#I wish we got these two hangin out more

[beth-march]

just sitting in a cloud, oh wow

Summary: 

Fez would do anything to make Lexi happy. Apparently, this includes adopting four cats.

For @earnmysong, thank you for the request! Also inspired by a post by @fexilovebot

Read under the cut, or on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36897967

Once, when they were first talking, and their bond felt so precarious it was prone to the occasional bout of awkward silence, Fez had broken a lapse in conversation by asking about her favourite animal.

“Cats,” he remembers her saying. So quickly, her answer comes, like this isn’t a matter that has room for debate, like Lexi has been rigid in this forever.

“Word.”

A minimal answer, but a distinct sense of hope unfurls on her face.

“You like cats?” Lexi asks.

“Hell yeah I like cats. We used to have a stray hangin’ around the store, he was good company. Minded his business, only hung out if he wanted. Not like dogs, dogs love anyone, they fuckin’ fools.”

Laughter spills from her, and it’s breathless and happy. She’s beaming, and Fez thinks that it’s a disproportionate reaction to an expression of fondness for cats, but he’ll take it. Every time he elicits her smile, it feels like a gift.

“Yeah, exactly!” she exclaims, like vindication, like something long sought finally found. “Their temperaments are so cool, they’re so deliberate in everything they do. And they just have the sweetest little paws, you know, with the little toe beans, and don’t even get me started on their noses - ”

Fez is grinning in earnest, by now. There’s nothing quite like listening to Lexi talk about something she’s passionate about.

“You got a cat?”

“No, I wish,” Lexi sighs. “I’ve always wished.”

“You know you talking about a cat, right? Not some fucking illegal wildlife or somethin’. Like, shit, we can go down to the pet store right now, I’ll shout you the two hundred bucks.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Lexi says, and he smiles all the more when he realises she’s squirming with just how nice she finds this, fingers wringing together. “But my mom doesn’t want pets in the house, so that’s that.”

It might strike another person as silly, the way that dejection overcomes her. Not Fez, who is already so far gone it hurts him to see Lexi like this, sad because she doesn’t have the pet she wants, and has clearly wanted for a long time.

“Someday, Lexi,” he says softly.

He doesn’t realise that he’s making her a promise.

-

Someday arrives, and falls on the day before Lexi turns nineteen.

It feels long overdue, though it’s barely been two years since she confessed her love for cats, and it isn’t as though he could have hosted a pet in a drug house in good conscience. Things have changed since meeting Lexi - somehow, he’s found himself out of the town that ruined him, severed from the business that strangled him. He’s working a terrible job for terrible money so he can cover rent for their apartment and medical bills for his grandma and send his brother to a proper school, and Ash is still angry at him for uprooting their lives to try to act like they’re people they can’t be, but Fez doesn’t care. Maybe he’s playing a fool’s game, but isn’t that what all people do? Fake it ‘til you make it , he remembers Lexi advising the people in her play during her junior year.

For the first time in his life, he looks at the future and the picture is not blurry. It is not smeared in blood, it is not framed by metal bars.

It shouldn’t be significant, that Fez feels secure enough in his life to decide to buy his girlfriend a cat for her birthday. But it is. The freedom is staggering.

He wants to surprise her, but there is a problem in this idea, in that he’ll have to choose the cat himself. He assumes it will be a difficult decision to make in his first glimpse of the kittens wriggling in the glass, some cuddled together, others swatting at toys, others leaping about. They blur together for him, a heaving mass of fluff, a cacophony of sweet meows - but then, he spots a kitten the colour of honey sitting in the corner, and his mind is made up.

There’s something about the little cat that reminds him of Lexi. Maybe it’s the way that she sits perched in the corner, spectating, something knowing in her gaze. Maybe it’s the quiet dignity of her stance, the delicate graze of her tail where it is woven around her soft paws. Maybe it’s how pretty her pale green eyes are.

Whatever it is, Fez looks at the little cat, and he knows she was always meant to end up with Lexi - and, by extension, him. Not twenty minutes later, she’s in his car, hooking her claws on a loose thread in the passenger seat and yanking until it pulls apart, a little tear appearing in the cushioning.

“C’mon, man, don’t pull that shit,” he huffs, plucking up the kitten by her tiny shoulders, setting her atop his knee. “How you gon’ play me like that?”

It seems very rude, considering what he’s saved her from. A glass tank full of annoying brothers and sisters, or maybe a future with a family of young children who might tug on her tail too hard. Instead, she gets to have Lexi Howard as her owner, which makes her the luckiest cat in the world.

He explains this to her, while he sets her things up. Bowls of food and water in the kitchen, litter box in the laundry, a squashed pillow of a bed and a pile of toys in the corner of the living room. He tells her all about Lexi - “You don’t even know, cat, you in for the time of your life, your mama’s the best, she’s gonna spoil you like you wouldn’t believe,” he mutters - and he doesn’t really register how insane this is until Ashtray gets home from school.

“Who the fuck are you talkin’ to?” Ashtray asks, when he steps through the front door. “I know Lexi ain’t here, you’ve been bitchin’ about not being able to wake up with her on her birthday for like two weeks straight.”

“Yo, kid, how was school?” Fez asks, ignoring his tirade.

“What you think? That institution’s fucked, glorified babysitting, the way they treat us like preschoolers who ain’t got a clue about - what the fuck is that?”

Ash stops dead in his tracks when he takes stock of the tiny ball of fuzz streaking across the living room. The kitten does her best to leap atop the sofa, but she’s too small, and she comes crashing down to the carpet, rolling around and shaking her head to straighten herself out. Fez can already hear Lexi cooing - and he can already hear Ash cursing. There’s a gleam in his eyes that suggests he’s not far from it, from breaking out in furious protests.

“C’mon, you know this one,” Fez says. “Says meow, starts with a C?”

“Why the fuck is there a cat here?” Ash thunders. “You best tell me that little fucker’s out by tomorrow, Fez, I ain’t playin’ around. I don’t want no cat.”

“You liked that street cat who came by the corner store!”

“Yeah, but he didn’t live with us! You outta your fucking mind if you think I’m ‘bout to clean up after your girlfriend’s cat, that shit is nasty, literally - ”

“I ain’t askin’ you to do shit. Just ignore her, aight, and be nice? For Lexi.”

Ash grumbles and storms off to his bedroom, but Fez knows his brother well enough to recognise acquiescence. For Lexi is a compelling argument in this house. So much so that Fez doesn’t even have to decorate the place by himself - Ash stands on a chair on the other side of the living room and holds the banner straight while Fez pins it in place, his face only mildly murderous.

In the morning, Ash even agrees to keep an eye on the cat while Fez leaves to pick up Lexi from her dorm room. If he notices Ash dangling a toy mouse by its tail for the cat to swat at, Fez says nothing, only smiles to himself on the way out.

When he reaches Lexi’s college, he finds her already in the parking lot. She’s decked out in her usual eyelet lace, her hair in a low bun and her red lipstick pristine. She looks beautiful, and her smile is radiant.

He gets out of the car and Lexi twines herself around him, her arms fierce around his neck, her face powdery in his neck, her hair soft beneath his nose, and he soaks all of her in, he whispers tenderly, “Happy birthday, Lexi.”

“Thanks,” she giggles, hands twiddling at his nape.

“It’s been good, so far?”

“It just got perfect,” Lexi confides.

“I think it’s ‘bout to get a whole lot fuckin’ better,” Fez admits, his smile impish.

“That’s impossible,” she sing-songs.

Fez imagines this might be among the rare occasions that he is right and Lexi is wrong, and he relishes in it, because it’s a wonderful sort of thing to be right about. Indeed, they get inside, and the first thing Lexi reacts to are the decorations - the blue and purple balloons he’s hung by the banner wishing her a happy birthday, a minimal effort that has her gushing with gratitude.

Fez barely acknowledges it in his haste to ask, “You want your present?”

“There’s more?” Lexi’s voice sounds weak. He’s not sure why - this is the second birthday of hers they’ve shared since they’ve been a couple, and he certainly hadn’t held back the first time, though the pressure to make it nice was more evenly distributed between him and Cassie for her eighteenth. That could really be the reason, he supposes - he knows she’s been lonely without her family, however adamant she is about her relief to have him with her.

“More’s a fuckin’ understatement,” Ash scoffs, from his corner.

This draws a look of curiosity over Lexi. She follows with wonder as Fez guides her to his bedroom. It looks unassuming, neat as always, one nightstand table covered in his things and the other stacked in hers.

There’s no sign of the cat, which makes Fez frown, especially when he notices a pucker of confusion in Lexi. He releases her hand and crouches on the ground, checking the most obvious spot - and finds what he’s looking for. The cat is huddled beneath the bed, legs tucked under her like she’s a loaf of bread. She regards Fez with curious eyes, and doesn’t protest when he reaches under the bed and slips her into his hands, pulling her into the open.

The gasp that flows from Lexi is definitely reminiscent of her theatre days. Fez watches with a grin as she folds her hands over her mouth, her eyes shining.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “Fez, are you serious? Is this real?”

“Real as all hell,” Fez assures her, bringing the kitten closer. Lexi dusts three careful fingers over the little cat’s forehead, and he swears that there are tears glazing her eyes. She looks up at him and laughs wetly, incredulity clear.

“Fez, I don’t know what to say,” she bumbles. “You really remember me telling you how much I’ve always wanted a cat? We weren’t even officially together, back then!”

“For sure I remember. I remember everything,” Fez says.

Lexi bops up on her toes to kiss him, and she’s sort of crying, sort of laughing, but Fez leans in as close as he can, cupping her face with his spare hand.

“This is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten,” she admits, stroking the kitten’s face. “But, Fez… I can’t keep a pet in my dorm room, you know.”

“Nah, she’ll stay here. I already got her set up, got her some toys and shit.”

“You’re going to look after a cat? For me?” Lexi asks, dumbfounded.

“You think it’s hard?”

“I think it’s inconvenient! It’s, like, a lot to ask of you.”

“You haven’t asked me for a fuckin’ thing,” Fez says. “I didn’t see you in the pet shop or nothin’. Anyway, you’ll be here next year to help me out, won’t you?”

That’s when her mother will relent on the importance of living a proper college life, and Lexi will be free to move in with Fez and Ash. They’ve alluded to it before but never made formal plans, and Fez has no idea why he hasn’t spoken to her about it outright, because her happiness is an abundant outpour, filling the room with light.

“Yes,” she says, nodding, grinning. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“I’ll be aight ‘til then. She’s only small,” Fez says, freeing one of his hands so that he can unspool Lexi’s fingers and settle the kitten in her palms.

“Oh,” she mumbles, pulling the cat close to her chest, cradling her. “She’s a girl?”

“Yeah. Shit, I hope you didn’t have a preference.”

“She’s perfect,” Lexi assures him. “You chose perfectly. What’s her name?”

Fez scoffs. “You think I got you a cat for your birthday and then fuckin’ named her myself? That’s on you, Lex, you gotta think of something good.”

“Well, she’ll be your cat too, really,” Lexi says. “We should decide together.”

“No way, this one’s all you. I know you got somethin’ in mind. You’ve been dreaming of having a cat how long, again?”

He’s surprised when she bites her lip.

“Actually, I do have something in mind, something I chose when I was really little and watching a Barbie movie…” she says, sounding sheepish.

“Mm?”

“I don’t think you’ll like it,” Lexi says.

“I don’t give a fuck. Whatever you want, for real.”

“I want to name her Serafina.”

Fez blinks. “How the fuck you spell that?”

Lexi giggles and spells it out for him, and Fez lets the letters uncurl in his mind, nodding slowly. “Serafina,” he repeats. “That shit’s dope. I think it suits her.”

“Really?” Lexi asks, brightening. Serafina squirms in her hold, abruptly darting away, leaping atop the bedsheets with a graceful curve of her tail.

“She’s a wily motherfucker, I’ll tell you that much,” Fez says, scooping the kitten back up and bundling her in Lexi’s arms again. “This is Lexi. I been tellin’ you ‘bout her, what the fuck is wrong with you, tryna leave her? That’s the best place in the world, those arms, best take advantage, you dumbass cat.”

“Don’t be mean to her,” Lexi scolds, bringing Serafina close, so she can nuzzle her cheek against the cat’s soft face. It only takes a moment for Serafina to realise just how lovely this situation is, and she breaks into high pitched purrs, a look of curious contentment dancing along her little face.

Fez doesn’t think twice about it - he tugs his phone out of his pockets and snaps a photo. Realising what he’s doing, Lexi tilts around so the angle is better, so Serafina is more visible, and makes her smile wider.

It’s the sweetest picture Fez thinks he’s ever seen. He hates social media with a passion, but an odd compulsion rises in him every so often, like his blood remembers that he’s Gen Z and insists that he has to do something to remind the world that he exists, and it usually coincides with a desire to brag about how stupidly lucky he is to have Lexi.

So Fez posts the picture to Instagram, captioning it something vague about it being his girl’s birthday. It slips nicely alongside all the other squares depicting Lexi in various positions - across the table on a date last month, a blurry selfie where she’s laughing and snuggled in his arms, standing with Ash at her high school graduation, a candid of her with sunshine making her hair glisten.

Rue has called his Instagram a Lexi fan account before, and Fez doesn’t dispute this claim. He’s even changed his bio accordingly, much to Rue’s chagrin, and Lexi’s pleased embarrassment.

Some time later, a chime from his phone informs him that the picture has been commented on.

@casshoward: oh my god it happened @lexihoward you finally got your serafina! please tell me you actually named her serafina!

That makes Fez laugh out loud. He joins Lexi on the floor, where she’s dragging a shoestring along the floorboards in the kitchen, giggling with delight as Serafina pounces at the shapes she traces on the ground.

When he shows her the screen, Lexi offers him a flat look.

“It’s a good name!” she insists.

“I love you,” is all he can say. And he does. He thinks of her tiny and wishing for a cat and deciding she wants to name her cat after a Barbie character and telling her sister about it, holding onto that wish for over ten years, and he cannot believe how much he loves her, loves that little girl and the woman she has become, the woman in his arms, the woman whose wishes he gets to grant.

Whatever dim embarrassment marred her a moment ago is long gone.

“I love you, too,” she confesses, with such ardour to suggest novelty, though it’s anything but - she tells him this every day, she shows him every moment.

They’re halfway to a kiss before Ash smacks them with one of the balloons. It goes careening between them, and Serafina eagerly bumps her head against the lilac globe, nudging it along the kitchen floor.

“Yo, what the fuck, Ash?” Fez grumbles, frowning at his brother.

“Y’all make me fuckin’ sick,” he declares. “Happy birthday and all, Lex, but seriously, I curse the day you came to visit our old store.”

With that, he leaves, stomping away to his bedroom. And Lexi and Fez dissolve into laughter, curled together on the kitchen floor, awash with bliss.

-

“Hey, you’re into cats, right?”

The question comes unexpectedly, about midway through their shift at the convenience store. Fez glances up from the shelves he’s stacking with a surprised look. This coworker is a nice kid, just a bit younger than Lexi, taking a gap year before he starts at college - but he’s rarely chatty. Fez thinks the kid might be intimidated by him. Lexi keeps telling him that he should make an effort to make his niceness more obvious, because he can be intimidating from afar, with his air of mystery and his foul language and the big scar on his head.

So Fez nods, and tries to make his posture as open as possible.

“More my girl who loves them, but yeah, I fuck with cats. Why you ask?”

“It’s just, my mom’s cat had kittens, and we’re trying to get rid of the runt.”

Fez can’t help scoffing at this. “Way to sell it to me, bro.”

“Shit, I mean - we’ve got one left, that needs a good home. And he’s cute, I swear, real cute. You wanna see a picture?”

There’s no real chance to offer a response before the kid has descended upon him, phone in hand. If he could refuse him, Fez thinks he might have - he adores Serafina, truly, loves to wake in the middle of the night and find that she’s tucked herself in the groove of his legs, loves to scratch behind her ears when she wanders into the kitchen to meow at him with demands for food, loves how happy Lexi gets whenever Serafina indulges her with cuddles. But he isn’t sure if he wants to have two cats, even if it would be a lot easier to manage looking after them, now that Lexi is living with him.

Seeing the cat in question doesn’t exactly convince Fez. The little kitten is pathetic, really, skinny and tiny, a black and brown tabby cat with thick white fluff protruding from his ears. He’s visibly smaller than his siblings - his paws are ridiculous, like little twigs, and he’s curled in on himself, his eyes bleary.

“Do they stay that fucked forever?” Fez wonders aloud.

“No, man,” the kid laughs. “No, runts almost always catch up. He might be a little bit smaller, but that’s no big deal, and he’ll be just as strong. He’ll be running around with your other cat someday.”

“That’s mad presumptuous of you, homeboy. I ain’t agreed to nothin’.”

The kid falters, which makes Fez feel bad. “No, I know, it’s just - I don’t know, I’ve got you on Instagram, you know? It’s obvious you and your girlfriend really love your cat, so I thought you might be interested in having another.”

There’s some insight in that. Fez has no doubt that Lexi would be thrilled to have a second cat, and the idea of coming home with a little cat, watching surprise steal her away in a rush of delight, holds a tremendous appeal. He knows the tenderhearted part of her would take great thrill in nurturing a little runt, so tiny he’s been left unchosen among his more robust siblings.

If Fez is honest, there’s even some appeal in this notion for him. Get rid of him, he hears again, and realises that he wants better for the little guy. It’s not his fault he’s so weak and ugly, after all.

“I’ll talk to Lex,” he tells his coworker. Which is really as good as yes, something self aware in Fez can acknowledge, but he dismisses the thought, because the sheer amount of power Lexi has over him is old news, this many years in.

Predictably, Lexi takes one look at the picture of the kitten and is utterly dazzled.

“He’s the runt of the litter?” Lexi asks.

“That shit’s not obvious?” Fez asks, laughing. “Look at them fuckin’ alien eyes!”

“I can’t believe nobody’s picked him just because he’s the runt,” she says. “He’s adorable, and he’s sure to grow. Look at those pretty markings on his forehead!”

There’s already something that resembles love in the way Lexi talks about the little cat. Fez looks at what shines in her eyes and realises, for the umpeenth time, that he would do anything, anything at all, to make her happy.

“You want to take him, then?”

“I mean…” Lexi trails off, chuckling. “Of course I do. But only if you want to keep him, too. I know you’ll say yes to me, and I don’t want to take advantage…”

Fez squeezes her hand, because Lexi really isn’t the sort to wield power in such a way, and that’s exactly why she has so much of it over him.

“Anything you want, baby,” he murmurs.

A few days later, they pick up Alfred. Lexi has picked another weird old timey name, and Fez doesn’t even blink, just says, “Cool. I’mma call him Alfie.”

Alfie the alien, Fez decides, when he realises that the kitten is even weirder looking in real life, with bulging eyes and spindly legs. Fez actually kind of likes it, how he’s so small that he can fit into even Lexi’s frail palm.

“Fez, that’s our son,” Lexi whispers, as they watch him shuffle headfirst into a cushion, bouncing backwards onto the blankets with a little wheeze.

“And he can’t even walk in a straight line,” Fez says, booping Alfred’s grey pink nose. “We chose real fuckin’ well.”

“We sure did,” Lexi says, without a trace of irony. She weaves her fingers around Alfred’s scraggly frame, flips over and lifts him into the air, giggling as she watches his legs kicking about, as though paddling through invisible water.

Fez takes a photo - Lexi sprawled on her back, grinning up at the ball of fluff in her hands - and in what he hopes isn’t becoming a tradition, posts the picture to Instagram.

-

Fez has no idea how they’ve ended up here. One moment, they were in the supermarket parking lot, unloading bags into the car. The next, Lexi has dragged him across the street, to the neighbourhood park, which is decked out in streamers and balloons, a massive banner announcing PET ADOPTION FAIR!

“What the fuck we doin’ here? I wanna go home, for real,” Fez grumbles.

“Okay, Ashtray,” Lexi says, laughing. “Remind me which brother I’m with?”

“We ain’t got no reason to be here,” he insists. “We ain’t getting no more pets. I cannot deal with another cat dragging dead mice and shit into my house.”

“No, I know we’re not, but that doesn’t mean we can’t look!”

It might be the reason why he’s so reluctant to go along - he can see how this is most likely to unfold. Indeed, Lexi finds her way to the corner of cats, and from there, it doesn’t take long for her to latch onto yet another cat.

Cat, and not kitten. A big cat with fluffy, dark ginger fur, and bright amber eyes, white on his chin and the toes of his paws. He seems curious about Lexi - she crouches by the cage, and he pokes his nose through the gaps, nuzzling her fingers.

“Oh, hello, beautiful,” she greets, slipping her fingers through so that she can pat his head. This cat clearly knows his stuff - he ruts into her palm, purring loudly, and the happy sound that slips from Lexi makes Fez groan.

“Fez…” she says, turning on him with pleading eyes.

“Hell the fuck no,” Fez says.

“No, but look at him! Look how sweet he is!”

“Look, Lexi, I ain’t playin’. You know I love you more than anything, but we ain’t gettin’ no more fucking cats, I already got them two bitches at home getting into fights with the street cats at three o’clock in the fuckin’ morning - ”

“I thought you liked that they could hold their own against the street cats!”

“Not as much as I like stayin’ the fuck asleep.”

“Maybe he won’t get into as many fights. He doesn’t seem like the type.”

Fez doesn’t know how Lexi has managed to find the single most manipulative cat he’s ever seen - the cat is fixating him with wide, hopeful eyes, and he turns around with a huff. “Motherfucker, damn it all to hell. Fine.”

Relenting is the time that Lexi backtracks, mumbling worries about it being his choice as well, but Fez shakes it aside, joins her to kneel in the grass.

“Hey, bro,” he says, grazing  the cat’s face with his fingers. The cat seems to like him, too, licking at his knuckles with his prickly, bumpy tongue. “You right, Lex. He’s a good one. Shit, I think he’ll be runnin’ circles around our poor little alien.”

“Alfie is literally normal now, you need to stop calling him that,” Lexi says, laughing.

The way she walks back to the car with the ginger cat clutched to her chest reminds Fez of children leaving carnivals with stuffed toys. He’s a very placid cat, the one they’ve chosen, content to curl up into her throat and purr.

This is the picture he takes, of Lexi kissing her latest little love’s forehead, against the backdrop of an azure sky. Fez swears it’s the last time he’ll have a picture to post, and this time around he feels the sentiment is less hollow, because he is very much aware of how awed Lexi is by his relenting, how grateful she is.

“I’m so happy,” she tells him, burying her face in the cat’s thick ginger fur. It’s weird, how he’s reminded of Rue, of a life so long past it seems detached from everything Fez now knows - but it’s good for Lexi, because it spurs gratitude in him, and he leans in to touch his forehead to hers, brushing the cat, too.

“I’m glad, Lex,” Fez murmurs. “What name you thinkin’ of, this time?”

“You don’t want to name even one of our cats?” Lexi asks.

“I don’t got anything in mind. Do you?”

“Yeah, what do you think of Humphrey?”

This is the last straw for Fez. He pulls away from her and offers her an incredulous look. There’s old fashioned names, and then there’s Humphrey.

“Humphrey?” he repeats, staring at her in shock.

“It’s cute!” Lexi insists. “That guy on the Great British Bake Off had a rabbit named Humphrey, remember!?”

For a moment, Fez allows the information to wash over him, that if anyone ever asks him about his cats, he’s going to have to look them in the eye and explain that their names are Serafina, Alfred and Humphrey. He accepts it with a sigh.

“Anyone ever tell you how fuckin’ weird you are, baby?” he asks.

“Yeah, you, every chance you get,” Lexi huffs, but she’s laughing with joy.

(For a fledgling moment, a bizarre thought crosses his mind - a wonder, about what kind of funny names Lexi might pick for their actual children. Once he realises what’s occurred to him, his stomach lurches, and he banishes the thought with insistence, because they’ve never talked about kids before, he’s never even thought about having kids before. That it’s even grazed his mind seems like a miracle - evidence of how things have changed, how the prospect of that future is becoming less inconceivable all the time.

Still, he stops himself from thinking about it. It’s crazy enough that he shares three cats with Lexi, impossible enough that he has confidence that they’re going to share a life. If he stops to imagine what she might look like pregnant, what she might look like holding a baby, his baby, he thinks he’ll lose his mind.)

-

The fourth time it happens, the fight is entirely drained from Fez.

Lexi comes home, and she makes for a very melodramatic picture, with the rain splaying her hair in wet splotches on her cheeks, and a filthy cat smearing dirt all over her blouse. Fez has never seen a dirtier cat - he thinks that the kitten is a pale grey, but there’s so much mud obscuring the fur it’s difficult to tell.

“I know what you’re thinking, but this is an emergency,” Lexi blurts, as she rushes to the bathroom, knowing that Fez will follow her. He does, not bothering to release his hold of Humphrey as he does. Alfred is perched atop the toilet seat, so he sets Humphrey to sit alongside them, and both cats watch with curiosity as Lexi carefully sets the mewling little creature in the sink.

“An emergency? Is that it?” Fez asks, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not going to keep her, I just want to help her,” Lexi says, frazzled, running a tablecloth in warm water. Fez watches the movement of Lexi’s deft fingers, the tremendous caution she employs, as she runs the cloth into the kitten’s body, soothing away the dirt in gentle motions.

Rosy blood trickles into the bath, and Lexi makes a noise not dissimilar to a whimper. Fez takes over, gently brushing her aside, inspecting the mark - it’s only a shallow cut on the bottom of her foot. He suspects a shard of glass is to blame, and he knows that her paws will cease seeping soon.

“It ain’t deep,” Fez assures Lexi. “It’ll stop soon.”

“She seemed so distressed,” Lexi admits. She wipes a hand on her face and smears mud all over her forehead. Fez takes a moment to remove the face washer from the cat, folding it in half and pressing it to Lexi, instead. He makes quick work of washing the dirt off her face, and then returns to the sink.

man whatever just fuck me up, Fez captions his new Instagram post. The one where Lexi is beaming and holding all four cats in her arms.

Ivy, the grey one, named for a Taylor Swift song Fez recognises from the bathroom while Lexi does her makeup in the mornings, is noticeably smaller than her siblings. She’s squeezed between Humphrey and Serafina, looking much fluffier now that she’s been clean and dried, her grey coat almost snowy.

The comment section is quick to swirl with chaos.

@baddiemaddy: LMAOOOOOOOOOOO

@rueruebennett: dude you got another fucking cat?

@fezcoz: @rueruebennett lexi gets what lexi wants, you know how it is

@casshoward: my brother in law is the only man ever tbh

@fezcoz: @casshoward you a real one lil sis

@ashttrayz: i hate this fucking family

@lexihoward: @ashttrayz you know what, you’re in time out, get on top of the fridge

@rueruebennett: lexi coming in hot with a vine reference in 2023…

@lexihoward: @rueruebennett the joke’s on you, you got it!

