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lapismoontide · 1 year ago

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Full of Rage

I'm trying not to go off and say things to someone that I don't mean, so I've came here to unleash the beast within.

I am so angry right now.

It seems like nothing goes right for me.

It's the same constant loop of events that happen over and over and over again in my life, and I am so utterly sick and tired of it.

The man I'm with is 2 years older than me. We have been together for 17 years, and it's been nothing but a gigantic struggle the whole entire fucking time.

When will it change?

That's something I constantly ask myself.

Have I tried to do things to make change happen? Oh yeah, that's all I seem to do. Cater to someone in the idea that if I do this different things will change. If I walk lightly, he won't be angry. If I don't say what I think, he won't be mad at me. I'm so fucking sick of this shit. It's so much, I can't even put it all into words. It all always comes out jumbled making no sense to anyone who would read it I'm sure.

So what we have been trying to work on for more than a fucking decade is working. Hahahaha!! Literally, just keeping a fucking job. That's it.

I've worked before, and I am unemployed at the moment. Yeah, I could work. However, every time I do work, my man thinks that he can just quit his job. He thinks that if I am working, there's no reason for him to work. I'll take care of him, his basic needs will be met. He will have a roof over his head, water to wash his ass with, food to eat, internet to play his games on, power to use all utilities, a phone to make calls and talk to women behind my back on, a car to use, gas to put in the car; I could go on and on and on and on.

He thinks that I should work, clean the house, take care of the animals, pay all of the bills (and worry about all of the bills), buy all of the food, cook all of the food; basically do every mother fucking thing there is to do. Take care of him like a mother would take care of a fucking child, and I'm tired of doing it.

So I told him that he can fucking work, and I'll do the rest of it. Which is a fair deal if you really really think about it. If I had to just work, just go to work and that's it? Oh my god, that would be a fucking dream to me. I would absolutely love to just work and not have to worry about a damn thing. Wouldn't you?

How much better of a deal can you fucking get?

He got a job working for a tree company about 9 months ago now. Maybe more. He stayed at this job which was actually astonishing to me, b/c before now he's literally quit every single job for the past decade. Even the tree job, he worked (out of town) the first week having to room with another person (male of course) in a hotel. The hotel was paid for, they gave them $120 a week for food, and they only worked four days out of the week. He comes home after the first week, and says he's not going back. Meanwhile at home, we are drowning. Barely hanging on. Having broken payment promises to every bill company (multiple payment agreements), and he has the audacity to say he is going to quit his job. Knowing that he is the only thing that is keeping us going. So we get into this huge argument, and I basically tell him that I will sign one of my cars over to him if he quits and he can take his first and only check, and leave. B/c I can barely take care of myself, I can't take care of me and him when I have no job, and I'm the only one trying to figure out ways to keep food on the table. Fuck the bills, just food is hard to buy.

However, he ends up going back to the job. Stomping and bitching like a teenager would when you make them go to school, but he goes. So when he leaves this time, he finds out that he is going to be put on a new crew. A crew with a woman as the new foreman b/c they had a crew wreck due to lack of sleep. The old foreman who was driving drove into a sign on the interstate, and it cut his head off. So they appointed this girl that had worked for them for a few months as the foreman b/c idk if you guys know this, but most tree crews like to hire drug addicts with no license. So the only person who had a license that had worked the 90 day probation period was this woman. So she needed at least one person on her crew, and they sent my man b/c he was the newest employee. I thought that this would actually work out b/c my man doesn't get along with any other men, never has. So I knew that him working with a woman, he'd fit right in. He did just that. Never complained about his job ever again. There's a lot to this whole story, I'll tell it another time. Right now however, we're talking about something else.

So he works for this company through his probation period. The lady foreman ends up getting fired, and the only person in the whole company with a license was my man, so he was appointed foreman of that crew. A lot of stuff happens in-between this time, but he stays at the job. Loves it like he's loved no other job. It was b/c he could stay gone all week long, only live at home 2 days out of the week, and do whatever he wanted the rest of the time. He ends up getting fired b/c he was driving the company truck and wasn't supposed to (on his off time). The supervisor actually had told him he could drive it whenever (I heard him). BUT they had a new company take over, and like I said a lot of shit happened. The supervisor threw him under the bus. Acted like he didn't say he could drive, and so he got fired for doing it. That was wrong, I will admit that.

When he comes home, he starts looking for jobs. Says he is older now, says we won't go through the same shit we had been going through prior to him getting this job. Asked me to just trust him, have faith in him. So I did.

He ends up asking that same company for a job in the company in any position. They actually took him back. When the time comes for him to leave tho, he doesn't go. I told him he needed to go, b/c he can't work factory jobs. He can't work any job where he lives at this house and has to go to it every day. He can't do it b/c I am here, and when I'm here he isn't independent. He relies on me too much. Acts like I am his mother too much. I told him what would happen is he would start getting mad about waking up, or mad about me not getting up with him and shit like that. I told him that he'd start bitching and crying, and blaming me for "making him go to work". I stg it reminds me so much of a teenage boy crying to their mama. I told him he needed to take the out of town job. He promised me he wouldn't do all of that stuff. He's "changed". Okay, so I trusted him like he asked me to.

He gets a job with another tree crew, but this one is local. He doesn't take it b/c it's $15 a hour and he was getting paid $24 a hour at the other job. He doesn't understand that he was using almost $500 each week for himself out of town, so basically making $15 a hour is equivalent to the $24 since he's not out of town having to use all of the extra money.

He turns down that job. Says he has another job lined out. He did, and he got the job. This job paid $30+ a hour. Highest paying job in this area, and we are about 5 minutes from the job location. Really great! He works there one week, and then doesn't go the next. Does a no call no show for four days. Tells me he has been given another tree job. Out of town to the same area, just with a different company. Okay, but he didn't even ask what they pay, will he have to room with people, etc. He just impulsively quit the best paying job he can get here, to go with a company he doesn't even know anything about. He just assumes they pay more than the last tree company. He was wrong.

A day before the time comes for him to leave, he tells me that he "doesn't want to leave me". I got so fucking mad, I saw red. You have to understand how frustrating this shit truly is. Then he finds out this company pays $20 a hour, and yes he WILL have to have a room mate. Greatttttt! He tells me he can get the job back with the other company. I didn't believe that, and I told him he needed to go to the tree job.

He agreed, so the time comes for him to leave. I go to the store to get him a few things for his travels. He messages me when I get to the store, and tells me he's told the boss he's not leaving for the tree job. He messaged his job that he did the no call no show at, and they said they'd give him ONE MORE CHANCE.

Okay, I didn't bitch about it none. I just said okay, I trust you.

He goes back to the good paying job. Works a week, and now this week he worked one day, went the next day and worked about a hour and come home. Then today, he quit. Did another no call no show. Great job! He still hasn't provided me with a reason as to WHY THE FUCK he's done this shit.

I told him he needs to go see a fucking doctor because something is fucking wrong with him. He is 34 years old. He shouldn't be acting like this.

I don't expect anyone to fully take care of me. I am fully capable of doing it myself. It pisses me off however when a grown ass MAN thinks that a woman should take care of him, take care of everything, and then still be in a "womanly" role when she's in the bedroom. Fuckkkkkk noooooooo. You put me in a mans role, and I'm going to be in that mentality. Sorry, I don't want to fuck you when I'm taking care of every damn thing there is to take care of. You're like my child at that point anyway, and who wants to touch their son in that way? Get what I am SAYING??????

It makes me the most mad b/c when he quits like this, doesn't prepare, doesn't have any money saved, doesn't have any resources, nothing. What does he do? He expects me to take care of everything. With no job, and I do it. I am getting sick of doing it tho. It's a lot easier to do everything myself on my own. Without a man child hanging on to my tit. He has a mother. She won't take care of him either, but I'll tell him this. That is where he will be going if he doesn't provide a source of income for HIMSELF asap.

Am I wrong for feeling this way? Idk!

#dear diary #diary #journal

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moinsbienquekaworu · 27 days ago

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I was not expecting such enthusiasm but I'm glad you like the idea too!!

I'm actually a bit of a 'what kind of a normal guy can I make that still fits with my aesthetic sensibilities' person, so I tend to make Some Guy. I love Just Some Guy™s very much... but by virtue of making a guy up for a grand story they have to end up more of a specialest boy :'). I do think making up a guy who would have the hardest time possible is a great guy-making-up philosophy though, I'm sure that leads to super interesting stuff.

For your viewing pleasure: the sillies!! So you have a better idea of who I'm talking about 😌

I'm not usually particularly into body-swapping, it's fun when I stumble upon it but it does not particularly live rent free in my head as a trope. But these two... They're really not doing the same thing, and they're not really the same person that much, but I made them with similar sensibilities and I played the games they exist within for similar reasons, and so they're similar facets of me. And of course all the characters I make that are facets of me should know about each other in some way or universe, because this is how I have fun.

Honestly I'm not particularly meaning to make it a story, it's what I think about to fall asleep to pleasant thoughts, and so when I was first thinking of it I fully imagined both of them would come out and just say "hi I can tell you like whoever I'm supposed to be so you should know, that's not me!". They're from universes with magic and they're friends with wizards and such, both of them could probably come out and say that, people would believe them and also be able to suggest solutions. (and they would have different eyes because I Think It's Cool - Constant's black sclera with Solaros' purple and pink irises) But now that you mention it, it doesn't have to be like that 🤔

I think it would be fun if they both independently decided to run with it. I imagine the first instance of it happening would be early-ish into the game, so I'm putting it after the grove party (which of course Constant helped save and not destroy, I couldn't just get the tieflings killed) and after recruiting everyone at the lighthouse and choosing to prioritize one of two cities during simultaneous bad guy attacks (Solaros went to Treviso because um. Well I want to romance Lucanis. Sorry Neve and Minrathous, it's not that we don't like you, we feel very bad about it).

So on one hand there's Constant, who want to be dependable and reliable and is willing to lie a little if it'll help the people they care about (think parents softening up bad news for kids), in a position where a few people are counting on whoever they are in difficult and upsetting circumstances; and on the other there's Solaros, who cares about saving people a lot and just had to make a choice with no good answer, in the shoes of someone's who's on a comparatively cute little quest. I figure Constant would try to pretend a little because clearly these guys don't need another problem, and only bring it up after a little while if it looks like they're stuck like that with no solution, and Solaros would resolve to take maybe a day of not having to save the world immediately and then try to figure out a way to get back (he's not going to abandon his companions, but you can't keep going forward unflinchingly all the time).

I think what would arouse the most suspicions beyond the classics like not answering to a different name or not remembering events they weren't here for is their combat styles. Constant is a land druid (maybe stars druid on a replay 👀) and Solaros is a mage I play mainly orb and dagger because that's what I think is fun to play, and those aren't diametrically opposed but they also don't really work the same. I think it would throw the BG3 companions for a loop if Constant, who's never used anything but a quarterstaff, switched out to a dagger for the day and struggled to cast spells, and same thing for the Veilguard companions if Solaros kept saying incantations when he neither needs to nor has ever done it before. Also opens up a path for them to realize it was mutual when their respective companions ask them about the weird way they fought yesterday that they aren't sticking with today... !

As a last addition (because I could keep going for a while on minute little details) here's the things they both do the same without realizing and that would unknowingly help sell the ruse: Solaros doesn't always ask dozens of questions like Constant but he does like to know what's up, and they both prefer talking their way out of trouble (and they both tend to manage it when the game gives you the opportunity). They both spend time with their companions on a story level (and not just mechanically to get quests! I have a whole list of what kind of things Constant does with their companions and I'll have to think of stuff for Solaros once I get to know the Veilguard companions better). If someone important tries to start shit with them they just stand their ground but if it's with their companions they'll let them handle it but also like. It's on sight. And I think they both like tea :) (Solaros canonically because you get to say that in the game, Constant because he likes plants)

ANYWAY so I like my characters a normal amount 😌 once again thanks for encouraging and listening to the OC show and tell!!

