “Ted's already on his fifth bourbon, and he's cornered Harris Blake from Bean City Brews. He's telling that joke about the nun and the circus tent, and I think we are about to lose half of our ad revenue for this quarter."

"Shit," Steve mutters, his fingers raking through his hair. "Okay, let's deal with this." Relief washes over the staffer's face as she quickly turns, leading the way.

Steve pauses, his eyes meeting yours, an apology written on his face. "I’m-”

"It's okay. Go," you reassure with a squeeze of his bicep. His lips lift at the corners before he turns away, disappearing into the crowd as your gaze lingers after him.

The weight of Eddie’s eyes settles on you before you’ve even turned to meet them. “So, is this the part where I chase you around all night until you finally agree to talk to me?” he asks, closing the distance with a step forward.

“Actually, I thought we’d skip that part.” Your eyes dip to your shoes, avoiding his stare. “I want to apologize for what happened. I let my emotions get the better of me. It was unprofessional.” 

“Unprofessional?” Surprise lifts brows before his lips press together in a hard line. “Come with me.” His hand closes over yours, pulling you through the solarium without looking back before you can object. 

“Eddie-” you start, but he’s already ushering you into the double doors of the sky theater.

He doesn’t stop as he leads you into the darkness, the room illuminated only by the soft rows of small floor lights as the soaring domed ceiling swirls with violet and periwinkle projections of the starry sky. Ignoring the few others milling around, he tugs you into the privacy of the shadows, finally releasing your hand. In the orchid-tinged light, his stare holds a depth that's hard to look away from. “This isn’t business, doll. You mean every–” he swallows, “you’re my closest friend.”

“You don’t even know me anymore, Eddie.” Your head shakes, silently begging him to understand.

His hands move to grip your shoulders. “There are some things that time can’t change.”

“It can’t happen again,” you state in a firm voice, taking a step back and widening the gap between you. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets, waiting as a couple meanders past, pointing out Cassiopeia. “Then what do you propose?”

“I’ll finish the articles.”

“And then?”

“And then everything goes back to the way it was. I'm sure we'll cross paths from time to time.” The words emerge on a strained breath, tightness seizing your lungs. “It’s for the best.” 

“That’s not good enough,” he counters, the shake of his head cutting through the dim light. “I want you in my life.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can.” He inches closer, blowing out a sigh. “Look, it was my fault. Be my friend. Draw that line, and we won’t cross it. I know you’re still pissed at me, but we can work through it.” His voice falters, the earlier resolve in his eyes melting into a plea. “Aren’t you tired of carrying all this around inside of you?”

His question softens the tension in your chest, suggesting a sliver of peace you hadn't known you were seeking. Maybe the scars etched on your heart for so long have also shielded it from joy. You swallow the lump in your throat, offering an almost imperceptible nod.

“Can you try for me?” he pleads. 

“I can’t make you any promises,” you nod again, more sure this time. “But I’ll try.” 

His thumb gently traces the side of your face before his arms circle you, pulling you close against him—the scent of vanilla and clove clings to his jacket. Under your cheek, the fabric is cool and smooth, tinged with a hint of tobacco, taking you someplace you thought was lost. 

“Don’t mark up my suit with that shit you wear all over your face,” he teases, his hold on you not lessening an inch. “It is a rental.”

There is a tentative hopefulness in your newly minted truce with Eddie. Almost as tangible as the pulse of the bass vibrating through the soles of your shoes. His smile, easy and unguarded, lights up his face as he guides you through the sea of finely dressed attendees with a hand resting on your lower back. Stopping to exchange hellos and handshakes with a group of industry professionals who are eager to discuss his Studio opening. He pushes the topic aside in favor of introducing you.  With an effortless charm, he leaves no room for doubt about your credentials as a journalist at Stax and suggests the value an interview with you would bring to their clients.

“What?” His eyebrows lift, amusement playing across his features as he catches the pleased look on your face as you tuck a handful of new business cards into your clutch.

“Are you auditioning to be my new publicist?” you tease, your brain already teeming with the new articles his introduction just made a possibility. 

The warmth of his laughter is becoming a welcome sound. “I’ll be anything you want, doll,” he offers, the words punctuated by a flirtatious flash of his dimples.

A snort accompanies the roll of your eyes, even as your stomach flutters. 

“I’m proud of you, you know? he adds, a soft earnestness in his tone. “I like showing you off.” The tenderness in his expression doesn't waver as he follows you through the solarium. You find your fiancée chatting with a familiar face. A welcome distraction from all things Eddie. 

“Dulcita,” Argyle wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Looking bitchin, as always. That dress is killer.”

Laughing, you nod toward his outfit, “Well, I’m just trying to keep up. You look amazing.” 

With an exaggerated flourish, he poses with his thumbs stretching the lapels of his periwinkle floral suit before turning to greet  Eddie with a handshake. 

Steve's hand finds its way to your hip, drawing you near. "I thought I’d lost you. Where'd you disappear to?"

“Just exploring a bit,” you offer, meeting his look with a smile, but his eyes shift past you toward Eddie.

A pretty blonde waitress weaves through the crowd, her tray of fresh drinks catching Eddie's attention. He flags her down with a tilt of his head and a confident wink. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, plucking a few glasses from her tray to pass around.

“This event is popping off,” Argyle chimes in, taking a glass and nodding toward Steve. “Congrats, dude. I couldn’t have planned this better myself.”

Eddie extends a glass in your direction. “Doll?” 

Steve’s shoulders tense as his stare fills the space between you and Eddie, the sides of his mouth dipping. “Have you eaten?” he asks, his hand tightening slightly on your waist.

For a heartbeat, you just look at him, letting the wave of irritation roll past. Your teeth sink into your lip as you decline Eddie’s offer with a shake of your head. 

Eddie's face tightens, a flash of restrained agitation crossing his features as he retracts the glass and dismisses the waitress with a polite nod. Argyle, shifts uncomfortably, his lips pursed into an O as his gaze skitters across the room. 

Turning fully towards Steve with a soft expression, you aim for lightness. “Argyle’s right, you know. It all looks perfect, Steve,” you say, channeling warmth into your words, “Everyone’s having a great time. All your hard work is really paying off.”

Half of his mouth lifts as his gaze wanders over the crowd. “Guess we’ll see on Monday when the final numbers come in. Richard is already pushing to take City Beats national.”

Your face falls, “But that’s...that’s a massive undertaking. You’d have to restructure everything, wouldn’t you?”

Steve nods, his expression turning heavy. “Yeah, it would mean a major overhaul, not just in marketing but across multiple departments. We'd likely need to set up satellite offices in other cities, which means a lot of travel for me. It’s ultimately up to the investors, though.”

“Not too shabby, Harrington,” Argyle says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “You’re going to be running with the big dogs now.”

The conversation becomes muted as worry knots your stomach. Steve doesn’t seem to realize that his decisions impact more than just his own future. The coming months loom large with late nights and lost weekends. The toll won’t be just the dark circles under his hazel eyes but the shared moments slipping away like water through your fingers. His relentless drive for success and approval is edging him closer to repeating his father's mistakes—becoming distant, hollow, bitter. Pouring himself into work to the point of exhaustion, neglecting those he loves, just as he was once neglected. You can't just watch as he loses himself, not when you see the signs, feel the strain.

“Come on, Ace, smile for me. This is a good thing.” Steve says with a soft tone as his lips find your temple.

“I know that, and I’m so proud of you,” you manage, lifting your cheeks in the look of adorement he hopes to see. “You work so hard. I just worry.”

His hand shifts to cradle your jaw, tipping your chin to meet his gaze. “It will be fine, I promise. I’ll take some time before things really ramp up,” he reassures, the corners of his hopeful eyes crinkling. “Maybe for a honeymoon?”

“Sounds like someone is trying to think of excuses to get out of the actual work,” Nancy’s voice slices through the moment, her arrival almost as commanding as the deep plum of her silk dress that clings and flows in all the right places, complementing her sleek dark hair.

“A national campaign?” Jonathan steps beside Nancy, his narrow tie and vintage-cut suit making him look straight from the 1950s. “You might as well give back the ring now. Sounds like he’s already married to his work,” he leans toward you, cupping his mouth like a secret, earning him a chuckle from the rest of the group. 

Ignoring him, Steve directs his attention to Nancy with a self-assured smirk. “Thanks for showing up, Nance. Wouldn’t want you to miss the moment Second City leaves Spectrum behind for the history books."

Her eyes narrow as her arms cross over her slender body, “That’s adorable, Steve, really. But the idea that your little radio project outshines a whole TV network? Please..”

Steve lets out a snort as his hands move to his hips. “Last I checked, Spectrum's sprawling empire was one channel.” 

“We're thinking of expanding,” her voice is as smooth as silk as she examines her nails. 

“With the tech we’re developing for on-demand music, who’s going to need cable?”

“If you can manage–”

“If I may suggest putting away the rulers,” Argyle’s voice rises above their bickering, “It’s Steve’s party, and I think we’ve had enough dick measuring for the evening.”

“Fine,” Nancy agrees as she holds Steve's stare, matching his smug expression, “I’ll concede. Congratulations on your accomplishments, Steve.”

“Appreciated,” Steve says, with a tip of his chin. 

“But let's be clear,” Nancy adds, unable to help herself, “my dick is still bigger.”

Argyle groans as Jonathan's eyes roll skyward. Eddie takes a gulp of champagne, trying to stem his laughter.

“Where’s Robin?” you ask, cutting off whatever retort Steve was planning before it has a chance to leave his mouth, “Didn’t she ride with you guys?”

“She took off at the coat check with Jessie J—something about a twerking tutorial,” Jonathan explains, looking confused as he tucks his hands in his pockets. 

Nancy's laugh tinkles with mischief. “Trust me, it's a sight. Robin insists she's better.”

“Well, I’m not missing that,” Eddie says, polishing off his drink, “I’ll catch you all later.” He turns and leaves your group, placing his empty glass on a waiter's tray as he walks past. 

As he melts into the crowd, Nancy's gaze shifts to Richard making his way toward your circle. Her smile tightens ever so slightly, “Oh god. Is that Richard Kingsley?” she asks Steve. “I thought he’d have retired by now, off riding a golf cart in Florida.” 

“No such luck.” Steve mutters under his breath, “Play nice, please.”

“I’m always nice,” she whispers before she plasters on her grin, “Richard.”

Richard approaches with a practiced smile, extending his hand to Nancy. “Nancy Wheeler, Spectrum’s shining star in the digital domain, or so I’ve been told. They’ve certainly sent us their best tonight. How’s the world of content directing? ”

“Actually, Richard,”  Steve quickly corrects, his voice firm yet courteous as he positions himself alongside Nancy, “Vice President of Content Strategy. Nancy’s been leading the charge there for over a year now.” 

Richard's smile doesn't falter as he turns to Nancy. "My apologies, Nancy. I’m sure it's a well-deserved promotion.” She offers him a polite smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes as he continues, “Your insights at the conference in New York were…enlightening. It's always good to have industry leaders like yourself in attendance.”

As if on cue, a junior staff photographer weaves through the crowd. Richard snaps his finger at him, seizing the opportunity, "Let's capture this moment, shall we? A picture for the company archives.”

“Better him than me,” Jonathan mutters as the staffer directs the group a few feet away, ensuring the City Beats Logo will frame the background of the photo. Richard positions himself at the center, patting at the shine of his red face with a handkerchief before draping an arm over each of their shoulders.

“That’s depressing,” Jonathan snorts, watching the setup. “Well, I'm off to find a drink that matches my cynicism,” he adds, taking the opportunity to slip away, leaving you alone with Argyle.

“So,” The sweetness of pineapple and weed hit your nose as Argyle leans over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear, “It looks like you and Eddie sorted out your shit, huh?”

“We’re tolerating each other,” you tell him without turning your head. 

“I don’t know, man,” he muses, his eyes narrowing, “Tolerance was not the look on your face when you walked in here with him.”

A huff escapes your throat as you whip around to face him. “I’m interviewing him, remember?” you ask, trying to keep defensiveness out of your voice. “I'm just trying to be…pleasant.” 

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to,” he adds, concern written across his face. “But from where I’m standing, you look like you’re in way over your head.”

The words die in your throat as Eddie reappears, weaving through the crowd with the grace of someone used to navigating this kind of affair. In one hand, he balances a plate arranged with an assortment of canapes and sushi, each piece a miniature work of art. His deep brown eyes keenly focused on you. “Eat something, doll,” he suggests, handing the plate over to you.

That feeling wells up in your stomach as you purse your lips, trying not to let your mouth stretch too big in front of Argyle, although he probably has picked up on the heat rising to your face. “Thanks,” you say shyly, accepting the plate. 

“I’ll snag one,” Argyle reaches toward your plate with two fingers.

 Eddie brows lower. “You can get your own, they’re not charging.”

“Sheesh, I know, dude. They're from my restaurant,” Argyle informs him.

“Then you know exactly where to get more,” Eddie counters.

“Did you find Robin?” you ask, changing the subject. “Was she twerking?”

“Yeah, I caught the tail end of it. And I’ll never unsee it,” his genuine laughter fills the space. “I think it’s burned into my retinas.”

“Mrs. Harrington," comes the voice of a junior staffer materializing beside you with such abruptness that the plate nearly slips from your grasp. "They want you in the photo now.”

“Umm, sure,” you say, glancing to where Steve is standing with Nancy, laughing at something she said. Eddie takes the plate from you, his easy smile from earlier erased by the downturn of his lips. 

Smoothing down your skirt, you follow the photographer, consciously relaxing the clench of your jaw over how you were addressed. Steve’s eyes sparkle with warmth as he makes space for you between himself and Nancy, Richard positioned at the end. The clear happiness on his face eases your irritation. His hand finds a place on your ribs, pulling you into his side before the photographer directs you where to look. 

“Very nice,” Richard comments with a nod after the flash goes off. 

“One for your company Christmas card,” Nancy quips, throwing a look in Steve's direction.