@jules.vaughn: cat number five when?

@lexihoward: @jules.vaughn fez is lucky i’m not that mean :-)

“If only they knew the fuckin’ truth,” Fez says, and pulls Lexi into his embrace, so that their cats squirm between them. The extent can’t be emphasised enough - Fez is beyond lucky that Lexi isn’t mean, because they both know that Fez would do absolutely anything to make Lexi happy.

-

There’s something cyclical about the way that Rue falls apart.

Being clean, feeling stable, it’ll last for a few months, and then something will happen, some reminder, or seasonal depression will strike, and she’ll find herself in shambles on the floor. This year, Jules doesn’t want to deal with it, and nobody really begrudges that, after how hard she’s tried to make it work during their college years. Rue doesn’t want to call her mom, and nobody really begrudges that, because nobody wants to burden family with things like this.

This year, Fez and Lexi are the ones called upon. It upsets Lexi that she can’t come along for the drive to pick Rue up, but as Fez points out to her, someone has to see Ash off to school, and the cats aren’t going to feed themselves. (Really, Ash can take care of himself, and while he mostly hates the cats, he wouldn’t ever let them starve - but Fez makes it firm that Lexi needs to stay, because he wants to gauge Rue’s mindset before he imposes her on Lexi. Lexi can be pretty fragile when it comes to Rue, and Fez needs to make sure Rue will behave herself.)

It’s been some time since Fez had to deal with an addict. Rue is the only trace of his old life that still comes up in the present - everything else is a tangle of memories, something that rises up constantly, troubles him perpetually, but it only exists inside his own mind.

But when he finds Rue, slumped on a park bench in a random city halfway between her apartment with Jules and his apartment with Lexi, his old world comes crashing back, twisting back to frightful life. Frightful, real life.

“How’s it goin’, kid?” Fez calls, as Rue pulls her bag over her shoulder and shuffles over. He gets out of the car to help her with the duffel, placing it neatly in the backseat before he pulls his sister into a brief, one armed hug.

“I’m alright,” Rue says, even while she sniffles, starts crying. “I’m so fucking sorry, Fez. I’m so embarrassed to be burdening you and Lexi like this. I wish it hadn’t come to this, I really, really wish it hadn’t.”

“Nah, c’mon now,” he says, patting her back. “You ain’t no burden. Not to us.”

“God,” she mumbles, fumbling to swipe at her cheeks. “I just remembered something that happened fucking forever ago… Something Lexi said to me when she was dressed up like Bob fucking Ross…”

“That’s a sensitive subject, Rue. That’s the fuckin’ tragedy of my life, that I never got to see her in that getup,” Fez says, hoping to elicit a laugh.

When Rue’s laugh comes, it’s an unthinkable relief for Fez. They climb into the car, and the tone has already changed. Rue is desperate to hide her vulnerabilities under a veneer of something untouchable, so she lets herself laugh, lets herself joke, lets herself be the annoying little sister Fez always thinks of her as.

Fez doesn’t even protest when she steals his phone.

“Yo, how you know my password?” Fez huffs.

“I made an educated guess,” Rue snorts.

If Fez weren’t almost four years into his relationship with Lexi, he thinks he might be more embarrassed about the fact that Rue could so easily guess his passcode - 5394, numbers coordinating with letters to spell out Lexi’s name.

“Holy shit,” Rue says, a moment later, looking truly baffled. “There’s literally nothing in your phone but pictures of Lexi and the cats.”

“What about it?”

“I just… can’t believe that this is your life,” she admits, laughing. “How many cats do you have again? Five?”

“Four.”

“And their names are fuckin’ weird as shit, right?”

“No doubt.”

Rue tilts the screen at him, an amused smile on her face. “Tell me the story behind this one?”

The picture depicts Lexi and Alfred, wearing matching crochet bonnets, soft ivory trimmed by green. Both of their expressions are grumpy, because Alfred had been less than cooperative with his birthday treat, and Lexi had been disappointed by how reluctant he had been, when she found the idea to be so sweet.

“Lexi got them matching hats for Alfie’s birthday. He looks like he wants to kill himself, but it’s the cutest shit ever, right?”

What unfolds in Rue’s face seems bewildered. As though experimenting, she flips to another picture, one of Lexi in a pink and yellow tie dyed jumper, Serafina cradled in her hold while they sit on the sofa. “And this one?”

“Man, I dunno. They just chillin’.”

She shows some more pictures, waiting for Fez’s responses.

“That was before we left for Ash’s middle school graduation,” Fez remembers, when Rue shows him a picture of Lexi in a gentle purple dress, her crimson lipstick smile beautiful, her hair woven in braids like from the night they first met. She holds Serafina beneath her arms, so that her fluffy belly hangs on display.

“Humphrey was bein’ a bitch, which he’s not usually,” he explains, for a picture where the ginger cat is swatting at Lexi’s face.

“Serafina’s a good study buddy,” he says, for a picture where Lexi is decked out in green and has the honey coloured cat peeking from the blankets, gazing at the computer balanced on Lexi’s knees.

“That’s a pic she sent of her and Ivy when I was at work,” he says, for a picture where the girls are on the bed, and Ivy is nestled close to Lexi’s cheek, and Lexi is smiling brightly, her eyes closed so her eyelashes fan over her cheeks.

“And so, you think all of these pictures are like, so important to take?”

“Rue, will you put the fuckin’ phone down?” Fez asks, finally losing his patience.

Rue acquiesces, setting it atop the centre console with a clatter. She glances between the phone and him, several times over, before she speaks up again.

“Remember when you were a gangster? Those were the days, man.”

Fez throws her a wry smile. “If you think I miss doin’ shit like this, then you trippin’.”

That makes Rue avert her eyes. Embarrassed, overwhelmed, she turns to the window, where the world streams by in a blur. The colours blend together, and Fez wonders what she makes of it, wonders how sober she is, wonders just how many more years she’s going to be stuck in this terrible dance.

It could be forever. For a lot of addicts, it’s forever. For every addict, in fact, but Fez always hoped that Rue would be one of the ones who could smile a tired, triumphant smile, and talk about five years clean, ten years clean.

Fez still has hope, though the years are starting to wear on, and Rue has yet to yank herself from her eternal spiralling, her endless suffering.

“I don’t think I’m like you, Fez,” Rue admits, quietly.

“What you talkin’ about?”

“I just… I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get my shit together like you.”

“I don’t think anyone has their shit together, kid. That’s like a myth. We all just doin’ our best, you know? Making it up on the spot.”

“Lexi has her shit together.”

“Not exactly. She got shit to deal with, same as anyone.”

Rue sighs. She presses her temple to the window. “Yeah, but why is her version of shit to deal with - your version of shit to deal with - I don’t know. I don’t even fucking know what I’m talking about. I mean, her life was fucked, too, right? Her dad ran out on her, her mom’s drunk more often than she’s not, her sister’s basically a blowup doll… And you , you were stuck dealing drugs when you were still in fucking elementary school… And what, I’m the disaster, because my dad died? Neither of you have dads either but you’re good, selfless people. And you’re living this, like, pseudo normal life, by now. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You ain’t gonna accomplish nothin’ by thinking like that, Rue,” Fez says softly, his heart awash with secondhand sadness. “You got wires crossed in your mind, you an addict, whatever the fuck. It is what it is. Me and Lexi aren’t addicts, we got different shit to deal with. Ain’t no point in comparing yourself to us.”

“What is there point in doing?” Rue mumbles. “What am I supposed to do ?”

“Shit, kid, why you think I know?” he tries for a laugh, but nothing feels very funny. He considers the anguish edging Rue, how it has always been there but hasn’t shown this blatantly until now, and he pauses for a moment.

“It snuck on me. Whatever changed, whatever made me... grow up. I ain’t never thought I’d have an apartment, and my GED finished, and Ash in school, and someone like Lexi…”

“And a bunch of cats,” Rue adds, with an impish smile.

“Yeah, a bunch of fuckin’ cats,” Fez says, with a sigh. “What a trip, bro. It was right outta left field… Maybe it’ll be the same for you.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “I hope so.”

#fexi fic

[writtenjewels]

Match part 5

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Jason tried to enjoy the night out with his friends, but his mind was off across the ocean. After a few weeks he had started mentally calculating the time difference automatically and knew that Salim was probably asleep by now. He wished the older man was sitting here with him instead.

“What's up with you, man?” Nick asked as they all headed back to Eric's car. The colonel had drawn the short straw as the designated driver this time. “You seemed a little out of it tonight.”

“It's...” Jason hesitated; he wasn't out among his friends yet. “It's this dating app,” he explained instead. “I got matched with someone, but they live in another country. We've been texting and we sorta went on a date using Skype.”

“Long-distance? That sucks.” Nick was thoughtful for a moment. “Is she cute?” Jason didn't correct his friend. He thought of all the pictures he had of Salim. One of his favorites was the man in his garden, dirt smudged on a cheek and a smile across his face.

“Yep, pretty cute.”

“Then as long as you both are willing to work with it, I say go for it.” They fell quiet then as they climbed into Eric's car.

Jason didn't drink that much so he couldn't excuse any of his actions as intoxication. When he got home, the first thing he did was call Salim. He listened to the ring a few times and then silence. A few moments later Salim's voice said something in Arabic.

“Uh, it's me,” Jason said. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Jason? What time is it over there?” Salim's voice was a bit groggy, his accent more pronounced due to tiredness. “It's eleven at night,” Salim realized, answering his own question. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Nah, I just got home. My friends and I were hangin' out. I just called because...” Jason swallowed before going on. “Because I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Jason.” Salim was starting to sound a little more awake. “Did you have fun with your friends?”

“Yeah, it was all right. We talked, had a few beers, nothin' crazy. What'd you do tonight?”

“Played a trivia game with my son. Listened to the radio.”

“Sounds like you had a wild night,” Jason teased.

“Mmm. And then some bratty American woke me up. He's lucky he's cute.”

“Yeah?” Jason grinned, his heart picking up as a blush warmed his face. “You think I'm cute?”

“You will be in a few more hours when I'm awake and had my coffee.”

“I'll let you get to it, then. Have a good morning, Salim.”

“Good night, Jason,” the other returned. He crawled into bed. The next thing he knew, his phone was ringing. He swore and groped around until he found it, letting out a grunt for a greeting. “You are cute now,” Salim announced.

“You just called to wake me up, didn't ya?”

“I did,” Salim assured him with a laugh. Fuck. They were thousands of miles apart, and Jason was falling hard for this guy.

#jason kolchek x salim othman #jason/salim #jason x salim #jason kolchek #salim othman #jalim #house of ashes

[rehkkuma]

she's all yours | okuyasu x reader

summary: unlike his partner in crime, Okuyasu lacked experience in the dating field. Once he believes that he may have a chance with his crush, his best friend begins to get in the way.

words: 1.8k

disclaimers/tags: fem pronouns, modern AU (basically just phones being involved), tiny bit of angst, fluff, and cursing.

He was staring again. The poor 16-year-old boy couldn't help but notice every single detail about her: the slight tilt in her walk whenever she went up the stairs, how she would tie her shoes, and the unfortunate glint of light in her eyes whenever she spoke with his best friend.

Y/n L/n was someone extremely special to him (whether she knew it or not). She could read his expressions so clearly, sometimes knowing more about Okuyasu than Okuyasu did himself. The emotions he couldn't quite put his finger on, she always had an answer to. At times, he felt undeserving of the friendship he had with her. After coming to terms with his developing feelings for the girl, of course she began to get closer with his best friend.

He was painfully aware of the difference in treatment he received compared to Josuke. While Josuke could be referenced as Morioh's pretty-boy delinquent, Okuyasu was more like the intimidating ruffian that stood by his side. Obviously, Y/n did not think of Okuyasu in that way, but her perception of him didn't matter if he was considered nothing more than a friend.

"Hey," Josuke called out, concerned for his friend.

"Y-Yeah?" Okuyasu stuttered, trying to regain his thoughts.

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

Okuyasu silently thanked Y/n for standing in a crowd with other students. If she stood any further from the school's front entrance, it would've been easy for Josuke to pinpoint who he was eyeing.

"Nothing, really. Just thought I saw a cute girl."

Josuke shrugged his shoulders, repositioning himself so his back laid more comfortably against the tree. "Well, if you do see one, ask 'em out or somethin'. I wanna see you have your first kiss before we graduate," he chuckled.

"Mhm, yup," Okuyasu responded, eyes now glued to the grass he was sitting on. He was about to spew out a self-deprecating joke but stopped himself once he noticed Y/n approaching the two of them. Immediately, he recognized Josuke's energy shift from disinterest to eagerness.

"Y/n!" Josuke cheerfully said, waving at the girl.

"Hi, you two!" she waved back. Once coming close enough, she sat down along with the boys, her knees lacing together in a criss-cross position. Because of the short distance between her and Okuyasu, the boy could smell the flowery essence emitting off of her body. He wasn't too fond of fragrances, but the one Y/n had was light and sweet-- perfectly suiting her personality.

Before he knew it, Okuyasu was staring again. The only thing that got him to snap back into reality was the cry of laughter Y/n let out after Josuke made a funny remark.

"Did you hear that Okuyasu?" Y/n choked out, leaning back with both hands on her stomach.

"Y-Yeah." Okuyasu fake laughed, really having no clue what the hell was going on.

"God," Y/n sighed as she wiped off the faint tears forming in her eyes. "I wish I could hang out with you guys a bit longer, but I just wanted to drop by and say hi. I gotta help out with some chores tonight."

"It's all good," Josuke smiled. "But only if you promise to call me tonight."

The girl rolled her eyes while getting up from the ground. "We'll have to see about that, Jojo!" She then stuck her tongue out before scurrying off to her house.

Josuke chuckled, slowly placing his chin on the palm of his hand. "She's pretty cute, isn't she?" he said, eyes glued to the girl's figure in the distance.

"Yeah, she sure is."

* * *

Okuyasu could remember the first time he met her as clear as day: his hands were tucked deep into his pockets, feet dragging along the sidewalk while he was on his way to school. Unlike his regular routine, Josuke was unable to walk with him due to an argument breaking out between him and his mother. It seemed like a bummer at the moment, but maybe it was actually a blessing in disguise.

"Fuck!"

In front of Okuyasu's feet laid a girl. Her uniform was stained with a bright red juice and its can rolled next to her. He didn't recall exactly what happened, but he did feel someone's face hit his chest before hearing a thud.

"I didn't get any on you, did I?" the girl asked with panic.

Okuyasu, hands still in his pockets, shook his head. "Mnn. Don't think you did."

"Okay, thank God. These stains are so hard to get rid of."

That was one of the first things that Okuyasu remembered from Y/n. Her casual way of talking was enough to make any stranger feel like a good friend. Something about this girl piqued his interest.

"Guess it's not your first time, huh?" he hummed.

"You'd think I'd learn my lesson after the third time."

After the small accident, Okuyasu took the girl to the laundromat. Classes would begin in any minute, but neither one of the pair minded skipping it.

"Oi, what're you gonna be wearin' in the meantime? Don'tcha think the teacher's gonna kick your ass for showing up like that?" Okuyasu pointed at the revealing tank top she wore.

"Yeah, definitely. That's why you should totally let me borrow your top," she winked.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself. I don't even have a clue on what your name is."

"L/n." she replied crassly. "It's Y/n L/n."

That was several months ago. Since then, their relationship started to significantly grow. From sending short texts to sharing a few inside jokes, to hanging out every other day after school. In Okuyasu's eyes, it was inevitable for him to fall for a girl like her.

Right before he could spill about his crush to his best friend, Josuke had already introduced himself to her. It crushed Okuyasu to see the girl he loves slowly start to move on from him-- to his own best friend nevertheless.

All of his frustrations were best to be kept to himself. No way could he express his jealousy to Josuke or Y/n. Out of all the girls that fawned over Josuke, why did she have to be one of them?

**Brring**

Okuyasu rolled his body to the other side of his bed. On a nightstand was his phone that rang. The alarm was just loud enough to break through the pessimistic thoughts roaring through his brain.

"Who's this?" he asked, too lazy to check the contact number.

"It's me, Okuyasu! Why, is it that hard to use a second of your time to check the contact name?"

He recognized that voice anywhere. It was her.

"Aw, look. I was in bed, alright?" he smiled, feeling his mood change immediately after speaking with her.

A small giggle echoed from the other end of the phone. "Alright! I wasn't here to nag you all night anyways." The girl then cleared her throat with a cough before soon speaking again. "I was thinking we should hang out tomorrow. For ice cream, maybe. Just us."

Small butterflies began to form in his stomach from hearing the last sentence. "Just us" had never sounded better.

"Sounds good to me."

"Great!" she nearly interrupted. "A-Ah, sorry! I just got excited. It feels like we've been parting ways the past couple of weeks, but I promise tomorrow's gonna make up for it!"

"It's alright," Okuyasu sighed. "See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow!" she repeated.

* * *

Was it just Okuyasu or did she look way cuter today? The makeup she wore differed from the one she usually had on, her accessories managed to compliment her eyes even more, and she even put an effort into customizing her uniform like Josuke and Okuyasu despite expressing her laziness multiple times. She looked like an absolute doll.

"Hmph." She huffed. "You've been doing that a lot lately," she said flatly.

"Doing what?"

"Staring at me like I'm some crazy person."

Okuyasu internally panicked for a few seconds but composed himself. "You just look pretty lately, that's all."

He expected a cheeky comeback in return but was left with a bashful smile from her instead.

"Let's just hurry up and get ice cream..." she said, eyes faced to the ground.

Okuyasu nodded at her suggestion and began to walk, making sure his pace wasn't too fast for Y/n. He'd occasionally give a glance at her direction to know if he was walking at a comfortable speed for her.

Several minutes of walking and a few casual conversations later, the duo made it to the ice cream shop. Y/n ordered a mix of her two favourite flavours while Okuyasu ordered two scoops of mocha almond fudge. Feeling a bit more gentleman-like today, Okuyasu insisted on paying for the both of them.

"Thanks for the ice cream!" the girl said, taking a small lick of the cone. "I feel like the more I hang out with you, the more things I owe you back," she chuckled as the two left the shop.

"Don't sweat it. Hangin' out with you's enough for me." Okuyasu smiled.

"Ah, really?" she blushed. "That's... really sweet of you."

There she did it again. No witty comeback. Just a flustered reply.

"Somethin' up with you? Eat something bad today?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"You're just actin' a bit different, that's all. Not sayin' it's bad though. I kinda like it." Okuyasu continued to walk on the sidewalk but stopped once he realized Y/n was frozen still. "Hey, you comin'?"

Y/n began to slowly jog her way to Okuyasu. When she caught up with him, she paused once more, now looking into the young boy's eyes. "I feel like you don't hear yourself talk sometimes," she said. "I can't tell if you're flirting or you're just naturally this oblivious."

He didn't know how to respond. He was starting to get nervous from how close their faces were. If he wanted to, he could practically count each beauty mark on her face.

"Well?" she said.

"Well..." Okuyasu tried to come up with something but found himself paying more attention to the girl's lips. They looked plush and soft with a slight glossy coat from the ice cream.

Eventually, the girl noticed where he was looking at. Slowly, she closed the already small gap between the two.

"Okuyasu," she breathed out with a gentle tone. "I really like you."

"I-" he stuttered. "Not Josuke?"

"Josuke?" She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and chuckled. "I don't know what you think is going on between us, but it's not that. He's not exactly my type either."

Okuyasu couldn't believe what he was hearing. Before he could say anything back, he felt her lips against his right cheek. It was a delicate kiss. Maybe a bit sticky, but it made his heart do several backflips nevertheless.

Once her lips left his skin, she stood awkwardly in front of him. The way she looked up at his eyes with that lovestruck gaze made Okuyasu realize something he didn't before: he wouldn't need to jealous of other guys. It was clear that Y/n L/n was all his.

#jjba x reader #okuyasu x reader #jojo x reader #jjba headcanons #jjba imagine #jojo fanfic #jojo fanfiction #okuyasu nijimura x reader #jojo headcanons #jjba diu #jjba part 4 #diamond is unbreakable #jojo reader insert #jjba hcs #jojo hcs #fluff #angst #okuyasu nijimiura #jjba #jojos bizzare adventure x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #mmmjojo

[katarena]

Into the Light

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682256

A fic written in response to a comment left on this story. I tried to write something else, but sometimes when a story wants to go in a certain direction, it’s best to go with it.

***

“Sure this is gonna work, Donnie?”

Don breathes out slowly; his finger is shaking a bit as it hovers over the button. “Here goes nothing.”

He presses the button and the lair is flooded with blue light as a portal opens.

“Wish me luck.” Leo, Mikey and their guests are going to be back soon; it’s not a coincidence that Donnie and Leatherhead have waited until now to test the portal. Raph takes a deep breath and steps into it.

He emerges to find nine figures staring at him. Two are human, one’s a rat, and six are turtles.

“You have got to be kidding.”

Raph smirks at the speaker. “Nice to meet you too, Casey Jones.”

These other turtles are massive. The different version of Raph might be bigger than Leatherhead, and that’s saying a lot.

“What are you doing here?” asks Leonardo.

“Ya want the short version, or the long?”

“Let me get this straight,” Leo says calmly. “You’re saying that all of you met up with more versions of ourselves…and then they kidnapped your Donatellos?”

“They’re huge, dude!” Mikey – not Raph’s Mikey, a different one with big blue eyes and freckles – tells him. “I’m not kidding! They just picked them up and carried them off!”

“…and they’ve been hangin’ around in our world since then.” Raph notices the two stray Dons don’t exactly look happy at this news, and the four Hulks even less. “Our Donnie and LH have been building a portal to get you guys back home, but…”

The thinner Don frowns. “Wait – LH? Do you mean Leatherhead? Leatherhead’s been helping you?”

Raph doesn’t get a chance to say anything, because Raphael is walking right up and looming over him. “Don’t know if you know about this,” he growls, “but those guys? They don’t exactly treat Don and Dee well. That’s why we took ‘em in the first place.”

Finally, a different version of him he actually likes.

“Oh, we’d figured that,” he says. “And believe me, Leo, Master Splinter and I have had a lotta words with those knuckleheads.”

Raphael and Leonardo nod approvingly.

Raph turns back to the smaller Dons. “Look, I ain’t gonna force ya to come with me. All I’m gonna says is, they ain’t the brothers you used to have. You want to hear ‘em out, that’s up to you.”

Don and Dee glance at each other, back at the Hulks, then at each other again.

“I’ll go,” Don says eventually. He looks as if he’s bracing himself.

Dee nods too.

“Great.” Raph looks at everyone else and grins. “Hey, you guys wanna come too?”

***

Leo and Mikey return with their guests to find a glowing portal and nine newcomers standing in front of it.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then…

“DONNIE!”

Three green blurs rush forward and throw themselves on one of the strangers. Leo hears their apologies, pleas for forgiveness and promises to be better, but he’s focusing on the other group, who are solemnly approaching their Donatello.

He stands still, waiting for them.

For one moment, they stand and look at each other. Then the turtle in blue kneels and bows his forehead to the ground. The others follow his example, leaving their Don staring at them, stunned.

In the background, four large figures look on approvingly.

Something doesn’t feel right. Leo’s instinct is tingling, warning him, so he looks around the lair. Everyone is here, but Don, their Don, is walking quickly towards the garage.

Leo follows him. When he reaches the garage, Don is standing with his back to the entrance, bracing himself against the wall with one hand.

“Whoa, Don.” Raph’s joined them. “You OK?”

Don doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t even know Leo and Raph are there, and he’s trembling. The sound of his breathing fills the whole room.

“Guys?” It’s Mikey. “What’s going on? Why is Donnie shaking like that?”

Leo gently touches Don’s shoulders to move him away from the wall and it’s like watching glass shatter.

Don’s legs buckle. Leo catches him just in time, but the sound that breaks out of Don’s mouth tears at his heart. It’s a terrible sobbing wail and the next moment, Leo is kneeling on the floor, rocking his distraught brother in his arms as he cries and cries and cries.

“Mikey, get Splinter. Now.”

He hears Mikey yelling for their sensei and within moments, Splinter’s there. He kneels beside Don and puts one hand on his head, stroking it gently. Mikey’s eyes are frightened and bewildered, and he’s looking to Leo for answers, but Leo doesn’t know what’s going on either.

Don’s been hurt.

The realisation is like a sword through Leo’s gut. This is a wound that’s never fully healed and has been viciously ripped open again.

How could they not know about this? How could Leo not know? Don’s his brother.

“Nobody’s gonna take you away from us, Donnie.” Raph’s voice is like fire. “Not now, not ever, because we ain’t ever lettin’ ya go.”

Eventually Don’s sobs quieten, and he makes as if to push himself out of the embrace.

“No you don’t, Donnie.” Leo tightens his arms, holding his brother fast. There are times when he has to decide whether Mikey, Raph and Don need him to be a leader or a brother and right now, Don needs both. “We’re not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

“What happened, my son?” asks Splinter softly. “What has wounded your soul so deeply, Donatello?”

He tells them.

***

“I thought if I didn’t tell anyone it would go away. But it hasn’t. It’s still there, and I thought…I thought…”

He knows those other guys didn’t mean any harm, but the moment he heard other versions of himself have gone missing, he felt this fear. The nightmares came back, and they were worse than ever.

But he’s – they’re OK. They’re safe. And now he’s told his family, the weight he’s been carrying inside his chest feels lighter. He can’t remember the last time he cried so hard or for so long, or the last time he was able to breathe so freely.

“Come here, Donnie. I got ya.”

Raph takes him by the elbows and helps him to his feet, then bends down and picks him up over one shoulder. Don lies limp and trusting as his brother carries him to his bedroom, then places him in bed and covers him. Master Splinter’s hand starts to stroke his head again and slowly, Don slips into sleep.

“We’re not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

Don believes him.

***

“Uh…hey.”

The big guys look nervous. Michelangelo is shifting from foot to foot. “Is your Donnie OK?” he asks.

Mikey wants to be mad at them, but he can’t be. If it hadn’t been for them, those shell-for-brains would still have been…shell-for-brains, and he and his brothers wouldn’t have known about the pain Donnie’s been carrying. Besides, the two other Donnies don’t hate the big guys for kindnapping them.

(What Mikey will later tell his brothers is that seeing how frail and elderly one of the Splinters is made him realise that one day? That’s going to be their Splinter.

Mikey’s not ready for that.)

“Yeah,” Raph says. “Yeah, he will be.”

“What happened?” asks Donatello.

“Ultimate Drako happened,” Raph snarls. “Trust me, you do not want to run into him.”

His fists are clenched and Mikey instinctively knows that if Drako wasn’t already dead, Raph would kill him for this.

Leo tells the big guys about the Ultimate Ninja and his alliance with Drako. “He used the Time Sceptre to send all of us into different realities.”

“Leo got sent to Usagi’s world, Raph got to be a planet racer, I got sent to a world where we’re all superheroes…and Donnie got the It’s a Wonderful Life experience.”