Hello, mutual reporting in for "doing whatever they want to you" duty 🫡 what I want to do tonight is tell you about my specialest little guy main characters I made for two video games 😌

On one hand we have Constant, my BG3 Tav, tiefling druid who likes being there for people, predictability and routine, and is very curious. On the other hand we have Solaros, my DA:tV Rook, an elven mage who's still Becoming Someone because we're like three quests and maybe 10h into the game, but who's shaping up to be a bit of a freak who prefers talking things through before getting into a fight and gets snarky when he maybe shouldn't. And they were both made with "what is coolest to me" as their main design criteria, as is the tradition when making my first character in a video game where you can make your guy (this means yellow-orange-y tiefling for Constant, pink and purple heterochromia elf for Solaros, and magic users for both)

Knowing this about them, I will set the scene that I've been daydreaming about for a few days on and off: imagine you are Some Guy who was just chilling at home, but then you get kidnapped by aliens and now you're on a quest to not turn into a weird tentacled alien, and also help some people along the way, because apparently you and the like six weirdos you're friends (??) with are adventurers now. And so you're about to go explore an abandoned temple, or a cave, or free a kid from harpies, whatever, and you got to bed after a quiet evening getting to know your travelling companions. And then you wake up, and you aren't in your tent, you're in a bedroom you've never seen, and you look like an elf with strange scars on your face, and when you get out of that room there's strangers sitting around a table talking strategy, and they and call you by a name you've never gone by, and act like they know you, and look up to you to lead them, but you've never met them.

Imagine you're from a race widely enslaved, but you were rediscovering your ancient magical culture up until last year, where you got recruited to help prevent one of your ancient gods (who's also some guy?) from messing with the fabric of reality, before succeeding but not 100%, and now you're recruiting people from all over the world to help with killing a few gods to maintain the fabric of reality. And so you're about to go make some headway on stopping the gods from fucking up the whole world, and you go to bed after a nice dinner where you talk about silly stuff with your new buddies, to get to know each other. And then you wake up, and you've got horns and a tail, and you're in a tent in a camp full of people who call you by a name you've never gone by, and act like they know you, and look up to you to lead them, but you've never met them.

Anyway so I think they should have a Your Name-esque thing going on except they're mostly just buddies. Because on top of being protagonists who are running around with their half-dozen of kooky companions trying to fight god(s), they are actually kind of similar! Constant was presented with the singular deity ("deity"...) of an alien race one of his friends belongs to, and they waved to her, and Solaros would do the same. Solaros was told by a high military authority he was spreading dangerous rumors and that he'd be sent to prison, and he went "um, no", and Constant also would "nuh-huh" someone like that.

Also they have the same taste in men (because I romanced my favorite companion with them both and I have a specific type in men. That type is "I can fix him", rogue type, traumatic past, acespec, "there are many straight women who want them to be daddy doms but I think they should get a hug and a blanket". Y'know, Astarion and Lucanis) And they're both not cis (Veilguard lets you do that!! meaningfully!! I'm roleplaying a trans guy!! in the game!! not just cosmetic top surgery!! he's talking about it in dialogue!!!). They should have weird bodyswapping shenanigans going on for a while and then they should be buddies, is my point.

Anyway so hi, hello, that was the pilot episode of me doing whatever I want to you. Tune in next time if we get the green light for... well, I can offer more OCs, or media opinions, or a doodle or two, or you can start on a specific topic if you'd like. Bye bye, a good timezone to you, and thanks for the space to type out my thoughts 😌

It's like reading a light novel, I want to steal your people and ideas now! I've got no experience in Dragon Age and I've played maybe a couple hours of BG3 at most, but it all sounds absolutely fascinating!

Obviously, every OC, especially game OCs, should follow the "what's coolest to me" rules. I usually go for whichever person would experience the most struggle in any given setting myself, and I love making characters extreme underdogs that have to rely on unconventional methods of achieving their solutions.

I love body swapping stuff, especially when the people don't know each other. I don't know why but it has always had a major appeal to me (probably because of memory loss or something idk) so I really really like the direction you're taking this story. Especially with people that act just similar enough that their peers wouldn't fully believe that they weren't just having an off day. The more I think about your story, the more I start to get in the mindset, it sounds awesome and like it'd be full of metaphors and that it'd make a great piece of written or spoken work, I'm in love <3333

Please continue to share anything and everything, I think it's all so fascinating and amazing and I want it injected into my bones <3333

#i Will be thinking about this more #wow i have an ocs tag now #wow i have a ramble tag now

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hellfireclubpres · 2 years ago

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Sex On Fire | Chapter 1 - Operation Catch A Freak

late to hellfire? | it all starts here

Steve Harrington was never one to openly go out of his way to make fun of somebody. Granted, birds of a feather flock together, but Steve always stayed out of it when Tommy H. or Chris T. went above and beyond to humiliate the members of Hellfire. Especially their fearless leader, Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. Steve would stay back as he watched the two boys harassed the long haired kid, always unprovoked might I add, but made sure to flash him a sympathetic look when the harassment was over. So here they were, sitting at their lunch table as they eyed up the members of the D&D group, sitting a few tables over.

"Don't be a baby Harrington, do it, c'mon, it'll be funny!" Chris spoke energetically to the boy beside him, nudging Steve with his elbow. Steve glanced over his shoulder, eyeballing the teen, engulfed in a conversation with his club members, enthusiastically moving his arms about as he spoke.

Steve was a year younger than Eddie, though you'd never know given Eddie was a super senior at this point. He had been repeating senior year his first time, failing due to his attendance the year before. Eddie didn't care much for school. He'd skip most of the week, maybe showing up 4 of the 5 days, making sure to show up on Fridays, having to at least make an appearance so he'd be allowed to use the theater for his group of misfits and losers to play their weekly campaign. Nobody at Hawkins liked Eddie Munson, especially the group of "My daddy's got money" kids Steve surrounded himself with. The kids Steve hung around also didn't care too much for Steve either. Most days he was okay, they'd tell one another, some days it was like Steve was playing a saint. Making sure to never indulge in the groups bullying sessions. Steve wanted nothing more than to be the guy in school. The one everyone looked up to. The kind of guy girls wanted to be with and guys wanted to be like and he couldn't do that if he terrorized those less popular than himself, he thought. But playing saint was starting to backfire on the swim team member, so when Tommy H leaned into Steve's ear, talking about how cool he'd be if he fucked with the freak, Steve was game.

“Make him think he's one of us Harrington, make the freak think he stands a chance.”

Did Steve think it was a good idea? Absolutely not. Steve wanted nothing more than to pass up on this new hazing tactic his group of so called friends created. He wanted people to like him for, well, him. Not for somebody he wasn't. But with the constant pestering of his popular 'friends', he found himself acting on getting friendly with Eddie. Or as Steve's table called it -

Operation Catch A Freak

It started out slow, little things that those around the school wouldn't notice, but Eddie surely did. If they walked by one another in the halls, rather than advert his attention anywhere else, Steve actually smiled in his direction. His eyes locking onto Eddie's, even giving him a small wave as he passed by. Eddie noticed the strange behavior as well, though he wasn't as accepting at the new found friendliness of Steve Harrington as Steve thought he would. More often than not, Eddie would shoot him a confused look, brows furrowing, hitching upwards while his lips curled a bit. Or even going as far as turning his head behind himself, looking for who Harrington was actually waving to, only to be thrown through a loop when Carol or Tommy wasn't behind him. Eddie would normally brush it off, continuing his way to his next class, but the thought of it lingered in his mind and the more it happened, the more Eddie couldn't shake the thought of it.

Things grew even weirder for Eddie. Noticing that whenever they had to pick people for basketball teams in gym class, Steve would pick him, well before he was one of the last choices. And actually passed him the ball? Normally once Eddie was added to the team, he was more of a side line player but with Steve's plan in full swing, Eddie was passed the ball from Steve on more than one occasion. Eddie now finding it in himself to shoot the ball into the basket, when he inevitably missed, the rest of the team groaned, most collectively laughing at him as always. But given Steve's attempt at building his fake friendship with Munson, he'd pass by Eddie with a sublet "Good try, man" or even a, "You're getting better, you been practicing?" Class would finally come to a end. The boys finding themselves heading into the locker room and when Eddie found himself alone at his locker, Steve would be leaving, flashing him a smile as he'd throw another encouraging "You did good out there, Munson." His way before leaving the gym.

Eddie joined his fellow club members at the table in the lunch room, checking over his shoulder every few minutes, almost as though somebody were watching him. "He's been, nice to me, even fucking talking to me.. its freaking me the fuck out man!" Eddie wrapped his arms around himself as he sat down in his seat, eyes darting left to right quickly.

"Are you sure Harrington's talking to you, like is he actually making eye contact with you and like, saying words?" Gareth asked, taking another large sip of his Dr. Pepper. Eddie rolled his eyes, pulling the small group of D&D players into his circle, keeping his voice low.

"Dude on multiple occasions now.. He's going out of his way to talk to me, hell even being nice to me!" Eddie looked around the table, appearing paranoid as he continued, "Maybe, that's not really Harrington, maybe.. maybe he was uh," Eddie snapped his fingers, looking for the right words to say before Jeff chimed in, "Maybe he was abducted by aliens and replaced with a body double!" Eddie clapped his hands, pointing to Jeff as he agreed, nodding franticly. Gareth sat in confusion as his fellow club members continued to go on about the wild conspiracy. "Okay but like if they did take him, what would be the reason for it?" Jeff asked, now popping a pretzel into his mouth, chewing it slowly. Eddie shook his head, staring off into space as he ran his thumb over his bottom lip, "I don't know man.. maybe they wanna know how he does his hair." Eddie shrugged, giving a dramatic look to Jeff. "Look man, I don't buy that shit one bit, maybe he's just turning a new leaf? Trying to not be a total dick for once in his life!" Gareth threw his hands up as he shrugged, offering his possibility to the two boys in front of him. Both very much so wrapped up in the thought of aliens questioning Harrington about what hairspray he uses.

"Anyway, are we still good for tonight?" Eddie, too wrapped up in his thoughts, shook his head before adjusting his attention to the boy staring back at him.

"Uh tonight? Shit movie night, fuck I didn't get the mo-" Gareth cut Eddie off, rolling his eyes as he slammed his hand down on the table.

"Dude it's your turn to pick it out! We talked about this last week, maybe if somebody bothered to answer their phone once in a while.." Between Eddie's odd sleep schedule due to the drug dealing job he had and the out right sleeping issues he'd developed due to his childhood, once Eddie was able to sleep, he slept through just about anything. Loud children who played near the park of Forest Hills, the occasional thunderstorm that rolled through Hawkins from time to time, and yes, even Gareth's calls to the house phone.

Eddie popped a pretzel into his mouth, his hand shooting upwards between him and his friend, palm facing the boy as if to silence him, "Yeah, yeah I know, look I'll stop by the video store on my way over, pretty sure they don't close till what? 11 on Thursdays?" Eddie shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side as he watched Gareth's demeanor change, relaxing his shoulders as he shook his head, busying himself with his own lunch. Eddie chased his eyes, dipping down a bit, trying to get his attention, "Is that good enough for you, Mom?" Eddie asked, a small grin sliding across his face as he sat back, Gareth scoffed, sending relief through Eddie.

Dustin looked up from his lunch, his brows creasing slightly as he moved his attention to Eddie who was more a little more relaxed than he had been, "Uh, not to put you on edge or anything Eddie, but Steve works at a video store." Eddie's eyes darted up from his lunch, taking in the nonchalant look Dustin was giving him, shrugging as if Steve working at a local store wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, which for Dustin, it wasn't. Eddie shifted in his seat a bit, looking around the lunch room as he leaned closer to the freshman across the table. The rest of the table leaned in as well, not wanting to miss what Eddie had to say.