Richard, not missing a beat, turns to you both. “Yes, well, it’s always a pleasure, Ms. Wheeler. I hope you enjoy the party,” he says before shifting to Steve. “Ready to give the investors a tour, my boy? They’ve had their share of drinks. Should be just about softened up for you now.”

“I’ll be right with you, Richard.” Steve waves him off, his eyes softening as he looks down at you, “You going to be okay on your own for a while, Ace?”

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rising to your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re going to kill it, handsome.” 

The side of his mouth tips up as you use your thumb to wipe away the gloss you left behind. “How did I get so lucky?” he wonders aloud, his gaze locked on yours. Leaning in, he captures your lips with his in a kiss that lingers a beat too long for a public place. 

“I'll find you later.” Regret clouds his eyes as he pulls back, slipping on the professional mask he wears far too often. He walks away with Richard in tow.

“I better go find Jonathan,” Nancy tells Argyle and Eddie as you rejoin your friends, “or he’ll end up in a corner talking politics all night, and I made him promise me that he’d dance with me for at least one song.” 

“You can sign me up for one too, Wheeler,” Eddie says, popping a piece of sushi in his mouth. “No arm twisting required.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Munson,” she promises, pointing a playful finger at him before turning to leave, her dress swirling behind her.

“You, Eddie Muson, volunteering to dance,” you tease, your expression mockingly shocked. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

“Play your cards right, doll, and I’ll show you up close and personal,” Eddie says, his eyebrows dancing as he offers you a canapé.

“That’s alright, Eddie. I’ve got my regular dance partner right here, right Argyle?” you say, looping your arm through his.

“Yeah... yup,” Argyle murmurs, his attention momentarily snagged by a tall brunette striding past. She sweeps a waterfall of silky hair over her shoulder, pretending not to notice him, but the extra sway added to her hips says otherwise. 

“Solo dame una noche con ese culo y te haré mami, querida,” Argyle calls after her, untangling himself from your arm.  

“Traitor,” you accuse, watching him go with a shake of your head as he follows after her without a backward glance.

“Ve por ella, amigo,” Eddie encourages with a booming laugh.

Turning back to you, he rocks on his heels, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looks like it’s just you and me, doll.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to look so happy about it,” you chide when his dimples make an appearance, sending the rusted chains around your heart rattling when it jumps under your ribs. Maybe Argyle wasn’t too far off the mark.

A brisk wind cuts across the dark surface of Lake Michigan. The City Beats logo burns bright in yellow neon, its light spilling over the outdoor stage and dancing across the water’s surface in a rotation of colors. Despite the press of bodies, warmth is scarce, with the night air nipping at any exposed skin. Before you can even think of shivering, Eddie drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, the fabric holding the residual warmth of his body. He stands close beside you, seemingly unfazed by the cool temperature, as Maroon 5 concludes their set.

The crowd sways as one, heads bobbing in sync with the rhythm pulsing into the chilly evening. The spice of Eddie's cologne is a veil around you, drawing you closer into his orbit. Glancing his way, you expect his attention to be on the show, eyes tracking each note and chord. Instead, you find the intensity of his gaze fixed on you.

As the song ends with the band offering their thanks, the MC dashes on stage to announce the next performer. With a tip of his chin, Eddie motions for you to follow him. Together, you squeeze through the crowd, walking along the path at the lake's edge until the sea of people begins to thin, their noise fading into a distant murmur until it's just the two of you left, accompanied by the quiet hush of waves lapping against the bank. 

He stops, gazing out over the water, city lights dancing in his eyes. “I almost forgot how your face changes when you listen to music. It’s like the lyrics break right through, lighting you up from the inside.”

“My one true love,” you respond with a wistful sigh, giving him a shrug. 

“Oh yeah?” He turns toward you, inching a bit closer to reach into the breast pocket of the suit jacket enveloping your shoulders. He pulls out a tightly rolled joint, eyeing you with a raised brow. “What’s with all the ‘Mrs. Harrington’ business?” he asks, placing the joint between his lips and fishing a brass Zippo from his pants pocket. “Did you get married and forget to invite me?”

Your eyes flash skyward as he lights it with a practiced flick and takes a deep drag. “I don’t know...Steve encourages it. I think it’s his way of reminding me he’s waiting for me to set a date.”

He passes you the joint and blows out a lung full of white smoke that swirls into the night air.  “You have left the poor sap waiting for a while.”

“I don’t want to talk about my relationship with you, Eddie,” you say, flicking the ash off the burning paper's end before pressing it to your lips and inhaling. 

“Why not?” His gaze probes, seeking an opening, a slip, anything. “Friends talk about their relationships, don’t they?”

You can’t help but cough, the potency of the smoke catching you off guard. “You know exactly why not,” you retort, passing the joint back to him. A soft fog settles over your thoughts, smoothing out the evening’s sharpness. “And you? Volunteering to help with the guest list...” You eye him skeptically, “Trying to ease your conscience?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes another hit, “It was only a couple of texts, doll,” he says, passing the joint back to you, his fingers brushing yours. “Trust me, I sleep just fine at night. What’s between you and me started long before Steve entered the picture.”

 "Well, he’s here now," you assert with defiance, your gaze locked with Eddie's as the joint burns down in your fingers. 

His fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding your left hand into the streetlamp's glow until the diamond on your finger flashes. "I guess he is. But doll," he steps closer, his eyes holding yours, "so am I."

“Yeah? Let’s wait and see if you stick around this time.” Your skepticism is clear as you bring the joint back to your lips, watching his face fall with your pointed words.

“So this is where the cool kids hang out,” Hopper’s gruff voice cuts into the night, anchoring you back to reality. Eddie takes a step away from you, his hands tugging on the ends of his curls. Hopper’s eyes narrow on the joint between your fingers. “Really think it’s wise to smoke grass at a work function?” 

“I promise not to operate any heavy machinery,” you respond in a dry tone, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

The older man’s eyes shoot skyward before he holds out an expectant hand, “Give it here.”  

You hand it over, and the burning paper crackles as he takes a practiced drag, “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Sorry. Yeah,” you rub your forehead, “James Hopper, this is my…um, friend, Eddie Munson.” Eddie leans forward, reaching out to shake hands as you quickly explain, “Hopper’s my editor.” The steadiness in your voice doesn’t quite bridge the awkward moment. 

Eddie’s brows raise as Hopper’s hand closes over his in a crushing grip. “Hell of a grip,” Eddie comments with a question written across his face. 

“A handshake is a good measure of man,” Hopper offers him no other explanation, handing him back the smoking joint before turning to you. “I expect a write-up of the launch on my desk by 10:30 tomorrow for the digital edition. And don’t skimp on the details about the radio service. Downtown is keen on pushing this, so I hope you paid attention.”

“No problem, Hop. I’m on it,” you assure him.

“Now, I’m going home to Joyce. If she gets a whiff of this on me, I’m sending her your way.”

“You’ll be in the clear,” you promise with a soft grin. 

Hopper's stern demeanor gives way to something gentler. “Alright,” he says with a nod, “Enjoy your evening, kid.” His eyes dart to Eddie. “But not too much.”

“Jesus, that’s your editor?” Eddie asks once Hopper is out of sight. “The guy missed his calling, he would’ve made a great cop.”

Your laughter accompanies the dismissive shake of your head. “We better go back inside.”

The walk back is steeped in quiet, the night’s emotions a heavy weight that weaves threads of weariness and a dull ache through your limbs. Eddie appears less burdened, wearing an expression of contentment, his hand slipping beneath the fabric of his jacket still resting over your shoulders. The warmth of his palm seeps into the bare skin of your back while his thumb traces soothing circles along your spine. Carried in on a breeze, the earthy spice of late-blooming asters mingle with the vibrant colors of marigolds softened under the glowing canopy of string lights.

As you near the terrace, the murmur of voices grows, and the sparse groups of people along the pathway thicken to a full gathering. The shift from the lake’s tranquility to the party's bright lights and crescendo of conversations is jarring.  The solarium overflows with party-goers, their inhibitions loosened by drinks as they flood the dance floor, the music swelling louder and more insistent than before.  Despite the sea of people, it takes only moments for Steve’s gaze to lock onto yours across the room as you reenter with Eddie by your side. 

Without hesitation, he leaves the conversation he'd been having and moves toward you. The corners of your mouth lift in a greeting that isn’t returned. His forehead creases with a question. The air seems thicker as you slide the jacket off, returning it to Eddie, the tightness in your chest reappearing. Steve's jaw clenches as he reaches you, his arm circling your waist. “I’ll take my fiance back now, Munson.”

Eddie’s smirk sharpens as he hooks his jacket over one shoulder, “Just keeping an eye on her for you, buddy. Couldn’t leave the lady alone with all these musicians wandering around.” He leans closer, his free hand circling his mouth, “They tend to  get a little handsy.”

"Thanks, pal," Steve replies, the last word stretched tight as he stands taller. “I’ll take it from here.”

Eddie’s gaze drops to his feet momentarily before his head lifts. Amusement widens his grin, reflecting a confidence that borders on smug. His feet shuffle as he adjusts his posture to match Steve’s. A twist of nerves tightens your stomach as a spark that you know all too well brightens Eddie’s eyes like an echo of the cocky teenager he once was. 

“How about that dance you promised me, handsome?” you blurt, cutting Eddie off just as his mouth opens to respond. Stepping between them, you intertwine your fingers with Steve's and tug him toward the dance floor. As if on cue, the music mellows to a slower tempo. 

Steve’s stare remains on Eddie as his arms circle your waist. “You know, it’s funny, I never realized what a dick Eddie is.” 

Your head turns to see Eddie watching you with hands shoved in his pocket. “You barely spoke to him all night. What led you to that conclusion?”

Robin bops over to meet him, her blue eyes gleaming as she tugs at his arm, trying to coax him into a dance despite his shaking head. 

“I don’t know. The guy is just rubbing me the wrong way,” Steve doesn’t hide the irritation in his voice as he turns you so you’re facing away from them. 

A burst of protectiveness that has been dormant since high school wells up like a hot spring. The words escape before your better judgment can catch them. “Really. Are you sure it’s not because he’s my friend?” 

The mossy green rings of his eyes burn into yours for only a moment before he blows out a soft breath. “Let’s not fight.” His big hand slides down to rest low on your back as he pulls you closer. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone all night,” he says into your ear before his mouth covers yours hotly, leaving you whirling with his quick change. “Where have you been all night, Ace?”

One side of his mouth lifts in a half-smile, but his confident mask slips. Behind his eyes, he’s lost—the familiarity tugs at you. Rising on your toes, you press your lips to his. “I’m right here.” 

His expression softens, radiating a comforting warmth as his lips brush your temple. The rhythm of the song wraps around you both like a truce. Burying your cheek into Steve’s shoulder, your gaze follows Eddie as he turns his back and heads for the door. 

Steve leans closer to the bathroom mirror, his fingertips shiny with the pomade he's using to piece out the strands of his chestnut hair. 

“Don’t forget your glasses,” you remind him, turning away from the open doorway and entering your bedroom.  

“Or the tickets,” you toss out, noticing the white envelope on his night table.

“What would I do without you, Ace?” His voice floats from the bathroom, light and teasing.

Settling at the end of your bed, you pick up the novel you started recently, the book's weight familiar in your lap. Seeing Steve so relaxed and happy broadens your smile. He deserves this night out to blow off a little steam. City Beats' launch exceeded every expectation. A success that's finally turned the heads of the old guard at Second City toward the efforts of their youngest executive. Of course, memories are short, and victories are fleeting.

Steve's workload hasn't lessened, and the prospect of taking the platform national is still on the horizon, but you've set aside any misgivings, at least for now. It’s been a week since you surprised him with the Bulls tickets during his birthday dinner at Maple and Ash, Steve’s favorite, surrounded by your closest friends–with one empty chair at the table when Eddie hadn’t shown. 

“Sure you don’t want to come? I still have an extra ticket,” He asks, emerging through the pocket doors separating your bedroom from the closet. Securing his Jaeger-Lecoultre watch to his wrist, the scent of Dior Homme follows him.

You glance down at your cozy leggings and cream wrap sweater. “I’ve got big plans tonight, handsome.” You hold up the book against your chest. “Didn’t anyone from your pick-up game want the ticket? Or those guys you play racquetball with?”

“I didn't get a chance to ask until the last minute,” he explains. “Robin called my office about fifty times to harass me about inviting Eddie to the game. It took me all week to get the guy on the phone, and  then he turned me down flat.” He shakes his head, walking over to his nightstand to retrieve the tickets. 

“I don't think Eddie is much of a sports guy,” you muse, glancing down at your fingers, folding and unfolding a dog-eared page. “He used to say he didn't have time for throwing balls into laundry baskets. He’d go on and on about the unfairness of high school politics.” A quiet laugh escapes your mouth along with the memory. “He could be so dramatic back then.”

When you lift your eyes, Steve's standing frozen in place, the deep line between his brows wiping away his easy demeanor. He's looking at you like he's just found an uninvited stranger in his bed. It’s just a flash before he recovers, his features returning to the affectionate expression he usually carries for you, but it was enough. The parts of yourself you keep hidden loom like an iceberg–he’s just spotted the tip. You draw your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Yeah?” He pauses, the air between you thickening as a hint of challenge colors his voice. “That’s a little weird considering he got us seats at a Lakers game last time I was in LA.”

The silence stretches just a moment longer. “Guess he’s not the same guy you knew back in Hawkins. But then again, none of us are, right?” He lets the question hover, knowing an answer isn’t coming.  “People change,” he shrugs, his gaze intense and probing. “Or maybe we just never really knew them at all.”

He steps closer and leans in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a kiss that punctuates the conversation. His tone, sharp and heavy like a dull knife, cuts deep as he turns to leave. “Enjoy your book.” 

“Wait.” You slip off the bed, bridging the gap between you. Your fingers tangle in the material of his shirt, drawing him closer until your lips meet his, adding pressure until his arms circle your waist and he kisses you back. His embrace grows warmer as your tongue slides into his mouth, grazing his before pulling back, making him chase you, and he does. You break away but keep him close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath a warm whisper as his nose runs along your cheek. “Have fun, okay?” you murmur against his lips as his hands slide up and down your back. “Knock back a few. Yell at the Ref. Get Jonathan drunk enough to annoy Nancy.” 