“The what-de-whoosit?” Michelangelo asks.

“It’s the film they always show around Christmas – you know, the one where that guy wishes he’d never been born and sees what would have happened if…” Donatello drops his gaze. “Oh.”

His brothers look horrified.

“Look,” Leo says to the big guys, “for what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.” He glances over to where everyone else is quietly building bridges with each other. “And we would never have known about Donnie’s suffering otherwise.”

“You know, I’m gonna miss those guys,” Michelangelo says.

He looks sad, and Mikey doesn’t blame him. He hates goodbyes. But maybe they can all have one last day together – they can watch movies and have the biggest pizza party in the world. It’s going to be great.

“Just one question. Who’s Usagi?”

Raph grins at Leonardo. “Oh, trust me. If you ever meet him, you’ll get on just fine.”

“Yup!” Mikey says. “I think you guys are gonna be best friends.”

Just then, the alarm goes off. Everyone looks towards the door; Don appears at the doorway of his bedroom, bo in hand.

“The Foot.” Raph takes his sais out of his belt. “What do you say we get this party started?”

Those guys find it hard to beat four ninja turtles. Sixteen of them, four Master Splinters, two Casey Joneses and Leatherhead? They’ve got no chance.

“Let’s do this.”

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2007 #tmnt 2014 #one big tmnt crossover #response fic

[carewyncromwell]

[Marauder/Golden Era] Regulus Black/Ed Rosier Playlist

fancasting Timothee Chalamet as Regulus and Sebastian Stan as Ed

“There had been many moons before I met ya, And I don't know when I last put paper to pen... And now you give me back my raison d'être, And I'm inspired again! And I know in some ways we're kinda evil -- Got my roots and you've got ties -- But my heart's no stranger to upheaval... Put your little hand in mine and Look into my eyes, baby eyes! Oh, you make me wanna listen to music again!”

“Music Again” ~ Adam Lambert

“Has it ever crossed your mind, When we're hangin', spendin' time, Girl, are we just friends? Is there more? Is there more? See, it's a chance we've gotta take, 'Cause I believe that we can make this into Something that will last, last forever... Forever...!”

“Crush” ~ David Archuleta

“When we live such fragile lives, It's the best way we survive. I go around a time or two, Just to waste my time with you... Tell me all that you've thrown away -- Find out games you don't wanna play -- You are the only one that needs to know...”

“My Dirty Little Secret” ~ All-American Rejects

“You seemed so far away Though you were standing near -- You made me feel alive, But something died, I fear... I really tried to make it up -- I wish I understood... What happened to our love? It used to be so good...”

“S.O.S. (cover)” ~ At Vance

“I've tried to hide it so that no one knows, But I guess it shows, When you look into my eyes... What you did and where you're comin' from -- I don't care, as long as you love me, baby.”

“As Long as You Love Me” ~ Backstreet Boys

“Someday, somewhere, We'll find a new way of living -- We’ll find a way of forgiving... Somewhere...”

“Somewhere (cover)” ~ Lucy Thomas

“I've found a reason for me To change who I used to be -- A reason to start over new... And the reason is you.”

“The Reason (cover)” ~ Chase Holfelder

“You're here -- there's nothing I fear! And I know that my heart will go on... We'll stay forever this way! You are safe in my heart and My heart will go on and on...”

“My Heart Will Go On (cover)” ~ Halocene

When Regulus Black joined the Slytherin Quidditch team in his second year, the very last thing he expected was to find a companion as loyal and supportive as Edmund Rosier. Regulus was very used to social-climbing for the sake of the Black family name, but Ed -- who was also the younger son of a well-regarded Pureblood family desperate to make his own stamp on the world -- showed him sincere friendship at a time when he’d needed it most. Before long, the Seeker and Chaser were spending a lot of time together, even off the Quidditch pitch and even despite their two-year-age-gap. By the time Ed reached his seventh year and Regulus became Slytherin’s newest Prefect, there were some rumors among the student body that the two boys were romantically involved, though the blood-purist Pureblood side of the student body almost pointedly ignored whatever chemistry the two had. Ed and Regulus themselves were also pretty much forced to bury the feelings they had for each other, as they both felt such a strong desire to uphold family tradition and live up to their parents’ expectations of them. About the only time Ed was explicit in how much Regulus meant to him was when he’d given the younger man a square locket as a token of “their bond.”

“Sure, I won’t be there with you...but well, this will. Maybe that’ll make fighting your battles alone a little easier.”

Regulus kept that locket around his neck under whatever high collar he was wearing until the very last hour of his life. 

As the First Wizarding War began and Ed started into the music industry, however, the Chaser-turned-musician found himself struggling to stand by the Death Eaters and their destructive methods. Even their justification for it -- namely, to “bring wizardkind back to its rightful place in the world” -- seemed more and more unjustified, to Ed. Was this “great new world” these people saw truly worth all this death and terror? Was the world they had really so bad, as it was? And there seemed to be no plan for peace, after all of this blind destruction being done in the present...would it really just be down to everyone marching lock-step under the Dark Lord’s whims forever -- under one man forever? And yet Regulus, still finishing up his last year at Hogwarts, was still shielded from this reality and his eagerness to fight for the world his parents had always wanted made recruiting him to the Death Eaters’ ranks very easy. 

Regulus joining the Death Eaters made a slight rift between Regulus and Ed -- for as strongly as they felt for each other, Ed was growing more and more uncomfortable with Regulus’s new allegiance, and on top of that, both Regulus and Ed knew that they could never have the permanent, loving relationship they longed for and Ed in particular insisted on. They knew they’d be forced to marry Pureblood women they didn’t love so as to follow their parents’ wishes -- something Regulus in particular fought with, given that as the only remaining Black son, all the expectations were now on his shoulders. And yet Regulus didn’t want to let Ed go -- with the War going on, he knew any day could be his last, and he couldn’t stand the thought of not having Ed in his life every moment. Ed knew he would probably never get over Regulus, but as he told his friend one fateful night in 1979 -- 

“Even in that amazing new world you see in your head, Reg -- that world the Dark Lord always raves about, where Muggles know their betters and we’ve ‘taken back’ what was stolen from us...even in that world...there’s nowhere we could live our lives together, in that world. There’s no place where we could buy a house, raise a family, and grow old together. And...I need that, Regulus. I need to know that future is waiting for me. I want it with you -- Hell knows I want it! ...But...with who you are...who I am...there’s no world I can see where that will ever be. And I don’t think you can see one either.” 

Only two weeks later, Ed received the news that Regulus had been killed, supposedly for trying to abandon the Death Eaters. The news was a knife in Ed’s heart -- this man who is well-known for never crying was so lost in his grief that he locked himself up in his room at the Rosier estate for nearly a week, refusing to see or speak to anyone. 

Ed’s parents, after returning home from a trip to find their younger son in such distress, were rather callous toward his feelings and instead immediately tried to rush him into finalizing his engagement to the woman they’d selected as his future wife. Ed, however, was unable to handle it. He left home with a small bag of his personal belongings, initially just to clear his head. His departure, though, was taken very badly by his parents, who put him in the position where he’d have to make a choice quickly -- come home and marry the woman they chose, or never come home again. Ed, unable to make such a choice in the emotional state he was in, was silent...therefore making his choice involuntarily the second. 

As upset as he initially was by the whole ordeal, over time Ed grew more assured that he’d ultimately made the right choice to not return home with his tail between his legs. His new friends in the music industry came around to support him, letting him crash at their places until Ed had secured an apartment of his own -- and through his experience, Ed came to realize just how much he’d taken for granted financially and got to know more people from those backgrounds he’d initially scorned. He even ended up learning about and got comfortable using Muggle appliances and such, while living in housing that was in non-magical neighborhoods. And as Ed looked back on who he’d been, he realized that he’d been right about what he’d said to Regulus in a way he hadn’t put together before.

With who he’d been -- who Regulus had been -- chasing the tradition and Pureblood ideal pioneered by their families -- constantly sacrificing what they wanted for the sake of their parents, who never did the same for them...they never would’ve achieved true happiness. But maybe...just maybe...Ed had a chance now to become someone better than he was...someone who could actually know that true happiness that he and Regulus had so deserved. 

Tagging @cursebreakerfarrier @nightmaresart and @kathrynalicemc since they’re also in on this Marauder Era binge 💚

#marauder era #golden era #harry potter #regulus black #ed rosier #about ed #aesthetic #moodboard #playlist #music #GOD these two #the angst!! #and yet unlike snape who remained bitter and spiteful after lily's death ed actually becomes a better person in regulus's memory #just sayin' #also so many of ed's songs are about regulus #you can be damn sure that ed lives with regulus's memory forever #dare i say... 'always' #*eyes snape with a smirk* #but yeah ed will live a happy life even after all of the pain he's gone through that's a promise #geezus it's weird using timothee chalamet for anyone besides jacob cromwell #I actually love skandar keynes as regulus too but he looks too young compared to sebastian so timothee it is #also yes ed was bleached blond at school #makes him look like a malfoy hahaha

[ragingbookdragon]

These Words You Should Always Remember: To You, My Heart I Surrender

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4.6 Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Angst

Author's Note: This wasn't supposed to be 4K words y'all. I swear. But y'all better love me for it. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

There were the occasional sounds of fists meeting faces and shins hitting sides echoing in her ears, but she paid them no mind, eyes trained on the screen before her. She was content to let her brother and oldest friend beat the ever-living shit out of each other if it meant they’d eventually put their feelings aside and make up. Of course, it was a long-shot pipe dream and one not so easily reached—she could hope though.

Over the sound of the continual fighting came footsteps, followed by, “Aunt (Y/N). How’s it hangin’?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at her second nephew. “Jason,” she greeted warmly, and he bent down beside her, letting her press a kiss to his temple. “What are you doing here so late? I thought you and Roy were going to Panama City tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

He shrugged. “Plane leaves in the morning. Figured I’d hang around here for the night to say a couple ‘see you laters’.” Jason’s eyes followed the screen. “Is that the human trafficking ring out of Saint Petersburg?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) answered, turning to click at the mouse. “Some lawyers from the courts around here got caught in a hotel room with a few of the girls.”

Someone new appeared in her peripheral, two people actually, Tim and Dick. “Didn’t they arrest everybody in the hotel room?” Tim asked, propping his chin on her shoulder.

She reached up and scratched his scalp the way he liked. “They did. The girls were sent to a secure facility for treatment and the lawyers have unsurprisingly lawyered up. None of them are talking.” (Y/N) clicked on the screen, opening a tab that led to an interrogation room. “Gordon’s not having any luck. Whoever’s running this operation is obviously terrifying enough that none of these guys are cracking. Even with the threat of getting sent to prison for life.”

“Want some help?” Dick offered and she shook her head.

“Nah. We adults have it.” (Y/N) looked at them and smiled. “You guys go do what young people do. Hang out with your friends, drink, party, be young.”

“I feel like you’re saying that to the wrong trio,” Tim said. “None of us drink except Jason and even then, none of us party.”

She shook her head again, this time in shame. “God, you people need to live.”

Jason happened to glance over her head, and he frowned. “Speaking of needing to live…you might wanna stop Bruce and GM from killing one another.”

(Y/N) turned in the direction of her friend and brother and sighed. “Am I a terrible person for considering letting them punch each other unconscious?”

“Nope!” came unified response and she chuckled, rising from her seat.

“Thought so,” she said, walking over to where Bruce and Ghost-Maker were about to go at it again.

She stepped in between them, gracefully dodging a throw punch and a kicked-out leg, shoving both of them back in return. “Hey, enough.”

“Move.” Bruce commanded and she glared at him.

“I said, enough.” Her head turned to Ghost-Maker. “We all know this little sparring match has gone a bit farther than just training.”

“No one’s getting hurt, (Y/N).” Ghost-Maker said, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe not right now, but someone will get hurt and we don’t need that.” She pointed to the opposite ends of the room. “Separate and cool off. Both of you.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to budge, Bruce let out a puff of air and turned, striding into the showers, leaving her and the other man on the mats. (Y/N) sighed quietly, rubbing her temples, and griped, “I swear you both make it so difficult to be around.”

“Only because he lets his emotions get in the way.”

(Y/N) looked up at him, watching as he wiped the sweat from his face. She caught his hand. “You busted your knuckles.”

“I’ll be fine.” He started to pull away and she tightened her grip.

“Don’t even start with me, Ghost.” She tugged him to the med bay and shoved him towards a seat. “Sit.” He obeyed, though she could tell he was probably making a face at her, and she busied herself with finding the antiseptic and some wraps.

Turning back around, she perched herself on the desk and placed his hand in her lap, gently wiping the blood and dirt away from the wounds; then she set the rag aside and wrapped his knuckles with the fresh gauze, carefully, as if he were made of glass.

When she was finished, she couldn’t help but do the childish thing she’d come up with all those years ago during their training; (Y/N) softly rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles, blowing quietly, then she murmured, “There. All healed.”

A rare smile came over his lips, though she could tell it was more of a sneer than one. “You’re still doing that?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and shoved his hand off her legs. “Yes. How do you think I managed to heal all the wounds me and the family have gotten over the years?”

“Hmm, stitches and alcohol.”

“Smart-ass,” she grunted, rising to her feet. “You hungry?”

Ghost-Maker stood from his seat. “No. I have to get back to The Haunt.”

“Hot date waiting?” (Y/N) cracked, elbowing him in the side and he snorted.

“No. I need to read up on the information Icon’s run through since I’ve been gone.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, gazing at him. “You know I’m doing that right now with our scans, right?”

“Of course, I do. But you’re not Icon.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Great, I’ve been beaten by an AI.”

“An AI that I designed.” Ghost-Maker added, and she glared at him for a moment before chuckling.

“With fear, so I’ve heard.”

He shrugged. “I figured I would give him the one thing I lack.” He looked over at her. “Do you want to come with me?”

She wanted to, but she sighed heavily. “I can’t.” her eyes found the shower room door. “Someone needs to stay behind and talk to him.”

“I’m not surprised you’re staying.”

It was all he said before he disappeared from her sight and (Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek as something aching tugged deep in her chest. She hated how easy it was for her to understand when Ghost-Maker was disappointed in her decisions. How easy it was for him to impact her feelings. It’d been almost two decades since they actually held real conversations and every memory of the time they’d spent together, her, him, and her brother came back to her. Every moment of watching the two boys go head-to-head, and her torn between her family and the man she loved—it’d always been that way…and sometimes she wished she were like Ghost-Maker, unfeeling of love and empathy.

She shook herself from her stupor and walked into the locker room, leaning against the wall of the closed shower door; she could see his feet beneath the door. “Why do you always let yourself get so angry when it comes to Ghost?”

“You know why.” Bruce retorted. “You know how he is.”

“And I know how you are,” (Y/N) countered. “Yet you refuse to admit that on some level he’s got good points.”

He stuck his hand out from the opening of the door. “Towel.” She waited. “Please.”

Handing it over, she said, “You and I both know the longer we do this the darker it gets…the darker we get.”

“I’m not killing people, (Y/N).” Bruce griped as he stepped out of the shower, the towel around his waist. He’d busted his eyebrow and lip.

“I’m not saying you have to, Bruce. I wouldn’t expect you to. All I’m saying is you won’t admit that Ghost is right about things.”

“About what!” He shouted, turning on her. “That I should just start slitting throats up and down the street! That I should give up what we started as children! What (Y/N)!”

She merely stared at him amidst his yelling and then she calmly stated, “That you can’t save everyone.” He didn’t react, just looked at her as she explained, “You are so hellbent on the idea that everyone can have a moral redemption arc, but the truth is that not everyone has one nor does everyone deserve one.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Sometimes I think Ghost was right. Trying to save everyone? Giving up every part of myself to make sure everyone lives? He was right. It eats until there’s nothing left inside you.”

“So what? You’re going to stop saving people?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Bruce.” She gave him a sharp look and said, “I’m going to stop saving the people who don’t deserve saving. And if that means I let someone bad die? I can live with that.” Walking off, she ignored him as he called out for her to stop, leaving him alone.

***

The little hovering tray floated into her peripheral and she blinked, turning to look at it. “Good evening, Miss Wayne. Refreshments?”

She smiled, plucking a champagne glass off along with a few grapes and cheese slices. “Thanks Icon.”

“You’re welcome.” The tray wandered off and she walked over to where he was sitting down, silently reading through the reports.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked, popping a grape in her mouth as she nudged his elbow off the armrest to perch on it herself. His arm unconsciously rested around her waist, fingers brushing the side of her pants.

“Leonidovich is having a party tonight.”

(Y/N) hummed, watching as he clicked through the pictures of the party’s setup. “Big place. Open. Good for plain clothed security to get around in.” she narrowed her gaze. “This is the ball room of the Winter Nebula Hotel. Who’s renting out the penthouse?”

Ghost-Maker smirked. “Our host for the party.”

She nodded. “Then that’s where the real party is going to be tonight.” Glancing at him, she asked. “Any big ballers on the VIP list?”

“Oh, a few internationally wanted arms and drug dealers.” He looked at the screen. “Leonidovich picked up a new shipment of girls earlier. He’s probably going to make a deal with the dealers tonight in exchange for them.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I guess it’s time to put our noses to the grind then.” She shimmied off the seat and started towards the closet. “Have any dresses back here?”

“You’re going inside?” he questioned, almost sounding surprised.

“Well, you can’t go it,” she retorted. “Your wily ways of fucking and flying means that people know your face.”

“Half of it.”

(Y/N) stuck her head out from the curtain, neck, and shoulders bare. “You’re not going to go in without your mask on. We both know that.” She pulled back in, grunting and shuffling around until she was finished.

Pulling open the curtain, she stepped out in a thigh length white heart-bodice dress, form fitting to her body and off the shoulders. (Y/N) slipped in the black metal teardrop earrings. “Part of me wants to ask why you have female clothing in your closet, but the other part wants to ask why on God’s green earth do you have to buy everything in white.”

Her face pinched. “It’s sterile. At least paint some gray in here somewhere, Jesus.” Ghost-Maker merely chuckled at her complaints and stepped behind her, gently placing something around her neck. “What are you—”

He let the black necklace fall to her chest and gently grabbed her chin, the other plucking a small device from the tray that Icon had next to them. Maneuvering her head to the side, he reached up and stuck it behind her ear, snug and out of sight. “Your hair should cover it,” he said.

“What is ‘it’?” (Y/N) asked.

“Listening device.” Ghost-Maker nodded to the screen, and she looked over, seeing a black box on the screen with a marker that was ticking. He raised his fingers to her ear and snapped; the blue marker etched with the sound, and she couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“Nicely designed, Ghost.” She remarked, glancing back at him. “Get my invitation?”

“It’s printing.” He met her eyes. “You need to be careful.”

(Y/N) knew he was being serious, but she couldn’t help but mess with him a bit. She smirked. “Why, Ghost, are you worried that I can’t handle a bunch of international criminals by myself? Me? That mighty Widow-Maker?”

“I’m not worried about you.” He said, and it hurt a lot more than she expected it too. “But I’d be down a sparring partner if you got yourself killed.”

She blinked at him. “I’m not sure what’s more upsetting—that you only think of me as a sparring partner or that you legitimately think I can’t do this by myself.” (Y/N) tipped her head. “Ghost, I’ve got this.” He opened his mouth to say something, but she turned away, walking to the door. “Where will you be tonight?”

He watched her back. “I’ll be doing what I do best. Surveying until you get into the penthouse.”

“You can’t bust in until I get enough on Leonidovich to have him arrested.”

“I’m not going to arrest him, (Y/N).” She turned, staring at him, but she said nothing, and he cocked a brow. “You’re not going to stop me?”

Her gaze fell to the tile floor, and she shrugged. “I don’t think I can, even if I tried to.” She let out a breath and turned. “Good luck tonight.”

***

To a novice, the party would’ve just been a normal high-class function, but to her knowing eyes, both from her own billionaire life and her vigilantism, this party was crawling with criminals. She’d caught at least seven drug deals go down in the past five minutes since she walked in, and at least nine men went off with escorts.

She inconspicuously grabbed a champagne chute from a waiter’s tray and sipped it lightly, scanning the room for Leonidovich. He was in the corner of the room, sitting next to a few women who (Y/N) recognized from the missing persons in Gotham.

His eyes flashed to hers and she gave him a flirty wink, disappearing to the bar, knowing he was going to take the bait. Sure enough, a hand touched the small of her back and she hummed as his lips brushed her ear. “I wasn’t expecting a goddess like you to come to this party tonight.”

She smiled and leaned back into his chest. “This goddess goes where she pleases.” Tipping her head slightly, she caught his eye. “And where her boss will find the best deals.”

“Deals, hmm?” he hummed. “What kind of deals are you expecting?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Oh, the ones where lots of money is involved…and merchandise.”

He gazed at her for a few moments then murmured in her ear, “The code word for entrance to the penthouse is ‘подземный мир’.”

“I’ll remember.” Leonidovich pulled from her with a smile and disappeared into the crowd. Something made her want to shiver from disgust, but she concealed it, watching and waiting for him to enter the elevator.

When he did, she waited another few minutes before walking over to it; the security stopped her and she cocked a brow, muttering, “подземный мир.”

The two guards looked at each other then stepped aside, letting her into the elevator. Another guard was inside, and she smiled politely as she stepped in, glancing at the little panel as it blinked.

It dinged, signaling their arrival and when the doors opened, she was greeted by an extravagant penthouse. To her surprise, there weren’t many people inside, just Leonidovich and his personal entourage.

“Ah, you’ve come,” he greeted, holding out a hand.

She took it, letting him place a kiss to her knuckles. “I told you, this goddess goes where she pleases and where she’s needed.” Looking around, she murmured, “My boss would prefer our business done alone. Is that possible?”

The guards seemed to turn even frostier but Leonidovich merely chuckled, nodding his head as he let her go and gestured to a side door. “The office is just through those doors. We can draw up a contract.” He turned to his thugs. “Wait here.”

(Y/N) nodded, following him as he led her into the office, noting how he locked the door, and he motioned to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit.”

Taking her seat, she crossed a leg over her knee. “You wouldn’t happen to have something to drink, would you?”

“What can I offer you?”

“Vodka.”

He chuckled. “Ah, a woman after my own heart.” He waltzed over to the bar and poured them both glasses, walking back to hand her hers. “Here you are.”

(Y/N) took it and clinked her glass to his. “ваше здоровье.”

They both downed their glasses and for effect, she held her façade. “You speak and drink like a true daughter of Russia.”

She smiled. “I’ve had more than a few drinks with many sons of Russia.” Glancing out the window, she added, “My boss is interested in your inventory. A few of them actually.”

Leonidovich hummed, turning back to wander over to the drink counter. “Tell me about your boss.”

“He’s a multi-billionaire out of Hong-Kong. Made his fortune by building cell towers and selling opium on the side.”

“Opium is a highly sought-after drug.”

“That it is,” (Y/N) agreed. “He’s been branching out into Kolkata, wanting to get into the spice trade.” She gazed into her empty glass, staring at her reflection. “But the men over there want something in return…more than money, if you catch my drift.”

“I do.” He said, matter of factly. “Perhaps I can offer them something better.”

“And what would that be?” almost there. She thought, but she never expected—

“You.”

(Y/N) turned her head just as he swung his arm as hard as he could, the vodka bottle in his grasp. She barely even had time for her eyes to widen when it collided with her temple, shattering into a thousand shards, cutting deep into her skin.

She fell out of her seat and hit the ground, dazed and in a massive amount of pain. Reaching up, she felt the blood pouring from her head and she sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to wipe away the fluid from her eyes so she could see.

Of course, he didn’t give her time because he was pressing his knee into her back, fingers yanking the listening device from behind her ear. Leonidovich glared at it and smashed it between his fingers. “I know who you are working for. I’ve seen this tech before.”

(Y/N) rolled onto her back, throwing out her elbow, which to give her credit, she did catch him in the jaw, but he was quick to respond, punching her across the face. Blood pooled in her mouth, and she spat at him, then his hands were winding around her throat, squeezing tightly. It reminded her of the training in the Amazons where she had to learn to uncoil anacondas from her body.

His grip became tighter and tighter just like the reptiles and she bared her teeth as she tried to suck in air, digging her nails into the flesh of his hands, his wrists, anything she could scratch at. He was heavy enough that she couldn’t flip him and with the dress tight around her thighs, she couldn’t cock her legs up to his shoulders or waist to get any distance between them.

She gasped when he put his knee in her stomach and that was the last bit of air she had to hold in. Her lungs started burning, begging her for air she felt the panic starting to rise in her as she thrashed beneath him, trying to throw him just an inch, but nothing was working.

Dark spots started to ebb out from the corner of her vision and like the phrase had come alive, she saw every moment of her life flash before her eyes. Every wrong decision, every right one. Every goodbye, every hello. Every person she’d ever lost and every one she’d ever saved. Her nephews’ and nieces’ faces darted across her vision followed by Bruce’s and then his.

She didn’t want to die now. Not since he’d come back to see them after so long. She wanted to stay. Wanted to tell him she loved him, even if she knew he would never be able to feel the same. She wanted to live.

Gunshots sounded from the outside, but they were like whispers as her eyelids started to droop shut, brain fogging from the lack of oxygen. Her hands started to go slack as the door was kicked in and as her arms went limp, something damp splattered across her face and the weight of Leonidovich’s body fell away.

(Y/N) sucked in a lungful of air and rolled, with what strength she’d received from the freedom, over onto her side, coughing violently. Her head was swimming with pain and her brain felt like someone had taken a mallet to an overripe melon.

Someone gripped her shoulder and she screeched, flailing on them when they grabbed her wrists. “(Y/N). It’s me.” They pulled her against them, folding her to their chest and placed a hand to the back of her head. “You’re safe.”

Sandalwood and metal oil wafted up her nose and she heard the familiar hum of his suit. “K?” she breathed, terrified to pull away and look at him.

His thumb caressed the back of her head. “It’s me, (Y/N).”

Something broke inside her and she buried her face in his cloak, sobs wracking her body as she clung to him. Words passed her lips, and she wasn’t sure what she was saying but it didn’t matter because all she could think about was how he’d saved her in the nick of time. The man she’d turned her back on at twenty to go home with her brother, had saved her again.

***

When she awoke, she sat up straight in the bed, vaguely unaware of how she’d gotten there in the first place. She started to move when she heard, “I wouldn’t get up if I were you.”

Stilling, she looked over, seeing Ghost-Maker with a book in his hands. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, one of his favorites. When they used to train together when they were children, they used to lie under the stars, and he’d tell her all about how each chapter in the book had been devoted to a different art of warfare; she loved how passionate he would get when he talked about it.

“What happened?” she asked, fingers twitching against her side where it had started to ache.

“You were found out and almost strangled to death in penthouse suit.” He snapped the book shut. “When the bug went down, I moved in and took care of the criminals in the suite before killing Leonidovich and saving your life.”