"Which one Henderson?" Eddie asked Dustin, sending him a sickening sweet smile his way, folding his hands as he placed them under his chin, batting his eyes at the younger boy. The rest of the group smiled, looking at one another as though they'd seen Eddie do this before, and to tell you the truth, they had.

"I'm not 100% sure but I know he works at one in-" Eddie rose from his seat, pushing his chair back a bit as he stood at the head of the table, slowly making his way to the younger kids, he leaned down between the two, snaking an arm around their shoulders. Eddie began by flashing a smile towards Mike, though he stayed quiet during the encounter, he knew all to well about his sisters relationship with the jock, he must know something, anything about him. Eddie swiftly pulled the boys up from their seats back the back collar of their shirts, standing them up and pulling them away in one quick motion. Pulling them away from the table where they once sat at, Eddie began walking with them to the center of the lunch room, leaning forward in between the two freshman as he spoke quietly.

"I never ask much of you two right?" Eddie began, eyeing up random kids around the lunch room who found their eyes landing on the freak.

"Maybe at most, to find a sub when Wheeler's mommy says he can't come play with the big kids." Eddie laughed at his own joke, turning his head to Dustin, pulling a nervous laugh from his as he looked past Eddie to see Mike. His expression twisting from anxiety to a nervous laugh as well when he'd notice Eddie look at him now. In another quick motion, Eddie swing the two boys around, twisting them to now face the super senior, hands still firmly placed on their shoulders. Shifting his eyes from one kid the other, Eddie snapped out orders at the two of them.

"Now I know you little twerps are good at figuring shit out, yeah?" Eddie looked at the two of them, both nodding frantically as to not upset their dungeon master.

"Good, good. Now, if you two wanna keep your spots at this table, hell in Hellfire, I suggest you find out where Harrington works, before the end of the school day. Good luck!" And with that, Eddie shoved the two freshman's on their way, leaving Eddie alone with the two upper class men. Gareth broke the silence first, placing both his hands down on the table.

"Eds, did you really think threatening them was necessary? They're just kids du-" Eddie's eyes darted towards Gareth, his dark expression doing nothing to his bestfriend.

Gareth was Eddie's first friend when he moved to Hawkins back in 7th grade. Gareth was an easy target for most of the bullies at Hawkins Middle School, given his small stature and soft spoken voice that had followed him to high school, when he'd come home with a black eye or to class with torn up homework, nobody was surprised to say the least. Luckily, when Eddie came into the picture, the physical end of the bullying stopped. Though Eddie wasn't known for winning fights, he sure as hell wasn't scared of getting into them, or the repercussions of said fights. Making his relationship with Chief Jim Hopper, grow not so fondly.

"Again Munson?" Hopper would ask, his hand on the back of his neck as he walked him to his cruiser. Eddie shuffled his way to the cop car, the rest of the school watching but shortly dissipating as this was a monthly occurrence. "Yeah I know, can we not do the cuffs this time? Powell used them last time and I still have the marks on my wrists from them, look!" He expressed, pulling his sleeve up to show the officer his bruised wrists, taking note of the old burn scars that littered his arms, knowing the back story of those ones a little too well. Hopper shoved his arms down roughly, holding them behind Eddie back as he winced out in discomfort. "Damn kid, can you at least act like you're under arrest, Jesus Christ." Hopper muttered in his ear, shoving Eddie lightly in the back of his cruiser.

Eddie shook the memory away, regaining focus on Gareth who'd been staring at him with a confused look on his face.

Eddie looked down at his lunch, sifting through the bag of pretzels he ate, looking for the right one. Leaning toward Gareth, he whispered, "Please don't call me that in school.. I've asked you before." Gareth rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat to face Eddie. Popping a pretzel into his mouth, Eddie continued, "Besides, I'm not really gonna kick them out of Hellfire, cause of..him" Eddie gesture his hand to the table of jocks that seat near by, his eyes following afterwards. His eyes widened, Gareth joined his stare with a quick turn as his head, almost getting whiplash. "Shit!" Gareth let out, turning back around to Eddie, his jaw slightly ajar.

"Got a fucking staring problem, freaks?" Tommy H shouted from his table, standing up from his seat. Eddie looked at Gareth, who now had his back to the jock, eyes locked onto Eddie.

"Don't try to be a hero Eds, just let him be.." Gareth whispered, Jeff nodding frantically, agree with the boy to his left. Shifting his vision from Gareth back to the table of jocks, Eddie lost sight of Tommy, only to find it at the end of the Hellfire Club table, across from where Eddie sat.

"Staring problem and deaf? Cause I know for a fact you didn't just ignore me Munson." Tommy snarled from the head of the table, slamming his hands down. Gareth jumped in his seat at the quick motion, twisting his head down to Tommy. "No ones ignoring you man, just fuck off okay? No one was stari-" Tommy lifted his finger, as if to shush Gareth. "Last time I checked, I wasn't talking to you fag, I was speaking to your boyfriend over there." He pointed to Eddie, shifting his eyes back to the boy at the head of the table. Eddie quickly stood up, pushing his chair away with a screech is it slid across the floor.

Eddie took a lot of shit from bullies. A lot of shit. But one thing he couldn't handle, no matter how hard he tried to suppress his anger, was being picked on for something as personal as his sexuality. Luckily, the only person who knew about Eddie's secret was Gareth, swearing he'd take it to the grave with him. Eddie trusted him with his life. He'd been the only person to know all of Eddie, the good and the bad. Especially when he lived with his when he first moved to Hawkins.

"Eds, it's like a hundred degrees out dude, just take the jacket off man." Gareth begged as they sat in the small rancher that had been Gareth's house. They'd just finished up lunch, running back into his garage which, as you could guess, didn't have AC. Sitting behind the drum set he was gifted for Christmas the year before, Gareth held the sticks in his hands, arms crossed. "Dude we aren't playing until you lose some layers, you're gonna die of heat stroke!" Gareth snapped. Eddie held the cuff of the jacket in his hand, praying to something, anything that he could just sink into it, disappear. Gareth stood up from the stool, rushing over to Eddie before unzipping his jacket. "NO!" Eddie shouted, shoving Gareth away, causing him to crash into the drum set behind him. With a loud crash, the garage door opened quickly, in the doorway was Mrs. Richards, frantically coming to make sure the two boys were okay. They had been known to rough house around the Richard's residence, but this time, things sounded a bit out of hand. "Gareth! Eddie! How many time have I told you be-" Gareth finally came into view, laying down in a tangle mess of his drum set as Eddie stood in front of him, eyes widened. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to-" Eddie began, his lip quivering as he spewed apology after apology. "Mom tell him to take his jacket off! It's too hot for him to wear one out here! he's gonna get sick!" Gareth shouted from the ground, slowly getting up to join his mother standing a few feet in front of Eddie. Gareths' Mom's brows furrowed, looking nervously at Eddie as she flashed a sheepish smile, "Gareth's right Eddie.. It's way too hot out for that jacket sweetheart, here." Mrs. Richard's leaned toward Eddie, attempting to take this jacket zipper in her hands behind he pulled away quickly, tears welling up in his eyes has he did so. "Eddie.." Mrs. Richards grabbed Eddie by the shoulders, lightly, tilting her had in confusion. Eddie gave in, dropping his head down as she unzipped his jacket, sliding it down to expose the torn fabric of a shirt that had been two sizes too big for him. Finally pulling the jacket from his body, Gareth's mother was faced with the nightmare she'd been fearing for the last 5 minutes. Bruises and what appeared to be burn makes littered his arms. She held his arms lightly in her hands, making sure not to touch any of the marks they sure knew were probably sore. That day was the first time Chief Hopper was called on Eddie and he didn't leave in cuffs. That day was the last time he'd seen his parents.

Eddie shook himself out of his head once more, only to find his shirt balled in the first of Tommy H. "Gonna speak freak!" Eddie looked at the bully before him, looking down at his mouth then back at his eyes, an evil grin dotting his face.

"Honestly Tommy, I didn't know you had the brain power to speak, thought it was just a bunch of rocks bangin' around in there.." Eddie tapped the side of his head. Tommy balled his free hand into a fist, holding it up in the air. Without time to prepare for impact, Eddie was met with the fist of Tommy, splitting is lip open. Eddie kept his head to the side, bracing himself for another shot. Instead of a fist, he was greeted with hand between himself and the bully, pushing lightly on the ladders chest.

“That's enough Tommy.. I think he gets it." Steve spoke softly, keeping his eyes locked onto the bully. Tommy looked at Steve, vision flicked back to Eddie before narrowing his eyes on the freak. Tommy released Eddie shirt, not without a little shove before walking away mumbling under his breathe. "Guess Harrington here is a your little savor.." Eddie fixed his shirt, brushing himself off before noticing Steve still standing in front of him.

"You okay, Munson? I'm sorry I couldn't get here so-" Eddie looked up at Steve, an amused look as his face, blood dripping from his split lip. "Yeah Harrington, I'm good." Eddie turned back to his table, walking away when Steve continued, "I don't know why he does that ya know maybe he-" Eddie turned back to Steve, wiping away the blood trickling down his chin with his sleeve.

"Look, I don't need a reason as to why Tommy's a dick, been dealing with his anger issues for a while now," Eddie confessed, walking a little closer to Steve. Shoving a finger against his chest, Eddie continued, "I certainly don't need 'Pretty Boy Harrington' to come in and play protector, I can take care of myself." Eddie finished, walking back to his lunch table, collecting his belongings before taking off through the double doors of the lunchroom, eventually making his way out to his van.

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#steve harrington #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie #st4 #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie my beloved #stranger things season 4 #enemies to friends trope #enemies to lovers #strangerthingsplaylist #strangerthings #melfictions

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disasterlesbiansunite · 4 years ago

Text

Just Two Things: A Young Royals Fix-It Fic

His mama had stood over him as she began talking. Wilhelm could hardly focus; the vision of the video (his video, his and Simon’s video, the video of Simon) burned into his brain on a constant loop. She hadn't asked him if he was alright, not yet, but he had stopped expecting her to early on in life. Duty first, he guessed, as usual. She pulled away and off the bed, rattled off the words about the interview he’ll do to protect the royal family et cetera, et cetera.

“I don’t want you to see Simon for the time being,” she said, and he glanced up, suddenly feeling like his world is fell away underneath him. He wished Erik were here, that Erik was still alive. If he were, then maybe this would all go away. He doubted any of it could now.

August brought him dinner that night when he’s too exhausted to even leave his bed. He said that Erik would want Wille to be himself - but how is August so sure of what Erik would want him to do to fix this, to just get this whole shitshow over with, when the only person who knows that is six feet under.

“Follow your heart, really.” August said. “Follow your heart.”

If anything his heart only thought of two things at the moment. One is the crumpled up rage he feels that’s been broiling under his skin since he saw the video; the screaming, panicked wild thing that wants to shout at the world and watch it shouts back until no part of him remains, no crown prince, nothing.

The other part of his brain thought of Simon. Holding him, soft and warm until his skin, kissing his neck and inhaling as much of him as possible. Kissing him, kissing Simon, an exhilarating feeling he can’t describe, he won’t ever be able to describe. Almost all of the girls he had kissed had kissed gently and slowly, like they were afraid he would disappear right next to them. It always felt like he was being kissed by air, a ghostly possession that was over in a second and just as uncomfortable.

He would have thought that Simon would kiss like that, he had thought Simon would kiss like that, Simon had kissed like that, before they really truly got to know one another. Now, Simon kissed hard and rough, like he knew Wilhelm wouldn’t disappear but just as quick, aware he couldn’t have him by himself ever. Simon’s kiss had the edge of sandpaper, tough grit and fine smoothness rolled into one. Simon kissed for the sake of it, like there was so much he wanted to do to Wille, do with Wille, that he simply couldn’t function enough to do anything but kiss him. Wille fell asleep soon after that, dinner discarded. He wondered if the last time they would ever kiss would be the time that caused both of him to want to recoil from society and away from the world. A part of him hoped so.

The nail on his thumb was raw and bleeding.