He chuckles, a smile lifting his cheeks. “You got it, Ace.” His eyes close as his lips find yours again. “I love you.” 

"I love you too, Steve," you whisper, your fingers uncurling from his shirt as you let him go. He takes your hand as you follow him downstairs. He opens the front door to a car waiting at the curb, the driver hoping out to open the backdoor. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours.” He smiles, picking up his keys from the small table.

The cold air rushes in from outside, and you pull your sweater tighter around your neck. Watching him step through the door, you call out, “Happy Birthday, handsome.”

As you close the door, Steve pauses on the landing with a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You know, now that I think about it, Eddie didn’t stop yapping that entire game. Maybe you’re right after all. The guy just doesn’t like sports.”

You give a noncommittal shrug, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. "What did you talk about?"

“Can’t remember,” he shakes his head, resuming his descent down the steps. You watch for a moment longer before closing the door and latching the deadbolt.

With a sigh, you turn back to the now quiet house. The soft pad of your fluffy socks muffles your footsteps as you drift through the rooms, dimming the overhead lights to let the warmer glow of lamps bathe the space in a comforting light. You head to the kitchen, grabbing the remote from the counter. At the press of a button, the scratch of a guitar and a gravelly voice fill the silence, as comforting as an old friend.

You mouth the lyrics as you reach for a wine glass from the cupboard. With a practiced motion, you uncork a bottle of red, filling your glass halfway, only to keep going until it's right to the brim. The song shifts as you leave the kitchen, glass in hand, taking a sip, the rich flavors of dark fruit and spice mingling perfectly, soothingly. Sinking into the couch, you tip your head back against the cushion, letting the music and the stillness envelop you. Your eyes close, the lyrics weaving a soothing spell, chasing dark thoughts away. 

The peace is predictably short-lived. A buzz jolts you. The phone tucked into your leggings vibrates with an incoming call. You try to ignore it, letting it ring to voicemail, but it buzzes again—this time a text. With a resigned huff, you pull it out and unlock the screen with a click.

Missed Call – Eddie

Eddie: Your neighbors don’t complain when you play music that loud?

You blink down at the screen and then lift your gaze to the room's dark corners.

Eddie: Don’t get freaked out. Just come to the door. 

Pushing off the couch, you pad through the house to the front door and open it to the chilly November night. A brisk gust of wind blows down your street, swirling dried red and orange leaves around Eddie's black leather boots, where he stands at the base of your steps, bathed in the soft glow of the sconces flanking your door.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of dark-fitted jeans, a cozy half-zip sweater in deep charcoal hugging his broad chest. He looks up at you from under his long lashes, head slightly cocked to the side. “I tried the bell.” His head turns to the street as a passing car splashes water up from the wet pavement. “What kind of sound system is that? I thought Chris was in there with you for a second.”

Wrapping your arms around your chest, your fingers gently rub the fabric of your sweater as you ignore the surrealness of Eddie casually referring to Chris Cornell by his first name. “What are you doing here? Steve's not home.”

“I know. I thought the guy would never leave. How long does it take him to do his hair, anyway?”

“It’s not funny, Eddie. You can’t come in.” You glance down the street to see your neighbor, leash in hand, appear in the circle of light cast by the streetlamp.

“I don’t want to come in, doll. We’re going out. And we're late, so if you could light a fire under it.” Eddie’s lips press into a hard line as your neighbor passes him on the sidewalk, giving him the once-over, the poodle pausing to sniff his legs.

“Evening, Mr. Davis," you acknowledge with a wave as the man continues down the street, shaking his head. You turn back to Eddie, frustration evident in your tone. "I can't go anywhere. I'm not even dressed.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, assessing your attire. “Those look like clothes to me.” 

Your head tilts to the side, your expression unwavering. 

He glances at the sky and lets out a frustrated sigh before his gaze returns to you. “You look beautiful, doll. Now, please. Just grab your coat,” he implores, his hands pressing together in front of him. “ I promise to have you back before you turn into a pumpkin.” 

Your eyes lower to where your toes are wiggling in your socks, “Eddie, I–”

“Well, I could always just hang out here,” he muses, scratching at the scruff on his chin. “Might get awkward when the game lets out.”

“You're not serious,” you challenge, skepticism evident in your tone.

“Oh, aren't I?” he asks, cocking a brow as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Friends hang out together, don’t they?”

“Fine,” you fume. “But I better be back in plenty of time.” You catch the way his smile broadens as you turn back into the house to slip on a pair of boots and grab an old woolen peacoat off the hook by the door. Stepping out onto the stone landing of your brownstone, you hesitate, shooting him another look of apprehension before turning to lock the door.

“Christ, woman, was that so difficult?” He throws his hands in the air as he crosses the street to a shiny black Audi Q7 parked at the curb. With a wave of his hand, he opens the passenger door, beckoning you to climb inside. 

The bare branches of the trees sway with the wind, casting moving shadows against the shining asphalt painted with the last of the fallen leaves. You walk across the road to where he’s waiting and step into the SUV. You sink into the plush seat, the smell of leather, smoke, and his cologne assaulting your senses. It's the same scent that seemed to linger for days after your last visit to CursedSound, the one your guilt tried to erase.

Your hands worry themselves in your lap, twisting the diamond on your fourth finger while you wait for him to round the vehicle. The agreement about keeping the lines drawn is fresh in your mind as he climbs into the driver's seat. 

Without warning, he leans over you, the warmth of his body invading your space, the pout of his full bottom lip hovering inches from yours. The sharp intake of your breath echoes loudly in the vehicle's quiet confines.

“Seatbelt,” he reminds you, his big brown eyes dancing with amusement as he drags the strap across your shoulder and clicks it into position at your hip. 

Heat rises up your neck, burning your cheeks as he settles himself in his seat, strapping in before pressing the button that starts the ignition. 

“Shit.” His face falls as he glares at the glowing numbers on his dash.  He turns the wheel, lurching the Audi onto the roadway. Your neighborhood disappears in a blur as he turns and heads north. “And I thought LA traffic was bad,” he mutters, weaving in and out of stagnant lanes. 

The congestion loosens as he turns onto Lakeshore Drive, heading uptown. The moon hangs low, presiding over the rippling waters of Lake Michigan that stretch out into the night. A vast, dark canvas that reflects the tapestry of light from the towering buildings across the roadway rises to pierce the skyline. 

Music from Eddie’s phone plays at a low volume through the stereo. It serves to fill the quiet between you, but there’s something in the clash of the electric guitar and smooth bass that's an itch in your brain. Familiar like a half-remembered dream, but somehow still new. 

Your eyes steal glances to your left. His profile fades in and out of shadow with the passing headlights. The sharp line of his jaw tightens with a clench when he’s forced to slow his speed. The baby softness he used to carry in high school has given way to solid angles and the perpetual growth of stubble. There’s no denying it– he’s only gotten more attractive.

His head turns suddenly, catching your stare. Your throat clears as you reach for the knob, turning up the volume and letting the song replace anything about to be said. His hand moves from the gear shift to his thigh, his elegant fingers flexing against his jeans. Your eyes stay fixed on the taillights ahead as the song moves into its final refrain.

"Wait." You reach out to punch the back button,  restarting the song. "This is you."

His eyebrows lift in surprise, his mouth parting slightly. "How did you—"

"I’m right, aren’t I?" you interject, pointing at the dash, focusing on the distinct chord progression and the sound of fingers sliding over frets.

"Yeah, it's something I’ve been working on for a while,” he admits, looking at you with soft eyes. “Still trying to figure out a part that's missing." 

"I didn’t realize you still played," you comment, adjusting the volume again.

“I don’t know why you're surprised,” he says, reaching back to place his hand on your headrest as he smoothly backs the SUV into a space, turning the wheel to align with the curb. “I don't give up on the things I care about.” He shifts into park and turns off the ignition. “Come on.” His hand lands on your knee in a gentle squeeze. “We’re here.” 

Exiting the car, you step onto the empty side street. Ambient light filters down from the high windows of the brick buildings lining both sides of the street. A nondescript bus with blackened windows and a few other cars sit parked at the curb. This is exactly the kind of place you'd normally avoid after dark. Sighing, you round the car to where Eddie is waiting. His hand finds its way to the small of your back, guiding you across the street to a lone, unmarked steel door. With a closed fist, he raps out five quick knocks followed by two slower and turns to you with a grin. 

“What are we doing here?” you ask, shoving your hands into your coat pockets and looking up and down the street.

“I’m apologizing.” His words are cut off by the scraping sound of locks, followed by the door swinging open. Bright light spills out, casting a silhouette of a very large, bald man holding a clipboard, nearly obscuring the doorway.

“Can I help you?” booms the man’s voice, reverberating off the surrounding brick.

“I’m on the list,” Eddie says, undeterred.

“Name?” the doorman asks, retrieving a pen from behind his ear.

“Munson,” Eddie responds, glancing at the clipboard. “Edward and guest.”

The man sizes up Eddie with a thorough once-over, his gaze flickers towards you briefly before allowing you both to enter. 

Following Eddie, you step inside, the brightness of the overhead fluorescents bouncing off the cinder block walls, causing you to squint after the dimly lit street outside. Flight cases and amp stacks clutter the small vestibule of the venue's loading area. The muffled thrum of a bass line vibrates through the walls and high ceilings. 

“You’re cutting it close,” the man grunts, his staff shirt stamped with the Riviera Theater’s logo pulling tight across his chest as he hands Eddie two lanyards with plastic tags. 

The sweet sound of a cascade of delicate strings drifts through the air from down the hall opposite you, drawing your attention like a moth to a porch light. 

“Is that violins?” Turning toward the sound, tiny sparks ignite in your chest as Eddie slips the lanyard over your head.

“You know the way?” The doorman snaps his clipboard, ignoring your question.

“We’ll find it,” Eddie assures him, his fingers closing around your elbow as he tugs you toward the hallway.

The smile stretching your lips is automatic. Tingles of energy zip through your veins as anticipation builds, like being a kid at Christmas. As the stark fluorescents give way to dimmer bulbs, a murkier haze settles around you, mirroring the anticipation building in your chest. Their soft glow catches the shine of the dark curls resting on Eddie's collar as you trail after him down the maze of narrowing corridors.

Passing by closed doors and bulletin boards tacked with production notes and schedules, you step lightly to avoid the cords snaking across your path. The worn wooden floorboards creak with each step like they are responding to the growing clarity of the strings that now reach your ears, no longer muffled but rich and full.

The baseline of Dreams smooths into its final notes, and applause thunders from the audience. Eddie pauses, his hand resting lightly on your back, guiding you to a halt. You step between him and the canopy of curtains gathered at the stage’s edge, the sounds of the crowd's approval dissipating into the cavernous space. The polished instruments rest in the orchestra’s hands, poised for their next cue. Your hand flies to your mouth as the sight of The Cranberries at center stage fully registers. Dolores O’Riordan’s head turns, catching Eddie’s gaze. With an exasperated look, she taps the watch strapped to her wrist. He mouths a “Sorry,” his head tilting slightly towards you. At that moment, her brown eyes connect with yours. A hint of a smile graces her face before she turns back to the audience, her voice resonating in the stillness, "I was saving this one."

The first sigh of the violin expands with your breath, an arrow soaring through the air, piercing the center of your chest. A thrum of a calloused thumb brushing over the strings of an acoustic guitar accompanies the “Ahhs” of her lilting voice. The harmony is echoed by a cello, then a viola, and another violin, each repetition weaving into the next like a ripple of raindrops on calm water until it all fades into a hush, leaving your stomach swooping in its wake.

The silence shatters with the bold strum of the guitar. The air leaves your lungs in unison with the crashing bassline, the full swell of the strings washing over you like an ocean wave.

If you, if you could return

Don't let it burn

Don't let it fade

In the auditorium's darkness, the audience vanishes until only you and he exist. Eddie stands close, his warmth seeping into you as he presses into you with his shoulder. Clove and tobacco mix with the tang of iron and polished wood. The back of his hand grazes the soft skin of your own, but it’s the stage that holds your attention, pulling you in deeper. 

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you?

The accompanying musicians close their eyes, becoming extensions of their instruments. Dolores tilts her head, her voice clear and strong, pouring from her slight frame. The music rises through the aged floorboards, tremors of notes climbing your legs and bursting within your chest. Stirring emotions so immense it threatens to spill over as tears sting behind your eyes. 

Oh, I thought the world of you

I thought nothing could go wrong

Your head turns and you find Eddie has been watching you the entire time. His throat bobs as he swallows, the bright lights reflecting the shine in his eyes, and now it's you who can't look away. The soft expression he wears is tender and novel. The black lines that have always connected you pull taut, tugging at your heart. Lines that you thought were severed by anger and loneliness. 

But I was wrong, I was wrong

But somehow, they’ve remained. Tattered and a little frayed but enduring all the same. At his core, he is who he’s always been, and so are you.

Things wouldn't be so confused

And I wouldn't feel so used

But you always really knew

I just want to be with you

Two souls found each other in the darkness, singing the same song. He brought you here for a reason—he's telling you he's sorry without words, reaching for you through the melody in a way you can't ignore—in a way that matters.

And I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

Everything falls away, but the music and your shared heartbeats. Memories flicker, like pages of a faded scrapbook caught in the wind—sunlit and shadowed. The heavy musk of aged velvet curtains shifts into the fresh scent of cut grass and summer nights, the cool touch of lakewater, and the honeyed warmth of sunshine lingering on his skin. Hummed lyrics, shared laughter, the comfort of being by his side. You liked the version of yourself reflected in his eyes.