(Y/N) frowned as he set the book down and leaned over, checking inside the bandage that was wrapped around her head. “Thank you.” Her eyes found his behind his mask. “What happened after?”

“You don’t remember?” he inquired curiously, and she tried to shake her head, but his grip was firm, keeping her in place.

“No. I remember you saving me but everything after that is a giant blur.” Suddenly she felt too transparent and pulled from his hands, turning her back to him as she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She rested a split second and stood, though his earlier warning rang in her ears as her knees buckled beneath her, head swimming.

He was there in an instant, arms wrapped around her waist as he caught her, lowering her back onto the bed. “I told you not to move.”

(Y/N) grunted at him and when he moved to pull away, she held on, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just…wait, K.” She whispered softly. “Please, just a moment.”

Ghost-Maker didn’t move though she felt the way he tensed at the first letter of his name. “You called me ‘K’ back there too.”

“I was relieved to see you.”

“And what you said afterwards?” She fell silent. “You don’t remember, do you?”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled downwards. “I have an idea of what I said. But I doubt you’ve been oblivious to it all these years.”

“Why do you love me?” he inquired, and from the tone of his voice he was either genuinely curious or completely baffled, she was hoping for the former and not the latter.

She turned her head, ignoring the prickling of pain as her temple brushed his shoulder, and pressed her forehead into his neck. “Because you saw who I was when no one else did.” Tears started swimming in her vision, and she reached up, curling her hand in his suit jacket. “I love you because you’re you, K. Because you’re my oldest friend and the one who’s always known me.”

Ghost-Maker closed his hand around the one in his suit and fell silent for a long while and (Y/N) stayed quiet too, simply letting the tears fall from her cheeks to the skin of his collarbone, her lips quivering against his skin.

“I can’t love you the way you love me.” He finally admitted.

(Y/N) blinked the tears away, whispering, “I know.” She started to pull away from him, reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry, K.” It was hard to look at him, but she managed it, barely. “Just…give me some time and let me work through all,” she gestured around herself, her heart, and her head. “This.”

“You’re not angry at me.” He remarked and her brows furrowed.

“Of course not. Why would I be?”

“Because I don’t feel what you do. Love.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh despite the heartache. “K, I’m not going to get angry because you don’t feel love.” She reached up and placed a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing against the fabric he kept covering his nose and eyes. “I know that in your own way you do care. Even if it’s not love.” Her hand shifted and she ran her thumb over his lips. “I can live with that.”

Ghost-Maker slid his hand up the side of her neck, pulling her to him; he pressed his lips to hers and she closed her eyes, letting herself be lost in the bliss of the moment, if only for a moment, then she pulled away and opened her eyes, gazing at him.

She offered him a sad smile and managed to find her feet again, rising from the bed, leaving him there. “I’ll see you sometime soon, K.” she said, walking to the door.

“Do you want me to call Bruce to pick you up?”

“No. I’ll walk for a bit.” (Y/N) got to the door and stopped, pausing to look back at him. “K?”

He glanced over, meeting her gaze. “Hmm?”

“Do you know what my biggest regret is?”

“I don’t.”

(Y/N) grimaced. “It was leaving you.” Even behind his mask, she knew the surprise was in his eyes; she knew him that well. “And if I could do it all over again…I’d stay with you instead of getting on the plane that night.”

Ghost-Maker looked shocked for a moment, then it gave way to a smile. A real smile. One she hadn’t seen in years from him. “I think I would liked that.”

“Goodnight K.”

“Goodnight (Y/N). Stay safe.”

#batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #batfamily #batsis x batfamily #batsis x batfamily imagine #batsis x batfamily imagines #batfamily x batsis imagine #batfamily x batsis imagines #batfamily x batsis #batsis imagines #batsis imagine #ghost maker x reader #ghost maker x reader imagines #ghost maker x reader imagine #ghost maker imagines #ghost maker imagine #ghostmaker #ghost maker dc #ghost maker #ghost-maker x reader #ghost-maker x reader imagines #ghost-maker x reader imagine #ghost-maker imagines #ghost-maker imagine #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part V

[ previous ]  Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x Reader, Zeke Jaeger x Reader wc: ~ 8.8k Warnings: pining, testosterone, Zeke being a dick (who woulda thought), subtle manipulation (both on Zeke’s part that goes unchecked and accidentally on Mike’s part) A/N: Well, we’re gettin’ there. We’re truckin’ along. I’m sorry for the last chapter. And, I’m sorry for this one. But, I do still hope you enjoy it. I think we’re at the halfway mark here. 

Mike gets a text from you at nine PM three days before he’s supposed to go back to campus. It’s just a few words, a question that makes his heart drop to his stomach because you’ve never asked it before.

 Can we talk for a sec?

 He waits for a few minutes, tries to get rid of the panicked feeling rising in his chest, but he can’t get it to go away entirely, so he just bites the bullet and calls you. 

 “Heyyy,” you greet. Mike can already tell a difference in your tone. Something is definitely going on.

 “Hey, what’s up?”

 “I just, uh…” He hears you suck on your front teeth, a nervous habit he’s well versed in now, then you tell him, “I just wanted to give you a heads up before you get back here.”

 Mike swallows. “Heads up about what?” 

 Are you leaving? Did you fail your summer classes despite all his help? Did you get into some kind of accident?

 You let out a long breath that Mike wishes he could feel on his skin. He wishes he could see your expression, wishes he could hold your face in his hands and tell you that whatever it is, it’ll be okay. Seems like he’s always wishing for things.

 “Um, I—uh… I’m kind of seeing someone.”

 The floor falls out from beneath him, and Mike drops with it, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He grits his teeth, trying to breathe normally—in through the nose, out through the mouth. This is about the last thing he expected you to confess.

 It’s apparently taking too long for him to gather himself, because you say his name, “Miche?” and he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

 “I’m here. It’s, uh, fine,” he lies. “It’s fine.”

 “Is it?” You sound worried, as you should because while Mike isn’t mad, he’s extremely disappointed, probably the most he’s ever been. 

 Taking a page out of your book, he tries to play it cool, act like he doesn’t care. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

 “Well, you—...” Met your mom? Learned your secrets? Tried to tell you that he loved you? All valid responses, but you just dismiss it with a quiet, “Nevermind.”

 Mike hums, lets the line go silent for a while, then musters the courage to question, “Do I know him?”

 “Yeah, I think so.”

 “What do you mean ‘you think so’?”

 “I mean he’s mentioned you, so I figure you’ve had at least a few conversations.” You’re getting that sassy tone, the one that signals you want to drop the subject, but you can’t this time. You’ve already warned Mike that you’re off the god damn market. You might as well tell him who exactly he’s gonna see you holding hands and sucking face with. It’s the merciful thing to do. 

 “It’s not one of the Pike guys, is it?”

 “No, no,” you laugh and it makes Mike want to scream because he doesn’t find this amusing at all, and it only gets worse when you finally answer, “It’s Zeke Jaeger.”

 Mike nearly hangs up then and there, but he somehow fights the urge. He does hold his phone away from his ear, though, stares up at his ceiling for a few seconds and stretches his arm out, then brings the device back. “Cool. He’s a… Talented dude.”

 “Yeah, but I mean, I’m not exactly starstruck or anything. Not after hangin’ out with you all of last year.”

 Mike rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they might fall out of his skull. “You don’t have to make this about me, ba—...” He catches himself before finishing the pet name. He can’t do that anymore. He can’t call you what he wants to. He can’t flirt or smooth hair out of your face. He can’t pick you up and hold you against the walls of the house. He can’t show you how much he cares for you. 

 “I know. I just feel kinda bad,” you mumble. 

 “You shouldn’t. It’s cool.” His flat tone is anything but cool, and you can probably tell, but there’s not much Mike can do about that.

 You’re pouting when you question, “You’ll still be my friend?” Mike can see the expression without actually seeing it, the doe eyed look you’d be giving him if he were in front of you right now. He can also imagine looping his arms around you and smiling crookedly and kissing your forehead, and fuck, he feels broken. 

 “Yeah,” he sighs. “Shouldn’t even be a question.”

 “Good.”

 You lapse into another silence, just breathing and waiting for the other to break. It’s you who does. You clear your throat and state one more time, “I just wanted you to know.”

 “Thanks.”

 “See you in a few days.”

 “Yeah,” Mike is barely listening at this point, just looks at the poster on the wall and lets it fall out of focus. “See ya’.”

 You don’t hang up immediately, like you’re waiting for him to say something else, but Mike saves you the trouble and presses the ‘end’ button on his phone then tosses it on his pillow and falls back onto the mattress. 

 He just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand any of it. You’ve gone an entire year denying him, keeping yourself closed off and never once bringing up the possibility of actually being together. After all the time spent together, after all the date parties, all the sex, staying at each others’ houses. He feels like he knows you better than anyone else probably does. You let him in. You let yourself be vulnerable in front of him. You acted like you trusted him.

 So, why isn’t he your first choice? As soon as you realized you were ready to make a fucking commitment to someone, why wasn’t it him?

 Mike doubts he’ll ever get the closure. He’ll just have to cope with seeing you around campus with Zeke god damn Jaeger, have to pretend like everything is fine, like you haven’t ripped his heart out of his fucking chest. 

 Unbearable. It’s going to be absolutely unbearable. 

 *

 Moving somewhere new always blows. It takes so much energy that Mike doesn’t have, yet here he is, hauling bags and boxes up to his new apartment unit. Honestly, he would almost prefer to stay in the frat house instead of having to make all the trips up and down these god damn concrete stairs, but at least now he’ll finally be away from all the parties. That will definitely come in handy this year considering he’s not gonna want to go to a single fucking one of them. 

 Once all of his belongings are stacked in his fairly small living room, Mike glances around his new haven, already thinking about how empty it feels without all the guys milling about and dicking around. He doubts he’ll miss the constant noise, but it’s still something that will take some getting used to.

 What he will miss is seeing you all the time, waking up in his old room to see you still fast asleep on his pillows, sitting in the main room with the others, heckling them as they play various games. He’s been focusing on the small things for the last couple of days, the things he never took the time to really enjoy. It feels like he didn’t stare long enough or laugh hard enough when he had the chance, and now he doesn’t know when his next opportunity to do either of those with you will be.

 Mike scrubs a hand down his face, scratches the hair he’s let grow out a little too much, then slowly begins to unpack his things. He’s being melodramatic, he knows, but he can’t help it. He can either let himself feel sad, or he can let the unbridled fucking rage take over, and out of the two, he prefers the former. 

 Mike’s class schedule gets pinned to the wall in his bedroom. His laptop gets set up. Textbooks are tossed into a corner. He really doesn’t care to do much more than that, but he figures he should make the place at least a little presentable. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find someone to entertain.

 The thought makes him a little sick to his stomach, but it’s a sensation he’s slowly getting used to as more time passes.

 Mike knows he needs to pull himself together, needs to put on a brave face. Pretty soon all the frats will be dealing with the dirty rushers, all the kids who weren’t able or didn’t think to suck up to the brothers during the spring. Then there’s inductions and hazing… Fuck, fall semesters are so tedious even without living in the house. He’s never been a huge fan of it all, but he’s had this image to uphold since he became a pledge.

 Now, Mike isn’t so sure he can keep that image in place.

 He stays locked away for as long as he possibly can, but eventually there’s a knock on his front door—Erwin who shoots Mike a broad grin and wriggles his ridiculous eyebrows. “You ready, bro? Got a place all your own with no one to bother you—”

 “You’re bothering me.”

 “Can do whatever you want,” Erwin powers on, completely unfazed. “Bring back whoever you want, no pesky frat boys to get in your way ‘cause fuck those guys, right?” He goes to grab Mike’s shoulders while laughing at his own joke, but Mike swats him away. 

 It makes Erwin scoff, and then he’s pushing past Mike to get into his new home, looking around for just a second and breathing out a little, “Eesh,” before turning back and giving Mike a look of condescension. “Don’t tell me this bad mood is because of your little toy finding someone else.”

 “Okay, firstly, fuck off,” Mike squints at him. “And, secondly, how do you already know about that?”

 Erwin examines his manicured nails, buffs them on his shirt and tells Mike, “Saw her and Jaeger walking out of the bookstore earlier. They looked pretty cozy. Pretty giddy, too, all smiles and—”

 “Shut. The fuck up.”

 The other man snorts. “Calm down, dude. I’m sure you can get her back or whatever you’re trying to do. Zeke’s an assole. Won’t take her long to figure it out.”

 “We’ll see.”

 This time Mike lets Erwin clap a hand on his shoulder before he walks out but not without suggesting, “You really should brighten things up a little in here. Hang some fairy lights or something. Girls love fairy lights.”

 Mike rolls his eyes, not bothering to remind his friend that he only started unpacking half an hour ago, then physically shoves Erwin out of his apartment.

 So, you’re already walking around campus flaunting your new little fling, he thinks. Perfect. He’s really looking forward to seeing that everywhere. 

 Mike eventually has to go by the PKA house for a meeting. Some of the members are already discussing plans for rush week and parties. Should they have lists or just keep them open and direct everyone to the yard? Are they gonna stick to their regular forms of hazing or should they change things up this year? Did anyone stick out from spring? Mike doesn’t pay much attention, just scrolls through his phone skimming through the same three social media apps over and over. He reads through the text thread he shares with you, the one he’s never deleted, and thumbs all the way up to a few months ago just to see if anything had been different back then, if he had said or done something wrong. 

 But, he’s gone through it a dozen times already, and he never finds anything. Maybe you just grew while he was away, experienced some kind of self-actualization that prepared you for an actual relationship. 

 Or, maybe Zeke just has something that Mike doesn’t. 

 *

 Mike runs into you on the second day of classes. Thankfully, you’re alone, and as soon as you catch sight of him, you grin widely and launch yourself at him. It comes as a surprise, your full weight hitting him square in the chest when you jump, and he has to catch you like you’re an excited child.

 It’s too close. You’re too close. Body against his as you slide down to your actual height and rest your head on his chest.

 “I missed you, Zacharias.”

 He wants to lift you up again, lock your thighs around his waist and kiss you like he used to. Instead, Mike pats the top of your head and gently untangles you from himself. He makes sure to smile when you look up at him, and he’s glad you aren’t pouting or frowning, your expression soft when he tells you, “Yeah, I missed you too.”

 He asks how your summer classes went. You ask what his course load is like this semester. It’s just small talk, and Mike hates it. 

 “How’re your parents?” You question like you’re interested, but he can’t imagine you actually are.

 “They’re good,” he shrugs. “Dad got a promotion at work a few weeks ago. Mom is doing the same shit she always does.” Like, making his favorite meals to heal his poor little broken heart. Mike hadn’t even told her about the conversation he’d had with you, and yet, as soon as he came out of his room the following morning, she just knew. 

 “Glad to hear it,” you nod. “Hey, do you wanna grab lunch or something? My next class isn’t til two, so I’m tryin’ to kill some time.”

 “Actually, I told Erwin I’d meet him,” Mike lies through his teeth. He’ll be using excuses like that for as long as he can. “Sorry.”

 “No, it’s cool,” you wave him off. “I’ll just grab Hitch or—”

 “There you are.” Mike stiffens at the vaguely familiar voice ringing out from behind him, hand flexing by his side as the school’s golden boy walks right past him and to you. “I was looking all over for you.”

 “Well, here I am,” you laugh, but Mike notes how forced it sounds. It’s a laugh that stems from nerves, he thinks. But why? Is it because Mike is here? Are you afraid of how he’ll act? Or, is it that you’re still in the phase of this “relationship” with Zeke  that you’re still anxious around him?

 The other man doesn’t even acknowledge Mike for a full twenty seconds. He heavily considers just walking away without a word, but the blond does eventually turn around to look at him and shows a smile that Mike would describe as slimy but you would probably call charming.

 “Zacharias,” Zeke greets and holds out a hand. “It’s been a minute.”

 Mike doesn’t like the way he says his last name. He only likes the way his friends say it. How you say it. Even if it started off as a way to keep your distance, he grew fond of it. Not as fond as his given name, of course, but hearing those four syllables from your mouth, always laced with attitude, never fails to make him smile.

 “Yeah, it has,” Mike agrees, clasping hands with him.

 He immediately feels Zeke stick his index finger out over his wrist, an attempt of taking control of the shake. Mike has seen it too many times to count, the petty attempt to flip hands so that one man’s is on top of the other. It’s a terrible way to flaunt one’s masculinity or power, and it’s never worked on Mike. 

 His hand is quite a bit larger than most people’s, after all. It’s definitely larger than Zeke’s, so when he tries to turn it, Mike doesn’t have a problem keeping his wrist straight. 

 The blond has to look up at him, actually tilt his head back because Mike has a good five inches on him, and after a couple more seconds, Zeke gives up on the pathetic display of dominance. That doesn’t stop Mike from squeezing his palm just a little too hard, though, just enough to see the muscles in Zeke’s jaw twitch. 

 When he lets go he chances a glance at you, finding you rubbing your temples. You mumble something Mike can’t hear, probably about men being stupid because there’s no way that little show escaped your notice. 

 Zeke steps over to you once again and asks the same question you had asked Mike—”You wanna get lunch, babe?” 

 Hearing him calling you that causes Mike’s blood to bubble in his veins, blistering from the inside out. It’s time for him to leave.

 “Yeah, sure,” you nod. Eyes flicking back to Mike, you force another smile and tell him, “See you around.”

 The two of you walk off, and Mike watches for just a little too long as Zeke laces his fingers with yours. Once you’re both a safe distance away, the fucker looks back at Mike from over his shoulder and smirks at him.

 Mike has long legs. He could easily catch up to you and punch Zeke square in the jaw, make his head snap to the side so that he drops to the ground. 

 But, what would you think of that? There’s no way you’d be happy with him, and if there’s one thing that would  be worse than Mike having to see you parade around with someone who isn’t him, it would be you ignoring him completely.

 *

 The first couple of weeks are honestly a blur. Too much is happening for Mike to focus on. The only thing that seems real to him is the ache in his chest. It distracts him day in and day out, through the late rushers and all the sucking up, through the first couple of parties, bid day and the first rounds of hazing. It’s just always there. 

 He is notably quieter when in the house, and it seems like everyone knows why. While Erwin pokes fun at him for his moodiness, Nile takes a more adult approach and simply asks how he’s doing, if he needs anything, going as far as offering, “You need me to punch that dude in the throat? Plant drugs in his bag? I’m pretty sure Gelgar has coke on his person at all times.” 

 He’s a good guy. Mike is glad he got voted in as PKA President this year despite Erwin giving him a run for his money. Nile is just personable enough to bring members in and have a good time at events, and just controlling enough to make sure things in the house are taken care of. Plus, Erwin doesn’t seem too broken up about getting Vice instead.

 It’s a relief when lacrosse starts back up, finally gives him a way to get some of his frustration out. The other teams have never been luckier to be wearing helmets otherwise Mike would have broken several noses within the first game alone. 

 The season has some overlap with baseball, games scheduled on the same day, sometimes at the same time. Mike keeps himself from looking into the stands to try to find you, scared that you’ll be there or scared that you won’t be, he isn’t sure.

 And, of course, Zeke’s face is plastered everywhere after he pitches a perfect fucking game. Mike wants to be angry, wants to spit on the flyers and punch every computer that’s displaying the college’s home screen, but if he’s being honest with himself, he knows that if it were anyone else, Mike would be impressed. Pitching a perfect game is pretty fucking cool, and the school is lucky to have a player as talented as Zeke, but god, what Mike wouldn’t do to just curbstomp him.

 Your name still lights up on his phone fairly often to ask how games went or how his classes are going. You’ve asked for help with homework on one occasion and lunch on another, but after Mike lies about only being able to walk you through the material over the phone and shoots you down for lunch, you seem to get the picture. 

 He doesn’t want it to be awkward between you, but he doesn’t know how to act now. His entire relationship with you started off as a drunken fuck, and it’s been mostly physical since then. How is he supposed to be able to spend time with you without touching you? Even the semester you refused to hook up with him, there were still times when you were both actively fighting the temptation. Mike can remember seeing it in your eyes all the time, probably just as often as you’d see it in his. You’d sit with a leg pressed against his, fall asleep on his arm every once in a while, and he wants that back now, but there’s no way the two of you can do that anymore. He doesn’t possess the same self-control.

 Over the weekend, you end up cracking and trying again, asking for help with studying for a quiz, and Mike has to contemplate it for at least fifteen minutes before he gives in.

 Coffee shop on 7th? you text him, and Mike chuckles to himself. The only places you’ve ever studied together is at the library or in his room, and while he could only get as far as a hand between your legs in the school building, he would usually end up in bed with you whenever going over something behind closed doors. 

 It makes sense that you want to go to a busier place, more eyes to watch you. It’s irritating, but he understands.

 Mike grabs one of his own textbooks from the previous year, the one he actually bought so that he could highlight and take notes in the margins, then makes his way to the little cafe.

 He’s been to this particular shop many times before, with you as well as the girls who came before—the ones that never mattered. Mike easily spots you at a little table by the window, your own book and several papers spread out around you. When you see him, you grin then hurry to clear a space for him, organizing what Mike recognizes as reading guides. 

 “Hey, stranger," you greet.

 Mike nods, eyes landing on the green hoodie you’re wearing, the one that covers too much of you, that spills over the tops of your legging clad thighs and hides your little hands. It’s his, but it’s always looked better on you. The fact that you still wear it makes Mike’s heart swell a tiny bit as he takes his seat. The sun is hitting you just right and making your face glow, making your eyes twinkle, and he doesn’t know if he can do this.

 “So, what d’you need help with?” He prompts before he can make up his mind to turn right back around. 

 You slide one of the guides over to him and point out several circled questions. The blanks are filled in, but you ask him, “Why?” dramatically. “None of that makes sense to me.”

 Mike laughs through his nose and glances at the page your textbook is flipped to so he can open his own.

 “Why’d you keep your book from last year?”

 He glances up before turning it to show the highlighted lines, the starred passages, the little annotations for better understanding. 

 “One, because I worked hard on making it better, and two,” he feels his mouth curl up, the teasing coming naturally when he tells you, “I figured you’d probably benefit from it.”

 You squint at him, scrunching your nose up, and Mike takes a mental snapshot to tuck away. 

 “Rude,” you utter.

 He raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair. “I think ‘thank you’ is the term you’re looking for.”

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just explain this to me if you’re so smart.”

 “You know I’m smart.”

 Mike doesn’t understand where the casual back-and-forth is coming from. Is it easy because he's done it so many times before? Words tumble from his mouth before they actually cross his mind, and he’s both grateful (it’s better than the awkward small talk he thought he’d have to make) and worried. If he’s speaking without actually thinking things through, what else might he do before his brain catches up? Will he smooth hair out of your eyes? Will he brush his hand over yours? Will he stare at your lips for too long? All of those are habits he hasn’t managed to break yet, but he will break if he accidentally offends you by crossing any of these lines.

 He sits with his hands tucked between his legs, only moving to flip a page or point something out with his pinky finger. He's reading upside down, and you're leaning over the tabe, staring at the book then staring at him. Mike tries to look through you instead of at you, but it's hard as you let out a little oh! when something clicks or pouting when it doesn't. 

 "I still don't get it."

 So, Mike finds different ways of explaining things because he knows this information very well now. It's still pretty fresh in his brain, and he may or may not have reviewed some of it when he saw how many of your classes matched up with his. 

 "Okay, I feel a lot better," you sigh once Mike has gone through every page. 

 Mike is more or less sitting on his hands at this point, gritting his teeth behind the grin plastered on his face because this is the part where he asks if you wanna go back to the house. This is the part where you wind down together, watching dumb TV shows or pawing at each other, rolling in his bed and laughing and moaning. That's what's supposed to happen. 

 "Alright, well, if that's it, I should get going," Mike tries, stretching his arms out and nearly smacking the person sitting behind him right in the head. 

 You snort, cover your mouth, and look away. It's what you always do. You can't look at him when you start laughing or you'll just laugh harder and harder, and while Mike adores it, the general public usually does not. 

 But, then Mike is snickering because he can feel the stranger trying to burn holes in the back of his skull, has to bite his fist to keep himself quiet, and when you chance a glance and see, you slam your head down on the table, whole body shaking with giggles. 

 It's always the little things that get you. On one of the walks with Scout over Spring Break, Mike had tripped over a stick on the trail. He managed to catch himself, but Jesus Christ, you didn't stop laughing for ten minutes. 

 "God fucking—" he's starting to lose it too as he stands and gathers your supplies from the table, tucking them all under one arm then using his other to pull you out of your seat. "We have to leave before they make us." 

 You hide your face in your hands, trusting Mike to guide you by the shoulders, and once you're both outside, you belly laugh until you wave your arms and gasp, "I can't—I can't breathe—I can't breathe!" Your voice is all high pitched and hysterical, and all Mike can do is bring you to his chest so that you can let your giggles die off in the privacy of his t-shirt. 

 He can feel your breath through the material as you calm down, eventually looking up and wiping tears from your eyes as you continue to grin. 

 Mike tilts his face down to stare at you, aware that all of his affections are shining right through his eyes, but he doesn't care because you don't seem to. 

 “You’re a fucking dork,” he hums, has a fully conscious thought of touching your face—no accident, no impulse, a complete, coherent, thought, so he does it. He just does it. Palm over your cheek, thumb gently tracing to wipe away another tear from your little fit. 

 You let out a long exhale, close your eyes and hum, then reach up to cover Mike's hand with yours. 

 Your fingers lock into the spaces between his, and you hold on for a few seconds before letting your hand fall, taking his with it. And, just like that, all the good feelings that had grown inside of him over the course of the study session disappear.

 "Miche," you sigh, still holding onto two of his fingers. 

 He smiles in a way that makes you frown, then mumbles, "Yeah, I know."

 After handing your supplies back, Mike kisses you on the top of the head before you can stop him, then turns and starts walking toward the street his apartment is on. 

 *

"Why are you always wearing that hoodie?" 

 You look up from your laptop just as Zeke steps out of his room freshly showered and shirtless. It's a sight that should probably make your mouth water, but instead it's gone dry at his question. 

 "Oh, uh, I don't really know," you bullshit. "It's just big and comfortable, I guess."

 Zeke uses the towel around his neck to dry his hair a little better, questions, "Well, whose is it?" while his face is slightly obscured. 

 If you pause, he'll probably be suspicious. If you answer, he will also be suspicious. And, you can't really blame him. People know you on campus as Mike Zacharias' friend or girlfriend or plaything or whatever. You assume Zeke having to walk around with that hanging over his head is pretty annoying.  

 "Oh, wait," he starts before you can answer. Squinting without his glasses, he grumbles, "That's one of the lacrosse hoodies, isn't it?" 

 You look down at the cracked logo and try not to smile at it. "Yeah. It's one of Mike's old ones."