As he walked through Hillerska, everyone stared at him in pity. He was used to the stares, used to the way his simple presence shut up people around until all they could do was give him a dumb look. It was pity that was new to him, but he tried not to focus on that as Malin rushed with him to his first class of the day. He knew the things they were saying, drove himself insane as he googled himself over and over again, watching Sweden’s trending page unravel until it felt like it was all over. He watched as Simon walked into their classroom, turning heads for once in his life. Once except for the amount of times he had his, of course. He mindlessly made small talk with his classmate, but all he could think of were two things.

After class he rushed into the locker room to talk to Simon. He looked sullen, his features that were generally framed in a light source of their own were moody and dark, an awkward, ill fitting portrait. He wanted to kiss it all away. Instead, kicked at Simon’s foot, hooking the two into a game of footsie.

“What the hell are we going to do?” Simon asked, wrapping his hands around Wilhelm’s, as if he had any of the answers. Breaking news, he didn’t. All he could do was sit in silence and hold Simon, it felt like the only thing he could do. Unless…

“They’ve asked me to deny it was me in that video.” He could barely get the words out.

“Serious?”

Wille hummed, unable to interpret that reaction. “They want me to make a statement at the castle on Saturday.”

Simon turned, his head moving off of Wille's shoulder in a way that feels entirely unwelcome. Put that back please. Wille had realized that he could only really function anymore in Simon’s arms. As if he wasn’t touch starved enough, but Simon was hot and didn’t mind so it didn’t really matter. “But you’re not going to do it, right?”

“I don’t want to say anything.” Simon doesn’t get it, but Wilhelm doesn’t expect him too; too impossible to explain.

“But, Wille, everyone can see that it’s me in that video,” Wille groaned. He had forgotten that slightly important detail. Simon continued, “What am I supposed to do? But no matter what, they can’t dictate what you say,” Yes, they absolutely can, they’ve done it before.

We haven’t done anything wrong.” He had forgotten that too, spending so much time yesterday going over consequences and contingencies ranging from plan A to Z it made his head bled. But no one had actually told him that they hadn’t done anything wrong. Not even August, with his love is love attitude that came out of nowhere. Not even fucking him.

Mama had been waiting for him. Mama had met Simon. She never looked twice at Wilhelm, veiled disdain souring her mouth as she stared out the window.

“What? Why can’t I just have a relationship with him? And not say anything. Just live a normal life.” He knows why. He just wants to hear her say it.

“You’re the crown prince.” And there’s the world crashing back down onto him. “And that’s a privilege, not a punishment.” It’s both actually, but whatever, mama.

“Yes, but I didn’t ask for this!” Erik should be here. Erik would know what to do.

“Well, nobody has ever, ever asked for this,” his mama shot back. He feels like a little kid again, feels like biting his thumb raw. “You’re the only one who can take over the throne after Erik. Don’t you understand that?” He wished she would just look at him.

“You’re so young. When you’re young love feels like the most important thing in the world. When I was your age, I too had an unfortunate romance.” He wants to laugh or cry or release that panicked, clawed, anxious feeling that’s always been trapped underneath his chest, beating his heart faster and faster and faster. Unfortunate romance, she said, like Simon isn’t the best thing to happen to him, like Simon wasn’t the only one holding him together, like Simon wasn’t the only real thing in his world.

He snapped back into the conversation.“Is it worth it,” she continued. “If you feel that the attention you’ve been getting so far is unacceptable, it’s nothing compared to what you will endure for the rest of your life. We have a chance to cover this up. I urge you to take this chance. You may not get another.”

With Simon on one shoulder, and his mama and the world on the other, it turns out he was going to make the statement after all. Fucking great.

He felt like throwing up, but, to be fair, when hasn’t he.

“Are you ready?” His mama asked, like he could ever be ready to announce to the world, no that definitely was not me in that tape and that boy is definitely not the love of my life, thank you very much.

He dragged his feet, as he went into the room where Rosenqvists sits. Like Mama said, they only have one chance to not fuck this up.

Rosenqvist smiles at Wilhelm, her eyes hawkish. He musters as much of a smile as he can, playing with the buttons on his suit as the photographer directs the two around.

“It’s good to see you again, your highness.”

His eyes darted around the room. He could hear his mama and papa argue in the room they were in

“You too.”

The interview began then, menial questions about his existence that made him want to bite at his thumb. He resisted, knew that if Rosenqvist saw how his anxiety was surging through him like a freight train and mentioned it in her interview, his mama would be more angry then she already was. The questions are simple really, he barely thought about the answers and more about how Erik would have phrased them. Not like Erik would have been in this situation.

“So, Wilhelm, we both know why we’re here.” She smiled apologetically at him. Here we go. “As you are, no doubt, aware of by now there was a video from Hillerska that is going viral of what is rumored to be yourself and another male student,” she paused for a moment, uncomfortable with the what she’s about to say to a boy she’d been interviewing for most of his life, “being intimate. What do you have to say about these rumors, Crown Prince Wilhelm?” She’s less probing, then. He can tell his mom already prepped her on how exactly this interview needed to go. Fuck.

“That’s not-” his words got stuck in his throat.

“That’s not you in the video?” She filled, looking more and more saddened with each word, more maternal that he thinks he’s seen anyone in his entire life. He wanted to nod, wanted to do what his mama wanted for him, wanted to listen to what she feels is best for their country, because it is theirs now, isn’t it? Erik is dead and gone and never coming back no matter how much Wilhelm wishes he had been able to keep him alive. Wilhelm doesn’t exactly know much about what it takes to be king, not like Erik did, but he’s pretty sure a leaked tape is one thing a king is not supposed to have on his record. Wilhelm should want to deny the rumors, so why does it feel like every time he tries to open his mouth that it’s filled with cotton, that panicked wild thing grabbing hold of his brain and shaking it like his snowglobe. It’s begging him to choose the path of least resistance. And then there was Simon. Simon with his pretty soft voice and his even softer lips. Simon with his kind eyes and hands and just Simon, Simon, Simon. Simon, who has already been broken by the video and if Wilhelm denies their relationship then he’ll only break more. The only things he can think about. Just two things. Two things he can’t seem to choose between.

He took a deep breath. Erik would have wanted him to follow his heart, would have said that that would be how he becomes a great king. By being kind and good, and wholly himself.

He chose.

Simon’s mama shouts for a rematch as he laughed into his snack.

Ayub tensed next to him, “Oh, shit.”

“What’s up?” Simon asked, confused. Did his dad ask him to go home or something?

Instead, Ayub read from his phone: an online copy of this week’s Göteborgs-Posten screenshotted and reposted to Twitter. “The Crown Prince addresses rumors of Viral Video.”

“What?” He could have sworn Willie had said he wouldn’t do the interview. His mom and Sara exchange glances.

Ayub read on, “While the Royal Court denies rumors that the Crown Prince appears in the video that has gone viral this past week, his royal highness Prince Wilhelm goes more in depth on his time at Hillerska and the events surrounding the video. He says, ‘I started at Hillerska to focus on my studies and have kept to that.’ At this moment, the prince pauses and grows quiet.

‘That’s not the entire truth. The truth is that that is me in the video. I do not know who took it or why but the facts remain the same. There are many people who would want me to not address the rumors surrounding me at this time, and some even would want me to outright deny them, but I disagree. If I am to be king, and no matter what happens from this I will be king, I want to be the kind of king the people can be proud of, the kind of king my brother would have been, and the kind of king that if he saw me he’d be proud of. And that starts by being genuine and being myself to the citizens of Sweden and to the world.’ ‘Everyone should be allowed to live as gay or straight or whatever they want,’ says the Crown Prince. ‘And I suppose the former includes me, but I would still like this time to decide further who I am and what kind of king I will be.’”

Simon is stunned. Of all things, he didn’t think of this as even an option. He fishes his phone out of his pocket.

To Wille: just read the interview, what. the. fuck.

From Wille: Is that a good “what. the. fuck!!!” or a “bad what. the. fuck?!?”

To Wille: you’re so brave, wille, thank you

To Wille: also according to ayub youre trending as “gay king wilhelm” on twitter rn

From Wille: Fuck yeah, bow down to your king. Meet me before school starts tomorrow, courtyard?

To Wille: see you then, gay king willie

As Simon approached the school - having already been stopped by four journalists, three photographers, two nosy neighbors and one blogger - he could see as Wille nervously paced at the edge of the courtyard, his hand rubbed deep into his chest, shirt creasing around it. Simon couldn't even begin to imagine what had happened in the palace after Wille’s interview. From what he saw the queen didn’t really strike him as the accepting type, but that was one of those things he’d let Wille discuss on his own time. He snuck up behind Wille instead, held his arms and kissed his neck.

“Hello, my prince,” he said and twirled Wille around and into his arms. Wille let out a little sigh of relief and if he could have held Willie there for forever he would. Wille smiles at him and kisses him on the cheek.

“Can we just go one day Simon without having your weird relationship issues making a scene,” Sara huffed past and quickened her pace to the school. Simon hadn’t noticed the stares, it felt like everyone in the courtyard had been watching them from Felice to August to other boarders Simon couldn’t name, but that had definitely called him names. Simon can’t bring himself to care anymore.

“I’m so proud of you, Wille.” Wilhelm let out a little noise, the only amount of negative emotion that being schooled on refinement since before he could talk would allow. He grabbed at Simon’s coat and drew him in for a hug.

“I love you,” Wille said and suddenly Simon’s whole world had shrunk down to three words.

Wille quickly ended the hug and walked towards the school, his bodyguards following quick after. Simon speed walked up to him and grabbed his hand, “I love you too.” Wille broke out into that tiny golden smile Simon loved to tease out and grabbed Simon’s hand.

The stares followed but Simon didn’t care. “Just two things left,” he said, “Get through this last day before break and then find whoever took that video.”

“And then?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,”

Wille hummed and played with Simon’s as they settled at the doorway of their first class of the day, “You might want to work on your plans.”

“No, my plan only needs those two things.” Simon messied with Wilhelm’s hair and strolled into the classroom.

Wille followed after one hand fixing his hair, the other clutching at Simon’s hand, muttering, “Just two things?”

Just two things.

#if this is bad im sorry #young royals netflix #young royals #wilhelm x simon #fic writing #yes they are my comfort characters #after like two days #character study #myownfics

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years ago

Note

I just read your Riven fics and ommggg they are so good!! Idk if you are making a part three but I will definitely look out for it! I haven’t started the sly ones but I can’t wait!

Come back to me // part 2

Pairing: Riven x light!fairy

Breath caught in her throat, she felt her hands tremble as her eyes lingered on the envelope on her pillow. The handwriting is in the kind of black that speaks of nighttime dreaming. The letters are so typically Riven - messy and yet she could see the effort behind each and every word - To my Sunshine - .

It’s been a long time since he last wrote her a love note, far too long for her to truly remember what it said. She remembers how it made her feel - hopeful, elated, giddy. That’s all Riven needed to win her over - love notes he’d slip in her books whenever she wasn’t looking.

This time it felt different. The note brought anxiety, fear of what the envelope may hide inside. They barely speak nowadays and when they do, Riven is crude and too often she finds herself crying herself to sleep because of how convincing he is with his act. Sometimes she wonders if he’s acting at all or if that’s who he is with everyone but her and it makes her feel guilty. How can she still be questioning his loyalties?

Shaking her head, she releases a heavy sigh before her shaky fingers pry open the envelope. The paper inside is barely ink stained, a few words written for her aching heart.

“Still Your Asshole”

Chuckling, Y/N covers her mouth with an open palm, glancing at the door to make sure no one is nearby. It wasn’t a chuckle that seemed to stop as it turned into a cackle and that cackle turned into a sob. She didn’t know where the sobs came from, she just knew she couldn’t stop. As if the soul could bleed an ocean through the eyes, that was the enormity of her sobbing.

Screaming into her pillow, Y/N felt the rawness of her pain fully. It had revealed its ugly head and she couldn’t breathe.