Recollections you locked away come back in a deluge. Past moments, both sweet and sharp, weave together, softening the edges of old wounds. Each verse, each look from him, peels back layers of hurt you’d clung to. The bitter shell around your heart begins to crack, dislodging the shards within. Lighter now, your wounds can start to mend. The remaining scars are reminders, but a warmth begins to unfurl in their place, reluctant and bewildering. It’s not forgiveness yet, but the possibility is closer for him and for yourself.

You got me wrapped around your finger

Notes spiral upwards, threading through the shadow-laden lattice of ropes and rigging until they dissipate into the darkness above. Under the glare of the stage lights, the harmonies that once defined you rekindle, sparking to life. Your fingers find his with intention, intertwining with deliberate grace, palm to palm, sliding, locked together. Warmth spreads through the both of you. It's unexpected the way lyrics unravel you, making room for something new. Your gaze leaves his, returning to the performance, but you lean into Eddie, your head tipping to rest on his shoulder. The breath releases from his chest in a shuddering sigh.  And he feels an awful lot like home. 

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?

Listen to the acoustic version of Linger here Rest in peace, Delores. Ni bheidh a leitheid ann aris.

Big, huge, giant, hugs and sloppy wet kisses for sticking with me. I know the wait was long. Your encouragement got me through it. Especially Leighanne and Taylor who had to put up with me whining.

All your song suggestions have made this fic so fun to write. Please keep 'em coming.

We are about halfway through, kittens. It's about to get bumpy.

For updates follow @tornupdates

[kissitbttr]

Hi lovely! Your cake tasting fic was literally immaculate. I was just thinking about how r and miguel met, and how cute it would be to see a blurb where he gets all flustered when he sees her for the first time? You are amazing! Xoxo

sending u lots and lots of kisses MWAH MWAH thank u baby😚😚😚 anyHOWWWW i’m so glad someone asked for this! I’ve been waiting for it TEEHEE! now i did mention a little bit on the cake testing fic how they first met, sooo i might just have to expand from there yuhyuh!

this turned out a bit onger than i expected lol but I hope you'd enjoy it regardless!

miguel masterlist

—

miguel meeting his wife for the first time

-

“the laboratory is 80% damaged, miguel. we need to get it fixed or else we can no longer continue our work.”

miguel sighs deeply, pinching his eyebrows with his index finger and thumb. the ungodly amount of research papers stacked neatly in the corner of his working desk, along with bunch of scrunched papers on top.

“jessica, no ahora”

she rolls her eyes at his stubbornness, arms crossed over her chest. his eyes glued on the monitor, framed glasses perched on the bridge of his thick nose bone

“you need a break.”

“I don’t” he disagrees. if anything, he needs to put on more hours of work. “i can’t leave before everything is done. we’ll get it fixed next week.”

“that’s what you said last week, miguel” jessica points out, eyes scanning around the room. “look at this mess! the HQ haven’t got fixed in months! if you want this building to be safely secured and leave no casualties in the future, you have to do what i say.”

again, miguel disagrees. shaking his head without looking up. “and i said, no.”

but jessica refuses to be told like that, shrugging her shoulders like it’s nothing. “well too bad, because i already found someone who’s willing to work on it and you’re meeting them”

that seems to catch his attention, his pen dropping off between his finger as his head whips towards jessica’s direction.

“you—what?!”

“i’m not going to be responsible for many injured people in the future. not when we have too much enemies coming to bite our asses so i suggest you get down from there and come here”

miguel has a temper. a very short one, and it’s not easy to control it when he’s surrounded by people who’s trying to tell him what to do. it’s supposed to be the other way around.

but miguel has no energy to fight back, so instead of telling her to fuck off, he just nods his head.

“alright fine” an upset mutter falls from his lips before he makes his way down the stairs. hands on his hips. “where is he?”

jessica scoffs, “why do you always assume everyone is a he?” she chuckles lightly at miguel’s quirk eyebrow. “you can come in now, ms. y/l/n”

the sound of his office door clicks after that, and miguel seems to be less than impressed because he has no energy in him to talk to people other than himself,

yet, his jaw drops instantly soon as he sees the person who walks through it,

a woman—a very gorgeous one—who looks like to be in her mid twenties makes an entrance as her heels click against the marble floor, carrying what seems to be a tablet and folders. she’s dressed in a grey long tight fitting dress that falls down to her ankles with a cropped beige colored cardigan completing the whole look as an outer, leaving only the left shoulder exposed. a smile appears on her face as she fixes the frame of her black reading glasses.

miguel has never seen a more beautiful woman than the one he’s staring at right now,

“ms. y/l/n, this is miguel o’hara. the head of Alchemax and leader of Spider Society.” jessica smirks at the way miguel is gaping right now, as he makes no intention in hiding it away.

guess, her 70% of her plan is slowly working.

“ugh! come on, jessica you’ve known me long enough to stop saying my last name” she giggles, “mr. o’hara. my name is y/n. it is very nice to meet you. jessica had told me many things about you. i am so impressed with everything you had done”

‘fuck, even her voice is pretty’ he thinks

he regains his composure, clearing his throat before taking off his glasses. “thank you, y/n. you and jessica are close?”

with a nod, she responds, “we go way back. haven’t been off each other’s arms for a long time. hard to keep me away from this woman”

so jessica had been hiding her away from him? that’s rude.

“oh hush. always with the sweet talk” jessica waves her off with a smile. “miguel, y/n has plans on remodeling the hq for us. i’ve told her about what needs to be done and so forth. she has already inspected the lab, cafetería, training rooms. this smart woman right here came with conclusions in just five minutes.”

a blush creeping into y/n’s cheeks, shyly tucking a loose hair behind her ear which makes miguel’s heart warms at the sight,

“i’ve seen her work and i wouldn’t just bring anyone when it comes to our matter. she’s the perfect person for this. now since i have so many things to catch up on, i hope it’s okay for me to leave you two and have her explain it all—“

“yes” miguel replies a bit too quickly, causing the two women to raise their eyebrows. this makes him slightly bit embarrassed at how eager he might have come off. “i mean-yeah, of course. it’s not like i was doing anything. have a bit of a time off.”

“i though you said—“

“that’s enough jessica. thank you” he nods at her, shooting her a tight smile. “i would love to hear it.”

a giddiness blooms in his chest when y/n gives him a toothy grin. and it may become his favorite thing to look at,

“alright then. i’ll see you later. bye, sweetheart” jessica waves at her friend before walking out of miguel’s office and shutting the door behind her,

now it’s just them,

y/n’s gaze averts back to his tall figure. she had heard stories about miguel o’hara. jessica loves to spill teas about her partner and had showed pictures of him when y/n was curious on how he look like. he is indeed handsome.

but now, looking at him in person? fuck, even the greek gods are no match to him

beautiful bronze skinned, broad shoulders, high cheekbones with sharp jawlines. she glances a bit at his toned chest then down to his torso for a bit. abs rock hard enough to be seen through the working shirt he’s wearing. this man built like he contains zero body fat.

however, his mesmerizing red eyes are what got her hooked.

“it’s very nice of you to make the time for this, mr. o’hara. i know you are a very busy man and i hate to be the one who’s preventing you from your work.”

miguel’s head shakes, giving her a small genuine smile. “no apologies necessary. and please, call me miguel”

“okay then, miguel” she nods, returning his smile. “may i begin showing you what i’ve been working on?”

miguel’s arm extends towards a large wooden table, allowing her to walk first. “by all means” he folds his arms behind his back, following her from behind.

he’s very much struggling not to look at her ass while she moves,

“okay, so” she lays her things flat on the table, getting to work quickly. “i’ve planned a pre-design for your laboratory, given that the lab is one that needs extra precautions and highly detailed instructions, i’ve figured i should get that one done first. and here” she unlocks her tablet before tapping one app, showing the minimum design. “there are important keys that needs to be highlighted. i need exact measurements of how many people will be coming in and out of your lab, objects you’re thinking of storing, etc. because it will determine the amount of space i’ll be working on”

miguel doesn’t know jack shit about what she’s talking about but fuck, it sounds incredibly sexy to his ears,

“jessica had explained to me before that there will be less than fifteen people working in there. i would advise to create a fingerprint for entry. and it will require more space, more equipment and materials for me and my team to be able to carry on with our tasks. but i need you to not worry, miguel. i’ve done the trials and errors to limit the damage that might occur with the calculations.” she pushes her tablet for him to see clearly, colorful scribbles of geometry with shapes and patterns,

not only that, but she has a few mockups too. giving him a small vision on how the area would look like once it’s done.

miguel’s eyebrows raise, moving a bit closer to where she stands. “christ. this is amazing. you did that in…?”

“a week” she finishes with a smile, nails tapping against the table. watching how his eyes amazed at her small simple work “some would take more than that but, i take my work seriously, i don’t like postponing.”

his eyes move upwards to look at her, impressed by the details and efforts she had done with it. one thing about miguel, is that he is very much attracted to people who are putting their careers above anything,

and she has ticked that box,

“indeed” he lets out a breathe, nodding. “does that mean you don’t have a lot of free time?”

she thinks for a while. “not much definitely. but it’s not like i’m missing out on anything. what do people do nowadays? partying and gossiping? i rather not.”

he chuckles in amusement, “understandable. i thought that you might be into those kind of stuff.”

“and what gave you the assumption?”

he raises his shoulders. “you look young. young people like to have fun.”

“and how old do you think i am?” she asks with arms crossed,

he pinches his eyebrows. “28?”

she hums with a small laugh. “i’m 26”

miguel’a eyes widen slightly, “makes me older than you, then”

“how old are you?”

“32”

“really?” she asks in disbelief. “i thought older.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. around 40ish maybe.”

“that’s quite offensive, love” he fakes a gasp, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches her scramble through more papers,

her heart skips a beat at the nickname, though she doesn’t think much of it. “it’s a compliment. the older the better, i’d say”

miguel smiles at that, walking around the table so now he stands across from her. “what did you and jessica talk about?”

“hm?”

“about me” he confirms. “you said that the two of you had talking about me.”

“oh, well” she begins, standing up straight to look into his eyes and miguel swears his knees almost give up. “she told me how much she admires you. your intelligence, bravery. your work ethic. told me all about the good things you had done for the people—“

“i don’t know about that”

“which” she cuts him off. “i am so, undeniably impressed by. keeping the universe intact while trying not to lose your fucking mind is hard, i could tell. I don’t know how you do it. makes me admire you too”

he stares at her as if he’s searching for a trace of doubt or a lie on her face. when he finds none, his heart softens. never in his life had someone come up to him and say how he’s doing a great job. let alone being impressed.

“thank you— i needed that actually” he laughs a bit. “wish people could say the same.”

“in my opinion, i don’t think you need to know about what other people think or say. you’re a grown man, correct?” she taps the eraser of her pencil on one of her sketchbook, eyeing any misguided lines she needs to work on. “if they don’t appreciate that, might as well kick their asses into a new universe”

a genuine chuckle escapes him, nodding in agreement. “i keep that in mind” he clears his throat, thinking about whether or not to make a small talk,

she notices the long pause between them before speaking up, “please, i hate awkward silence. you can talk to me, if you want to, miguel” her head shoots up at him with a playful tone,

“is architectural the only thing you’re doing?” he finds himself curious at her line of work,

“apart from this, i do a little bit of interior design. not too far off from architectural but not exactly the same either. i love anything that goes from there. putting ideas in my head before making it into a reality. also, it’s warming to see how i can help my clients dream come true” she responds simply, a small smile engraves on her pretty features.

“i also am studying in biochemistry at the moment. having a bit fun with molecular study.”

that perks his interest. “biochemistry?” he asks in a surprise tone. “i’m no expert in architectural but i don’t think it has anything to do with that.”

“it doesn’t” she confirms, picking a ruler before sketching out more details on the design. “i do it for fun.”

“for fun?” again, his question comes out in surprise, “why’s that?”

“i just think that learning shouldn’t be limited to one, you know? i like knowing about things. doing more things. the more knowledge, the more you have room to grow. plus, learning about molecules is interesting. might take it seriously on that one”

‘holy fuck, she’s perfect’

“that’s a— wow—“ he huffs out a heavy breath, can’t exactly tell if he’s impressed or intimidated. earning a soft giggle from her.

so, she’s gorgeous, brilliant and ambitious.

“how about you? jessica mentioned about you specializing in genetics. is that some sort of science thingy? because it sounds pretty fucking cool”

miguel scratches the back of his head. “something like that. i more focused on DNA’s, genetics pairings, human genome. all sorts of that. pretty boring if you ask me”

“doesn’t sound boring” she scoffs. “if anything, i find it very attractive when men are willing to learn about science. and i’m not just talking about the glasses, but the brains as well. you ticked every single quota, miguel”

she points at the working glasses he has on, causing his eyes to bug out at her boldness. y/n watches how he shyly takes it off, flustered at the compliment. she smirks as if she keeps trying to keep score on how many times she’s succeeded,

“okay, so” she continues, palms resting on the table before shifting the tablet. “let’s talk about your office. is there something you’re willing to change? because, not to be rude but your infrastructure is quite—shit. keep this up in two months then the apocalypse might have come early”

miguel bites back a laugh at her choice of words, scanning over his office walls, ceilings and monitors. “what do you suggest?”

she pauses, biting the end of her pencil before her eyes begin to do a 360 walkthrough. the sight is almost too perfect for miguel.

“we could do something about elevating the ceilings. make it a bit higher. and i see you have lesser—safety features? which could be quite concerning. we need to install biosafety cabinets, more detection systems and fire protection. I know you’re no ordinary man and could probably handle all the damage that might happen in the future but, it is my responsibility to ensure my client’s safety.”

miguel feels like a lovesick fool right now. and an asshole. he hadn't been listening a lot to what she had to say, merely focused on the way her pink glossed lips moving and how her fingers would occasionally fiddle against one another,

he imagines how her mouth would feel like, molding against his. there is no doubt in his mind that he would immediately be entranced with it.

"miguel? you listening?"

her sweet voice pulls him out of his train of thought, eyes blinking rapidly before meeting y/n's confused gaze,

"oh--y-yeah! yeah uhm.. that sounds great, would love that” his nervous chuckles makes her smile. “you’re really quick with it, aren’t you?”