 "Right." He pads over to you and takes your laptop from your legs despite your protests of being in the middle of an online assignment, setting it on the coffee table behind him. Then, using one arm to brace himself on the back of the couch, Zeke holds himself above you and takes your chin between two fingers so that he can tilt your face and kiss you. 

 It makes you melt. It always does. Your heart beats like a drum in your chest for about two seconds before it relaxes into a subtle thrumming, a white noise that drowns out everything else. 

 You straighten your back in an attempt to get closer, but Zeke pulls away ever so slightly, makes you chase after his lips and you do. You do because you want more, want him. 

 It's been weeks now and the farthest you've gotten with him, the farthest he's let you get with him, was the series of harsh kisses he'd ladened you with up against his front door a few days ago. He'd pushed your shirt up and shoved a knee between your legs, giving you something to grind against, but it never progressed to anything more. 

 You don't understand. It's not like he's never had sex. You've heard girls talk about him on campus, how he'd been seeing so-and-so for a couple months in freshman year, fucked some other chick at a party, etc., etc. 

 Then you'd met his actual ex the other day, one he dated officially for a semester last year before breaking things off. Her name is Rhi. She's very pretty. And, she had pulled Zeke into a full blown conversation without looking at you once. The way she batted her eyes and smiled at him, twisting her hair and shoving at him playfully—Oh yeah. She's definitely seen him naked. 

 You didn't say anything about it for a while, just stewed in silence until Zeke finally sighed and asked, "What would you like to know?" 

 He'd given you the vague outline—met her in class, studied together, decided to date, left her to focus on baseball. That excuse hit a little too close to home, but you'd let it roll off your shoulders. 

 The point is Zeke has fucked other girls, but he won't fuck you, and you need to know why because you're starting to get desperate. It's not a good look. It's one you never wanted to wear, but the way he stares at you and the way he talks to you, always pointing out your strengths, encouraging you, complimenting you is intoxicating.

 When Zeke's eyes are on you, it’s like you're the most important person in the room. He has some ability to make you feel that way, to make everyone feel that way you realized one night after a game. People flock to him. They want to listen to what he has to say. They want to agree with him where he can see. 

 It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't met him, but the best way you can describe it (a way only a few people will understand) is that he has a twenty for charisma. He's talented and smart and engaging, can convince anyone of anything the same way he's convinced you that he wants you. 

 Hand slipping behind your arching back, Zeke presses you against him for just a moment, then drops onto the couch next to you only to tug you on top of him. 

 You're already breathing too heavily, clutching his face in both your hands as you grind your hips against his. He squeezes your ass, smirking against your mouth when you whimper, then moves his hands to push both the hoodie and your shirt off. 

 You lift your arms, letting Zeke strip you as your mind grows hazy. He mutters more to himself than to you, a low, "Get this shit off," then carelessly tosses your clothes over the armrest. 

 Fingers climb up your ribs, almost tickling, making you squirm in his lap. You can feel that he's getting hard, thank god. This just might be the night, please fucking let it be. 

 You've never been a big fan of terms like ‘blue-balls’ or ‘blue-bean’, never even thought it existed, and it really doesn't; it's just a form of manipulation, of guilting your partner into sex, and you know this because you've had an entire rant about it prepared since high school, but right now, in this particular moment, you're aching. Your insides ache. Your clit aches. You just want—

 Zeke pinches one of your nipples hard enough to clear your head for a second, causes you to cry out and pull back. He lets go, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watches you and flicks over the sore bud with a fingertip. 

 "Zeke," you breathe, body trembling. 

 "What is it, baby?" He coos. 

 "I—"

 He snakes a hand between the two of you, ridding you of any and all thoughts as he rubs over your covered pussy. You're almost positive that if he keeps doing it, you'll start to leak through your leggings, right into his hand. 

 Panting, an old track plays in the back of your head, a deep voice, breathy and promising, gonna fuck you dry tonight.

 You lean forward to kiss Zeke again, letting him suck and bite hard enough to make the frown on your face look natural, like he put it there. 

 Flames are licking up and down your legs, then your arms, but even though it's Zeke's lap you're sitting in and Zeke's tongue in your mouth and Zeke's fingers massaging your pussy, it's suddenly Mike you're thinking about, and well… That can't be good. 

 You tangle your hands in Zeke's hair, the different texture bringing you back to reality. His thick beard is scratching against your face. His bare torso is wiry with muscle and pressed to yours. He moves his hand and raises his hips to meet yours, a groan catching in his throat. It looks like he's finally losing his composure, cheeks flushed, eyes are foggy. When you break away, he licks away the string of spit holding you together, tongue running over his lip seductively.

 "Can we—" you start, but Zeke speaks at the same time. 

 "It's getting late."

 Blinking at him, you find yourself experiencing too many emotions to actually identify a single one. You feel your eyebrows knit together, but it’s more from your confusion than it is your frustration. 

 But, you don’t want to be frustrated. You don’t want to be or look upset about not getting sex. That would make you a terrible person, and you’re not about to make him feel bad for not being ready to take that step with you. You’ve been on the receiving end of that, and it doesn’t feel good.

 The amount of times you’ve had to masturbate in the last few weeks is a little fucking ridiculous, though. 

 Nodding mostly to yourself to get your thoughts back in line, you slide off of Zeke to stand up. Your hand is trembling when you reach for your clothes, heat still coursing through you, but you manage to gently grab them from the couch rather than snatch them. 

 Shirt and hoodie back in place, you gather your things, feeling Zeke’s gaze on you the entire time. You don’t say anything, just nibble on your bottom lip as you run over all the events that took place over the night, what you possibly did wrong, what turned him off or just failed to turn him on in the first place. 

 After slipping everything back into your bag, Zeke finally gets to his feet and takes it from you, walking with you outside to your car. 

 “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he tells you, the picture of calm and collected while your body remains buzzing.

 “Okay, yeah.” 

 He puts your stuff in the front passenger seat, shuts the door, and gives you a sweet little peck that you wish lasted longer.

 Zeke says good night, begins walking back to the building, but stops and calls to you right before you shrink into the car. 

 Even from this distance, you can tell he’s looking you dead in the eye, face suddenly very serious when he tells you, “You can go ahead and stop wearing that hoodie.”

* For the first time since the semester started, lacrosse and baseball games do not overlap one another, and you're able to spend the warm afternoon in the stands, cheering on the friends you made over the last year. 

 The home team is dominating, Mike and Erwin are too fucking quick for their opponents to get in the way of. The way the ball just flies back and forth between them, like a game of keep-away, shows just how on-the-same-page they are. The other guys are good too, doing a spectacular job of staying one leg ahead, defending their star players and assisting in the offensive effort. 

 The last goal is made by Mike who launches the ball from the center of the field right into the goal, and both the crowd and the teams lose their fucking minds. 

 You're up on your feet screaming and clapping, voice breaking as your shrill cry tears your throat. You know you're being drowned out by everyone around you, but as Mike gets lauded for being the god he is—putting up with backslaps and hugs and a headlock from Erwin—he still manages to find you in the second row, grinning in that crooked way you love so much. 

 You don't know exactly when that started happening, probably sometime after Spring break. Or, maybe it was there since the beginning, just laying dormant at the back of your head so that you could focus on denying him. 

 It doesn't really matter now since you're actually with someone. That someone isn't around right now, but he's in your thoughts as your chest fills with affection and pride for your friend. 

 Erwin is shouting about another open party, and your mind is made up to not attend because Zeke wouldn't appreciate it, but then Mike is suddenly lifting himself onto the raised, concrete stands and pointing at you, and before you know it, you're hopping down the next bleacher without a care for the fans who have to lean out of the way. 

 He's incredibly sweaty as you wrap your arms around his neck, but you don't mind. You were so convinced he would be mad at you or try to avoid you. 

 You're very aware that you had hurt him by getting with Zeke, and while he had been pretty guarded for the first few weeks, he's opened up some since that day in the coffee shop, when you'd nearly giggled yourself to death. You hadn't expected that to be what cracked his walls, especially considering how that visit had ended, but you're glad that it did. 

 "Haven't seen you cheering for me in a while," Mike laughs next to your ear. 

 He's dizzy with adrenaline, swaying back and forth as he squeezes you, and you tell him, "If you make us fall, I will beat you up, I swear." 

 "Okay," he says in a stupid voice of obvious disbelief, "Whatever you say." 

 You've been texting more, going over homework together, though you haven't needed his help in-person since he had switched books with you that day. It had been so smooth and subtle, you didn't realize until you opened it to study the following day, immediately noticing all the notes and highlights. 

 It had made you cry like a little bitch in the middle of your dorm, and you called Mike to thank him without bothering to hide your tears and hiccups. 

 "Come to the party tonight," he demands, but it's so soft, like he's still giving you a chance to say no. 

 The crowd is still yelling, so you have to keep speaking into each other's ears, and you ask, "Why? All the Pike parties are sticky and gross."

 "'Cause we haven't gotten drunk together in a while," Mike states in the form of a whine. 

 You snort, feeling his hair dripping onto your shoulder. You should probably be disgusted, but it's not the first time you've gotten sweaty with him, and it's definitely not the worst bodily fluid he's made a mess on you with. 

 "You know what happens when we get drunk together," you remind him with a smile he can't see. "Can't do that anymore."

 "I promise I'll behave."

 That's not the problem. You don't know if you can behave. You've been wound up for over a month now, and it is driving you insane. No matter how many times you get off alone in your room at night, you still ache as if you're being edged. 

 So, getting fucked up with someone you know for a fact can fuck you stupid… probably not the best idea. 

 "Miche," you protest, drawing his name out. 

 "Just think about it."

 He leaves you with that, hopping down and walking away with his arms in the air as everyone surrounding you cheers for him until he disappears. You just stand there amidst the noise, shirt now wet as you contemplate the pros and cons of going to another PKA party. 

 As always, Zeke asks what your plans are for the night, but for the first time since you met him, you lie. * King's Cup and Rage Cage and Beer Pong galore. Party-goers are pooling onto the lawn, and you're just waiting for campus police to show because of the chaos, but you're not necessarily scared of it. So you go to jail for a couple days. Worse things could happen. 

 Currently, you and Mike are sitting on the sidewalk nursing beers and giggling at the new pledges who keep running around the house in less and less clothes. 

 "Honestly, this isn't that bad," Mike tells you. "Erwin suggested we make them all watch snuff together."

 You give him an incredulous look as you raise the glass bottle to your mouth. "Erwin is a god damn psychopath, what the fuck."

 "We had to do it and didn't turn out too bad."

 "And, just like that, I'm scared of you."

 Mike laughs before sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling as a brawny blond speeds past in nothing but boxers—Reiner, you think his name is. 

 There are only a few new guys who stick out to you—that one, a long-faced kid named Jean, freckle boy Marco, and, naturally, Zeke's younger brother, Eren. He sorta skeeves you out, so you've been doing your best to stay out of his sight despite never formally meeting him before. 

 "Kid's kind of a prick, a little too cocky. Always talking about how he's related to Zeke, or should I say your lo-ver," Mike chuckles, sounding amused, but he still downs the rest of his beer afterward. 

 You let out a little growl, just drunk enough to be too honest, and grumble, "Not my lover. Also, I would never use that term. So cringey."

 "What do you mean?"

 "I mean it's weird and dramat—"

 "No," Mike cuts you off, "What do you mean about him not being that?"

 You fall back on the concrete, bumping the back of your head a little too hard and scrunching your face up. 

 "We haven't had sex. The dude just will not fuck me for some reason."

 "Are you serious?" 

 You glance at Mike and find his eyes wide in alarm. 

 "As a heart attack. I have never been so frustrated in my entire life." 

 You probably shouldn't be talking about this with him, one, because you assume it's like twisting a knife right in Mike's gut and two, because the more you drink, the less self-control you have. 

 He grunts then tosses his bottle into the yard for some poor pledge to slip on. 

 "His loss."

 "Whatever. I'm sure he'll come around eventually," you sigh then sit back up. "And, until then, I guess I'm practicing celibacy or some shit."

 Mike laughs hard at that, and it makes you smack him on the arm. "Yeah, good luck with that."

 "Shut up."

 "I'm just saying," he raises his hands. "You're, like, the neediest person I know."

 "Excuse the fuck outta me?" 

 "In the bedroom, dummy. Obviously not all the time."

 This is not at all where you wanted this conversation to go. The more you think about it, the more you feel that ache, the more you want to quell it. 

 "We should change the subject."

 Mike looks at you, flipping hair out of his eyes and smiling like the cocky frat boy he pretends to be. 

 "Why? Gettin' all worked up."

 "You are literally the worst."

 You stand and finish your drink, throwing it a few feet away from Mike's as you tell him, "I need to get a little more fucked up if I'm gonna deal with your ass all night."

 "Uh huh."

 He follows you back inside, but while you make your way into the kitchen, Mike stops to talk with Erwin about one thing or another. It means he has to entertain the masses, talk about the game, and you post up against a wall to watch him. 

 You should leave. Mike is looking a little too attractive in his stupid fucking pastel polo, and you're supposed to meet Zeke for lunch tomorrow anyway. Zeke, your boyfriend. 

 Or, well, he hasn't said it explicitly, but you hold hands in public and ignore other people, just make it obvious that both of you aren't interested in anyone else. 

 Except when Mike sidles up to you with foggy eyes and a smirk he hasn't worn around you in a long time, you groan at the thought that you are interested in someone else. Even if it's just one night, god, you need it so bad. And, you know Mike can give it to you. Exactly the way you want it. 

 It's Zeke's fault, really. You know he knows how desperate you're getting. If he'd just explain why he doesn't want to have sex, you could deal with it much better than you are now, but he continues to leave you in the dark. It makes you think you're doing something wrong. 

 Then, there's the problem of feeling like the shittiest person alive every time you get frustrated. You've spent nights trying to rationalize it, but it's hard to think straight when you're so, undeniably horny. 

 "Don't look at me like that," you tell Mike with a scoff. 

 "Why not?" 

 "'Cause you said you'd behave tonight."

 He cocks his head to the side and makes a face. "Did I? That doesn't sound like something I'd say to you."

 "Oh my god, you're impossible. And, drunk."

 "I'm not really that drunk," he waves you off. "It takes more than a few beers to get me fucked up, remember? Downfall of being this large."

 Jesus, he really is rubbing it in your face now. Wide with muscle and so fucking tall. Not to mention his—

 "I really cannot do this, Miche," you try again, gritting your teeth when his pupils dilate. "Zeke would be so pissed."

 "So? Come on, just one more time. I didn't know the last time would be the last time."

 You hadn't either. You don't know what you would have done differently had you known—maybe just taken the time to appreciate his incredible body more—but it doesn't matter now. 

 You try to sound firm and irritated when you snap, "You know you're being kinda manipulative, right?" 

 Mike tilts his head back as if you just shoved it, blinks a couple times, then swears out loud. "Oh, fuck." He takes a step away, eyes clear for the first time in several minutes. "I'm sorry. I didn't even—"

 "It's fine," you wave. "I just wanted you to know. I'm drunk and you're hot, and I don't wanna fuck things up with Zeke."

 "Yeah, I get it. Fuck. If you, like, wanna leave, I won't stop you. It was a joke, and then it wasn’t a joke and—That was a shit thing to do."

 "Little bit, but you get a pass this time," you laugh through your nose. "Just don't go pulling that bullshit on some unsuspecting freshman or anything." 

 He runs a hand through his hair, red with embarrassment, and you think to yourself, Mike is a good guy. One of the best. You don't know of many who would take that kind of criticism to heart—how many would feel genuinely guilty. It is college, and every girl knows the trend of fratty sports players getting off scot-free after being charged with sexual assault. Given his status at the school, Mike could definitely do something like that and get away with it.

 But, he would never. 

 You push him gently to show you aren't mad, tell him, "I still wanna hang out with you. We don't get to as much as we used to."

 Mike's small smile looks relieved as he takes a deep breath. "This isn't exactly the best place to just chill, but—"

 "I haven't seen your new apartment yet." 

 You regret it as soon as it comes out of your mouth, your little tune changing ridiculously quickly, but you can't deny that you're curious. He's still your best friend, and you want to know what he's done with his new place. Is it bland like his old room in the house, or did he let his real personality show through? 

 "You sure?" He questions. 

 "Yeah. We can just, like, play video games or something."

 "Are you sure?" 

 He must feel terrible. You can relate.

 "If you don't want me over, just say so," you snort. 

 "No, no, of course I do. I just don't want you to feel weird about being alone or anything."

 "Nah, like you said, you're not really drunk. I'll sober up with water. We'll be fine."

 You don't know if you're trying to convince him or yourself. Without the presence of alcohol, you should be able to keep it together, and the distraction of Zelda or Mario will surely help. 

 "Okay, yeah," Mike nods. "Let's go then."

You don't even bother finishing your drink, just set it on a countertop and follow him out to his Wrangler. It's been a while since you've ridden in it. It's been a while since you've ridden him, your brain helpfully supplies, and as you pull up to the unfamiliar apartment complex, you once again begin to think that this was a bad idea.

[ next ]

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #snk x reader

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,050 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, coerced marriage, gore, violence, sexuality, typical TWD stuff (recommended NC17+) A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Inside Sanctuary, Y/N tries to figure out where Daryl is and what his condition is as well as developing a plan to get him out.

Your name: submit What is this?

You forgot how much damn time was wasted in that place, just sitting around with the other wives trying to think of something to talk about or something to do with your time. You visited the library frequently but you couldn’t actually focus enough on the books to really read. It was like you just stared and turned the pages in some charade while your mind obsessed over where Daryl was… what state he was in… Days went by and they all felt the same, all tinged with you on edge, wracked with anxiety over finding him. You were worried you were going to lose track of how long you had been there. You were constantly looking for that golden opportunity and watching for danger at the same time. Constantly trying to scout out the building, spy on Dwight, and make sure no one was getting suspicious of you.

Finally, you managed to follow Dwight early one morning as he was delivering something to a cell. And you caught a glimpse of a huddled form as he shut the door, a man with long, wavy brown hair. You heart hammered in your chest as you pressed yourself back against the wall around the corner. Daryl. It was him. You knew it. You only needed to see him for a brief moment to know it was him. He was alive. He was alive.

But you didn’t breathe a sigh of relief for long. You knew what they were likely doing to him. You rushed back to your room and grabbed two slices of bread from your kitchenette. You laid some slices of cheese on each and tucked them into your bag, wrapped in some paper towel. You wished you could give him water, but you could only deliver whatever would fit in the small space beneath the door.

Daryl was sitting in the darkness, staring down at the dogfood sandwich Dwight had delivered him, his stomach turning but panging with hunger, when a soft noise suddenly drew his attention.

He looked to his left and saw that something was partially blocking the light beneath the door. He put his hand down on something soft. He felt it with his fingers and leaned down. Food. Someone had slipped in some bread and cheese beneath the door.

Was this a trick? Daryl stared at it for one moment before he picked it up and took an eager bite. It tasted like ambrosia to him. All he had been given was dogfood between thin slices of stale bread since he had been thrown in there. He’d never tasted something so wonderful in his life… but the question now was who the hell had slipped him the food?

And it continued. At least once a day, often more than that, something, sustenance, was slipped under his door. The archer was baffled, but he wasn’t about to question it.

You never dared to linger outside the door to try and talk to him. That was too risky. But you at least could make sure he had something to eat, something with some nutrients. You got creative with what you could make thin enough to fit—cutting apples into thin slices, vegetables, meat and cheese, cooked egg. Anything. But more than anything, you longed to see him, to inspect his condition, know how he was… to speak to him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. Your heart felt broken, limping along in your chest out of habit, as you thought about how close you were to him and yet how far away.

One day you were gathered with the other wives and Negan in the early evening. It happened.

Dwight walked through, holding Daryl by the back of his filthy sweatshirt. Your heart actually stopped. You concentrated on keeping your face blank even while your heart stalled in your chest. It didn’t take more than two seconds before he saw you there, his blue eyes meeting yours. He actually tried to take another step in toward you, like he was being magnetically pulled and couldn’t help it but Dwight tugged back on him harshly. His brain didn’t comprehend what he was seeing at first. He really thought he was hallucinating it. Maybe he had finally cracked. You were so beautiful. He thought of you so often while he was in there, using his memories of you as an escape from the hell he was in. He thought of how you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating. He thought of that goddamn smile you always gave him. He thought of how you scrunched your nose up at him when you were trying to pretend to be annoyed… But—no. This was something else. This was new. You were there. You were actually there.

You could see that Daryl had black eyes and cuts on his face, bruises. He’d been beat up and he was filthy, but you were relieved to see that he was mostly whole. But he looked broken, somewhat defeated, his shoulders hanging on his frame, so unlike the man you had come to know, except when you caught his eyes… there was a raging inferno there. The sight of you in that room, the realization that you had “given” yourself to Negan, had fanned it. He felt like he could be sick right then and there, just double over and vomit. You managed to shake your head ever so slightly as you held his eyes, hoping he knew that you meant he shouldn’t give away his connection to you. It took everything in him not to just start throwing punches.

Daryl’s mind was spinning. What the hell had happened? How had you come to be there? Had Negan captured you? Had he taken you forcefully? Had he simply convinced you in exchange for some benefit to the group, to Alexandria? How could you possibly be there, with him? And not just there, not just in the Sanctuary. You were one of his wives. The thought of Negan touching you, his hands on you, kissing you… doing more, whatever he wanted… especially having seen the terror in your eyes when you had told him about your past. It was too much. Daryl clenched his jaw, biting down hard and trying to control his breathing, his expression, trying to prevent his hands from balling into fists.

“There he is!” Negan exclaimed with a smile, standing up from his place in an armchair where he was receiving a shoulder massage from his wife, Frankie. “Daryl! How’s it hangin’? Don’t answer that. Don’t care,” he said with a laugh. “Dwight, I think you should take Daryl down for some fence duty. He’s been in time-out in his hole for long enough as punishment for that hilarious escape attempt. Oh—Daryl. You haven’t met my wife Y/N before. Ya see, Y/N here escaped. Just like old Dwighty boy there and Sherry. We’re gonna call that temporary insanity, right, baby?” He shot a look at you. “But she. came. back. Because she realized that there is no better place to be than here.” Negan walked over to where you were standing against the wall. “And all is forgiven,” he said softly. He reached one hand around to your lower back and tugged you against him. He slid his other hand into your hair and kissed you, deeply, heatedly… his tongue exploring your mouth and his hands exploring your body. And Daryl had to avert his eyes. He couldn’t look. He felt bile rising up into his throat. He was worried Dwight would feel him trembling. Anger was bubbling in his chest at a rolling boil. He imagined ripping Negan off you and beating him into the ground… but he had to just stand there. He had to just let it happen. Finally, Negan broke apart from you and smoothed a thumb over your cheek as he clasped your face, unmistakable desire in his eyes. When he looked back at Dwight and Daryl, his eyes were twinkling and there was a smile on his face. “Ya see, Daryl? Just stop fighting it! And your life will get so much cooler!” He laughed and waved a hand to dismiss him and Dwight tugged him out.

You stood there with your chest heaving, staring down at your shoes, thinking only of the condition Daryl seemed to be in. Your heart was breaking and you had to choke down a swelling of nausea which was becoming all too familiar, almost a constant. If you survived this, you were sure you were going to have an ulcer.

Negan soon left with Frankie announcing that he desperately needed one of her full body massages and you felt as if you could collapse with relief that you wouldn’t have to endure him that night. As soon as he was out of the room, you went to the bar and leaned on it, staring vacantly at the wall. You sensed someone beside you suddenly and looked up to see Sherry. She glanced over her shoulder, clearly making sure Negan was really gone and that no one else was close enough to overhear.

“You know him,” she said quietly.

Your eyes snapped over to her in surprise. “What?”

She studied your expression. “It’s alright. I won’t say anything. And it wasn’t you who gave it away,” she said.

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you tried to guess at her meaning. “What are you—”

“I saw the look in his eyes when he saw you. His face when Negan kissed you. And how he was looking at you when your eyes were elsewhere…” She looked down at her hands sadly. “It’s how D sometimes looks at me,” she said, lighting up a cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke up toward the pendent lights over the bar. “Or, maybe, how he used to. How do you know him?” she asked.

You thought you had to have misheard her. What she was implying was that Daryl… “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, wrapping your hands around your empty drink glass.

She nodded. “You do. But it’s alright.” She sighed and studied your face again. “He helped us.”

Now your eyes met hers. She took another long drag on her cigarette. “When D and I escaped with Tina. He helped us even after we tied him up, threatened to kill him… he helped us. And we screwed him,” she said softly. You could tell this was weighing on her heavily. Her face contorted a little with emotion.

You didn’t say anything. What was there to say? You still wanted to kill Dwight for what he’d done, what he was doing to Daryl. Sherry’s remorse didn’t change that.

That night, when you got back to your room, you were sick in the toilet and sat on the floor, curled up, crying until you had nothing left. Eventually, the pain faded into numbness and you turned the shower on as hot as you could stand it and stood beneath the jet of water for a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Joey!” you called, smiling widely at him as he came toward you down the hall. “I have a favor to ask you. That is, unless you’re too busy,” you said, making sure you batted your eyelashes at him.

“N—no. I was just—I’m not too busy. What is it?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, I wanted to move around some of the furniture in the seating area in my room but I just can’t do it myself. Would you mind helping me? It doesn’t have to be now,” you said, stepping closer to him and reaching out to smooth the collar of his button-up shirt.

He gulped and seemed stunned, unable to talk for a moment. “I—I—I can help you with that now,” he stuttered out.

You grinned widely at him. “Oh, thank you so much! Just this way,” you said, leading the way back to your room. It was working. You needed to turn up the heat a little bit. You wanted to keep him off-balance, oblivious, distracted. You stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him after he entered. He was nervously shifting his weight, his eyes fixed on you. “I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” you said softly. “Being in my bedroom. Just don’t say anything to Negan or he’ll get jealous,” you said, winking. You went over to the bed and sat down, reaching down and pulling off your high heels, making sure to move slowly. You tossed them to the floor and straightened up, closing your eyes and rolling your neck from one side to the other, sliding a hand down the side of your neck. “Mmm. Those heels are torture,” you murmured.

He cleared his throat, wide-eyes still staring at you like he’d never seen a woman before.

You smiled at him and hopped off the bed. “Thanks again for doing this,” you said. “If you could just move that couch over there, and switch the chair and the end table I think it will be perfect.”

Fat Joey nodded rapidly and started trying to heave the couch to one side. He was huffing and puffing, becoming a bit red in the face when you slid in close next to him, bending down so your face was right next to his and pressing your hands onto the arm of the couch that he was pushing on, making sure to brush your finger against his. “I bet we can do it together,” you said, cultivating a dewy expression on your face.

“W—What?”

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “Move the couch, silly!” you said, playfully hitting him on the arm. God, even pretending to be this vapid was making you hate yourself.

“R—right. Yeah.”