Riven may be hers but he isn’t. It takes a moment, a single mistake for him to be uncovered by Rosalind or Beatrix and he’d be taken from her. She’d never get to run her fingers through his brown hair, she’d never get to kiss his lips again or feel his hand in hers. He’d never tease her again, he’d never write her a new note or insist she needs him to teach her to fight. All of it would be gone in a blink of any eye and the severity of that realization choked the light out of her, even if for a little while.

She can’t always be the Sunshine. Clouds will eventually clear, but she needs the little bit of darkness and the sweetness it brings. Even if she’s in pain, even if the sadness threatens to suffocate her, she craves it.

Riven makes her weak, he makes her vulnerable. She never dreamed she could care for a man like Riven, she certainly didn’t wish it, but she does. It’s more than caring for Riven, she’s way past that. Whatever wicked game he played to make her feel that way for him, it worked. She fell in love with Riven and now it’s consuming her.

Wiping her tears, she stashes the letter under her mattress before walking out in the sun. If she can’t be the light, she can at least get the warmth of another’s light.

She lays down on the damp grass, looking up at the sky. She looked at the sky like a man would look at a withered flower in which he no longer sees the beauty he plucked it for, thus destroying it.

This noble heart that beat only for the most tender of emotions had to be subjected to pain to learn the secret of life:

Love has to come at once, with thunder and lightning like a hurricane that wrecks havoc on your life, to shake you up and break the the heart like leaves off trees, to drag it into the abyss.

She’s in the abyss now.

“You can’t be here”, and then she hears his voice, pulling her away from the darkness. “Come on”, he whisper shouts as he takes her by the hands and helps her to her feet.

She’s a little dizzy, disoriented by the sudden change in position. His eyes are on her, his face inches away and yet she feels like they’re a thousand miles apart. She doesn’t fight him as he drags her to the greenhouse, closing the door quickly so no one would see them.

“I got your note”, she’s the first one to speak. Riven turns to her with a small smile only for it to fall when he truly looks at her - puffy, red eyes and dry lips aren’t easily mistakable.

He let out a slow controlled breath, “Is that why you cried?” Riven’s eyebrows furrow as he steps closer to her, his hands on his hips.

“I cried because I miss you!” She shouts, her fingers flickering alight and she knows she’s losing control. A shuddered breath passes her quivering lips, “I miss you and I’m worried about you and I hate you.” She says through gritted teeth and Riven can’t help but stumble back, confused.

“Me?” He raises his eyebrows, pointing his right index finger at himself, “What did I do?”

Scoffing, Y/N shakes her head. “YOU MADE ME LOVE YOU AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN HERE!” Covering her mouth, she turns away from him. She never told him that she loved him before and he never uttered anything close to it either. She feared looking at him and not have him say it back. After all, why would he?

“You love me?” Riven breathes out, still trying to collect himself. Crossing the distance between them, Riven wraps his arms around her. Pulling her back against his chest, he folds his hands over her abdomen. He’s holding on tightly, like she’s a dream he’s afraid to wake up from.

“You love me?” He repeats in a whisper. Knitting her eyebrows together, she frowns and bites into the soft flesh of the inside of her bottom lip as his lips brush her earlobe.

“Yes”, she leans her head back on his shoulder, relaxing in his arms.

“Good.” Riven whispers and she snaps out of it, slapping his hands until he lets go.

“Good?” She exclaims, her glare deadlier than a blade.

“Yeah?” Riven chuckles, scratching the back of his neck.

“I tell you I love you and all you have to say is good?” She deadpans, before throwing her hands in the air, “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah. It’s good, because I’ve been in love with you for about a year now and it’s good to know you finally feel the same way.” Riven shrugs, “But go on. I like it when you’re angry.”

Rolling her eyes, she playfully slaps his chest, “Don’t fucking do that to me!”

“Did you just say a swear word?” Riven’s eyes widen, a grin much wider making Y/N blush.

“You’re really going to nitpick at my language instead of kissing me now when we finally got a moment alone in months?” She raises an eyebrow, tapping her foot nervously.

“I’m actually running late”, Riven wets his lips and yet he doesn’t move away, but closer to Y/N. All he can taste is the cherry chapstick she wore the first time they kissed. That was on a constant loop inside his head.

“We could run?” Y/N tries, but Riven only shakes his head.

“I spent my whole life running. I can’t betray Sky like that. He’s my brother.”

Struggling to inhale, Y/N whispers, “And what am I to you?”

“The love of my life.” Riven blurts out without a second thought as his hands cups her cheeks, “You’re the only reason why I’m never going to give up.”

“You’re saying all the right words and my heart still hurts”, she sniffles, hoping she doesn’t cry again. She’s had enough of crying for a lifetime.

“I wish I could make it better, I do.” Closing his eyes, Riven leans his forehead on hers, “I love you with all I am. With all I’ll ever be.” Drawing in a sharp inhale, he holds his breath for a moment to stop tears from forming. “If I were a better man, I’d have let you go.”

“Don’t be the better man”, she croaks, her fingers curling his hair at the back of his head. “Be the bad guy. Just be mine.” And she kissed him. With a devastating sweetness, an innocence - as if this were the first time. Strong fingers curved about her jaw and warmth seeped into her bones, her skin, her soul.

The lips held to hers, reassuringly alive. Riven had reassured her by the strength of his arms surrounding her and the steady wilderness in his chest, beat of a heart not her own.

She was no longer alone in misery. Someone was there, keeping her warm, holding the memories at bay and dangers of the world could no longer get to her. Her lips softened; tentatively, she returned the kiss with all her heart.

Breaking the kiss, Riven’s arms leave her, the warmth going with him. She stumbles, catching her breath.

Riven glances at his phone only to swear under his breath and she knows something’s happened.

“Listen to me”, Riven swallows thickly, “Stay with Stella and the rest tonight.”

“Why”, Y/N frowns, folding her arms across her chest.

“Don’t ask questions, please.” Pecking her lips, Riven takes a few steps back, “If you love me as much as you say you do, go now and stay with the girls. I’ll try to contact you as soon as I can.”

“Riven”, Y/N raises her voice, unnerved and anxious about his behavior.

“Sunshine, please”, his voice softens and she nods, licking her lips. Before she can say a word, he manages a smile, “I’ll come back to you. I will.”

And that’s when he leaves and Y/N does as he asked. But the nagging feeling inside her chest is relentless - something bad is happening and someone is going to get hurt.

Part 4

#riven fate winx saga #riven x reader #riven imagine #riven #fate the winx saga #fate riven #riven x fairy #fate the winx saga fanfic #fate the winx saga fic

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titan-fodder · 4 years ago

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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

187 notes · View notes

castiel-left-his-mark-on-me · 4 years ago

Note

I wish I knew what The Plot-verse Jen and Mish are doing for the wedding day <3 I like to think that Dani is having a small argument w Jen over what he should or should not do regarding the fan (and chad and samantha) wedding.

And just like that ... you have me writing more Cockles in The Plot-verse.

They got in late last night. Dani and the kids are still asleep, but Jensen is just too excited stay in bed. It’s been far too long since they’ve seen each other, and he can hear Misha hobbling around in the kitchen—something he really shouldn’t be doing just two days after a hip replacement.

But when he walks around the corner, seeing the man standing by the stove—skin glowing gold in the morning sun, Jensen waits just a minute longer before going over to bitch at him for being on his feet, because he doesn’t get to see this sight often enough. The man he loves … right here, finally within reach.

“Good morning” he says eventually, walking up behind Misha just as the man is reaching for the coffee pot. “What the fuck are you doing walking around?”

Misha laughs, leaning into Jensen as Jensen’s arms snake around his middle. “Makin’ coffee. I figured everyone in the house needs it after staying up so late.”

“I don’t think the kids do.”

“Not directly, no; but if they want me not to beat them with my crutches—they’ll want me to have my coffee.”

Jensen rolls his eyes and smiles. “They’ve been giving you grief?”

Misha finally rotates in Jensen’s arms, looping his own around the back of his neck before kissing him. “They’re animals.”

“Just like their dad” Jensen snickers, nuzzling Misha’s nose.

Misha scoffs in feigned offense. “I’m an angel … didn’t you know?”

“Yeah, yeah” Jensen muses. “Well, Angel. You need to go sit down. I’ll make the coffee.”

With a frown, Misha groans. “I don’t want to let go of you just yet. You’re quite an attractive crutch, and I need the support.”

Jensen squeezes the man tighter, breathing in the smell of him—a rather pungent smell. He probably hasn’t showered since the surgery; but he’s still his Mish. He’s still his home, his constant, and Jensen will never not want to fill his lungs with the man. “I’ll always let you lean on me, no matter what.”

Misha’s face softens, and his eyes widen as he looks him over. “Aw … what’s gotten into you? You’re so mushy today. I love it.”

Jensen finally tugs the man back, repositioning him so he’s braced against his side and Jensen can help him to one of the kitchen chairs. “Well, it is Valentine’s Day” Jensen chuckles, setting Misha down softly. “Also, I’ve missed you—a lot.” He leans in and kisses those pink, chapped lips, but when he pulls away again, Misha’s eyes are even wider.

“Shit.”

Jensen furrows his brow. “What?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day?”

Jensen chuckles. “Yeah. Why? You forgot?”

Misha swallows thickly and then nods.

Jensen rolls his eyes and then kisses him again. “Don’t worry about it. Just having you within kissing-distance is gift-enough for me.”

Misha half smiles but his gaze turns far-away, like he’s deep in thought.

“You didn’t get anything for Vicki, did you?” Jensen surmises after another moment later.

Misha eventually shakes his head.

Jensen straightens back out before turning towards the kitchen counter, knowing that the man will truly need coffee now if he’s going to start worrying so early in the morning, but maybe Jensen can help with that too. “It’s not a problem, Mish. I actually ordered flowers for both Dani and Vick… they should be getting here any minute. Just pull the card off and give her the other bouquet” he says, taking the coffee pot out of the machine and moving to the sink to fill it up with water. He raises his voice to talk over the noise. “And if you’re really worried about it—I also got two small things for Dee, so you can have one of them for Vick … I don’t know if she’d like it though. Vintage tees and headbands aren’t really her thing.” He shuts off the water and glances towards the man sitting at the table—who is now trying to stand up yet again. “Jeez—Mish!” He sets down the pot and scurries back over to the table to push Misha back into the chair. “Will you stop? I can handle things in the kitchen, alright? Just stay put!”

But Misha only reaches up, taking a fistful of Jensen’s t-shirt in his hand in order to yank him down and kiss him hard.

Jensen stumbles a little, but he catches himself on the edge of the table, quickly melting into the kiss a moment later, losing all comprehension the moment after that.

“You …” Misha starts when he finally breaks away, “are an extremely thoughtful man.” He kisses him again, harder still—slipping Jensen just enough tongue to make his body arch.

Jensen bites Misha’s lip as his sweatpants begin to tent; but he forces himself to pull away—knowing there’s nothing either of them can really do right now, and he really doesn’t need blue balls before noon. It’s a shame though, because he could spend all day tangled up with this man and never tire of it.

Misha smiles at him, face lighting up with many things that he could say, but doesn’t have to, because Jensen knows them all. “I love you—and thank you … for the flowers, that is. I’ll give those to Vicki; but you keep the gifts. We don’t normally do too much for Valentine’s day anyway; but I do usually get her flowers and cook her dinner.”

Jensen pulls away a little more and then leans his forehead against Misha’s, looking into those ocean-blues, feeling them calm him with their waves of warmth. “Well, that’s why we’re here, babe. To help you cook … help with the kids. Help you and Vicki manage while you heal. I got you, so just sit back and relax, alright?”

Misha nods against him, giving him one last peck before Jensen slips away to tend to the coffee—but Misha gives his ass a quick slap just before he’s out of reach. “Damn … I wish I could get on that.”

Jensen looks back over his shoulder and gives Misha a wink. “You and me both.”