“just doing my job, mr.o’hara” her tone is professional and prideful. “i’ll work quickly on the building designs, exploring more concepts for it and run a few test drives. however this might steal a bit of your time, from your job. weekly meetings are needed during this process. i’ll bring the mockups, sketches, models and everything. your inputs and feedbacks are required since this is your building after all. would that work?”

spending more time with her? oh, absolutely. he’d make it work,

he gives her a nod. “of course. i’ll clear my schedule off for it, just let me know when”

“excellent!” she exclaims with a bright smile, clapping her hands. “i will do my best to get it done as quickly as possible for you, miguel. i made a promise to jessica and i intend to keep that promise. it’s a long process but i need your full trust on me, okay? do you trust me?”

“yes” he answers without hesitation. “i trust you.”

“great! okay, that is all i have for you today. do you have any questions?”

miguel doesn’t like the idea of it ending here. not seeing her again until next week? that doesn’t feel right.

“you have a boyfriend?”

y/n halts at his question, looking at him with a confused yet amused expression. lip quirking in curiosity. “getting personal, aren’t we?”

“fuck, sorry, hermosa. you don’t have to answer that”

her heart skips a beat at the nickname. he just called her beautiful?

she eyes at how his gaze cast down the floor, head shaking. probably mentally kicking himself at the bold question he had thrown at her,

but she finds it adorable,

tilting her head to the side, she responds. “no. i don’t have a boyfriend. they are not quite up the standards i’m looking for.”

“yeah?” miguel takes a step forward, eyebrow raising. “and what are they?”

“my standards”

he finds it attractive at how she doesn’t like settling for less. she knows her worth without coming off too cocky nor bitchy about it,

“am i not allowed to know?”

“you can fuck around and find out” she smirks, pushing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “i like to see them try.”

“you like seeing men on their knees begging for your time?”

she nods. “i live for it.”

he feels his cock growing hard at that,

“are you free, this friday?”

she bites down on her lower lip, watching how his biceps almost ripping his shirt off when he crossed his arms,

“i’m a busy woman, miguel”

“so am i” he responds quickly. “say dinner or a drink, anything. an hour or two tops, how about it?”

the way he’s looking at her should be illegal. he has this glint in his eyes. primal, confident. and it’s extremely charming in her own opinion,

she hates how it makes her heat rises,

with a hum, she slowly gather up her things, stacking the compiling files on the tablet. tucking them against her left breast.

“pick me up at 7. don’t be late. and i’m choosing where we should go. it was nice meeting you, mr. o’hara. i will see you then” with that she gives him a smile and a subtle wink before turning around to exit out of his office. leaving miguel completely speechless but enamored.

“fuck. i’m in love” he exhales a dreamy sigh

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Erin/Julius; cosmic vertigo

For the prompt: More Erin and Julius understanding each other on a deep level

“Have you ever thought about the universe?” Julius says.

“I get a headache whenever I do, so I mostly try to avoid it,” Erin says, then, feeling Julius’ eyes on her, “Yeah, I guess. You’ve got to narrow it down a little from ‘literally everything in existence’ for me to figure out what you're getting at, though.”

“How things — change, I guess,” Julius says. “How if something went just a little differently, your life could be completely different too.”

“So like alternate universes,” Erin says, relieved. That’s much less likely to give her a headache. Not unlikely, but thinking about what, exactly, exists past forever? What a constantly expanding universe is expanding into? The last time Erin let herself think about it too long she ended up with a migraine. Possibly a coincidence, but she’s not risking it. That thing lasted two days.

“Yes,” Julius says. “If I was drafted one pick higher, or lower, I would never have come to Edmonton.”

“And you wouldn’t have met Jared, and therefore me, and neither of us would be lying in this bed right now talking about the universe,” Erin says. “Something like that?”

“Something like that,” Julius echoes, then gazes at her for a long moment, not speaking.

“Stop measuring how good a consolation prize I am,” Erin says. Doesn’t matter how great he thinks she is: nobody’s great enough to make up for the pain and suffering of playing for the Edmonton Oilers.

Julius’ mouth quirks, like she’s said it out loud.

“You’re alright,” he says.

“Thanks,” Erin says. “I do my best.”

“Worth coming here,” Julius says.

“Let’s not get too crazy here,” Erin says.

Under the covers, Julius finds where she’s laced her hands on her stomach and prises the nearest away so he can lace his own fingers through it, that hand thief. She likes to sleep like she’s in a coffin and he knows that. Still, she supposes she can lend it to him for a little while.

“Feeling philosophical tonight, are we?” Erin asks.

She doesn’t have to ask why: he’s going back to Finland in two days. Only for a month, before he flies back to Alberta to train with Jared and his buds in Calgary. She doesn’t have to ask why for that either. Dude isn’t going to train in a city he’s never even lived in, a city that hates his guts, just because he misses her brother, though she’s sure Jared would argue otherwise. She won’t make him say it.

“I can come,” Erin says. “If you want me to. I can come.”

Julius blows out a breath. “Next time,” he says.

“Sure,” Erin says. “It’s not — it doesn’t expire or anything. Standing offer. I mean, unless I have something else going on. Then you’re shit out of luck.”

“I will make sure your schedule is clear,” Julius says.

“Thanks,” Erin says. “Thoughtful of you.”

“Would you like your hand back?” Julius says. Erin doesn’t think she’s imagining the reluctance. A month’s not really a long time if the universe is your scale, but if it isn’t, well. It’s long enough.

“That’s okay,” Erin says. “You can have it a bit longer.”

*

So the thing is, when Erin told Julius she’d go to Finland with him, well — it isn’t that she didn’t mean it, because she did, it’s just that she sort of figured that at some point between her saying that and him taking her up on it, she might just spontaneously get past her fear of flying.

Except, fear is such a strong word, isn’t it? She’s fine. She’s been on planes without dying. She even hopped on a plane to see the Canucks host the Oilers — would someone with a lifelong fear of planes do that?

And yeah, sure, it was only ninety minutes, and by the time she quit telling herself that they probably weren't all going to die — but if they did, they better not fuck up and identify her as Bryce’s girlfriend in all the death announcements — they’d pretty much already begun the descent.

Then, once she was done a new recital of how they probably weren't to die — at least they’d better not, because Bryce would feel so guilty about inviting her — they were taxiing to the gate.

And while, like, statistically, that was one of the most dangerous times, like how parking lots and the kilometre around your house are the places you’re most likely to get into an accident, it’s hard to work up the same panic when you’re like, twenty feet in the air instead of twenty thousand.

The flight back wasn’t too bad either, and by the end of the trip, she thought she might have even gotten over that whole fear of flying thing.

She was incorrect.

The thing is, she actually did okay on the flight to Toronto. It helped that it was first thing in the morning, and apparently sleepiness beats out panic, a fact she’s going to be taking advantage of in the future. She genuinely thought she'd reached the other side of it, but the flight to Amsterdam has quickly proven her wrong.

Planes aren’t supposed to shake. And dip! She swears they started to drop out of the sky at one point. Julius said that it was a normal amount of turbulence, but frankly, no turbulence is normal, is it? Sure, it can be a typical amount of turbulence, but normal? They’re in a metal tube in the sky, being thrown around by wind. Erin does not consider any of that to be normal.

“You didn’t tell me you don’t like flying,” Julius says, so quietly Erin can hardly hear him over the almost deafening plane sound nobody else seems to be bothered by. Erin thinks that’s pretty big of him, considering she’s had his hand in a death grip since the turbulence began, and she hasn’t relinquished it even now that it’s finally stopped. In his shoes, she’d probably be going with ‘you know these hands make millions, right?’.

Money that means she’s flying in comfort, if not…comfort. For some reason, Erin thought it’d be easier to deal with things in business class. She doesn’t know why — in a plane crash, the front of the plane is the least likely to survive. But hey, at least Erin got free champagne.

The champagne didn’t help. She hadn’t really thought it would, but she’d been hoping.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d say I don’t like it,” Erin says. It comes out in a voice she's never heard in her entire life, so perky it’s almost shrill.

“Something stronger?” Julius asks, looking about as disturbed by Stepford Erin as she is. She doesn’t know if he’s talking about the word she’d use or the next drink she should have, but either way the answer's probably yes.

“Do you want your hand back?” Erin asks. It’s not so much an offer as a genuine question, because she’s not sure her hand will unclench for long enough to release it, and she’d probably grab it again the next time the plane started rocking, though maybe she can figure something else out. Grab his thigh or something. It also makes him millions, but it can probably hold up to the abuse a little better.

“You can have it the entire flight if you need,” Julius says. “And for the others.”

Erin’s really, really been trying not to think about the fact there are more flights after this one. Plural.

“Might make it hard to eat,” Erin says. He has the window seat — no fucking way she wants to see just how high up they are, even though she already intellectually knows it — and she’s had custody of his right hand since take off.

“I can figure it out,” Julius says, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. It isn’t quite relaxing — nothing is, right now, not with that damn plane noise — but it’s, you know, not not relaxing, which makes it better than pretty much everything in the world at the moment. It makes Erin’s eyes prickle.

“I know it’s irrational,” Erin says. “I’m well aware of all the statistics, and that it’s safer than basically every kind of transportation. I know. It’s ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous.”

“We can drive,” Julius says. “When we get to Helsinki. We can drive instead. Or take the train.”

Erin tips her head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling. That still leaves Amsterdam to Helsinki, but one flight is better than two. “How long a drive is it?” Erin says.

“Does it matter?” Julius asks.

Erin shakes her head, and when they fall, she swipes at them with her free hand.

“We can drive,” Julius says, thumb tracing back and forth, and Erin focuses on it, the slow sweep of his skin against hers, until the flight attendant comes, asking if they’d like something to drink.

“Champagne,” Erin says. “Please.”

“Two,” Julius says, even though he didn’t even finish his first. “Please.”

“What are we celebrating?” the flight attendant chirps, and Erin stares up at her, unable to muster even a weak smile. Beside her, Julius must be pulling out the ‘dumb fucking question’ face he gives reporters, because the flight attendant says, bright and fake as Stepford Erin, “Two glasses of champagne,” then hurries on to the next seats.

“People,” Julius murmurs, and Erin slides down, twisting in her seat until she can put her head on his shoulder. Probably makes it harder than she needs to, since she refuses to give up Julius’ hand the entire time, but he doesn’t complain, just keeps up the slow sweep of his thumb, and when she finally makes herself comfortable — or, as comfortable as she can, considering the circumstances — he kisses her hair.

“Sorry about stealing your hand,” Erin says. She really hopes he doesn’t think it’s an offer to give it back, because he’ll be disappointed.

“That’s okay,” Julius says. “I don’t need it for my job or anything.”

Erin decides to hold on a little tighter, just for that.

[dailyreverie]

Sleepy prompt 13 with bucky please <3

Hi there!! Thanks for requesting 🥰 I lost track of how many tropes are in here (bed sharing, idiots in love, mutual pining, fake couple, just to mention some) so... yeah... I hope you like it!

13. “For someone who claims to not be a cuddler, you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself all night.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (no pronouns, reader is called doll)

Word count: 617

For being your first night of the undercover mission, you really couldn’t complain about your sleep. You expected endless tossing, not being able to catch a single minute of sleep, when, in reality, the second your head hit the pillow you were out. You even had the privilege to oversleep, only waking up when your stomach growled at the first hint of the smell of food being prepared.

The scent of coffee guided you through the apartment, tumbling in your step still in the process of waking up, until you found Bucky in the kitchen preparing two mugs. You watched him from the kitchen island, his back to you as he poured milk into the mugs. Bucky, your brand new husband according to the mission files, with whom you recently moved into your newlywed apartment in the same complex where, apparently, a bunch of ex-hydra people lived.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He said elongating the word, all serious as he is, just toying with the new term on his lips. If he liked it, you couldn’t tell.

“Morning, babe.” You did the same, your voice still raspy from the lack of use making you cringe a little, and when it made his heart skip a beat he knew it: it was over for him.

It was obvious why it would be you and him playing the undercover couple, if anyone bantered like one already married for ages that would be Bucky and you; you got each other, simple as that. The chemistry was almost palpable, and Sam could swear he saw him smile every time you entered the room.

“Slept well?” He joked at the sight of you, hair in a bun pushed sideways and your head resting on your hand.

“I did,” You stretch your arms, sleep still making them a bit numb. “I’m guessing you did too because, y’know, for someone who claims not to be a cuddler, you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself all night.” Bucky rolls his eyes and glares at you, but the smirk on his lips gives him away; he can’t be mad at you, not even with your endless teasing. Right, that’s why you slept so well. “Is it going to be a regular thing? A heads-up would have been nice.” You match his discreet smile, one he’s trying and failing to hide behind his mug.

“Don’t you dare cuddle me, Barnes.” You said last night when tucking into the only bed available. “Or you’ll fall in love.”

“In your dreams, doll.” …oh little did you know.

“Ha ha ha,”  Bucky mocks, the smile growing on his face. “Well, what can I say, doll? You were the one who got closer to me first. What else could I do?” When he hands you your coffee and leans over the counter, ending face to face with you, you are faced with the penetrating blue of his eyes, tired and sleepy still as were yours.

“You could have pushed me away.” You speak after a sip of coffee, the mug still covering half your face trying to avoid him discovering the crippling red color that was expanding over your face and neck. “Act all macho husband and claim your space.”

“Push you away?” He bit his cheek and visibly swallowed his words as he thought of what to say without giving himself away, only looking at you in hopes you would somehow read his mind. “Never.”

You shared a smile as you both had another sip of coffee, his eyes still piercing yours as you both fell into a comfortable, homey silence. The mission was forgotten for a while, because hydra or not hydra, you didn’t mind this new morning routine of yours.

🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨🦾✨

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

[aritamargarita]

SOLITUDE || 001

hello and welcome to the debut of solitude. to all my current readers, you already know what’s up, but to new and curious readers, this installment is based off of climbing the food chain of wwe, taking place in mostly the modern era, so there are superstars spanning from 2013 the earliest to 2022..

just let me cook on the timeline a little bit okay, you'll like it LOL. there’s a lot of Twitter segments in this so i hope it’s not annoying, they’re going to die down for the most part later i promise

without further ado, please enjoy!

TODAY IS THE first day of your call up. The support you’ve gotten from your friends from the training center was wonderful, but you’re still feeling antsy and incredibly nervous. Hopefully, your first day on the brand goes well..

Shawn Michaels was the one to break the news that you were getting called up. You could remember it so clearly because you completely ambushed him with an excited hug once he dropped the bomb on you.

He had patted your back and told you to lighten your grip a little bit, but not without a grin on his face.

If it’s one thing you deserve, it is the chance to expand your career. You always came early, and you were always prepared to learn.

You weren’t sure how to feel when he told you that you’d be heading to the main roster.

You only started as a superstar on the indie circuit and are only used to being on much smaller channels and local shows. You couldn’t even imagine being on WWE, which was broadcast on national television!

He had seen the look on your face and quickly tried to do damage control.

“We’re soft-launching you, or however you kids say it these days,” He told you. You think he grumbled something about how social media was confusing, but you brushed him off. “As an interviewer, I mean.”

“Huh..” You give a shrug. “As long as I can wrestle sometime.”

He had assured you that you will, sooner than you think, but they just wanted to focus on your speaking. Once they (and you), were more confident, they’d allow you to be in much more opportunities.

Such is life, you guess. Get through these obstacles for a bigger reward. You gave your gratitude to Shawn as you had a lot to look forward to.

If you’re not mistaken, WWE had already posted a teaser on their twitter. For some reason, you would find yourself constantly checking the tweet.

@WWE ✓

We hear someone is entering the scene… 👀

1.2K reposts 120 quotes 14K likes

—is what it said. The flurry of tweets under it were mixed. Lots of people wanted to know what the deal was, though some were already speculating it was an old star coming back.

However, the few fans that knew of your work had their guesses. Some of the pictures you posted on Instagram were cryptic hints, but you knew how the internet was. Crazy detective work..

But anyhow, people around the training center know that you’re pretty introverted. You only came to get some work done and go home. It was hard for others to get to know you at first.

They like to call you shy, but you’ve started to hate that word the more it’s used. It holds you back too much. You won’t make it far if you’re stuck with that description for your entire life.

Fortunately, they know what you lack in words is made up for in the ring. There’s no question that you’re good, you just tend to get nervous when speaking to the public.

At heart, you knew they wanted to help you out, and they wanted you to become the best you can be! If you start practicing, you’re sure to be a star!

As motivating as it sounds, it’s still stressful. Going out of your comfort zone was nothing new. It’s a given if you want to wrestle properly, but it still makes you uneasy.

You know you’ve gotta put your best foot forward and do this despite it. This was your only chance, and you absolutely can’t mess this up.

Most of the people still training had given you their well wishes. It’s heavily appreciated; after all, you won’t see them anymore unless they’re called up there themselves.

You think you’ll miss Carmella the most. She was your training buddy, and you think she was the most excited about you getting called up. You hope that she’ll be next soon enough….

As of right now, you look tired. You damn sure feel tired.

It causes you to lie down on the floor of the locker room. It probably wasn’t the best idea, but fuck it. You’ve already made a bad decision by staying up all night out of excitement. It’s starting to come back to you.

Of course, you came to the arena a little too early. (which was an inside joke between coaches, you’re too punctual for your own good..)

You were sure most of your coworkers hadn’t arrived yet, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to see them. It’s not that you don’t want to, you’re just nervous to meet them.

Especially since you’ll probably be half asleep and may forget their names.

Much to your misfortune, a woman comes in, sunglasses on and suitcase handle clenched in hand.

She only lowers them with a finger once you’re in view. “Oooh,” She starts, then clicks her tongue. It’s apparent that she’s mocking you already. “..You look like trash.”

“Thanks,” You say with a sigh. “It’s so appreciated.”

This is not a good start. You make the move to get up off the comfortable ground and the woman puts a hand on her hip.

She’s not very amused, moving a free hand to flip her blue hair. “Did they get me a personal makeup artist? Or…are you just everyone’s stylist? Never seen you here before.”

“I’m new. An interviewer.” You say. Giving yourself that title feels much weirder than saying you were a wrestler. “Pray tell, who am I talking to?”

She’s a little taken aback by the cynical tone in your voice but takes her sunglasses off. This woman doesn’t think she’s met her match yet.

“Of course you don’t recognize a celebrity when you’re in front of one. Let me refresh your memory a bit. How does this sound? The boss, the blueprint, the standard!” She pauses for a bit for dramatic effect. “…Sasha Banks. And I better not have to repeat myself. Who exactly are you?”

“You have a pretty name.” You start off with. Honestly, you didn’t want to make an enemy out of her as much as she wanted to make one out of you. You hope she could see that. “I’m [Name], and you’re right. I am new. Maybe we can get to know each other a bit more.”

It actually seems to work because she falters for a second. “…What?”

You hold out your hand to her and she looks at it for a moment before shaking it with a scowl. Before you realize it, she’s already taking her hand back.

“I’m assuming you’re wrestling? Do you have a match?” You quickly ask, not giving her a second to recover. “I’d like to interview you after if you do.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Sasha drops her suitcase. She’s unsure if she could stand your bright personality for a second longer. You’re going to be a problem in the future. “Sorry, not sorry, but you’re a nobody. What’s the point?”

“It was worth a try. But if that’s what you want I won’t force you.” Sasha rolls her eyes at your response. You’re way too nice. “At least tell me, do you think it’s fun here?”

“Fun?” She repeats. “Tch, I know you didn’t just ask if it was fun. Get real. There’s nothing fun about being here. There’s only one thing that matters, and it’s the Divas Championship. Got it?”

“Got it.” You nod. Divas Championship…duly noted. You don’t think you’ll be going for it anytime soon. “Who’s got it?” You’ll have to ask if the standard Women’s Championship was still in circulation as well.

“AJ Lee.” She answers. It’s the least snarky answer she’s given you so far, but she reverts back to it. “I swear, I’m gonna drag her ass across the mat for that title. She makes me sick with her skipping around.”

You voice your thoughts. “She skips?” That’s one way to get to the ring. You’re curious now. “I wonder if I can interview her…she must have a lot to say about her reign so far.”

“What?” Sasha’s immediately offended. “Um, no. Who says you’re interviewing her first? You’re obviously going to interview me first.”

It’s contradictory to what she’s said before, but because of it, there’s a smile growing on your face. She notices and jabs her index finger toward you. “You can wipe that smile off your face, rookie.”

“So be it. I will see you afterwards.” You agree to interview her, doing your best to fight the smile off.

Sasha huffs and leaves the room for now. Your eyes follow her, and once she’s gone, you shrug to yourself. Wow.

Well, that’s one way to get an interviewee.

Almost seconds after her departure, your phone vibrates and you see it’s a notification from Twitter. After that, the tweets start to flow in.

What now?

@SashaBanksWWE ✓

I ALWAYS come first. Don’t forget that, rookie. @Officially[Name].

4.1K reposts 250 quotes 45K likes

@No1DivazStan: Wait…?

↳ @Sashabanksfan109: Literally like who is that??? What is she talking about?

Oh boy. Now people actually are getting the idea. She even went as far as tagging you. You’re already starting to have people follow you.

Including Sasha, which was a plus!

You’re confident about things for a moment until the thought of having to talk to her live circles back. Shit, you might start to freak out a little.

You hope Sasha wouldn’t be too harsh on you, even if it were wishful thinking. Sasha’s gonna come in hot, especially if she loses. You have no choice but to adjust.

A few more moments of silence pass, and suddenly the floor is calling you again.

You immediately lay back down. How long until the show? You take your phone out of your pocket and check the time. 6:45. The show starts at around 7. Maybe 8 if there are any delays.

Would it be wrong if you took a quick nap? It’ll only be 15 minutes, but it might just be enough to keep you going for the rest of the night.

You’re already closing your eyes. You know you’re going to be unable to hit any major stages of sleep, but even just laying like this is nice.

Until the door opens. You’re shooting up from your spot, almost falling over in the process.

“I WASN’T SLEEPING.” You clarify, doing your best to stand up. The woman, who’s not Sasha this time, looks at you in confusion.

She points a finger at you. “Ya’ sure about that? From the looks of it, it seemed like you were knocked out for a second.” Her accent is the first thing that catches your attention as she starts to motion towards you.

“No, no, not at all.” You try to defend. “Can’t a woman stretch on the floor in peace?”

“Seriously, you call that stretching?” Before she can make any more sarcastic comments toward you, she turns to look at you. “I’ve never seen you around before. Got a name?”

She is trying her best to identify you to no avail. You hop up to your feet, then hold your hand out to her. “[Name]. I’m just an interviewer right now, yeah. I’m new. Who are you?”

“Becky. Becky Lynch.” She introduces, taking your hand to shake it firmly. You swear you’ve seen her before, too. Probably on Twitter. Guess Becky isn't the only one with deja vu.

You pray you wouldn’t forget her or Sasha’s name for that matter. You can’t fight the urge to yawn.

“Someone’s tired. You should go get some water before you pass out. Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

This is a nice change of pace from Sasha. Despite you trying to kill her with kindness, she’s just all kinds of intimidating, while this woman is…okay.

Water may do the trick. It might just be cold enough to wake you up. “Good idea. Anywhere I can get some?”

“Should be a cooler down the hall to your right.” She informs. “See, I’d offer to get it for you, but I’ve got a match to get ready for.”

“Well, thanks anyway.” But before you leave, Before you leave, you turn over to her. “This may be an assumption, but are you going against Sasha Banks?” You ask. You could be wrong, but it’s worth a shot to see.

She nods at you. “Smart girl. How’d you know?”

“I talked to her a bit earlier. She wouldn’t exactly tell me she was going in a match, but I guess it was safe to assume it was you.” You say. “If you’d like to be interviewed, I’ll be waiting backstage.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Becky says. She’s more concerned about you getting your water. “Go, I might be here when you get back. Don’t pass out.”

You make a noise to let her know you heard her. Did you make a new friend? You think so.

You’re still a bit disoriented from the lack of sleep. You only made it a few steps down the hall before forgetting the direction she told you to go. Great.

This hallway seemed horribly long. The more you walked, the more you felt like it extended somehow. You need a nap, but you don’t think you’re going to get it until retiring back to your hotel room.

A group of men dressed in what seems to be tactical clothes are sitting around nearby, and you find yourself approaching them in a sudden spur of confidence. It’s probably because you’re tired.

“Excuse me,” you call. All three of them look at you with curious looks, and you feel like you could just up and die right there.

Doesn’t exactly help that they’re all kind of attractive, either.

“Where can I get some water? It feels like I’m dying here.” You ask, using your hand to rub the side of your face.

To them, you looked like you had just completed a damn marathon run. One of them with short brown hair whispers something to another with half-blonde, half-black hair, and you look between them curiously.

You don’t have time for whispers. You want water. It makes you think about purposely passing out in front of them. Rude and manipulative, sure, but you’re not here to gossip!

The other one speaks up to you instead. He’s also got long hair, but you think the most noticeable thing was his sleeve tattoo. You may have been staring too long because he snapped his fingers to get your attention.

At least he wasn’t glaring at you. There was a handsome smile on his face. “You there? Don’t tell me we’ve lost you already. You just got here.”

“Sorry. I’m really tired.” You admit. “Really, REALLY tired. Water would be nice.”

“To your left,” He says. “Should be one over there.”

The exasperation in your voice is ever present when you say: “Thank you!”. You’re dying here. You’ll have to come back and thank your only savior after replenishing yourself. Turning away, you head in the direction he told you.

You don’t hear the snickering behind you as you leave. Too busy thinking about hydration at this point.

Going further down, you see that there still is no water cooler. You’re only met with a dead end, and though there are doors, the signs only tell you that they’re just control rooms.

You’re confused. Why would he send you that way? You turn around and head back the way you came as it must’ve been an honest mistake.

You see them still sitting there with smiles. “Hey, excuse me,” you call, waving your hand. “There’s no water over there. Are you sure it’s that way?”

“We know.” The man who gave you instruction earlier had said. “We just wanted to mess with you a bit. Go that way.” First day on the job and people are already trying to rib you? Goddamn it.

On the bright side, it seemed to be lighthearted. Or so you hope.

This time, you hope, he points the correct way. The only thing you can do is let out a sigh and move forward. You don’t even stay to listen to anything else he says.

"Don't take it to heart!" One of them yells behind you.

You scoff to yourself. This time, they redeemed themselves because you found that lovely water cooler. You immediately pick up the pace and reach out to snatch a cup.

Finally, cold water. You're sure you'll wake up this time. You're almost half tempted to pour some on your face, but you aren't THAT unhinged. Besides, you don’t want to waste it.

The moment you lift your cup and and take a refreshing sip, someone saying “hey” makes you look over, and you nearly spit your drink out.

The guy that had given you the wrong direction had come around. You cough up bits of water, holding a hand on your chest. “Why?! God, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry.” He apologizes. You’re not so sure if it’s sincere. “Stephanie McMahon told me about you. You’re [Name], right?”

It takes you a second to reply and he looks at you expectantly. You hold your hand up. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s me.” You nod.

“Roman,” He introduced himself back, setting his hands on the vest of his tactical gear. “I know it’s your first day and all, but do you know who’s in charge?”

“….Vince McMahon?” You offer with a shrug.

Roman chuckles, shaking his head. “You were close. But that’s not it. The Authority is the one in charge.” He clarifies to you. “And you’d best be on their side. Tell me, new girl. Do you plan to be on the side of justice?”

Truth be told, you’re a little intimidated. Again.

You wonder if you even had a choice right now. Before you answer him you decide to take a sip of water, this time, without coughing up a lung.

“Justice, what do you mean by that?”

“The Authority is seeking to make sure that everyone keeps in line.” He explains. “We’ve already got a hold on the men’s division, but the women’s division….”