You both pushed again and when the couch finally started to move, you pretended to slip on your bare feet and brushed against him as you slid to the floor, laughing. He didn’t feel that you had swiped his set of keys as you fell.

“I’m such a clutz!” you said, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet.

“Are you alright? Your ankle—do you need to go see the doctor?” he asked urgently.

You waved him off, rubbing your ankle and flexing your foot. “I’m fine. I’m completely fine. But I think we’ll take the universe’s hint and just leave the furniture the way it is,” you said with a laugh, again catching his eyes and smiling. “Thanks anyway, Joey. I do appreciate it.”

“Oh—okay. Yeah. Sure. Anytime. Let me know if you ever need anything.” You smiled at him and batted your eyelashes one more time before he left. As soon as the door was closed, you rushed to it and locked it.

You withdrew your hand from your pocket, staring down in disbelief at the wad of keys in your palm.

You collapsed backwards onto the bed and clutched them so tightly they cut into your hand.

And then more waiting. Based on the laps you’d been doing around the building late at night, you knew Dwight wouldn’t sleep, but he would be ensconced in his room with the television up loud. And you knew who else was on duty, made sure it was the pair of guards who usually fell asleep at their posts by 3 am.

The upper floors of the Sanctuary were quiet as you slipped out of your room. You hugged the wall, one hand in your pocket, clutching the keys, and the other on the strap of the small bag you had slung over your shoulder. You got to the first corner and peeked around. Empty. You turned. You slipped past Dwight’s door, glancing back over your shoulder in paranoia, half-sure he was somehow going to just know what you were up to.

A few more anxious moments passed as you slipped through the halls but you finally arrived at the door. You were so close. You had spied on Dwight enough to make sure you knew when he usually checked on Daryl. Night was a safe bet. There were fewer guards on duty on the upper floors at night. Most of them were pulled off for the factory floor and perimeter or were otherwise off-duty.

Your heart was pounding so loud you thought half the floor would hear it.

You withdrew the keys as quietly as you could. At first, when you had swiped them, you wondered exactly how you would know which key was the right one—there were too many to try each. You’d certainly be caught if you had to be in the hall that long, fitting every key on the ring into the keyhole. But Fat Joey had done the work for you again.

Apparently, he had a hard time remembering which key went to what, and so he had labeled them. The one to the door of Daryl’s cell was labeled with a #2, matching the number on the door. You were almost lightheaded as you slipped the key into the lock as silently as possible.

Inside, Daryl shot awake where he was huddled in the corner, dozing purely out of sheer exhaustion. He heard the key sliding in and the click of the pins. His heart was immediately pounding wondering what new hell was in store for him now. He had no concept of time in the blackness they kept him in. He assumed it was morning and that Dwight would appear and chuck a dog food sandwich at him like he always did.

But something about the way the key had sounded when it went in was odd… and so was the silent pause before the door handle started to turn excruciatingly slowly.

Daryl steeled himself for whatever or whoever was coming, pressing his back hard against the wall behind him, staring into the darkness, his arms pressed tightly across himself protectively. In keeping with the strangeness, the door began to open at a snail’s pace. Daryl squinted as the dim light in the hallway filtered in. He had a hand up to shield his eyes when the crack revealed you kneeling on the other side of the door. Your face desperate and frantic as you looked in at him.

Daryl’s jaw dropped open and his chest heaved as he took in shuddering breaths, staring in disbelief that you were there in front of him, so close and opening the door of that hellhole. Alone. Just you.

You slipped through the door and into his cell, closing the door softly behind you and returning it to darkness. You could hear Daryl’s ragged breathing in the pitch blackness. Before he could say anything, you grabbed onto him. You threw your arms around him where he was cowered on the floor, kneeling in front of him. You pulled his head against you and he pressed it into the crook of your neck. He didn’t resist. He fell into you. You pressed your hand gently to the back of his head, smoothing his hair. “Daryl…” you whispered to him. “Daryl. You’re okay. Thank God. You’re okay.” You whispered it over and over like a mantra. His name leaving your lips was maybe the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. You could feel him trembling, hear his shuddering breaths, feel the wetness of his tears falling against you. “It’s ok. It’s alright. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay.” You were struggling to hold back your own tears. His hands, which had been tightly crossed over his chest flew around you and clung to you, smoothing over your back and feeling every angle of your shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, tangling his fingers into the ends of your silky hair as much as he dared, clutching to you. He again really thought perhaps he’d finally cracked and maybe this wasn’t happening at all, but your hands found the sides of his face in the darkness, even then wiping his tears gently with your thumbs, so light it could have been a breeze, and it rooted him in reality. This was real. He was reeling with the implications. “Just—just a moment. I’ve got—I brought—”

You dug a hand into the bag you had brought with you and pulled out a towel, which you laid across the bottom of the door to block the light from the next item you retrieved from your bag. You pulled out a small camping lantern and turned it on. The sight of you immediately brought Daryl to tears again and for a moment you just looked—you just looked and looked at each other. You grabbed his face in your hands again, being careful to be gentle and mindful of the bruises and cuts. His eyes closed at your touch. He’d had no physical contact with anyone that wasn’t just sheer violence since he’d been taken. Your hands on him were like medicine and he felt ten times stronger instantly. You shut your eyes too and pressed your forehead against his. “It’s okay. It’s alright,” you breathed. His hands clutched to your shoulders and his chest heaved again with shuddering breaths. “Daryl…” You pulled back from him with some effort and looked into his face again. You brushed his hair away from his cheeks. It was hanging in dirty strands, sticking to the wetness left from his tears.

That was when Daryl’s shock waned and he felt the rising creep of humiliation, embarrassment, guilt… God, you looked so beautiful, even there in that fucking hole by the light of a tiny, shitty lantern and he was a filthy disaster. He was like trash someone had discarded… and yet you were touching him with kindness and affection, no care for how dirty he was—he was overwhelmed again and couldn’t meet your eyes any longer. He was struggling with never wanting to look away from you but also feeling unable to hold your gaze.

You saw the change happen and smoothed your hands down his arms. You turned your attention back to your bag and pulled out a canteen full of water for him. “Go slow, okay?” you said, as he desperately grabbed it and drank deeply. “And here,” you pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a cut-up apple. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get more this evening without drawing attention but—”

He hadn’t said a word to you yet and his voice was hoarse from disuse. In that place he would go days without speaking, maybe longer even… He cleared his throat and tried to swallow the scratchy feeling.

“This is—more than enough,” he rasped, hungrily devouring your offerings. “You’re the one who’s been slippin’ me food.”

You nodded.

“Ya shouldn’t. Ya could get caught.” You watched him with a sad smile and moved beside him so you could press against him better without his bent knees in the way. You just needed to touch him, to remind him that there was more than this place, to show him you were there for him. To prove this was real, to him and to yourself. Your shoulders were pressed together.

He kept stealing tiny glances over at you while he ate and you could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. When he had finished eating and drinking, he fidgeted and stretched his legs out in front of him. You could tell he was purposely not looking at you. You knew something was on his mind and that he was working up to speaking it aloud. Finally, he did.

“What happened? How are—why are ya here?” he asked. “Did they find you in Alexandria? Did—how?”

You studied his expression. He turned his blue eyes to you again and you saw worry and fear in them. “No. They don’t know that I have any connection to Alexandria, and it needs to stay that way. We don’t need to give them any more leverage than they already have.”

“Then, how?” he asked again.

You averted your eyes away from him now. You knew he wouldn’t take the next bit of news well. “I—I came back. I told Negan I made a mistake running away and that I wanted to be here.”

A shadow darkened his face. “What did he do to ya?” His chest was heaving again, this time in anger. His eyes were whirring over every inch of you that he could see, looking for evidence that you were hurt.

“Nothing. He—he didn’t do anything.” You stared down at your hands.

“Why are ya here? Why d’you come? After everythin’ ya told me—” His questions were desperate.

Your brow flickered down momentarily in confusion that he even had to ask that question. “I came to get you out.” Your eyes searching his face in disbelief that he didn’t know. You sat up on your heels, kneeling beside him again. “Daryl, did you really think we would just leave you here? Did you really think I would? I know what happens in this place.” He had a tortured expression on his face. “Nah. Not like this. Ya gotta go. Ya gotta get out. You can’t be—ya can’t let him—” His face screwed up as the image of you kissing Negan flashed in his mind. He knew what you being his ‘wife’ meant. “Nah. It ain’t worth it,” he argued harshly, his voice raspy. “It ain’t worth that.”

“Yes, it is,” you said forcefully. “Don’t you get it? You are worth it.” Daryl could see tears glistening in your eyes again but you blinked them away. “I’m not leaving you in here. It’s done, Daryl. It’s done. I’m already here.” The muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “Hey. Look at me,” you said. His eyes found yours again and you studied his face, reaching out gently to clasp it again. You traced a finger along his jaw, grazing lightly over the stubble there. “I’m getting you out of here.” The feeling of your hands on him was like a tonic for all his pain.

He looked away, ducking his head in that way that was so Daryl. You cleared your throat and dropped your hand to his arm. “Alright. Tell me. How are you? Rick said you were shot or something… And you’re obviously beat up.”

“M’fine,” he said. “Doctor’s been treatin’ me.”

“Let me see.”

Daryl begrudgingly pulled down the neck of his sweatshirt and you lifted the gauze pad taped on his chest to look at the wound. It looked okay. No infection. You smoothed the bandage back over it and nodded. You adjusted his sweatshirt and pressed your hand flatly against his chest. You could feel his heart beating hard beneath your fingers. Daryl felt warmth spreading out from your touch. You examined the bruises on his face and you knew there were surely worse ones beneath his clothes. “Are you hurting? I found some painkillers,” you said, digging in your bag. His hand closed gently on your wrist.

“M’fine. Ya should go before we get caught.”

You didn’t want to leave him. The last thing you wanted to do was return him to being alone in the darkness there. He could read it on your face.

“S’okay. Just—just seein’ ya, talkin’ to ya is enough,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

You threw your arms around him one more time, pressing him into you. His hands were strong against your back, stronger even than they had been when you first hugged him, and you squeezed your eyes shut. As you pulled away, you smoothed your hands over his hair and brushed it away from his face one more time. You clasped his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead and another to his cheek. Daryl reeled at the action before you tore yourself away from him. He felt speechless. He knew he was a complete mess. It wasn’t like they were letting him bathe or clean up regularly… And still you had just pressed your soft lips to his skin. You were brushing his dirty hair aside. “Okay,” you nodded, gathering up what was left of what you had brought him. “I’m working on a plan to get you out. But it’s going to take me a little time. Just—just hang in there. Don’t do anything rash. I need you in one piece.”

“Where’d ya get the key?”

You held up the ring of keys and showed him. “Keys. All of them.” Daryl’s brow contracted with worry. “Nothing to worry about it. I pinched them off of Fat Joey. I think he has a crush on me,” you murmured, rolling your eyes. “He’s too scared and too incompetent to know. He probably just thinks he lost them and I’m guessing he won’t tell anybody because he’s afraid of what will happen if he admits it.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow if I can.”

“Nah, don’t—”

“I’m coming, Daryl, and you can’t stop me.” You gave him one last look and clicked off the lantern, grabbing the towel you had used to block the light and stuffing it back into your bag. He heard you shuffling in the dark and then saw the expanding sliver of light grow before it was blocked out as you left. You glanced over at him once more as you left, a sad smile on your face. The door shut quietly behind you and he heard the key turn in the lock.

His cell had never felt so empty, so dark, or so silent.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #daryl dixon series #sacrifice

[snowgoldwaylon]

Could you write a fic where Adler is in love with the reader and had a chance to be with her but was too scared to make a move even though she wanted him too. so reader eventually moves on and after a while is getting married to Mason and Adler is now regretting not taking his chance. Based off the song Marry Me by Thomas Rhett?

No Second Chances - Russell Adler X Alex Mason X Reader

Give a big thank you to my sister for sending in the best requests! I love you girl, here is your fic! ❤

TW: Strong language, angst, anger.

Russell was making the two hour drive from his home town, to go watch you and Alex Mason get married. He pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. This trip was going to be so bittersweet, it's all he thought of since he had received the white and gold invitations in the mail.

Almost 5 years after hunting Perseus, the CIA decided to crackdown for a while and pursue finding other leads. You and Mason fell hard for eachother and it lead up to this moment. But, Adler was remincing, and finally saw how much he fucked up and let you go.

From the moment Russell Adler saw you, even while you were being brainwashed, he felt strong feelings towards you. He simply couldn't help the fact that you lit up the whole room, and made everybody's day better. He was afraid of how you would take his confession.

Even after losing Lazar in Cuba, you brought comfort to everybody. That's when he finally realized his feelings for you. But, he also noticed something else as well.....

Adler couldn't help but notice how you fell googly-eyed when Mason entered the room. And he also noticed how Mason was just as crazy for you, he talked about you all the time. Mason practically had heart eyes and a nosebleed when your name was said.

This never sat right with Adler. He felt the same way for you, but he knew with Mason, you'd never ever return how he felt. It was just something he would have to accept, now that you were getting married.

Love Hurts by Nazareth had came on at that moment. Adler sighed in annoyance, and emotional pain. Why did this song have to come on right now? Why couldn't the universe just leave him alone about this?

He took the exit he needed off the interstate, and drove a little longer until he reached the location of the venue. Outside, in a huge, white sign said "MASON - Y/L/N WEDDING HERE" stood out easily where everyone parked. He turned in, parked, and turned off his car.

Adler took a deep breath, and got out. He quickly brushed off his black suit, straightened out his tie, and tucked away his cigarettes into his coat pocket. He made his way to the front door where he was greeted by Frank Woods.

"Oh hey Doc, how's it hangin'? Long and hairy, hard to carry?" Frank chuckled.

Adler sent a small chuckle his way, and knocked him jokingly with his elbow.

"Nah, more like short and stubby, kinda chubby." Adler laughed.

The two men shared a laugh, and a hug.

"It's good to see you brother. Can you believe these two are finally tying the knot today??" Frank asked, as both men walked to the where the seating was at.

Adler almost cringed, but played it off as a cough. They took a seat, and exchanged some more talking for a while.

"Yeah, I remember them meeting for the first in the Safehouse. It's really hard to believe." Adler said.

Woods and Adler gave more small talk, until it was time for Woods to go into the building, and do the routine they practiced. He was a best man after all!

"Hey man, gotta go. It's show time!" Frank said, slapping Adler in the back.

Adler turned front, and waited for the music to start. He felt a tap on his left shoulder, and he looked up. Park stood in front of him, dressed up.

"Can I sit with you? I'm a little late as you can see." She asked.

Adler nodded, and she sat down next to him. Soon, all the seats were filled, and it was ready to start. Adler and Park talked about upcoming missions and next moves until the sound of Guns N' Roses song, November Rain filled everyone's ears.

Immediately, everybody turned their heads as the beautiful sounds of the live piano and orchestra filled the outside archway, the reverend stood at the end of it.

Bridesmaids, groomsmen stepped out first. After them, the maid of honor and best man. Finally, Alex walked out with the biggest smile on his face. Adler felt a mix of happiness, and a hint of jealously.

Everyone stood up very quickly when the most beautiful part of the music hit it's gorgeous, smooth Forte sound. It was perfect timing, as from the glass doors, you began the walk down the isle with Belikov.

You had asked Belikov to walk you down the isle, and give you away, as you didn't have contact with your biological father. So, Belikov was the crazy man that had practically adopted you as his own. He was holding back tears at this moment!

Adler got you into focus. He even took off his sunglasses just for a better look. Everything about you lookee more than perfect. Your hair, your dress, flowers, you name it. Adler had never felt more hopeless.

Once you reached the end, Belikov quickly gave you a kiss on the forehead, and took a seat. There, the ceremony went forth. With words from the reverend, and beautiful, tear jerking vows exchanged by you both, the time came.

"Do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Alex Mason to be yours forever to keep, to cherish, in sickness and in health?"

"I do."

"And do you, Alex Mason take Y/N Y/L/N to be yours forever to keep, to cherish, in sickness and in health?"

"I do."

"From the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married! Alex, you may kiss your bride!"

And Mason did just that. He brought you in for a breathtaking kiss, with a tight hold. The venue erupted into cheers as you both pulled away. Adler felt happiness, and sadness as he watched. He knew, he'd never have you now.

The bridal and groom party all lead the way inside where the food and alcohol was to be served. Adler walked with Park and Sims, and took a seat near where the buffet was. They waited for the wedding photos to be done so everyone could dine.

After everyone came back, and it was announced that the food was being served, Adler went up and was the first person to officially congratulate the married couple. Both you and Mason smiled the hardest when you saw the blonde walk up.

"Hey you two, congratulations." Adler said with a smile.

He slipped you both a small wrapped gift. You took it and smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Russell. It's been awhile since we've seen you, how's everything going? We'll be back after this in two weeks. We are heading to Korea for our honeymoon!" You exclaimed.

"Well that's awesome! And it's alright. The bald man is still giving me grief about every little thing. But, we are looking forward to seeing you both back afterwards."

You grabbed a hold of Mason's hand, and smiled. You took a sip of wine as Mason spoke.

"Yeah, I understand that. Hudson is a hard ass at times, but it's worth it. Well man, hey it's time to open the bar. Why don't you meet me at the dance floor?" Mason said to Adler.

Adler laughed, and shook his head.

"Oh for sure man, for sure."

After everyone ate and gotten the booze of their choice, the dance floor was opened. Everyone watched in awe and beauty as you and Mason had the first dance. Adler thought about how beautiful it was, but he also thought about how he wished that was him.

He pushed these feelings aside when he saw Mason dip you, and pull you back for a kiss. He turned on his heel, and made a bee-line straight for the bar.

"Whiskey on the rocks, please."

And for the rest of the wedding, the night ended with fireworks, and a few karaoke performances by Woods, Sims, Mason, Park, and they even got Hudson up there to sing. Adler glanced at the memorial table that was set up for Lazar. And in the back at the table, a seat reserved for him.

He then turned back to watch you. You caught him, and smiled, before returing to the arms of Mason.

Adler knew after all this, there was no second chances.

Taglist: @wennbergbabe @smokeywhalee @justagenderfluidstuff @kazazure @americas-monster @direwolfspostsrandomshit @kapanovangswife

#black ops cold war #cold war #frank woods #russell adler #helen park #eleazar azoulay #one shot #jason hudson

[unbridgeabledistances]

prompt: domestic gallavich/being intimate in a nonsexualway bc there’s like 3 weeks til the next episode 😐

your wish is my command, anon!<3 i decided to tie this into next ep bc i simply cannot HANDLE mickey’s outfit/big gay metamorphosis & i needed to create the scene that inspired it so i wrote this

a one-shot bridging 11x06 and 11x07 in which ian and mickey talk about “gay friends,” ripped jeans, and do a bit of processing along the way

tw for brief mention of homophobia/abuse (bc terry lol)

--

“How come we don’t have any, like, gay friends?”

Ian looked up from where he was laying on the ground, breathing heavily after a series of push-ups, a nightly routine that he was trying to keep intact even though he and Mickey were practically driving the entire circumference of Chicago every day to make weed deliveries from dawn til dusk, leaving them both exhausted. It had been a week since all the shit with Terry, and a month or so since he and Mickey had started the security gig; while months ago their evenings would be spent sitting side by side on the bed in a brittle silence while Ian read or scratched in his notebook and Mickey played games on his phone blasting at full volume in the pajamas he’d been wearing all day, these days the evenings in their bedroom were softer and warmer— like they were settling into the space together, like they were both on the same team instead of constantly clashing and butting heads while trapped in a too-small space. These days, after having dinner in the clamor of the crowded kitchen, he and Mickey would head upstairs and change out of their uniforms, and Ian would work out while Mickey mostly just lounged on the bed, sometimes making commentary and watching him bob up and down with a pensive smirk or scrolling through his phone.

But tonight, Mickey was quiet— his eyes flickered to the curves and edges of Ian’s torso every now and then as Ian broke a sweat, but otherwise he wasn’t playfully poking and prodding like usual.

Mickey had been a lot quieter in general this week, after all the stuff with Terry— Ian knew seeing the source of all of Mickey’s trauma in a wheelchair immobile from the neck down, the most vulnerable Terry could have been, felt worse than someone repeatedly twisting a knife in Mickey’s abdomen. But beyond the initial shock and the almost-murder and lugging him up the stairs, having Terry in a wheelchair twenty feet away did something deeper to Mickey. This whole situation shifted something solid that had been lodged in the pit of Mickey’s stomach for years— Ian could see it, and he fucking hated it. He hated Mickey’s glassy contemplative eyes as he looked out the car window while they drove to a new dropoff location, lost in his head when he thought Ian wasn’t looking. He hated the tightly wound tension between Mickey’s shoulder blades as he slept, curled into himself and twisted in the comforter, facing away from Ian on the other side of the bed. He hated the tight smiles Mickey gave him as he made some offhand joke about Terry when they could hear him cursing and shrieking through the open front windows, smiles that were trying to prove something outwardly but showed the barbed pain stinging at Mickey’s insides. Ian poured out what he could in soft touches, in skims of fingertips at the breakfast table and in an arm over Mickey’s waist while they slept; but he could only give as much as Mickey would take, and for most of the week Mickey had shut everyone out with iron walls.

Ian couldn’t imagine what was stirring in Mickey’s mind; he’d seen some of Mickey’s trauma firsthand, sure, and some of the stories about Terry came slipping through the cracks when Mickey’s guard was down— mostly on those late nights when they both couldn’t sleep and Mickey whispered into the crook of Ian’s neck as they were curled into each other, cradled in the dark silence of their bedroom. But Ian knew there was deeper shit that he hadn’t heard about, and he could see the constant fear of Mickey’s adolescence hanging heavy around his neck all these years later. But Mickey didn’t need anyone to push his walls down— Ian knew he’d open up when he was ready.

Which is why this random question, the most direct statement Mickey had really made to him all week, caught Ian off guard. He sat up, folding his arms over his legs and staring up at where Mickey was slouching on the bed, propped up by a pillow he’d shoved between his back and the wall. “Gay friends?” he asked, more than a little confused.

Mickey cleared his throat. “Yeah, gay friends, y’know. Like all your youth center queers that came to the wedding or whatever.” He suddenly looked down and picked at a fraying thread on his shirt sleeve, not meeting Ian’s eyes.

Ian raised an eyebrow in curiosity. This was random, sure, but Mickey wouldn’t have brought it up if something wasn’t weighing on him, bubbling up after all the events of this week.

“I don’t know— I guess since the pandemic and stuff, I haven’t really kept in touch with Geneva or any of those guys who came to our wedding. We only really talked after I got out of prison because of all the Gay Jesus publicity bullshit, but after you got out I wasn’t really thinking about that as much.”

Mickey blew out a breath, so quietly Ian barely noticed it. Ian stood, wiping his sweaty forehead and plopping down on the bed next to Mickey, folding his legs so their knees were almost touching— but still giving him space, still letting him breathe.

“Why’re you asking?”

“Don’t know, really. Just thinkin’.” Mickey picked at his shirt sleeve again, then flickered his gaze up to meet Ian’s eyes, two clear pools of glassy blue. “Thinkin’ about what life could’ve been like. If I wasn’t scared shitless of who I was for so long.”

Ian felt something twist in his gut, the same queasy pang of pain that always resurfaced whenever he saw Mickey like this, whenever he was reminded of all the unspeakable agony that Terry had put him through.

“It’s fucked up that you didn’t get to be who you were for so long, Mick,” he breathed, knowing that statement didn’t cover the amount of things that were fucked up about this situation.

Mickey ran his teeth over his bottom lip, like he was concentrating. “Yeah.”

Ian let them sit there for a second. It seemed like Mickey wanted to say more, but something in him was frozen solid. After a moment, Ian tried to break the tension.

“Hey, for the record, I’ve had lots of gay friends and you aren’t missing much. There’s lots of PC bullshit that’s important but took me fucking forever to learn— and even then, I never really felt like I totally belonged.” He gently nudged Mickey’s ribcage. “I guess that’s why I forgot about everyone, between work and getting to be with you all the time— I’d rather eat pizza in the mall food court with you than go to some boujee fucking café with the youth center people any day.”

The corner of Mickey’s mouth ticked upwards slightly. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.” His fingers went slack around the threads on his shirtsleeve he’d been picking at. “You don’t… miss it though? Bein’ around people who’re like us?”

Ian paused for a moment, imagining the youth center crew in the same room as Mickey— it would be fucking comical, like people speaking two different languages, like astronauts trying to communicate with aliens on Mars through gestures and confused looks. But that was just because Mickey didn’t know how to speak that language— he’d been kept shrouded in an abusive household with daily death threats for years, and then stowed away in prison where he didn’t have the chance to go to fucking brunches and clubs and education events like Ian could. Ian got the chance to learn all that shit— it wasn’t Mickey’s fault that he never did, and if it was anyone’s, it was all Terry’s.

Ian’s eyes flickered to Mickey’s face— he looked vulnerable and split open, like he was drifting away in all the possibilities of what could have been. When he answered, Ian spoke softly, carefully.

“I mean… I guess I do. There were nice parts of going out with people, or even those after-parties back when I used to work at the club. There’s something nice about being with your people, where you can make jokes about stuff or talk about deep shit and everyone’s on the same page. It’s hard to find that around here.” Ian tentatively crawled his hand over the blanket, letting it rest on Mickey’s knee. “S’there anything else going on?”

Mickey raised his thumb to his mouth, biting at a hangnail contemplatively. “Dunno, man. Just thinking. How it might be nice, to have friends like us. I used to be scared of hangin’ with other queers, but I think that was just some deep bullshit with Terry.” He looked up to meet Ian’s eyes. “It’d be nice to stop… hating that part of myself, or whatever.”

Ian smiled, reaching to intertwine his fingers with Mickey’s and tracing a pattern with the thumb that was free from their grasp on Mickey’s inner thigh, a soft touch of validation that Ian hoped would soak into Mickey’s skin.

“I think so too.” Ian watched the corner of Mickey’s mouth curve upwards. “I can definitely hit up some of the people I used to hang with, and see if they wanna get coffee or something? With the two of us? Only if you want.”

Mickey nodded— then chuckled a breathy laugh, like he was relieved. “Fuck it. Yeah.”

Ian couldn’t help it; Mickey looked so fucking sweet and so relieved that he had to press a kiss to the top of his head. Mickey squirmed underneath him, bristling like a cat that didn’t want to be pet like he did with most of Ian’s soft touches— but Ian just grinned and doubled down, pressing another slower peck onto Mickey’s temple. Mickey blew out a slow breath.

“Don’t know what I’d fuckin’ wear to a brunch with a bunch of Northside do-gooder gays,” he said after a moment, his voice wavering so slightly that no one except Ian would have noticed.

Ian rolled his eyes fondly, giving Mickey’s hand a quick pulse of a squeeze. “Mickey, are you kidding? Wear whatever the fuck you want. You don’t need to change yourself, that’s kind of the whole point.”