***

The Coffee brewed and breakfast cooked—a filling array of waffles and eggs and spicy gourmet sausage that Misha had stockpiled in preparation of Jensen and Danneel’s visit. In fact, the man had loaded up on all the Ackles favorites—from beer, to games and toys for the kids, to all their favorite meals and snacks. He took care of just about everything they could possibly want or need; which makes the fact that he’s fretting over forgetting Valentine’s day all the more hilarious to Jensen.

“I can’t believe I didn’t get you anything!” Misha whines for the twentieth time today as he looks over the bracelet Jensen just gave him.

It was hand carved, ash and oak, with lines of black onyx inlayed between the woods, creating almost a braided effect. The craftsman said it was symbolic of two differing souls coming together to become something entirely new. And the onyx represented that new reality—black like the endless universe, reflecting all the light and love that shines within it. It was perfect, and Jensen felt that he was fated to find that bracelet—having accidently stumbled upon the tiny shop after taking a wrong turn when trying to find a gas station near their new cabin in Colorado.

They had decided to buy the place only a few months back—inspired by Misha’s purchase of Faith Ranch. So now, their families have two properties to go to be alone together. Faith Ranch and Serenity Lodge.

Yeah, the names are a little corny, but Jensen feels like they’re pretty fitting whenever they’re all finally together. The serenity he feels seeing all their kids playing … the faith he has in the future when he watches Misha and Danneel and Vicki all laughing with one another – it’s perfect; and he feels so very blessed that they have those places to run away to now. To be together and to be themselves.

In fact, the original plan was to have Misha and Vicki and the kids come up to Serenity to stay with them as Misha recuperated from his surgery, but with the winter storms and all the new frost hitting the area, Misha’s doctor said that Colorado was probably not the best environment for a man with stiff joints and limited mobility. So, Jensen and Danneel changed their plans and headed towards Washington, knowing that ultimately—it didn’t matter where in the world they were, as long as they were all together.

The kids had all gotten up with the smell of breakfast, and once they shoveled in their food—they were all begging to go out back and play—meaning that the adults’ peaceful morning of gift giving and quiet coffee-drinking came to a speedy end. So, Danneel, Vicki and Jensen spent twenty minutes after breakfast trying to wrestle all the little ones into jackets and long pants and winter boots, which was quite a feat, even with three sets of hands, they were still outnumbered. Arrow and Zepp kept pulling off their jackets because they said they were too hot. JJ and Maison kept torturing West with annoying, made-up songs that all seemed to end with the same line “West smells like poop”; which ultimately made West retaliate with pokes and tickles and name calling—and that of course caused the girls to run away and scream at the top of their lungs, which of course meant that the three adults were chasing them all over the house—just trying to finish dressing them so they could finally kick them outside.

Misha sat back and laughed as he watched all the commotion go down, for once—seeming to enjoy the fact that he was immobile and unable to help.

Eventually however, the kids did get dressed and were set loose in the yard, leaving the grownups to watch them from the sunroom, drinking their second and third cups of coffee in somewhat relative-peace. The glassed-in space was warm and bright, and filled up with the scent of roses and gardenias. The two beautiful bouquets that Jensen had ordered (one of which, Misha did end up commandeering) are sitting on the coffee table between them all, adding just the right amount of color to the room.

Misha leaned against Jensen’s side as he scrolled on his phone; and Danneel and Vicki sat in the chairs across from them, talking about politics and lamenting over the current state of the senate, while Jensen just sat there quietly … smiling to himself because he hasn’t felt this happy in a while. His family is all together. The coffee Misha got was his favorite, and he has a belly full of waffles and sausage. This is quite possibly, the best Valentine’s Day he’s ever had.

“Fuck!” Misha yelps suddenly, bolting upright with a groan. “It’s our wedding today too?”

Jensen crinkles his eyes as he stares at the side of the man’s face, cracking a smile because—surely, the man is losing his mind. “What?”

Misha is still staring at his phone, scrolling furiously through—what Jensen thinks is Twitter; but Misha is moving too fast for him to be sure. “Apparently—it’s Dean and Cas’s wedding day today.”

Vicki and Danneel stop their conversation to gawk over at him too. “What?” They both ask again in unison.

Misha finally looks up from the screen, and then around to all three of them. “It’s our wedding day!”

And Jensen is rolling his eyes now. “We heard you the first time, Mish—but we’re gonna need you to explain it now.”

Misha shifts in his seat, wincing as his sore body twists in his hip-brace. “Remember that whole Chad-thing I was telling you about?”

“Chad? Chad who?” Danneel asks, and Vicki snickers to herself, obviously remembering something about all this, but Jensen is drawing a blank.

“Lindberg—he played Ash on Supernatural. I’ve only ever met him at conventions though. Nice guy.”

“Funny guy” Jensen adds on, starting to recall Misha mentioning the man at some point last week.

“Very funny—so funny in fact, he has written this whole additional arc for the show, set in Heaven, where he and Ellen are running the Roadhouse again, and of course … the fans are eating up.”

Jensen laughs. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Misha nods before continuing. “Yeah, well … it all started on Dean’s birthday … a party at the Roadhouse seemed to be the event. Both Chad and Samantha Ferris made this whole story out of it; but now, I guess the story went on to include Dean and Cas’s wedding … on Valentine’s Day, no less. Looks like Chad is going live in a little bit to talk to fans about it. He and Samantha are making it a whole thing. And now ‘DeanCasWedding’ is trending on Twitter.”

“That’s adorable” Vicki chuckles.

“So adorable! Oh my God! You guys should totally join in!” Danneel squeals.

That makes Jensen’s eyes go wide. “No way! Not gonna happen.”

Danneel’s smile somersaults into a pout. “But why not? You guys would break the internet!”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why not. I’ve been pretty quiet about the finale; so, I don’t think the first time I really break my silence should be about our characters’ supposed marriage. That’s treading a really thin line in our contracts.”

“It’s just a silly story by one of the past actors. I don’t think it’s that big of a deal” Vicki offers, but now Misha is the one shaking his head.

“No, Jensen’s right. The simple act of us participating in something like that might be an invitation for the network to extend our NDA’s. As harmless as it would actually be to them and the canon of the show, our direct participation in it would raise too many eyebrows” Misha finishes, but now both the women are frowning.

“Well, maybe there’s something subtle you could do. Even if it’s just liking some of Chad’s tweets or something.”

“Maybe” Jensen offers, already thinking that that probably won’t happen; but who knows. He’s feeling rather soft today. If applied right, he can probably be pressured into just about anything.

“Mommy!” Arrow screeches, and the sound is immediately followed by Maison’s dubious laugh.

Both Vicki and Danneel look at one another before sighing and setting down their coffee cups.

“I’m sorry. Our daughter loves to torment those around her. She gets it entirely from her father” Vicki says, tossing a pointed look at her husband.

Misha gasps. “Who … me?” he mocks.

Danneel laughs as she looks at him adoringly. “It’s good-hearted torment, I’m sure.”

“Is there such a thing?” Vicki asks before moving around the chairs towards the screen door to the backyard.

Misha fakes a cry and then burrows his face into Jensen’s neck. “She’s so cruel, Jensen. Hold me!”

Jensen busts up laughing, but he does as he’s told, wrapping his arms tightly around the man’s body. “Shh—it’s okay, baby. I got you.”

Vicki smirks at the two of them nestled together on the couch. “You can have him. I’ll just take your wife off your hands.” And with that, she loops her arm with Danneel’s and pulls her out the door.

“Sounds good to me!” Danneel chirps, skipping along beside her as they go to check on the kids.

“Hey! I tend to like my wife!” Jensen yells, but Vicki just flits her hand in the air and waives him off.

“Hmm” Jensen grumbles. “Those two better not forget about us.”

Misha laughs, kissing his neck right after and it shocks goosebumps up all over Jensen’s body. “Don’t worry. They’ll remember we’re here as soon as the kids get too crazy.”

Jensen smiles. “True enough.”

They fall silent a moment, melting into each other’s warmth as the outside chill seeps in through the cracked back door, but the contrast only seems to make their closeness feel more intense.

“So—do you think you’ll do it?”

“Do what?” Jensen asks, mind already wandering towards all the future days that could be like this one. Their families—together, happy and full of love.

“Do you think you’ll actually like one of Chad’s tweets or whatever?” Misha finally pulls back a little so he can look Jensen in the eye.

Jensen sighs and then shrugs again. “I dunno, man. I’m just really hesitant about anything having to do with the show right now, even if it is just a silly makeshift fan-fiction put together by some of the past characters. I just don’t want to start picking at that scab, you know?”

Misha sighs as well, and then nods—leaning his head back onto Jensen’s shoulder as he scratches beneath his leg brace. “I get it. It should be harmless and all in good fun, but these things can snowball pretty quickly.”

“Exactly.”

“It is fun to think about though.”

“What’s that?”

“Dean and Cas—tying the knot.”

Jensen huffs a laugh before gathering Misha’s hand in his own. “Yeah. That would’ve been a fun scene to shoot.”

“Dean—all nervous at the end of the aisle…” Misha says dreamily.

“Cas, picking apart all the wedding traditions—talking about their archaic and barbaric origins” Jensen laughs.

“Charlie, punching him in the arm and telling him to stop killing the romance.”

Jensen nods. “She so would! She’d totally do that. Oh, and you know Bobby would be crying.”

“Oh yeah... and Sam would probably tear up a bit too.”

Now Jensen shakes his head. “Nah, Sam would just be making a smirky little bitch-face as Dean cried.”

Misha grins wide against Jensen’s shoulder. “Oh God … Dean would be bawling his eyes out.”

“He’d be marrying the love of his life … so yeah, of course he’d be bawling his eyes out!”

“You think Cas is the love of Dean’s life?” Misha asks, pulling back again suddenly to wonder at the side of Jensen’s face.

Jensen turns to him, a little surprised by the question. “Sure … don’t you?”

Misha’s face shifts into a cautious smile. “Well … I mean, I know that Dean is the love of Cas’s life. Obviously … the show admitted as much; but we never really talked about what you thought Dean’s take on the whole thing would be. We talked about the confession scene itself, and Dean’s reciprocation and how it was a long time coming for the show; but never what it might’ve actually meant for our two characters … if they ever had the chance to actually do something about it, that is.”

Jensen straightens out on the couch, being careful not to move too quickly and accidentally jostle Misha’s still fragile body. “Well …” he begins, trying to get back into Dean’s mindset, something that used to be as easy as flicking on a light switch for him; but now—with months and months having passed where he hasn’t been Dean Winchester, he’s finding it’s a little harder to get there, “I guess… since Dean is in Heaven now, he’d finally let his guard down. He wouldn’t be so hell bent on keeping his distance, because he’d know he finally doesn’t have to worry about losing everyone he loves; and that includes Cas.”

“But … a wedding?” Misha laughs; however, Jensen doesn’t miss the hopeful uptick to his voice.

“It’d take some doing … but yeah. I think Dean would eventually pop the question. He’d drive Cas around Heaven for a while, listening to some tunes, eating some good ass food. And then they’d find some beautiful lake somewhere, sit on Baby’s hood … and Dean would just know, ya know? So, he’d throw his arm around Cas’s neck and say ‘Cas—what the fuck are we doin’? We should just get hitched already’ and then he’d kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.”

Misha smiles, eyes scrunching up with his grinning cheeks. “I suppose in Heaven, the concept of tomorrow isn’t really a thing.”

“Yeah, time works different in Heaven … isn’t that what the script said?”

“Something like that” Misha mutters, inching himself up to reposition the leg he has propped against the table. “So … we’d be super corny and get married on Valentine’s Day?”

“Why not?” Jensen laughs. “Dean does enjoy a good Rom-Com moment. And we all know he’s about as corny as they come.”

“True” Misha chuckles. “Well, in that case …” He sits up straight and sobers his face, narrowing his eyes a little before he turns a serious gaze in Jensen’s direction. “Happy Wedding Day, Dean” he says—in his deepest, raspiest Cas-voice.