He trails off, looking toward you expectantly.

“I’m just an interviewer.” You hold your hands up in defense. “I don’t know anything about wrestling. Like anything.”

A lie, but you don’t exactly want to get involved.

You thought it felt weird to call yourself an interviewer, but now you’re going to hold onto that title until it’s convenient enough for you….

“Don’t give me that crap. I know exactly what you are.” So much for that. Roman gets closer to you and you move back just a little. It doesn’t do much, because he’s still in your space.

You’re starting to feel cornered.

“And what I don’t appreciate is people lying to me. Listen, [Name]. Pretty girls like you are always smart. If you knew what’s good for you, you’d better—“

“Hey guys!” A new voice makes you look over Roman. “Roman…and….who’s this?” He points a finger over to you.

“[Name].” You say. This guy might be your potential savior.

He doesn’t really pester any further than that, oddly enough. “Cool. You guys wanna take a selfie?” Before you two could even answer, he’s already approaching with a phone in hand.

“Wait,” You try to stop him. “I’m not ready—“

All Roman does was glare at the camera while you were holding out your hand toward it. He’s already took it and you were caught in the worst off guard moment.

“You guys better get ready for Raw. It starts in like five minutes.” The man recommends. “Thanks for the selfie.”

He saunters off and Roman shakes his head. After the stranger had made some distance, he finally speaks to you. “I can’t stand Theory’s dumbass.”

“Theory?” You repeat. “Who?”

“Austin Theory.” He clarifies. “Won’t stop taking those stupid selfies. It’s all the goddamn time.”

You slowly nod, but take advantage of the fact Austin had said there’s only five minutes until Raw starts. “Gosh. This was such a nice meeting, but I had better get going. You know, interviews and stuff to do.”

Roman says nothing, so you take the opportunity to side-step and walk past him. However, he doesn’t let you get far before saying…

“Better think about what I said. You don’t have much time.”

You’re hoping that wasn’t a threat. And now that you think about it?

He didn’t even apologize for leading you the wrong way!

You were just trying to get ready to be on television. You did everything you could to stand out for your debut, despite some people knowing that you’d show up sometime.

You can only imagine the pre-show talks around on social media. God, you hope you weren’t sweating. You think you’re just overreacting, but you feel like you’re gonna cry.

If you weren’t awake before, you sure are now.

Your phone starts buzzing again on the vanity you were seated at. The stylist who was helping you get things together had stepped away earlier, leaving you be with your thoughts.

Until now. The moment you pick up your phone and open Twitter, you groan.

Roman was right about the selfies being stupid.

Austin had posted it on Twitter. The only thing you’re really focused on is yourself. You look a disheveled mess and you’re happy you could fix yourself up a little bit right now.

You’re reeling as you read some of the responses. Although, some were funnier than others…

@Theory_1 ✓

Roman and some new girl are here today! I caught them in their natural habitat.

1.8K reposts 130 quotes 37K likes

@annsweet_: OMG FREE HER???? WHY DOES SHE LOOK SCARED LMAO

↳ @Lilgrab$78: Nah fr they holding her hostage in there

@Biilionnsmind: Are you serious? [Name] Theory AND Roman? This has gotta be the multiverse

↳ @YourChampion0: Not gonna lie they might be an item. Guess we’ll see if they have something going on or they just were filming something.

@bellstrings: Wait not too much on [Name]…face card is still ACTIVE and ready to TAP!

Along those lines of being mentioned, Austin had followed you as well. But seeing yourself being the talk of others is just surreal. You’re happy about it.

“Hey, [Name].” A stagehand calls. “You’re on in about 2 minutes. You’ll be interviewing Sasha Banks. It’s the only person you’ll be doing, so you’re free to go home after.”

Alright then. You hop up out of your seat. You looked good enough, so you didn’t exactly need that stylist to come back. Your time to shine.

You let the stagehand lead the way to where you’re supposed to be positioned. It’s a nice set up, you think. There’s a red curtain behind you as well as a television settled with “Raw” displayed on it.

“Sasha lost because of interference.” The stagehand informs you. “She’ll go on about the details. But just ask her some questions. She should be here any second now.”

You’ll try. The camera is already settled in front of you, waiting for the go ahead. As soon as he said that, Sasha comes storming into the room. He signals toward the both of you that he’s rolling.

“Wow, Sasha..!” You exclaim, shaking your head. “That was definitely……a match.”

Sasha looks at you with a scowl. “You think?! Becky only got lucky because AJ came out all peppy. I almost had her.” She complains. “I had Becky in the Bank Statement. She was about to tap…”

She literally has to stop talking and take a breath before she loses it. Everyone, even the crowd, can tell that she’s STEAMING.

“…Uh, do you think you’ll need help in the future for AJ? It looks like she’s posing a really big threat to you.” You say. “Cause’ if you’re asking me, it looks like you may need a future tag partner.”

You’re going steady, despite the fact your hand may or may not be shaking a bit. You’re just glad that this segment wasn’t out in the ring. You tilt the mic over to Sasha.

All you had to do was pretend like the camera wasn’t there and that you were having a simple conversation. Everything’s just fine.

You had hoped she would understand that you were insinuating that you could be of assistance, but she takes it the wrong way.

“What, you think I’m not good enough?” She challenges, stepping closer to you. “You think I can’t beat AJ on my own? She’s the one that needs help. That’s why she gets Tamina to do her dirty work. Let me remind you that I’m Sasha Banks. I was the NXT Women’s Champion. The Boss can handle herself in battle and she damn sure doesn’t need someone that’s gonna hold her back.”

“I get it, jeez. I was trying to help you, Sasha.” You explain. It might be a chance to get you active in the ring.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing your job and asking me questions? I don’t need your help.” She fires back.

Whatever. You just shrug it off. “Fine. You want questions, I’ll give you questions. You tagged me on Twitter. When you tagged me on Twitter, was that you trying to put me on notice?”

It’s easy for her to bounce off of what you said.

“You clearly act like you have no idea who I am. Maybe now you’ll get a clue. As a matter of fact, you better leave that fake little sweet innocent act at the door, cause I see right through you.”

“What act? I’m just being me.” It’s true. You really are!

“Right, and Becky must be the best wrestler on the planet…hah! That’s hilarious even thinking about it.” Sasha falls into a laugh, and you fight the urge to smile at her contagious laugh. Instead, you wipe it off in order to look confused.

She takes a breath. “You know what? You wanna help me, prove it to me. You and me, a match next Monday. I know that you’re not gonna do well, but I’ll have fun destroying you anyways, rookie.”

This was your chance!! You can’t fight the excitement, so you immediately agree. “Yes! I mean, yeah. Absolutely. It’s a match, Sasha. Shake on it?”

You offer your free hand to her. Despite her gritting her teeth, she takes it.

Sasha thinks you’re too excited, but she’d be lying if she wasn’t curious to see how you’d fare against her.

Your first match is against Sasha Banks. Thinking about it seemed so surreal. You’ve got a lot to prepare for next Monday.

Sasha’s eyes seem to catch onto something behind you and she groans, snatching her hand back. “Not her—“

“I wasn’t expecting you here, Sasha!” There’s a woman who’s slightly shorter than you that comes over with a championship tucked over her arm. This must’ve been the Divas championship, if the words on the butterfly weren’t evident enough.

“You know, not after you lost. Thought you would’ve went home by now!” She holds onto it even tighter once Sasha gave her a nasty look.

“You must be AJ Lee?” You try to divert some of the tension. “It’s nice to see the divas champion face to face.”

Sasha gags, but AJ giggles at your words. She rubs a hand over the butterfly, looking at you. “Oh pssssh, this? It’s nothing major…it just means I’m the best, but seriously, nothing major. Oh, and Sasha? Sorry Tamina made you lose focus…no hard feelings?”

Sasha rears her fist back and you immediately try to jump in the middle of them. Might’ve been a dumb decision, but it made Sasha immediately freeze once you did. You’re not even sure if AJ flinched.

You’re planted firmly in between them without any plans of moving anytime soon. “Woah, woah woah, can we hold off on the fighting PLEASE?! Why don’t you guys settle it in the ring, just like me and Sasha are?”

“You guys…” AJ looks between you two. “…are wrestling each other? Huh.”

You nod at her. “Yeah. I think you should follow suit. It’s obvious you two have problems.”

“Well, you’re right. It’s not like can’t beat you again, Sasha!” AJ chimes. “Anyway, I’m going to go polish my title! Don’t wait up for me, ladies!”

And just like that, AJ skips off. Sasha slowly turns to look at you and the only thing you can do is look back at her.

“I don’t care,” She starts, pointing a finger at you. “You’re helping in whatever happens, rookie.”

“What?! Why me??” You whine. “This isn’t my issue, the only thing I’m worried about is our match.“

As she’s said earlier, she doesn’t care. “You heard me. All you’ve gotta do is be ready. When I tell you to do something, you go.”

She leaves you with that. An exasperated sigh falls from your lips.

You’ve got more than just your match to worry about now..

#RAWTonight

@WWE ✓

A nearly explosive confrontation tonight on Raw between AJ Lee, [Name], and Sasha Banks. Watch below! 👇🔥

6.7K reposts 310 quotes 67k likes

@xXHibiscus: THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING!???!!!

↳ @WomenofWWE: Yess! This is what we need, a strong three-way feud! The newbie, the underdog, and the champion. The storylines kind of have been getting boring. I wouldn’t mind Sasha & [Name] vs AJ, or maybe even AJ & [Name] vs Sasha.

↳ @RaeFed: [name] might’ve just saved us hold on

@RoseGambler: [Name] trying to be a peacemaker 😭

↳ @101Mariposa: SASHA WAS LITERALLY ABOUT TO ROCK AJ PLEASE. SHE NEEDS TO MOVE

↳ @ThenNowForever: Why she hit the “Sasha, this isn’t you”??

@MarkPodcast: Never heard of [Name]..…is she new?

↳ @platinumstarred: yeah she was mainly on the indies, wasn’t bad at all like she was rlly good

↳ @MarkPodcast: Hopefully she’ll stay good while she’s here!

@Feistysummer: Sasha saying she doesn’t need help…then turns around and tells [Name] that she’s going to help LOL

↳ @Divas4L: They’re definitely going to be friends, if not best friends in the future..

[shininas-ideals]

hi there!! i just wanted to ask what makes ppl in the fandom ship kunichuu?? im new to the fandom and fairly curious lol

Hi hi!

I'm fairly new to the fandom myself as I only watched the anime last year! but to answer the ask, idk I guess something in me just clicked

The idea of Kunikida and Chuuya interacting came to my head in that helicopter scene, where the PM saved the ADA from the Hunting Dogs (you can imagine my disappointment when they didn't so much as aknowledge their existence). When I saw them in the same space together I thought "huh, would you look at that, the two partners Dazai has had... I bet they got a lot of venting they can get over with a good drink"

Continue under the cut!

I've already made a post with my main points for how their dynamic would work, but just to expand on that (and bc I love talking about them):

• Like I said, they can have a funny lil moment to breathe and just complain about the living hell that is dealing with Osamu daily

• As an aftermath of their characters being created to bounce off of Dazai's antics, they have quite a bit of similarities between them that they can both help enhance mutually; like being hardheaded, both being excepcional physical fighters, both wearing their heart on a sleeve, both being destined to be the next big honcho of their respective organizations, both doing things that would be considered contradictory to their line of work, and many little details more

• I've also begun to think of many, many alternative scenarios where these two can make for an interesting plot, mostly, like I said, a post canon/future part where they've both inherited they positions as boss of the PM and president of the ADA respectively, making for many meetings that develop into a sorta kinship on their moral code as leaders of two important groups: as Chuuya, being a high rank of a criminal organization, doesn't actively enjoy killing and sees his men as the living humans that they are; and Kunikida isn't opposed at all to bend the country's rules and do some shady stuff if it's for the greater good of the people

So it's mostly just potential and parallels between their two stores that keep me wishing for at least a conversation that lets them see a bit further from the surface of their personalities and the rolls they play in the BSD world

Or it's just that I love Kunikida and I don't see the appeal in romantic Soukoku lol

Plus they have the potential to make a compelling duo that gets Dazai absolutely jealous and makes him lose his shit, cuz sure, he can take them one on one, but with both of them partnered up against him? Yeah, no shot

And can you imagine a fight scene between them? No Arahabaki, no abilities, just pure hands, mano a mano

[petvampire]

The original drabble I was working on that started this whole Cluedo prompt thing into motion. 🤣 A little gift for @anything-thats-rock-and-roll who pointed out that I somehow haven’t written Cat King x Edwin x Monty together yet! (What are we calling these three as a ship, anyway?)

So here we have them, in the library, with the rope. 💖

NSFW

~

Walking in on Monty tied up is not exactly how the Cat King envisioned his day going, but he’s certainly not complaining.

He’s rounded the corner into the expanded library of the Dead Boy Detectives’ office - with the influx of new volumes to their collection, the ghosts needed more space for their books. So the office has undergone some changes, a few mundane, a few magical. They occupy the whole top floor of the building now, and the library is its own room, to Edwin’s eternal delight. The change is recent enough that the ghost is often still found here just wandering, touching shelves and books with a proprietary sort of contentment. He’s very much in his element here, whether curled up to read in one of the heavy wingback chairs he picked out, or poring over the varied volumes to do research for a case.

Right now, he’s not doing either, but he’s still perfectly in his element. A length of silk rope dyed a stormy grey is held in his hands, half of it already wrapped around the crow in an elaborate web of knots. He’s frowning down at an open book laid out on the low table next to him, one with a diagram that he is presumably studying, trying to replicate.

Monty looks utterly calm and unruffled, even with his arms bound behind his back in a way that looks faintly uncomfortable. He’s still fully dressed, both of them are, which makes the scene a little less fun for Thomas - but then, it’s fairly clear at first glance that this isn’t some heated interlude he’s interrupting, but a bit of hands-on practice.