“Yeah. Fuck. Guess it is.” Mickey was quiet for a moment, but still chewing on his bottom lip, like he was building the courage to say something more. Ian could tell— he let the comfortable silence hang between them, knowing that Mickey would break it when he was ready.

“D’you think it’d be stupid if I, like, tried to… jazz up my look a bit?” He darted his eyes nervously to Ian’s face, down to their clasped hands, and then back to the covers again. “Like, uh— I don’t know. Maybe wore some shit that didn’t have holes in it. With patterns, or whatever.”

Ian felt his face split into a grin. Patterns, or whatever— god, he loved his dumbass husband so fucking much. He pressed another kiss to Mickey’s cheek— this time Mickey didn’t flinch away, his only resistance a forced roll of his eyes.

“Mick, I don’t think that’s stupid at all. I think you should dress however makes you feel good.”

“’Kay.” Mickey pursed his lips, like he was still hesitant. Ian rubbed his thumb over the back of Mickey’s hand, their fingers still clasped and hanging limply in Mickey’s lap. The silence was hanging again, and Ian could still feel the tight waves of anxiety bouncing off of Mickey. He took in a breath.

“I could… help you, y’know. If you wanted to dress a certain way. At the very least I could gas you up and tell you how hot you look.” Ian paused, smirking and running his eyes over Mickey’s torso. “But I could also help you pick shit out, or whatever. We could order some stuff online.”

Mickey looked up at him, his eyes oddly relieved and open in a way they hadn’t been in days. “Yeah?”

Ian softly smiled. “Yeah. Only if you want to. You’re you, and you don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. I love the way you look— hell, it drives me crazy, Mick. But— if you feel like you aren’t dressing the way that makes you feel the best, or like you’re putting on an act for other people and you don’t want to anymore— then we can figure this out.”

This time it was Mickey that initiated affection, lifting their clasped hands and pressing a quick ghost of a kiss to Ian’s wrist. Ian smiled in acknowledgement, then playfully raised his eyebrows. “You wanna look online now? I’m done working out and more than happy to help you gay up your look.”

Mickey unclasped their hands, playfully shoving Ian squarely in the chest. “Fuck you.” Then, in an uncharacteristic move from the way Mickey had been flinching away from his touches all week, Mickey leaned in closer to Ian’s chest, nestling his back on Ian’s sternum and reaching for his phone that was discarded on the blanket beside him. “Alright, hot stuff. Where’re we fucking shopping?”

Ian grinned and snapped the waistband of Mickey’s sweatpants playfully, shuffling underneath him and getting comfortable.

“’Kay, let me think. I used to order a bunch of shirts and stuff from Primark when I was going out with the youth center people. They have good denim, too.”

Mickey’s bottom lip was caught between his teeth again while he listened. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over the phone’s keyboard— then, in an automatic movement, he quickly shoved his phone into Ian’s hand, cheerfully wriggling back into Ian’s chest. Ian smirked and unlocked the phone, happy to take the reins— online shopping for fashion was clearly lightyears out of Mickey’s comfort zone.

Ian navigated over to the Primark homepage, plastered with torsos of toned models wearing striped button ups and ripped jeans. His thumb pressed down onto the “denim” tab, and he started to slowly scroll through the rows of options, holding the phone so Mickey could see.

“I don’t know what you really want, but they’ve got pretty cheap pants and shit that’re good quality…” Ian let his voice trail off, speaking softly to where Mickey was lying on his chest in a voice that he knew was tickling the shell of Mickey’s ear. Mickey almost seemed… nervous, or at the very least paralyzed by the wealth of options. He raised his thumb to his mouth, anxiously biting the hangnail again.

“I guess those ripped ones don’t look too bad.”

Ian clicked on the picture Mickey was referring to. They were black jeans, a dark wash and skinny cut, with patches ripped on both knees. Ian felt something well in his chest, probably an overreaction to a pair of jeans— but these jeans were perfect for Mickey. They weren’t too much, weren’t overly fashionable, but they still felt more clean-cut than the baggy pants Mickey usually threw on. These jeans were badass, and totally aligned with Mickey’s don’t-fuck-with-me vibe, but they were deliberate. Stylish. Like they were saying here the fuck I am.

“Yeah?” Ian knew Mickey could tell he was smiling from his voice.

Mickey smirked, craning his neck and turning to look up at Ian. “Yeah. Think I can pull ‘em off?”

Ian pressed his lips together. “Fuck yeah. You’re gonna look so good.”

Mickey just gave a satisfied smile, and nestled back against Ian’s chest again. “Let’s get ‘em, then.”

#i hope u enjoy!<3 #also im sorry I’ve been so mia in regards to prompts #my mom’s been in the hospital all week and it’s just been a very tough and draining time #but writing this brought me so so much joy! #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless season 11

[shieldmaidenofgod]

Writing Our History––Part 1

“Arthur, my boy!” Dutch van der Linde called as he spotted the outlaw ride back into camp. “Where have you been?”

“In town,” Arthur replied. “Had to grab some things. Why? Did something happen?” The light from the setting sun illuminated the worry in the cowboy’s eyes.

Dutch chuckled and a glint of mischief twinkled in his eyes. “You could say that. Hitch up your horse and follow me.”

Arthur ended up sitting by the campfire with a bowl of Pearson’s stew. The other men surrounding the fire leaned forward as they listened intently to Dutch’s news.

“So,” he began, “I got tipped off at the saloon today by the barman. Said there’s an enormous mansion right in the middle of a huge plot of land ‘bout ten miles north of here.”

“So we’re just robbin’ some rich bastard?” Sean asked, taking a sip from his beer bottle.

“Not if you let me finish, MacGuire,” Dutch scolded, and the Irishman raised his hands defensively, causing the other men to laugh.

“I also found out that the man of that house, Hawthorn, owns a rather successful tailoring company. He has a location right in the middle of Valentine, so I headed over there to see if I could find out anything else, and I heard he has but one daughter.” Dutch stopped there and spread his hands, as if the conclusion were obvious.

There was a pause while the men tried to figure out what Dutch’s plan was.

Arthur swallowed a bite of stew before asking, “So what, we kidnap ‘er?”

“You always were the smart one,” Dutch commented. “I managed to get a tipoff from one of his servants, if you can believe it. French girl. Poor young lady was barely holdin’ it together, you could tell she’d been cryin’ for a good long while. Apparently, he’s gonna marry his girl off to one of his business partners in a few days.”

“A good reason to demand a bigger ransom,” Charles spoke up.

“Exactly,” Dutch declared, pointing to Charles. “And think of this, if a mere servant has that much of an attachment to her mistress, who’s to say her parents don’t adore her even more? So, who’s with me? I’ll need a handful of men to get this done right.”

All the other men around the campfire looked to Arthur, as if for his permission.

Arthur shrugged. “When you wantin’ to leave?” he asked Dutch.

“Tomorrow morning. Early. Least we can do is scope out the house from afar.”

Arthur nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Dutch grinned. “It’s settled, then. Are you all with me?” he asked the others, who all nodded (except for Sean, who gave a hearty cheer). “Good, very good. Well, we all better get some rest then, if we want to head out by dawn tomorrow.”

The next day, Dutch, Arthur, Charles, and Sean rode out of camp at the break of dawn for the northern end of Valentine and eventually arrived on the border of Mr. Hawthorn’s land by 7:30. They all managed to stay low while observing the house and its surroundings through their binoculars.

“See anything interesting?” Sean asked Arthur, who was using the pair of binoculars the two of them were sharing.

“Not much,” Arthur grunted, handing the binoculars over to Sean beside him. “Lot of windows, though. We’ll have to steer clear of those.”

“I see a carriage. They just pulled it up to the house,” Charles announced from his position, also looking through a pair of binoculars.

“Anyone gettin’ in or out?” Arthur asked, Sean still looking through his binoculars.

“Not yet.” Charles paused for a moment. “Wait. The front doors are opening. It looks like Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorn––I’m guessing it’s them, at least. Ah, that’s definitely their daughter.” He lowered his binoculars. “When do we move, Dutch?”

“Not yet,” their leader answered. “We wait until they’re far enough away from their property and not too close to town. Then we strike.”

<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>

Once the Hawthorns were seated in the carriage and their luggage strapped to the roof, the carriage was off to the nearest town: Saint Denis.

Mrs. Hawthorn looked down her nose at her daughter, who sat across from her and her husband and was engaged in reading her collection of E. B. B. poetry. “Put that accursed book away,” Mrs. Hawthorn snapped.

(Y/N) jerked in surprise at the sudden break in silence. She looked back down in dismay at the loss of her only entertainment, closed the book, and put it in her carpet bag beside her.

“Honestly––” her mother continued, “––it’s positively shameful, being a female author. As if any decent man would wish to marry one. It’s not a woman’s place.”

“No,” (Y/N) countered in a biting tone, a smug smirk on her pretty face. “But it must be a woman’s place to be married against her will to a man she’s never met.”

“You will marry whoever we choose for you and that is final!” Mrs. Hawthorn slammed her fan against her lap in emphasis.

(Y/N) slumped in her seat and crossed her arms, a difficult and uncomfortable position considering her garments and tightly-strung corset, but the action was worth the horrified looks on her parents’ faces.

“This is so unfair! Maybe I do wish to become an unmarried author! Why should you be the ones to stop me?”

“Stop that ugly slouching and sit up this instant!” her father exclaimed.

“Oh, I’ll slouch if I bloody want to!” (Y/N) shouted back.

“Now you listen here, young lady!” Mr. Hawthorn roared and pointed a shaking finger in (Y/N)’s direction. “We know far better what is best for you than you do. I’ll not have you vilifying our family name by running off and becoming some undignified, unmarried hooligan!” he spat, his eyes glinting with rage. His fat mustache continued to wag as he yammered on about what a disgrace she would be to the family name if she did not marry his business partner, but (Y/N) had stopped listening.

Everything about the whole situation was so unbelievably unfair. (Y/N)’s parents had always been rather controlling of her, but never to an extent as drastic as this. Or, perhaps, she had just never noticed how little control over her own life she had ever actually had.

What I wouldn’t give to just run away from all of this, (Y/N) thought to herself, completely unaware of how soon her wish would come true.

<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>

“Okay, move out! Come on! Go, go, go!” Dutch yelled, riding forward in a full gallop behind the carriage.

Charles, Arthur, and Sean, led by Dutch sped after the carriage, bandanas covering their lower faces to protect them from the kicked-up dust and from being recognized. Once they got closer to the carriage, Arthur whipped out a pistol and fired a warning shot at the carriage. The bullet zipped through the very top of the carriage wall right below the covered roof, signaling to those inside that they had company.

Terrified screams erupted from inside the carriage and the four horses pulling the car whinnied in fright. The driver desperately pulled on the reins, attempting to stop the beasts so that no more threatening shots would be fired in less-than-cosmetic directions. Once the carriage came to a stop, the driver threw his hands in the air.

“Pl-please don’t hurt me, sirs!” the driver exclaimed.

“Oh, we ain’t here for you, boy!” Dutch shouted as the other outlaws threw open the carriage doors.

Arthur and Charles reached into the carriage and pulled out a thrashing (Y/N). She clutched her carpet bag to her chest and screamed frantically but the men paid her no mind, throwing her in the front of Sean’s saddle.

“Take her home, boys!” Dutch shouted and he, Charles, Arthur, and Sean spurred their horses into a gallop back the way they’d come.

“Let me go!” (Y/N) screeched. “Let me go, you brutes!”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, lassie,” Sean answered behind her. “We’re gonna be hangin’ onto you for now.”

Once the party arrived at camp, (Y/N) had calmed down, becoming rather apathetic. Sean lowered her off his horse and into the waiting arms of Miss Grimshaw.

“We don’t want to hurt you, miss,” Dutch called to (Y/N) in a slightly smug tone. “We just want some compensation from your family, that's all!”

“Come on now, dear,” Miss Grimshaw said gently. “Let’s get that dust out of your dress and a tent set up for you.” She led (Y/N), who only nodded, away from the horses.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #female reader #rdr2 fanfiction #fanfiction #writing our history

[moonshineboyz]

The Boyz as Chase Atlantic songs

.

a/n: first of all, don't do drugs, kids. second of all, tagging @violethhj bc she asked and helped me get some of these songs cuz i was confused af, thank you my love 💕

masterlist ♡

.

Lee Sangyeon — Too Late

“You're too late/ Had your girlfriend at my house for two days/ Should be obvious the reason she stayed with me/ Build a rocket ship, throw bricks in your face/ Slide in, came with perfect timing/ She climb in, picture-perfect timing/ Slide in, put that bitch beside me/ Sing this, I'm gon' bet she'll date me”

cocky mf because he's fucking his "rival's" girlfriend/hookup

bragging a lot about having you on his bed the whole weekend

might give you hickies so the guy knows what you've been up to

not letting you answer your phone when it rings

sore and shaky legs

probably not walking properly the next day

.

Jacob Bae — Church

“'m about to take you back to church/ Well, tell me your confessions, baby, what's the worst, yeah?/ Baptise in your thighs 'til it hurts/ 'Cause I'm about to take you back to church”

corruption kink for sure

sucking him off

"stay on the ground until your knees hurt no more praying baby imma be your preacher"

not done until early morning

ending up with ripped panties

dirty praises

.

Kim Younghoon — You Too

“Don’t choose/ If you love it then you cut the thing loose, yeah/ Dark room/ Indecisive so you know I can’t move, yeah/ You too, you too, now/ It’s hard for me to end a conversation/ With ‘I love you’ when I know it’s not true, no”

late night talk in a dark room

lacking of mutual feelings

growing apart

saying "you too" because he can't say "i love you"

holding onto a hopeless fling

past traumas

.

Lee Hyunjae — Tidal Wave

“Lay your body on the floor, baby/ I love the way you breathe in/ And I’ve been drinking so much more lately/ But that’s just how I’m feeling/ If you don’t wanna break his heart, girl/ Where the fuck is he, then?/ See I just wanna waste a little time with ya/ But then I’m up and leavin’”

sunday afternoon during summer

beach house

laying lazily on the living room floor

watching the sunset from there

him hovering over you

messy hair, collarbone kisses

.

Lee Juyeon — Swim

“You picked a dance with the devil and you lucked out/ The water's getting colder, let me in your ocean, swim/ Out in California, I'll be forward stroking, swim/ So hard to ignore ya', especially when I'm smoking, swim/ The world is on my shoulders, keep your body open, swim”

cloudy and chilly day

swimming in a cold water pool

body covered in goosebumps

getting pulled out because someone's needy

being thrown into bed

sore legs due to being open for too long

.

Kevin Moon — Moonlight

“We’re running in the moonlight/ We’re dancing in the open waves/ You’re hangin’ for a good time/ Something that’ll make you stay/ And girl, you fall down again/ You tell me you’re all out again/ We’re running in the moonlight/ Could you show me the way again?”

you already saw this coming

watching the sunset together

walking along the beach at night

slowly falling in love

talking about everything and nothing at the same time

entering the water, splashing each other

kissing under the moonlight

.

Choi Chanhee/New — Love Is (Not) Easy

“Mama used to say/ ‘Boy, love isn’t easy, it’s hard’/ She said, 'Boy, love isn’t easy, it’s heartache’/ 'Boy, see everyone leaves and your heart breaks/ But I still hold on/ I’m still holdin’ on”

only hearing bad stories about love since childhood

being afraid to fall in love

or regretting it after a heartbreak

having the first heartbreak under the rain

still holding onto it though

roller coaster of bittersweet feelings

.

Ji Changmin/Q — Dancer In The Dark

“Baby, it’s that look in your eyes/ They been telling me she wanna leave/ She’s been dancing with the devil all night/ It’s like Hell is where she wanna be/ Now, watch her dance in the dark/ Watch her dance in the dark”

working in a club iykwim

colorful spotlights

exchanging glares throughout the night

feeling like there's only you and him there

wishing the night to end quickly

might go home with him later

.

Ju Haknyeon — Meddle About

“We only met each other just the other day/ But you already got me feeling some type of way/ Now, if I could figure it out/ I’d take you back to my house/ So we could meddle about”

college frat party

lust at first sight

shamelessly flirting

uncontrollable physical attraction

strong urge to take you home

messy and breathlessly making out in the car

.

Kim Sunwoo — Slow Down

“I don’t know if you already know how/ But girl, I got the feeling that you know now/ You’re buried in the pillow, yeah you’re so loud/ But I’m about to show you, baby, slow down”

red led lights and dark room

rushing to finish your drink to leave the club

and getting railed

loud, might receive a noise complaint

not leaving the bed until the sun starts to rise

waking up with a sore body and hickies

.

Eric Sohn — Vibes

“This could take some time/ Hands all over mine/ Let this feeling slide/ And girl, I’m yours tonight/ And she said 'How I love the vibes’/ And she’s feeling so alright/ And we’re not coming down, we’re high/ So high”

late night drives with windows down

the same playlist on the radio

probably driving to somewhere quiet and calm

where you can admire the night sky

sweet and giggly making out under the stars

whispering praises and 'i love you’s

yes i got biased in this one 🤷🏻‍♀️

#the boyz #tbz #the boyz as songs #the boyz as chase atlantic songs #the boyz as #tbz as #tbz as songs #tbz as chase atlantic songs #lee sangyeon #jacob bae #kim younghoon #lee hyunjae #lee juyeon #kevin moon #choi chanhee #tbz new #ji changmin #tbz q #ju haknyeon #kim sunwoo #eric sohn #tbz eric #the boyz smut #the boyz fanfic #the boyz writings #the boyz headcanons #the boyz drabbles #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fluff #the boyz angst

[moonlit-imagines]

Way Down We Go

Arvin Russell x fem!reader

warnings: well, just about everything from the movie is mentioned, death/murder/suicide, (non-descriptive) sex, pregnancy mention,

a/n: im begging you to read this in a southern accent - i did change it up JUST a little i hope thats okay (y/n was just w/ arvin when he did some of the stuff he did)

prompt: anonymous: “uhm, oneshot for being arvin russell’s girlfriend and him coming back for you after he kills the sergeant? and maybe you two run away and get married and name your first kid after lenora?”

Soon enough, you and Arvin needed to split from your boyfriend’s hometown, Knockemstiff. He’d just shot down the sheriff and you weren’t sure if any authorities were going to believe your story. You two had to run.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. ‘Shoulda never got you involved in any ‘a this.” Arvin was beating himself up as the two of you dragged your feet on the side of the road, hoping you’d find a less murderous ride along the way.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Arvin. They all had it comin’ and you know I wasn’t gonna let you go off alone.” You halted your step in the grass and grabbed your boyfriend by the bicep, forcing him to stop, as well. He hesitated to turn around and look you in the eye, but when he slowly did, you could see tears brimming in his eyes. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want to do the same, but someone needed to have a level head right now, and after everything Arvin just had to do, you were prepared to take that responsibility. “Baby, we’re gonna be fine, I just know it.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” He mumbled as the tears began to flow. Your hands found themselves gliding up his dirty arms and shirt, finally reaching his clenched jaw and helping him to relax. “You’re so good to me an’ I just made our lives so much harder.”

“So we start somewhere new, okay? We’ll take a ride with someone on the interstate, make it to Georgia or Florida. I’ve been hearin’ some good things ‘bout Florida, they’ve got it all.” Arvin nearly cracked a smile at your optimism, he never knew how you’d be able to find light such a dark situation.

“I was thinkin’ about doing what my daddy did all them years ago.” He mumbled to you, as if he were unsure about going down that path.

“You gon’ keep on going or leave me hangin’ over here? You never talk about your father, tell me something new.” You pushed on, finally getting a smile out of him as the two of you continued your trek away from trouble.

“Well, he met a girl, fell in love, settled down far from home...” Arvin told you, trying to remember wha his mother’s face looked like.

“You’ve done two ‘a those things so far, go on.” You laced your fingers through his and gently swung your arms back and forth with each step.

“They started a family.” He said, looking up at the cloudy sky. Almost as if he could see the two looking back down at him. “A family could be nice. Maybe a dog, too. Jack really was man’s best friend.”

“I could see us doin’ that. We just gotta find the right place and we’re as good as gold.” You nudged Arvin with your elbow and he forgot all about the heinous scenes he’d left in the hours before, all that was on his mind now was what your future may look like. And to him, it looked amazing. Maybe you two could put the past few weeks behind you and just be happy again. No more pain, no more fear, just love for one another.

“We’re gonna be okay, huh?” Arvin asked, knowing already that you’d agree. A good deal of time went by before any cars passed by, but sooner or later a Volkswagen slowed down beside you and let you hop in. You knew hippies were a little weird, but they loved peace more than anything on this planet. Your odds were pretty good, so you climbed right inside and took a seat in the back, making conversation with the driver while Arvin got some much-needed shut eye.

“So, where are you two lovebirds heading?” The long-haired man asked, thankfully snapping you out of a daze consisting of dropped bodies and images you may never get out of your head.

“Oh, nowhere in particular. Just south.” You nodded along with your answer and the hippie chuckled, liking the answer you gave him.

“Looking to get a little lost? I like it.” You were distracted by his long hair flying around with the window cracked open just a bit.

“Yeah, I guess we are. We were thinking Florida would be a nice place to go, ever been?” You sparked a bit of conversation.

“Definitely! ‘The Sunshine State,’ doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? You guys’ll love it, I’m tellin’ ya.” The man’s enthusiasm was no joke, you needed the upbeat attitude he gave you, though. For a while longer, you talked about travel and this mystery man’s eventful life, it gave you hope that this new life you were about to start wouldn’t be as scary as you were thinking.

—————

Arvin woke up from yet another nightmare, it seemed like it would never end. It’d been four damn years since you two had left Knockemstiff and ended up in a little town by the name of “Palatka.” It was home and it was just the way you liked it.

“Hey, hey? I’m right here, Arvin. We’re safe.” You raised your hand and placed it on his bare, sweating chest as it rasised and fell from his panting. His eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and he saw the concern on your face while he just stared back at you. “You alright there, hun?”

“Yeah...” Arvin sighed, wishing that he’d stop seeing the faces of the people he’d shot down all those years before, they always seemed to haunt him in his sleep. He leaned back against the wooden headboard he’d crafted himself and reached his hand out for yours. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Your husband’s thumb trailed over the back of your right hand.

“It’s alright, I was just about to go check on Lenora anyways.” You gave him a kiss on the forehead and threw the covers off of yourself, swinging your legs off the side of the bed so you could get your slippers on. You shuffled out of your bedroom and across the squeaky floorboards, reaching the door of your daughter’s bedroom. Slowly cracking the door open, you tiptoed inside and found Lenora, still sound asleep in her bed.

She was a good namesake to her daddy’s late sister, you know she would’ve loved to meet her niece. What a shame it was, but at least you honored her memory the way you did. It was Arvin’s idea, after all. God, she looked so much more like Arvin every single day. You couldn’t help but smile as she let out a little moan while stretching in her sleep. And you couldn’t believe you created that, you were a mother with the man you loved most.

You made a stop in the kitchen real quick so that you could get your husband a glass of water, then went back on to your room. Arvin was now sitting there with his bedside lamp on, swiveling his head towards you as you came back inside and closed the door. “Water?”

“Please.” He reached out and grabbed the glass. “Thank you, y/n.” Arvin said into the glass before taking a sip and setting in down on the bare wood of the nightstand.

“Ahem.” You cleared your throat and cocked an eyebrow, leaving Avrin puzzled. “Coaster.”

“Right, sorry.” He lifted his glass up and put it on the coaster directly next to it. “There we go.” He told himself. You crawled back into bed and scooted closer to your husband, leaning your head on his shoulder and draping your arm across his body. He gently rubbed his rough, working hands over your upper arm and gave you a sweet kiss on the forehead. “How was Lenora?”

“She’s still asleep, thankfully.” You answered with a hopeful little smirk. Your daughter obviously wasn’t a sleeping angel every night.

“That sure is news.” He traced his finger back up your arm and to your chin, guiding it to move up so that you could face him. He placed his lips to yours and drew back ever-so-slightly. “You wanna fuck while we have a chance?”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered and he had spent no extra time jumping on top of you and getting right to work. Before becoming a parent, he never stopped to think about how he’d absolutely have to find the right time to do what he wanted, because the rest of that time was dedicated to caring for his kid in one way, shape or form. In the end, he didn’t mind a bit. Being a father and a husband were two things he’d loved more than life itself and he hoped that his parents would be proud of the man he’d become. But right now he just wanted to spend some time with his loving wife, and that’s that.

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm //

#arvin russell imagine #arvin russell x reader #arvin russell #the devil all the time x reader #the devil all the time imagine #the devil all the time #tdatt #tdatt x reader #tdatt imagine

[cappsikle]

just a bunch of fools (in love) // george weasley

Request: omg !!! could you please do a continuation for “just a bunch of fools” where george asks reader to marry him 🥺🥺🥺 <3

read the first part here! 

Pairing: george weasley x reader

Summary: the world seems so dark and heavy, but george doesn’t want to do this with anyone but you

Warnings: nope! 

Word Count: 1.7k 

A/N: I’m soooo sorry that this took so long! I had major writer’s block I just hope you like it!

(I’m just gonna say it now, the ending is trash because I just wanted to get it out for you, I’m so sorry >_<)

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!!

-------

Everyone at the Burrow was tense, all still dealing with the aftermath of the attack at the wedding. That was also the night Harry, Ron and Hermione left, along with Bill and Fluer who created a safe house for themselves and members of the Order. So, in the end, it was only you, the twins, ginny, Molly and Arthur who remained at the Burrow until it was time to move to a safer location. No one really spoke to each other, not being able to find the words. What exactly can you say that will make the situation better? The minister of magic was dead, and the ministry had been taken over. You were struggling to grasp anything that resembled hope, it managing to just slip through your fingers. 

Your heart was heavy, dread settling into the pit of your stomach as you sat on the couch in front of the fire. Everyone else had retired to bed, but you just couldn’t sleep, so instead you left George in his bed to sit down and think. Though in hindsight, thinking probably wasn’t the best thing you could do, as you did tend to overthink. What was going to happen next? Where would you go? Are Harry and the others ok? The deeper you went into your thoughts, the more unaware you became of your surroundings, which resulted in you practically jumping out of your skin when you felt a pair of hands over your shoulders.

“shit!” you jumped up from the couch, a hand over your chest as you tried to tame your rapidly racing heart, “George, you scared me!”

“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to,” you nodded slowly and sat back down, George following and sitting next to you, “what are you doing up so late anyway?”

You shrugged your shoulders, bringing your knees up to your chest and placing your chin in the little divot between them. “just couldn't sleep, yakow... with everything going on.” George nodded his head in understanding, pursing his lips as he got lost in thought. He could see the toll the war had taken on you, effecting your ability to eat and sleep normally. He just wished he knew what to do or say that could make you feel better, but George too was struggling to see the light at the end of this very long and very dark tunnel.