Jensen starts to laugh, but quickly stops himself so he can get into character—half smiling, looking away … bashful, but still intense. “Back at ya, Cas.” He clears his throat as he looks around the room, trying to think of what Dean would say next … but then it hits him. Dean wouldn’t say anything. Without a second thought, Jensen leans forward and reaches out towards one of the bouquets, pulling out a long strand of Baby’s Breath … quickly breaking it in half and twisting the stem around itself, finally tucking the ends between one another to make a small, vined circle. And then, turning slowly in his seat, he grabs Misha’s—Cas’s left hand and holds it between them, slipping the make-shift ring onto his finger.

Misha looks down at it a moment, breaking character as his voice cracks in a sigh; but as he looks back towards Jensen—a slight sheen of tears in his eyes, he falls back into the angel’s grace, eyes seeming to glow blue in the morning sun, shoulders squaring on the wings of the day. “I do” he says raggedly, sounding choked up, but still like a tried-and-true angel of the lord.

“Me too” Jensen rumbles, voice just as deep before finally leaning in to kiss his angel’s lips; but soon enough—their Heaven falls away, as do Dean and Castiel, leaving just the two of them, real and mortal and alone in the sunroom of Misha’s home.

A flowered ring on one hand.

Each other’s hearts in the other.

Two families growing together in the grass and sun.

And a real-life paradise, alive and thriving all around them.

Yes … Jensen thinks, this is indeed the best Valentine’s Day he’s ever had.

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kbsd · 4 years ago

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not sure if you’ve answered this before, but what’s your process look like when you make an amv? i’m just curious and in constant awe of ppl who can make videos like you do :)

hello all!!! i have answered this before and i have a vid help tag with other asks i’ve gotten about stuff like this! but i’ve gotten several more messages along these lines so i’m just going to answer a bunch of them together (under a cut since i love to ramble about editing lol). i do just wanna say i’m definitely not the authority on video editing and obv everyone has their own techniques!

edit: i just finished typing all this up and it’s SO long so sorry in advance LMAO god bless anyone who reads this entire thing

so i work in news tv and we have a very specific workflow for writing scripts, sourcing video, producing, and editing. i’ve just applied that to making amvs! for every video i make, i copy the song lyrics into a google doc and adjust them to match the song i’ve cut (i often will trim songs for time and/or content purposes). then i start planning! i’ll mark down what clip i want to use for each lyric next to that line, and any sound bites i want to use (with episode numbers!). i’ll color code between video and sound bites and lyrics, so my scripts end up looking something like this (for my honeybee amv):

doing the planning ahead of time makes everything much easier when it’s a video that spans the whole show or involves a lot of sourcing, like honeybee or sports analogies. that way when i get to the actual editing process, i already know what i’m going to do and have a game plan. for videos like happy ending or believe it or not, where i’m mainly just pulling from a few episodes, i can just plan it in my head as opposed to writing it all down, and produce as i edit. obviously i do make in-the-moment decisions while editing—sometimes a shot doesn’t work the way i thought it would, or i go where the video takes me—but planning ahead definitely helps. i know some people use spreadsheets as well, with columns for lyrics, video clips, and sound bites if applicable. once you find a system that works, it actually goes pretty quickly.

as for sourcing clips themselves/finding clips within episodes, i talked about that here and kind of here. the short version is that transcripts are a must, and the supernatural wiki is hugely helpful by cataloguing all the hugs, prayers, phone calls, etc. in the show. gifmakers that tag episode numbers on their posts are your friends. it gets easier the more video you make—that’s another huge reason i make the google docs for each video (even the ones i plan in my head, i end up going back and making a loose script with episode notes just for reference). if i can’t remember where something is but i know i used it in another video, i can easily reference past scripts!

i also cut all my videos in the same project in premiere pro, so i can flip between them easily. instead of checking a past script, i can just go to the video sequence itself and copy the clip i’m looking for! this was especially helpful when i match cut together the 5x18 and 4x22 wall slam shots for my bestie video, and then stole it from myself for honeybee hahaha. at any given time i have at least 8 sequences open:

because of the sheer volume of videos i make, it’s worth it for me to download the entire show—i have all 327 episodes in HD, plus deleted scenes. if you think you’re only going to make a few videos, i’d start with scene packs. you can usually just google “destiel [or whatever ship/character you’re looking for] scene packs” and there will be any number of ones you can download. if you need other specific scenes, you can always download/torrent individual episodes or screen record netflix (that’s what i did before i got HD download links). i’m happy to share my links if you DM, but be warned it’s a lot of disk space (about 500GB on my hard drive). someone also compiled every destiel scene, downloadable here.

having every episode already loaded in premiere for all my projects also makes it a lot easier to source clips. once i use a clip in a video, i’ll put a marker on the episode file, so that after a while i have most of the important scenes/lines marked to easily find them. to give you an idea, this is my episode file in premiere for 12x10 lily sunder has some regrets (markers at destiel scenes, the car fight, hot girl cas, etc.). markers are the green tabs along the bottom:

premiere also lets you color code and name markers, so ONE DAY i will go back and color code them all. the ones above are all the same color, but in a perfect world, i’d have a myraid—for destiel shots like hugs, touches, looks; for important pieces of dialogue; for action shots; etc. but for now this works ok for me, so that’s a project for another time!

between detailed scripts, one giant premiere project, markers, the wiki, and my own memory, i have so many points of reference that i can usually find any clip i need in about 2 minutes max. sound bites are often harder to start out, or tiny specific shots i haven’t used before, and that’s when i turn to tumblr gifsets or beloved mutuals to crowdsource. but if you’re as obsessive about marking/keeping neat scripts as i am, it gets easier and easier with every video you make. that’s part of why i’m able to cut videos together so quickly. (also i want to stress i do this for a living and have to produce/edit a new piece for my show every day so i’m used to it. and compared to constantly updating content/sources and news that changes every day, 327 highly documented episodes that never change are much easier to handle hahaha)

this is all great for me since i make so many videos and plan to continue doing so, but if you’re only making a few, this level of work isn’t worth it imo. really it’s all about developing a system that works for you. whatever you do with episodes/sourcing, though, i cannot recommend planning things out in a script ahead of time enough.

everything i just mentioned is producing, though. for the editing process, i usually do it in this order:

music first. any parts i want to cut, i make sure it all sounds smooth

then soundbites. i usually try to weave them into the lyrics—i have characters talk in breaks between lines or instrumental sections as much as possible. i’ll sometimes go so far as looped/extending an intsrumental part to make room for the soundbite i want there lol. if i do have dialogue over a line, i do the sound mixing/levels at this point as well to make sure everything is audible/one doesn’t overpower the other. (also i always include the video that goes with these bites when i drop them in, and decide later if i want to show the character speaking or have other clips cover the dialogue)

once i have all the audio locked in, then i bring in all my other video clips. sometimes i edit completely chronologically, sometimes jumping from section to section—it depends on the song or how i’m feeling

double check sound mixing. i usually listen to my videos through a few times, with headphones and without to make sure it’ll sound good no matter how people watch it

once i have picture and audio lock, i go through and color correct my clips. i’m basic and just use lumetri color in premiere, and usually just play with brightness, saturation, temperature, and tint until i like it

render and export! :)

i always have several audio tracks, but i try to keep my video tracks condensed. i’ll drop clips on a V2 level, and edit a section there, and drop the whole chunk down to V1 so i know it’s finished. that way when i leave and come back i can know where i left off/what’s done/etc. to give you an idea, this is the timeline for my what the hell video:

i always render as H.264 with high bitrate, and make sure to check “render at maximum depth” and “use maximum render quality” for the best quality. i’m sorry, but i don’t know what the equivalent options are in final cut, imovie, kdenlive, etc. i post on youtube mostly so i don’t have to sacrifice quality, but usually just using a lower bitrate will get you under the tumblr file size limit and it’ll still look good.

as for the anon who asked about “polishing”: first of all, thank you!! second of all, it’s in the details. all of this is a matter of taste and my own insanity, but here are some little things i always try to do:

after i color correct, i blur out any credits from the starts of episodes. i use gaussian blur for this, but really any blur tool works

as much as possible, i avoid clips where we see a character’s mouth move but don’t hear the words. in tv/film we call it “lip flap” and i just think it looks messy. also i’m trained to avoid it at all costs at work hahaha. it’s more for serious videos that this matters a lot to me (e.g. i think i did a really good job eliminating lip flap in my happy ending amv)—for comedy videos i don’t sweat it as much

i put audio fades on the start and end of every single audio clip i use, even if i don’t think i need it, to make sure everything sounds smooth

i use markers for timing, especially in action-y videos like what the hell. i’ll put a marker on the clip i’m using at the exact moment a punch lands, and in the song on the beat. if i have the magnet/snap in timeline tool on i can just easily snap them together instead of having to spend time finagling it

this is such a small thing but i dip/cut to black for a tiny bit at the start and end of every video. this way if i post with tumblr video player, there’s black between the loops, and it gives you a beat before the video restarts. i do this even on videos i post on youtube, just because i think it looks nicer/more professional

this is 1,500 words so i’m going to stop myself before i pull something. if you have follow-up questions feel free to ask and i’ll continue to add them to the vid help tag, but any more questions about sourcing clips or my process in general i’ll just link this post going forward. anyone who made it this far, i am sending to a telepathic kiss. thank you for reading and happy editing!

#i typed this all up at 4am so i'm just scheduling it to post sometime today #ask #vid help

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pastelwitchling · 4 years ago

Text

Cosmic 🌌 Happy Malex Remix Day! 🌌

My malex remix piece is a sequel to @captainsassmanes‘s super angsty, super heart-wrenching, super lovely fic; Gravity.

Alex decides he’s done with Roswell, but Michael doesn’t want him to go.

You can also read it on ao3, if you’d prefer! I’m so glad I joined the challenge this year, it was an interesting experience. If you enjoy reading, even a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

***

Alex opened his eyes to a still-dark sky outside his window. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, checking the time; 4:30 in the morning.

He rubbed his eyes and heaved a sigh into his palms. He wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep, he knew that much. He forced himself up, swung his leg over the edge of the bed, and reached for his crutches.

His morning went by like clockwork. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, did his morning stretches, tried to ignore the constant ache in his leg, and sat down on the little stool in his shower to clean himself off. By the time he was in his kitchen and the sun was starting to rise, not even the steaming cup of coffee in his hands made the realization that he’d been stuck in a loop ever since he’d come back to Roswell any better.

The silence of his living room was palpable, the faint snow falling outside and glittering in the morning light. Alex imagined the snow had reached a good three feet by now, and was glad for the excuse not to have to leave his house today.

Home, he reminded himself, though nothing about this place had felt like home in too long a time. He was so tired of looking around and feeling more and more distanced from everything – the chairs and couches to the trees and birds. None of it had any meaning, none of it gave him comfort. It was just stuff. He didn’t think that was how it was supposed to feel.

He thought of that conversation he’d had with Michael two weeks ago, felt like months ago now, when he’d followed him out of the bar. When he’d told him that Forrest was an idiot for breaking up with him. When Alex had confessed that he couldn’t trust his feelings, couldn’t trust that Michael chose him.

That was why everything but a single piece of furniture was covered in white sheets now. That was why he had a plane ticket to New York booked for tomorrow night. Forrest had ended things for good reason, but Alex wasn’t going to go running back to someone who didn’t want him. He would go somewhere else, start over. He’d been saying that it was time for years, but stayed back. Because Michael was here, and he wanted to be where Michael was. Even when he’d dated Maria, even when he’d made it clear that he didn’t want Alex near him. Even after everything, Alex stayed, because he’d hoped.

Then he’d found Forrest and learned what it meant to actually be loved, to be cared for. It made him realize just how hard he’d been trying to find love in everything Michael did and said to him, from even the cruelest words.