Still, both of them look surprised and just a hint flustered when he clears his throat, drawing their attention to him. Evidently they weren’t expecting anyone to walk in on this bit of… research.

“I’m guessing this isn’t for a case,” he drawls, amusement lacing his tone. A hint of pink crawls across Monty’s cheeks, but Edwin just raises a brow; he’s become much better at maintaining his composure.

“And how can you be certain of that?” His voice is as cool and crisp as ever, though there’s a hint of a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Perhaps I’m attempting to find new ways to subdue potential threats.”

The shapeshifter’s eyes scan over the complex series of loops and knots, more decorative than functional, and he smirks. “Sweetheart, if you start tying up your clients, you’re going to end up with more business than you can handle.” He paces closer, trailing fingertips along the rope where it loops around Monty’s arms. The crow tilts his head, flashes him a teasing little smile, and Thomas can’t resist the urge to brush a quick kiss against his mouth.

He’s too fascinated by the rope to be distracted for long, though. Edwin has certainly got a knack for this sort of thing, those elegant hands deft with the elaborate ties. Thomas is more than a little amused to see that he’s been researching, practicing, since the first use of this particular skill set. He peers over the other’s shoulder to look at the diagram he seems to be trying to replicate, and grins.

“Looks like you’re only about halfway done,” he says almost conversationally to Edwin, running his fingertip up Monty’s spine, the back of his neck, feeling his crow shiver. “Want a hand?” He’s not offering to help with the rope, not really. There are more entertaining things to do than fuss over perfect knots, since he’s here.

The ghost presses his lips together, suppressing a laugh. Thomas is insatiable; he’s not the faintest bit surprised that the other wants to make what was simply a bit of an exercise in improving his skills into something more… salacious. “I suppose Monty is owed a reward for allowing me to practice on him.”

“Lucky me,” the crow murmurs with a smirk. He’s baiting the Cat King, all three of them know it, but the man rises to the occasion with pleasure.

He may not be as adept with rope as Edwin is, but he knows very well how to work with it once it’s on somebody. A tug on the ladder of strands lacing Monty’s arms behind his back forces him to arch, making a small sound low in his throat. “Maybe one of these days you’ll learn not to mouth off when someone’s being nice to you,” he drawls, but there’s no real reprimand in the words. They’re just an excuse to tease, to play.

A little more pressure in just the right places, and Monty is sinking to his knees, spine still arched, head tilted back. Edwin eyes him like an artist surveying a canvas, and kneels down beside him with the rest of the rope. It seems to take him little time to draw more loops and knots around the other’s limbs, wrists bound to ankles by another series of elaborate coils, forcing him to stay in that bent-back position. It would certainly be uncomfortable to remain in for too much time, but neither of them intends to keep him that way for long.

The crow’s eyes are slightly glazed now in a way they weren’t before, when Edwin was approaching the ropework in a far more clinical manner. The long, pale column of his neck is on display in this pose, and Thomas can’t help but take advantage. His mouth wanders lazily over that soft skin, biting and sucking sharp red marks here and there. Monty swallows any sound he might have made, but his pulse is rapid, the scent of arousal far too obvious to the shapeshifter to hide. Not that any of them are trying.

Edwin has pulled back after finishing the last tie, just… watching, but there’s a quiet hunger in his eyes. Thomas meets them and grins again, nuzzling against Monty’s throat. “You know, this really would look better on him naked,” he purrs.

“I was hoping to make sure I could execute this tie perfectly before using it properly,” the ghost shoots back, tart as ever. “But since you’ve decided to move up the timetable, perhaps you could oblige me.”

It’s all he has to say; Thomas flicks a hand, and Monty’s clothes have dissolved into nothing, the crow making a softly startled little noise. The ropes have just a little more slack without the barrier of fabric in the way, but not enough for him to so much as relax. No, he’s still well and truly bound, and now the center of both men’s focus.

The deep grey of the rope looks lovely against his skin, the forced arch of his back emphasizing the lean line of his body. Thomas slides away from him to stand and consider the view from all angles, before slipping an arm around Edwin’s waist. “Looks pretty perfect to me,” he murmurs teasingly into the ghost’s ear.

“You’re a bit biased.”

“Even so.” The teasing exchange cuts off as his mouth settles over Edwin’s, the kiss slow and heated. Thomas deliberately draws it out, knowing Monty is watching - knowing he can’t do anything but watch at the moment.

He can’t help but enjoy every opportunity he gets to tease one of his lovers with another, to play their desires off each other. It’s doubly delectable with Monty bound and practically helpless at their feet, though the hunger in his gaze is nearly palpable. Thomas can feel the heat of it like a hand brushing over his skin as he lazily unbuttons Edwin’s shirt, unknots his bow tie.

He hears Monty’s soft little groan when he finally gets the ghost at least partly undressed, the glimpses of skin beneath all those layers fanning the flames of desire. Thomas’ hands run up Edwin’s chest, and he laughs against his mouth, finally drawing back from the kiss, glancing at his crow.

“Of course, the problem is, he’s no damn use down there.” It elicits a dry laugh from the ghost, his gaze sliding over Monty in that slow, appreciative way.

“Perhaps not. He is rather fetching like this, though.” He bends, and now it’s his lips skimming over the crow’s neck, almost delicately kissing over the marks Thomas left behind as his hands are busy with the ropes. This time Monty moans in earnest, arching into the other even as the ropes go slack, urging more contact.

That, they’re both quite happy to give.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, since Edwin has left Monty’s arms as they are, firmly bound behind his back. But they get the crow back on his feet, then across the room to one of those fancy chairs the ghost likes so much. It takes more time than it should, largely because they’re distracted by touches, kisses, by shedding bits of clothing along the way. Still, since they eventually end up with Thomas settled in the chair, Monty in his lap, Edwin kneeling in front of him, no one is complaining in the slightest.

No one is doing anything resembling speaking anymore, in fact. Thomas is too busy devouring his crow’s mouth as Monty bounces on his cock, whimpering and groaning messily into the kiss. Edwin is too busy with Monty’s dick halfway down his throat, fingers digging into the other’s thighs when his movements grow too quick, too erratic. He’s as slow and methodical as he was with the rope, keeping the other on the edge but not letting him come.

At least, not until Thomas has, spilling himself into Monty’s ass with a guttural groan. Only then does Edwin apply himself fully, bringing the crow to orgasm in what certainly feels like record time.

He sits back on his heels with a smirk, primly wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He’s still hard, but doesn’t seem to be paying attention to that fact at the moment as his eyes find Thomas’ again. The Cat King looks smug and pleased, but nowhere near sated - par for the course for him, really.

“Now, is that sufficient to keep you from distracting me from my practice for a little while?” Monty raises his head with a start, apparently surprised that Edwin is right back to business, but Thomas just laughs at the faint note of teasing in his ghost’s voice.

“Just how many diagrams did you find that you were going to talk Monty into letting you try out?”

Edwin’s smile is nowhere near innocent. “One hundred and seven.”

Both of them blink at him, astonished, and then Thomas bursts out laughing. Monty rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “When were you going to spring that on me?”

The ghost doesn’t reply, just smirks, and Thomas shakes his head. “Well, I think we’re going to be here for a while, then.”

[not-poignant]

Raphael has a very poetic and grandiose way of speaking that is absolutely not the norm for day-to-day life. How do you get in the mindset to come up with his dialogues? They're perfection and I just can't even imagine how long it would take to do one paragraph of the way he talks, but you're writing an entire story with him...

Oh I love this question because I can answer it, lol sadlkjfsda

Okay so, Raphael's character is tough for me.

Normally I do a lot of dialogue research before starting to write a character in fanfiction and original fiction, but Raphael actually gets proportionately very few lines that really show his full emotional range (compared to say, Astarion), and he's got an incredibly specific way of talking that sounds similar to Astarion but at the same time is very different.

They share enough similarities (calling people darling and dear for example) that it's easy to fall into the trap of giving them the same 'voice.'

I find Astarion's voice a lot easier to 'get' and I feel like I can hear him better when I'm writing him. But Raphael I'm taking into emotional spaces we simply never see in the game, and then I have to really guess how he'd sound (like coming up with the idea that the theatricality vanishes when Raphael is genuinely panicking).

I ended up listening to a lot of interviews with Andrew Wincott, the Voice Actor for Raphael who is an incredible actor and extremely articulate. He was very clear in one of his interviews that one of the reasons he was selected to play Raphael was because, in part, he already sounded like him. Obviously there's differences / skill in changing cadence and more, but for the most part, Andrew Wincott uses similar vocabulary and talks in a similar manner to Raphael naturally, so I had an abundance of interviews that I could then listen to in order to get a feel for Raphael's voice. I picked the things that felt more 'Raphael' and added them to my dialogue notes.

I often have to go back and edit Raphael's dialogue. Sometimes it's very simple things, I had him say 'much more' in the chapter I'm editing right now, and I edited it to 'far more' because I think he'd just phrase it like that. Sometimes I expand a sentence into an entire paragraph.

I've also leaned a lot from Korilla's transcripts in the game, which have been super useful. They really cement, more than anything, how much he loves lullabies, nursery rhymes, children's tales and more.

HOW TO DO DIALOGUE RESEARCH:-

If you're new to dialogue research, it mostly involves listening to - and watching a character and then literally taking notes of how they talk. The things you observe are:

The tone of their voice - Fast or slow. Loud or soft. Musical or flat. Theatrical or matter-of-fact. High or low. Questioning or complete statements. Considered or hedging (i.e. very well constructed sentences, or a lot of pauses, ellipses, broken sentences). Rambling or concise.

How often they talk - Some characters actually say a lot with very little. Raphael is actually a lot of observation and facial expressions and eyebrow movements in between his dialogue. Little smirks, hand gestures and more. Do they interrupt or let people finish their sentences? Are they comfortable with silence? I find Raphael oscillates between long theatrical paragraphs, single sentences or words, and then a lot of silence. He's actually not very conversational, in that you can have a conversation with him, but I doubt he'd see the point of two hours of small-talk. (At this point you might be realising that dialogue research is also character research, how a character talks tells you so much about a character.)

The words (and metaphors/subjects) they use - This is a big one and I'm going to break this down a little bit more:

How they pause if they don't know what to say. Is it 'um' 'uh' 'ah' 'hm' 'mm' 'mn' or nothing at all (or something else) because they've mastered self-control over their dialogue? If Raphael says 'ah' he does so on purpose.

Filler words. Things like characters saying 'like' in a sentence. 'He was like, 'I can't believe it'' etc. This is very similar to how they pause, but it's the things people say to get from point A to point B. People who don't do this have often had training or think very hard about what they're going to say before they say it. But people say 'like' or 'and then' or 'well' or 'i realised that' or 'i thought that' etc. to carry them on. Some are more acceptable than others (people do just have realisations for example).

Profanity. How often do they swear, and how intentional is it? Some characters only swear when they get hurt or stub their toe or get angry. Some characters swear all the time for fun. Some characters only use some swear words and not others. Be specific. Be aware that some swear words are cultural! This includes blasphemy. In Faerun they use 'gods' and 'gods damn it' more often than we use 'god' or 'oh my god.'

Vulgarity. This is useful for Raphael (and Astarion) because he's very happy to be vulgar. This is like... how comfortable are they talking about sex, about sexual subjects, being crude, being seductive, flirtatious? And if they use it, do they use vulgarity to shock, seduce, scare, threaten, or for humour?

Salutations and farewells. How do they greet people? Silence? A calm hello? (A lot of greetings are omitted in dialogue but this is still good to know). How do they say hello, goodbye. How does that change between friends and enemies and strangers?

Single word sentences. This might sound weird, but sometimes when a character hears something that shocks them, or needs to acknowledge something, they may say anything from 'huh' to 'yeah' to 'fuck' to 'okay' to 'all right' to 'sure' to 'go on' to 'indeed' to just laughing out loud. The list goes on. Raphael is team 'indeed' lmao.

Sentence structure. Raphael's sentence structure is - when he's most comfortable - gently provoking, teasing, vaguely threatening, and makes liberal use of simile, metaphor, fairy tale, rhyme, sayings, colloquialisms and more. Raphael talks like someone who knows someone could quote him at any moment lmao. But from here, how a character structures their sentences can be helpful to know. Go back to 'the tone of their voice.' Those notes will give you an idea of structure.

Emotionality. How emotional are they? Do they have rage rants? Joyful giggling dialogue? Do they infodump with little emotion? Or with sheer excitement? Does their dialogue feel fake or real? Opaque or transparent? Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves, and others will never be able to say 'I love you' in anything other than actions. Raphael's emotionality in dialogue is more present in his anger and irritation, and also when he feels triumphant and/or turned on.

The symbols, sayings, colloquialisms and metaphors themselves. Not all characters use these. But some people/characters will talk through analogies, colloquialisms. This is actually Raphael's biggest dialogue departure from Astarion, imho, aside from the fact that Astarion is a lot more emotional with his dialogue.

Take into account their culture, ethnicity, conceits, upbringing, education and the people they're close to:

This one is vital. Firstly, some people tend to 'absorb' elements of those around them. A person raised by affluent people will often 'sound affluent' and a person raised in poverty will often have dialogue that reflects this and if they don't there will be reasons for that. It might be a conceit (some people self-teach themselves different accents), it might be education, it might be training, it might be the subculture/s they've entered into, and so on.

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When doing this research, you'll end up with a kind of master-list of actual words and probably some sentences you've written down, along with a lot of notes. You can also do this for any original characters you're making at all, you're just then making it up based on the character, and this research will also give in many ways the shape of the character.

It's a fun exercise and I highly recommend everyone tries it literally for people who don't exist and also observe your friends and family, and do a dialogue cheat sheet for some of them. It's pretty eye-opening! Even one page will teach you more than nothing at all. You can go deep and write many pages, or you can do what I do and keep it lean at 2 pages. Anyone who struggles with characterisation I suggest at least try this exercise, because anyone can put on a YouTube video and/or streaming service or even a favourite Tiktoker and start doing dialogue research! It's a way of building a character from the top down while also getting information about their foundations.