“Would you like something to drink? A cup of tea, maybe?”

You smile sweetly at him and nodded gently, “that would be nice, thank you.” you leaned up and gently placed a kiss to his lips as he rose from his seat, making his way to the kitchen.

Putting the kettle to boil, George looked at you from his place at the kitchen, just taking the time to admire you and your features. From the way your hair fell into your eyes, soft from the light of the fire and the evident tiredness to the little dimple only present on your right cheek even from the smallest of movements from your tempting lips. If there was one thing George knew for sure, it was that in a time where the world was batshit crazy, you were the one that gave him hope for a better future, a future together. That's when he got the idea.

As if electrocuted from a spark, George raced off upstairs towards his room, although he was very careful not to make any noise that would wake his sleeping family. Practically overflowing with nerves and excitement, George ever-so-carefully pushed his door open, squeezing in and tiptoeing to avoid waking up Fred. He walked over to his bedside table and grabbed the little velvet box sitting in the drawer, turning it over in his hands. Was he really about to do this? Was he sure that this is something you’d want, to get engaged right in the middle of a war?  

“So, you’re finally going to do it?” George swore his heart literally jumped out of his chest at the sound of his twin’s tired and barely-awake voice, fumbling with the box as it almost fell out of his grasp. He turned around to face Fred sitting up on the bed, a tired and lazy smirk on his lips.

“Christ, mate! Warn a guy next time, will you?” Fred chuckled at his brother’s frightened state before his eyes trailed down towards what was in George’s hands.

“I said, are you finally going to do it?” George looked down as well, his lips twitching to a small smile at the sight.

“Yeah, I think I am,”

“Are you sure now of all times is the best idea?”

George looked up at his twin, his other half, as he mulled over his words whilst getting up to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “Look, mate, I’m not sure what’s going to happen over the next few months, but I can’t bear the thought of going through this without the promise that we’ll be together. I love her, more than anything,” Fred looked at his brother, the one person he could count on no matter what, and the solemn look that took over his face. No matter what, he would support his brother’s decision and stand by him with anything, he only wanted to see his brother happy, and he knew that you were the person to make it happy.

Fred nudged George’s shoulder with his elbow, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Look, whatever you do, I support you, and everyone else will too”

George’s face lifted up a bit, grateful for his brother’s words. “I just hope I don’t get rejected,” he said in a joking manner, but there was a hint of seriousness in his voice. What if you do rejected him? Surely you wouldn’t, he hoped.

“I can say with a hundred percent certainty that you will not. You lot are perfect for each other.”

“Thanks, mate.” George smiled up his twin, feeling the energy return with a newfound excitement from his twin’s encouraging words.

“Don’t mention it. Now hurry up and go down there, you left the poor thing hangin’”

George jumped up from the bed, rushing to get downstairs back to you with the box held tightly in his hand. You smiled when you saw George’s lanky figure come back down the steps, dressed in his plaid pajama pants and a plain t-shirt. Noticing George practically bouncing on the spot, you get up from your position on the couch and walk over to him, curious. “What’s got you jumping about the place? You’re basically vibrating,” you chuckled up at him, but your smile fell as you noticed nerves pinching his face, “y’lright, love?”

Just when George thought he couldn’t possibly fall any more in love with you, he was proven wrong upon seeing your concerned face for something as miniscule as feeling nervous. “Y-yeah, ‘m alright,” George looked down at his feet sheepishly, thankful you hadn’t noticed that he was very visibly hiding something behind his back. “Why don’t you come outside with me?”

“Outside? What for?” George raised his head as a sly smirk snaked its way across his lips.

“C’mon, I’ll make it worth your while.” with that, George grabbed your hand and took you through the back door, the light from the inside spilling out to the chilly air.

“George, what’s going on?” you ask curiously, a tint of worry in your voice. You cross your arms over your chest in a futile attempt at warding off the breeze, goosebumps rising on your exposed skin. The cold seemed to have melted away, however, when George grabbed one of your hands from your chest and sunk himself down onto one knee, his other hand still behind his back.

He knew in the grand scheme of things, now was probably a rubbish time to do something like this, but he wanted to have that security that you’d still be his after everything is over. You were confused, what was he doing? He couldn’t be doing... that... right? 

“(Y/N) …” George started, already feeling his start emotions catch up to him. “You are... the best thing that could ever have happened to me. I never thought that in a million years I could have found someone to be like you. Someone so kind, so passionate and so loving, someone willing to do anything and everything to protect those you love without a second thought...”  

George stopped his little speech to gather his thoughts and keep himself from crying. All the while you’re standing there in complete shock. How long had he been planning to do this? You knew what you wanted to say, heck you probably would’ve even said it two years ago. You knew George was who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, and you would be lying if you hadn’t had dreamt this exact scenario multiple times.  

“I remember when we first met at Kings Cross in our third year, where I ran into you and knocked you off of your feet and said some stupid pick-up-line as a failed attempt of an apology... and the rest is history. I know now isn’t the most ideal time to be doing something like this, being in the middle of a war and all, but maybe it’s because of it that now is a perfect time...” George trailed off with a chuckle, gripping your hand tighter. 

Your hand shook in his as he brought the small box out from behind his back, opening it up to reveal a simple gold band with a small diamond in the middle, but you barely spared it a glance. You were entranced by George’s eyes, filled with so much love and emotion. You couldn’t believe this was happening right now. George was actually asking you to marry him. With tears in his eyes and his voice caught in his throat, he asked the final question.

“Will you, my best friend, my soulmate, do me the absolute honor of marrying me?”

You nodded your head excessively, tears shamelessly spilling from your eyes and trailing down your cheeks. You could barely speak, your words stuck in your throat as you choked up. So instead you flung your arms around his neck, bringing your lips close to his ear and spoke the next words with as much love adoration as you could.

“Yes.”

----------

yikes so that ending was very trash but it’s ok because our baby isn’t. Anyways I hope you guys enjoyed that!! Once I got passed the writers block it was enjoyable to write! 

As always my requests are open so please don’t be shy!

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!!

- Mills <3

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fluff #anon request #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fluff #harry potter #harry potter imagine #oneshot #george weasley oneshot #fred weasley one shot

[whatissleepeven]

Good day, Sleep! I sincerely hope you're alright. Might I trouble you for some hcs for the Obey Me! Brothers with an MC wandering the HoL late at night because they can't sleep? Take care and enjoy your day! 💫

Good day anon!! I’m going to have to cut this shorter than I would’ve liked, but I really wanted to get this out there! (I hope you take care as well, and thank you for your kind words!)

Edit: I lied, I think this is longer than the last ask, forgive me -

Demon Brothers’ Reactions to an MC Wandering the HoL Late at Night

Lucifer

He heard your footsteps before actually seeing you.

He was working late into the night again when your feet padded by his door, sounding listless. He checked the time: 1:07am.

What were you doing up at this hour?

You were about to turn the corner when his door opened, his head poking out. 

His eyes zeroed in on you. “What are you doing?”

You look to the side, shifting on your feet. Ultimately, you shrug. “Just walking, I guess.”

“Just walking.” He repeated blandly, and had to mentally count to ten so he didn’t explode. “You’re walking instead of sleeping? Tomorrow...well, later today I suppose, we have RAD to attend to. You should be in your room.”

Uneasiness flickered across your face despite you doing your best to hide it, and he noticed it. “Maybe I just want to clear my head for a bit? The halls are nice and quiet at night. It’s...calming.”

...Oh. So that’s what was going on.

Lucifer stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him and walking to catch up with you. “Then I suppose you won’t mind if I join you on this little excursion of yours.”

You looked like you were going to protest, but in the end you sighed. “Alright, let’s go.”

It was quiet as you two walked. Lucifer didn’t say a word, which surprised you; you thought he was going to scold you for wandering the halls so late.

“Oh, I will; however, that won’t exactly help you in this instance, now will it?”

- Wait, you said that out loud? ...Well then.

You grimaced. “Some things...are better left unsaid. “Let sleeping dogs lie” and all that.”

He wanted to press for more information, but the bags under your (interestingly enough) alert eyes stayed his hand.

He nodded. “I understand.”

Your late-night/early morning walk with him made you feel more at ease. For the first time that night, you felt tired enough to fall asleep.

You two pause outside your door. You had subconsciously found your way back here, as if you knew that this walk would tire you out. “Hey, Lucifer?”

“Hm?” He hummed, turning to you.

“...Thanks. For this, I mean.”

His eyes widened a fraction before a smirk spread across his lips. “Of course. If you have trouble falling asleep in the future, then feel free to knock on my door. I will always answer.”

It was a promise. You nodded, waving him off before flopping onto your bed.

You take him up on his offer every once in a while, especially when it seems like he’s overworking himself. (...Which is all the time.)

Mammon

You wandered the halls because you had a nightmare.

You woke up with adrenaline coursing through your veins, heart racing and breaths coming out in short gasps. A cry for help died on your lips as you became more aware of your surroundings, and you blinked to get the tears out of your eyes. You wished you could say that you didn’t remember it, but you did.

Lucifer. Levi. Satan. Asmo. Beel. Belphie. Solomon. Simeon. Luke. Barbatos. Diavolo.

One by one, they all left you. 

You couldn’t even reach your family in the Human Realm; they had left you too, long before the others did.

Mammon was the last to go, grinning as he told you that he played you like a fiddle. “Ya should know better than to trust a demon, y’know. Humans are so stupid! I already took all of your money; have fun livin’ now...if ya can.”

You...had no one.

You pressed the heel of your palm into your eye, letting out a shaky chuckle. You knew what it meant; monophobia. It was the same dream you’ve been having for the past month, and to be honest...you were starting to believe it. It wasn’t like you could confide in anybody, either; you lived in a house full of demons, after all.

I’m just an ordinary human with life experiences unique to me that make up my person. I’m...I’m alone.

Is that why I was hell-bent on befriending people down here? You asked yourself, but asking yourself made you feel worse and hyper-aware of your big, dark room.

It’s empty in here.

You felt like you were suffocating, so once you wrapped a blanket around yourself (because it felt like a hug, like someone cared enough to wrap their arms around you, but it was only a blanket and you had no one) you left your room.

You didn’t know where you were going; all you knew was that you had to go. You started out at a slow walk, speeding up into a fast pace, then a run, and then you were sprinting -

“OW!!”

You accidentally hit someone in your panic, the other almost falling over.

You took a step forward, berating yourself for not watching your surroundings better. “I’m sor- ”

You stopped once you saw who it was. Mammon dusted himself off, grumbling about “running into trouble no matter what he did” when he noticed you.

“What the hell are ya doin’ out here, so late at night? Don’t humans need their sleep or somethin’?” He looked you over, fussing about how “his human was a magnet for danger” and that he couldn’t even keep his eyes off for a second lest you walk into a life-threatening situation.

He patted your shoulders. “Not a hair out of place. If you’re goin’ somewhere, why didn’t ya tell me? I’m your first man, after all; I gotta protect ya!”

You blinked. Then, without warning, something wet trailed down your cheeks as you stared at him in silence.

Needless to say, Mammon freaked out. “Wh-What?! Hey, y-you don’t gotta cry over that! I’m fine! You didn’t even hit me that hard, see? N-Now stop cryin’, damnit!”

You let out a watery laugh. “It’s not that...you know what? Nevermind.”

Mammon trailed after you as you walked down the hallway. “Oi, don’t leave me hangin’! Why did ya start bawlin’? HEY!!”

You didn’t have to worry about a thing. Even if your family left you...

Even if the whole world turned against you...

Deep in your heart, you knew that Mammon would never betray you.

Leviathan

“Dun, dun, dundun dun, dun, dundun dun, dun, dundun- NUNUNUUU!!”

You whisper-sang the Mission: Impossible theme song as you crept down the halls, peeking the corners as if you were going to be shot at without warning.

You narrowed your eyes at a particular entryway, a grin spreading across your lips. 

“Target acquired.”

You stepped into the kitchen, slowly opening the fridge and wincing whenever it made a sound. Beel knew the noises the fridge made by heart, so he would no doubt run in if he heard that something was amiss.

You pulled out a slice of angel cake Luke had gifted to you earlier, your stomach rumbling in anticipation. You had waited oh so long for this moment, and now nothing was going to stop you from -

“...Uh.”

Levi stood in the doorway, headphones slipping off his ears as he pushed them down. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost, and oh diavolo this was awkward.

He gasped, pointing at you. “You!!”

You gasped, pointing at him. “You!!”

(You know the spider-man meme? Yeah that’s the one)

Levi’s next gasp was dramatic. It seemed that he saw your angel cake, his finger shifting to point at that instead. “STOP!! You have violated the law! You must pay the court a fine, or you shall pay the price!”

Your eyes narrowed. “Hoh?” You picked up your fork, holding it out in front of you like a sword. “I wonder if you’re all bark and no bite.”

Levi reached into a nearby drawer, taking out a fork of his own and pointing the prongs at you. His eyes flashed; a challenge.

“Maybe you should ask yourself that, outlaw!”

You both carefully hit each other’s utensils, mimicking light saber sounds with the occasional snicker.

After a couple of minutes, Levi leapt back. You gasped; was he readying his special attack?!

He held his head up high, his fork- no, his sword - raised above his head. 

“ALL WOMEN ARE QUEENS!!”

You scowled, your own fork sword raised to copy his. 

“IF SHE BREATHES...SHE’S A THOT!!!”

You both screamed as you clashed, crashing into each other as your forks went flying. You were both laughing on the floor, imitating death cries.

You loved messing around with Levi.

“...So, why are you eating that now?” He asked, shifting to face you.

You grinned. “I was hungry.”

He laughed. “You’re a weird normie, you know that?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

Lucifer’s voice grew louder as his footsteps approached the kitchen, sounding irritated. It looks like you were too loud while battling...whoops.

You and Levi looked at each other, then at the forks, then back at each other, then at the cake, then at each other once more.

“RUN!!” He screamed, snatching his fork. You grabbed your plate and your fork before taking off after him, Lucifer’s yells fading as you escaped into the safety of Levi’s room.

You two ended up sharing the angel cake. It was delicious.

(You got yelled at by Lucifer the next day, but hey; that’s tomorrow’s self’s problems. Now, it was time to eat cake.)

Satan

He caught you just as he exited the library, a book tucked away underneath his arm.

“Ah- ” He said, letting out a soft whoosh of air as you bumped into each other.

Instead of greeting him or apologizing, you clutched his shirt. “Satan. Just the demon I wanted to see.”

He raised a brow. “...What are you doing up so late at night?”

You shook your head. “Not today, Satan! Can we go back to your room?”

He frowned. You looked frantic, to say the least, and if he could help, then... “Follow me.”

Once there, you took a seat on the floor. Satan placed his book (No Longer Human) on the shortest stack of books he could find, sitting on his bed.

He patted the spot next to him. “You can sit up here, you know.”

You quickly took him up on his offer, sitting cross-legged as you turned to face him. Your face was so comically serious that he would be laughing if he wasn’t so worried.

“What’s wrong?”

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Satan’s concern only grew once you started shaking, wondering which of his brothers he had to “have a chat with”.

“Did you know...that whales don’t live long enough to die of old age because they just don’t have the energy to make it back up to the surface anymore?”

Satan’s face went carefully blank. “...Could you repeat that?”

“They all drown!” You wail. “They suffocate in the ocean, which is their home! And that’s if fishermen don’t kill them or other animals do!”

Why did he ever think that it was anything serious when it came to you

He sighed. It was late, he was tired, you were tired, but...

He smiled. You got hung up on the strangest of facts, didn’t you? It was endearing.

“I see.” He said, holding out his arms. “All I can offer is some comfort, small as that may be.”

You launched yourself at him, and he fell back on the bed with a small oomph as you rapidly talked about how whales deserved better from this cruel, cruel world of ours.

He patted your shoulder. It seemed like he wasn’t getting any sleep soon, but...

As long as it was with you, this wasn’t so bad.

Asmodeus

Needless to say, he scolded you.

...Unless you were up because you had a sleepover with him. Then, you were fine.

But that didn’t apply to this instance.

“What in the world are you doing out here?!” He asked, grabbing your arm and practically dragging you to his room. “You do realize that you need your beauty sleep, right? Come; I’ll make sure you get the best sleep you’ve ever had!”

You were a little scared, but that was only because he had appeared out of nowhere. You matched his pace with a raised brow, trying to calm your racing heart. “Asmo, why did you jump out at me? I could’ve had a heart attack!”

He laughed. “The only heart attack I want you to suffer from is if it’s due to my stunning beauty.”

You smiled as the two of you entered his room. “So, what’s on the menu for tonight?”

He sat you down on one of his chairs, pulling out multiple bottles of...who-knows-what. The long brand names coupled with the loopy writing was enough to give you a stroke.

He stood behind you, a brush in one hand and a comb in the other. There was an excited grin on his face, which you could see from the HUGE impressively-sized mirror in front of you.

“Why, self care, of course!”

An hour or two later, and you both were relaxing on his bed with a content sigh. Asmo was a professional at self care, and you swear that you haven’t felt this good in...well, it’s been a while.

He shifted to face you. “Enjoying yourself?”

You nodded. “Of course, Asmo. You have the heavenly skills of a god.”

You both laughed at the irony of that statement, nestling underneath the covers.

Asmo threw his arm over you. “Well, as heavenly as my hands may be...it’s time to sleep. Beauty waits for no one, after all.”

You hummed in agreement, slipping your eyes closed. You could feel yourself drifting off...

“Thanks for this.”

Your breathing evened out, signalling that you were asleep. Asmo smiled, placing a small kiss on your forehead.

“Anytime. Come to me when you feel restless again, okay?”

Beelzebub

Beel was the one to have a nightmare.

He didn’t remember what it was, but when he came to his hand was outstretched towards the ceiling, tears dotting his pillowcase. He rolled out of bed, quietly padding out of the room so that he didn’t accidentally wake his twin up.

He rubbed his eyes. Even though he didn’t remember it, he could guess what it was about.

I’ve been having nightmares more often lately...

He saw the light of the fireplace as he passed by the entrance to the living room, and he wondered who else was up. Was it Lucifer? Levi?

Once he gaze fell on you fiddling with your D.D.D. on the couch, he stepped in.

“Aren’t you tired?”

His voice startled you, almost making you drop your device.

“Oh, Beel! What are you doing up?”

He shook his head, loosely grasping his left wrist as he frowned. “I just woke up and saw that the light was on,” He said as he sat down. “I was curious.”

You shifted to let him sit next to you, throwing a smile his way. “Funny coincidence, huh? I couldn’t fall back asleep either.”

A small smile formed at your words. “At least it’s the weekend.”

You stretched. “I know! Lucifer can’t yell at us for this!”

Beel looked off to the side in thought, giving a decisive nod. “He would still find something that we messed up on to yell about, though.”

Your snort of laughter made him feel lighter, erasing any traces of the mind-numbing fear and grief sadness his nightmare left behind.

You tapped his arm. “Something up?”

He shook his head, a smile blooming on his face as he looked at you. “...No, not anymore. Do you want to go grab something to eat with me?”

You leapt to your feet with a grin. “Beel, when will I ever say no to that?”

And so, you two raided the fridge of its contents and snacked on whatever you could find. You talked about anything and everything that came to mind, throwing out the garbage before huddling against each other in front of the dying embers.

You wrapped a blanket around you both, a yawn escaping you. “Thanks for being my hangout buddy, Beel.”

He beamed, its radiance slightly dulled by his tiredness. “We’re family. It’s the least I could do.”

You fell asleep against each other, and the other brothers couldn’t help but take pictures of the heartwarming scene once they found you two.

For the first time in weeks, Beel slept peacefully.

Belphegor

Belphie was en route to the planetarium when he ran into you.

“Going somewhere?” He asked with amusement in his voice, watching you compose yourself.

You jabbed a finger at him. “I am, actually. I was going...uh...”

He raised an eyebrow as you flailed to find an answer despite having recollected yourself moments prior, dragging it out before he decided to throw you a mercy line. “I’m going to the planetarium, if you want to come.”

You nodded, relief flashing across your features. “Thanks, Belphie.”

You two made a pile of blankets on the floor, pointing out constellations and making up stories for them. ...Well, you were, at least; Belphie was content to let you ramble, quietly chuckling at your elaborate depictions of each celestial body you pointed out.

“What are you doing up, anyways?” He asked, interrupting your recent tale.

You huffed. “Way to kill the vibe, Edgelord.”

He raised a brow. “...And the vibe happened to be you describing how Orion brutally skewed the Ursa Minor for his lover?”

You nodded sagely. “It’s a tale of love and betrayal, of sacrifice and ambition.”

He snorted. “Are you going to answer the question?”

You rolled over to face him. “I just...couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

“You can’t sleep?” He repeated, looking over at you in surprise. He shook off his initial reaction with a small, exasperated smile. “It looks like you came to the right demon, then.”

You flopped back dramatically onto the piles. “Please impart your wisdom on me, O wise one.”

Instead of scoffing at you, like he usually did, he placed a hand onto your head. “You won’t have to worry about any nightmares tonight.”

- And then you were out.

He sighed. “Just what am I going to do with you...?”

He now makes sure to check up on you from time-to-time, pulling you in for a dreamless sleep whenever he sees your fatigue. Despite himself napping the most in either the attic or the room he shared with Beel, he would lead you to the planetarium to sleep.

It was a sacred place for him, and who better to share it with than with you?

#obey me headcanons #obey me shall we date #obey me #swd om #om swd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #shall we date obey me #long post

[stardancerluv]

Crushes Near and Far

Summary: What is it like when you have encountered three very different men...but have crushes on them.

Note: A fem!reader in three different situations having a crush on Obi Wan Kenobi, Alex Law, & Dan Torrance! This is the request seen below. 👇🏻 👇🏻

Hope you enjoy this @thebeckyjolene before each character is lyrics from the song!

Alex Law

Am I crazy or falling in love?

Is it real or just another crush?

Do you catch a breath when I look at you?

Are you holding back, like the way you do?

'Cause I'm trying, trying to walk away

But I know this crush ain't goin' away

Goin' away

Has it ever crossed your mind

When we're hangin', spendin' time girl

Are we just friends?

Is there more?

You and Alex clinked glasses, for what had it been the fourth, fifth, no more like the twentieth time that night. First it was when the two of you had won against Juliet and David at a game of pool. Then it happened when you two had won at darts. As the drinks flowed little random things were what you two toasted to.

At one point, he desperately had wanted to lean in and sneak a kiss in. He pulled back. He wasn’t sure if that is what you wanted.

Damn, you were so cute, beautiful actually. And he adored you to no end. Did you feel the same way? He couldn’t be sure. You had spilled, more like gushed over the new guy at your job. But your hand hand lingered when you grabbed his arm between shooting pool or throwing those darts. He loved how sweet your perfume tickled his nose.

As he laid back on his bed that night he wondered. He looked at a snapshot, he had taken of the two of you. The two of you looked so good. He picked up his phone, he dialed your number but then hung up.

Moments later, his phone buzzed. Nervously, he. Answered, “Alex? Are you ok? It’s four in the morning?”

He could just laugh it off or finally tell you. “Y/N...” you name lingered on his lips.

“Yeah Alex...”

“Umm..” The words got stuck. “You know how we’re friends right?”

“Yeah of course silly.”

“Well...”

Dan Torrance

I hung up the phone tonight

Something happened for the first time

Deep inside

It was a rush, what a rush (what a rush)

'Cause the possibility

That you would ever feel the same way about me

It's just too much, just too much (just too much)

Why do I keep running from the truth?

All I ever think about is you

“Alright, well I made it upstairs.” You giggled.

Dan on the other end of the phone made a soft deep sound that you always had thought was incredibly endearing. “Good but you never know, those steps are slippery.” You could practically see that sweet smile, he had.

“That is very true. We both know how clumsy I am.”The two of you both shared a giggle. “Did you make it alright back to the boarding house?” You quickly added.

He grumbled.

“Dan, what happened?”

You could hear him sigh.

“Are you ok, what happened?” You persisted.

“I fell when I was half away there.”

You jumped up from where you had curled up on your tiny sofa. “Are you ok? Do you need me to come over?”

He chuckled. “I’m ok. A little sore but I’m ok.”

“Want me to come over?”

“And risk you to slip and fall like I just did? No, please don’t but let’s still try and meet for breakfast ok?”

You nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see you. “Yes, please. You know how much I enjoy them.”

“I do. Alright hun, I mean Y/N we better call it a night. Its terribly late.”

“Ok. See you in the morning.”

“Yes. See you then.”

You sat back and tried to relax you couldn’t. “Oh Dan...I love you, I love you.” You proclaimed with your heart racing. Coming down from the high of spending most of the night chatting and playing monopoly, you wished you knew. Did he like you or did he just see you as the sweet girl he met grabbed some cupcakes.

Sure you and the baker made amazing desserts but was that enough for him to like you. Ok, you knew that the two of you had started spending time together but he was new in town and other then Billy you were the only one he knew.

But that winning smile and those clear blue eyes just sent you cartwheeling through your joy. Maybe tomorrow when you would have him hand you the jam like he always did, you could finally ask him. Your heart just needed to know.

As long as you didn’t hide behind the kettle of hot water that helped your teas brew.

You wanted to know if he liked you but if he didn’t could you handle the heart break? You will have to find out. Sighing, you back onto your small sofa with your heart still racing and your head swimming of images of Dan’s sweet smile and kind yet anguish filled eyes.

Obi Wan Kenobi

See, it's a chance we've gotta take

'Cause I believe that we can make this into

Something that will last, last forever

Forever

It was almost time for him to leave and that truly was the last thing he wanted to do. Somewhere between one and two in the morning, you had finally drifted asleep.

He took the time with you peacefully sleeping beside him to meditate and focus his energy for the negotiations him and Anakin would have to carry out. They may turn aggressive he hoped they wouldn’t bit despite there being a chance, he needed all of his abilities honed and ready.

In the final hour before he left, he watched you sleep after draping one of his extra cloaks over your sweet frame.

Getting up, he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Let’s try moonbeam, let’s try forever.” He whispered so when you awoke, you’d know his answer. He gave you a final look and then with a heavy heart left for the shuttle bay.

He was relieved for once that Anakin was late. It gave him just that extra bit of time to think of you before he took over his worries, since Anakin always tended to bring trouble and bad luck with him.

#femi!reader #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor imagine #ewan mcgregor fluff #ewan mcgregor angst #ewan mcgregor pov #alex law #alex law imagine #alex law fluff #alex law angst #alex law fanfiction #alex law x y/n #alex law x you #alex law x reader #dan torrance #dan torrance imagine #dan torrance fanfiction #dan torrance fluff #dan torrance angst #dan torrance x you #dan torrance x y/n #dan torrance x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi want kenobi imagine #obi want kenobi fanfiction #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x y/n #obi wan kenobi fluff #crushes near and far #obi wan kenobi x you