His phone buzzed with another text. Alex glanced just at the name before he sighed, and deleted it, not bothering to read what it said. He couldn’t remember Michael ever texting him this much before he and Forrest had broken up. Six months ago, his heart would’ve fluttered at the idea that Michael was trying so hard to be with him. But the more cynical part of him saw the attempts for what they were; guilt, and a desire not to be alone for the night.

No. Alex had had better, and he’d lost it. Forrest, he had decided, would be his last loss.

It wasn’t until a little after noon, when Alex had finished making lunch, that he realized just how little say he would actually have in that. He’d expected the calls and texts to his phone to stop in the morning, after he’d ignored enough of them, but as Alex fished one of the few bowls he hadn’t packed yet from the pantry, a knock came at the door.

His brows furrowed, and he checked his phone. Kyle and Gregory weren’t scheduled to come over until tomorrow, because of the snow, to help him pack the last of his things. No one had given him a heads-up that they’d be checking in on him.

When he opened the door and found Michael on the other side, his shoulders slumped.

“I need two minutes,” was his greeting. Alex looked over Michael’s shoulder to see the snow around his blue truck had moved aside for him, giving him room to drive.

Alex should’ve told him to leave, that he didn’t have the time, that they had nothing to talk about. But he just sighed and moved out of the way.

“You shouldn’t have used your powers,” he said as Michael took the chance and stepped inside past him. “Someone could’ve seen you.”

He closed the door and Michael shrugged. “You were ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t,” Alex lied, leading the way into the living room. “I’m just really busy, Guerin.” He stopped, and turned to face him with his arms crossed. “So whatever it is, make it quick.”

But Michael wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, he was taking in the packed, cardboard boxes, the furniture draped with sheets.

“You goin’ somewhere?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “New York.”

“For how long?”

He stuck his hands in his back pockets. “For good. Did you want something?”

Michael stared at Alex like he was waiting for him to laugh, to tell him he was joking, to say he was just doing some very intense spring cleaning in the middle of winter. When Alex didn’t, Michael scoffed, the hurt evident in his eyes.

“So that’s it, huh?” he said. “You’re just going to leave? Run away again?”

Alex clenched his jaw. “Did you want something, Guerin?” he said through grit teeth.

Michael seemed to realize what he’d said, and his face fell. “I – Alex, I didn’t mean that –”

“If you’re done, you can go.”

“No, wait, listen,” he said, grabbing Alex by the elbows as he turned away, keeping him close. “I didn’t mean that, Alex, I’m – I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Alex stepped out of Michael’s hold, hugging his arms to shield against him. “Seriously, why are you here?”

“You weren’t answering,” he said, still looking around at the boxes a little helplessly. “I just . . . I wanted to see you. Why are you leaving?”

“I need a change,” Alex said. “Roswell hasn’t felt like home in such a long time. I don’t have a reason anymore to stay.”

Michael swallowed. “Roswell was never your home.”

Alex stilled. Michael said it like it should’ve been obvious, like he had always been Alex’s home, Alex’s only safe place, like it was some unspoken truth. Alex thought that some truths should’ve been spoken a long time ago. They just felt like meaningless words now.

“Then I guess,” he said quietly, “I want a home that wants me back.”

“Alex –”

“Look,” he scratched under his eye, “I leave tomorrow. I have a lot of packing left –”

“Alex, please –”

“And I just don’t have the time to play this game.”

“I’m trying to tell you I love you!”

Silence. Alex couldn’t look away from Michael, his glistening eyes. But it was too late. No matter how badly his heart wanted to believe it, he had to keep reminding himself that Michael hadn’t felt this way a year ago. He hadn’t wanted Alex when Alex had begged for him. He’d made his choice, and even though Alex had chosen him time and time again, Michael couldn’t do the same. He was done.

He stepped closer to Michael, his hands clenched to fists. “And I don’t believe you.”

Michael wouldn’t look away, his jaw clenched so tightly that Alex worried, despite himself, that he would draw blood.

He didn’t say that. Instead, he said, “You need to leave.”

“No,” Michael said at once. “No, I don’t want to.”

Alex opened his mouth to argue, but the ground started to shake. Michael didn’t seem surprised.

“Stop it!” he demanded. Michael said nothing, and the ground shook more wildly. Furniture started to fall over, floorboards creaked. “Guerin, stop!”

“You’re not leaving me, Alex,” he growled. “Not again.”

“Guerin –”

A sound like a heavy blanket falling came from outside, and the windows turned dark. The house finally stopped shaking, and Alex looked around. Even Michael looked confused at what had happened.

Alex turned to a window and pulled back the curtain to reveal snow, covering most of the glass.

“No,” he breathed, and headed for the front door. “No, no, no.” He opened it to reveal a wall of snow. He checked the backdoor and found that sealed, too, as well as every single window.

Michael sniffed as he set his cowboy hat down on the couch. He didn’t seem as bothered by what he’d done as Alex thought he should’ve.

“Gear up, Private,” he smirked humorlessly. “Guess we’re stuck here.”

“No,” Alex demanded. “You used your powers to drop the snow on us, just – just use your powers to move it!”

He sat down, his arms stretched out on the back of the couch. “Can’t.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

“Guerin –”

“I shook the house,” Michael said. “And I used the earth to move the snow back on my way here. So unless you want me to uproot every nail and window in this place, I’d get comfortable.”

“You won’t even try?”

“Nope.”

“You’re such a . . .” he pulled out his phone and looked for Kyle’s name. No signal. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Michael huffed, pushing back the white sheet that covered the couch, and gesturing at the empty space next to him. “C’mon, Private,” he said.

“I leave tomorrow, Guerin,” he argued.

Michael leaned forward, any amusement in his expression gone. “Then that gives me a day to change your mind. So stop fighting me on this, because I’m not letting you go again.”

Michael had to admit; locking both himself and Alex indoors had been a happy accident, but when he’d made it clear that he wasn’t letting Alex go until he absolutely had to for his flight (honestly, he was reconsidering that part of the deal, too), he’d expected the airman to secretly be pleased, to find any excuse to be near him, the whole oh-no-there’s-only-one-bed-and-we’ll-have-to-share kind of situation.

That was definitely not what ended up happening. Alex continued to pack what little he had left, pretending Michael didn’t exist as he walked in and out of the living room.

“You gonna look at me anytime soon?”

Alex said nothing, kneeling down in front of a cardboard box. Michael hated the sight of those damn things; blatant reminders that his Alex was leaving. For good.

Michael crouched down beside him, his arms folded on his knees. “At least talk to me, Private. What’s so great about New York anyway? Is it just to be as far away as possible from me?”

Alex’s shoulders slumped, exasperated. He didn’t have to answer, but Michael had always known that if he asked softly enough, Alex would tell him anything he wanted to know. Pride bloomed in his chest to know that only he had this power over Alex’s heart, only he could tug enough to get what he wanted from him. Alex would’ve been able to resist the world, but not Michael. And right now, Michael was desperate enough to take advantage of that.

“No,” Alex relented. “It’s not because of you.”

He smirked. “Got you to talk to me.” Alex glared, and his smirk widened. “Got you to look.”

Alex shut his eyes and turned away, and Michael couldn’t miss the blush on his cheeks. Alex’s hands were clenched to fists on his lap. Michael licked his lips and carefully reached out, tracing his finger along the back of his hand.

Alex flinched away from him the second they touched, and he stood. “It’ll get cold tonight,” he said. “I’ll go get you some blankets.”

Michael stood after him. “Alex –” but Alex had already disappeared into the hall.

That night, as he lay on the living room couch, Michael couldn’t help but stare down the dark passageway to where Alex was, sleeping soundly in bed. He imagined his soft hair splayed messily on the pillow, his body stretched out underneath the blanket, probably colder without Michael there to warm him.

The silence of the heavy snow should’ve been warning enough not to move off the couch, but Michael couldn’t help it. He pushed himself off and, as quietly as he could, made his way to the bedroom. He just wanted one look at Alex, to make sure he was resting, to know he was safe and asleep and finally at peace, but instead, he opened the door to find Alex sitting up in bed, a book in hand.

Alex raised a brow at him. “Everything okay?”

But Michael couldn’t hear him so much as stare. His hair was sticking up in perfect, messy strands. His cheeks were rosy, his lips red, his muscles evident under his short sleeves.

“Uh,” Michael started. “I – I was just . . . really cold.”

Alex began to get out of bed. “Oh, okay, I can get you another blanket.”

“Actually,” Michael said, already making his way to the bed. “I think I’ll just be warmer in here.”

“What – Guerin –”

But Michael was already sliding into bed and pressing the length of his body against Alex’s. He turned his face into Alex’s arm, inhaling his scent.

“G-Guerin –”

“Just for now,” Michael told him. “If you’re gonna leave me tomorrow, then I just want you now.”

He thought Alex would kick him out, snap at him to leave already, but he only sighed shakily in that way he did when he was preparing to do something that scared him, and set his book down on the nightstand.

Michael watched, his heart hammering in his chest as Alex slid down to lie beside him. He pulled the hem of Michael’s shirt up, and Michael let him take it off him. His eyes darkened and his mouth hung open as Alex leaned in close. He put his hands on Alex’s arms, feeling his muscles and wrapping one leg around Alex’s hip.

“I want you now, too,” Alex murmured before he let Michael pull him down on top of him and kiss him.

It all felt like something out of a dream, being allowed to touch Alex like this, to run his hands up his shirt and taste his nipples, his chest, his stomach, his cock. He couldn’t get enough. Every moan Alex made into his ear spurred him on, made his thrusts more erratic. Every plea made Michael groan, his body hotter, his length harder.

By morning, he was still feeling the electricity in his spine, the heat in his gut. He woke, already reaching for Alex, eager for more of him. When he felt the empty space beside him, he opened his eyes and sat up. Because of the snow, it was hard to tell exactly what time it was, but he guessed it was late morning.

“Alex?” he called, and heard shuffling inside.

He picked up a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders to shield against the cold. He stepped into the living room to find Alex piling boxes into one corner. His heart fell into his stomach.

“What’re you doing?”

Alex didn’t seem surprised that Michael had woken up. He stood, hands on his hips. “Making it easier for Gregory and Kyle when they come over. They’re supposed to help me get the last of this packed. They’ll be able to tear the snow down, too.”

Michael swallowed the bile that was starting to rise up his throat. “Y-You’re still leaving?”

Alex finally turned to look at him, but said nothing.

“What about last night?”

His brows furrowed. “I thought we agreed that last night was a goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” he demanded. “No, Alex.” He shook his head, helpless. “When – when are you gonna stop punishing me for what I did?”

He frowned. “Guerin, I’m not punishing you. I just don’t trust you anymore.” Michael fell silent. “I did everything I could for you, and you chose someone else. You know I can’t eat or sleep or think because I can’t help but wonder whether or not you would even care that I was leaving if Maria hadn’t ended things? That’s the worst part of it all. She ended it. Not you, her.”

“Alex, that’s . . .” he shook his head. How could he have screwed up this badly? How could Alex – his Alex – have the tiniest doubt that he was everything to Michael? “Stay,” he demanded. “S-Stay for me.”

Alex looked pained. “That’s not going to work on me anymore, Guerin.”

Michael stepped forward as Alex turned away, taking him by the shoulders. “Look at me,” he said. “You know who I love.”

He sighed. “Guerin –”

“Let me try!” he pleaded. “We’ve been pushing each other away for over a decade, Alex. Let me just try to fix things. Give me one more chance, just one more!”

Alex bit his lower lip, and looked at the boxes like Michael had; like they were threatening to separate them forever.

He took Alex’s face in his hands. “Look at me,” he said. “I love you. I could give you a million reasons why I wanted to try with someone else, a million reasons I thought it would make me better for you, but . . . you do know me, Alex. Better than anyone. You know the real me, you know it’s you. It could only ever be you, and you know that, so please, stay.”

“I . . .”

Michael pressed their foreheads together. “We’re cosmic, baby. Remember? Stay with me, Alex. Stay with me.”

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