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lapismoontide · 1 year

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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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hellfireclubpres · 2 years

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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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disasterlesbiansunite · 3 years

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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

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 · 3 years

Text

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

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.

165 notes · View notes

kbsd · 4 years

Note

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 · 3 years

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.”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex remix #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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onlydreamofmysoul · 4 years

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Imagine what it would be like if Remus never got injured. Like he’s plays professional hockey, was first round draft pick like expected. How would he and Sirius have met and how would they have ended up together??? Would they be on the same team or different teams or like Remus having just got traded to the lions.

I hate how much this took over my brain. (Just kidding I loved it.) These are just a couple of snapshots of what life in the Lions might have looked like with Remus as a player.

Characters of course by the one and only @lumosinlove

Sirius stepped into the locker room for his first official day as a member of the Gryffindor Lions. He’d already met all of the team but this was different, this day had weight. His mother's parting words, a hissed whisper echoed in his ears.

Toujours pur.

The Snakes motto. A not too subtle reminder to do everything he could to get traded. Sirius looked around at the little hush that fell when he walked into the room before Pascal.

There were more than a couple shouts of “Rookie!” and before he knew what was happening, Sirius was being ushered to his stall by someone talking a mile a minute.

“Talkie, give the rookie a break will you? Much more of you and he’ll be begging for a transfer before the season begins.” Came a joking voice and Sirius looked up to see none other than Remus Lupin standing in front of him.

Sirius knew who Remus was - how could he not? He had been first draft last year and had played spectacularly since. The media couldn’t get enough of him, he was like the all American boy with his perfect hair and perfect smile and perfect family.

“Look Loops, just because you’re not technically a rookie anymore doesn’t mean I’m going to stop treating you like one so until further notice you can’t tell me what to do.”

Remus burst out laughing and pushed Thomas away lightly before those sparkling eyes met Sirius’.

“Welcome to the club.”

The team was… not what Sirius expected. Even more unexpected however, was how he never wanted to leave. His mother’s words still haunted his dreams but Sirius knew; somehow he would have to stay. So he worked. He trained and he slept. Then he slept and he trained. His days were a never ending cycle of eating, training, sleeping, repeat. Even the nights out with the boys seemed the same. Sure, they went to different places, met different people but… the essence of it was the same. The only thing that wasn’t constant in his life was Remus. Sirius couldn’t figure him out. He laughed and joked with the guys, but he was clever and sarcastic and so brilliantly witty, Sirius just couldn’t get enough of listening to him talk. Yeah, one thing was for sure, he would have to stay.

“Remus! You were so good! That goal! It was like one minute you were here and then you were there and the goalie was all ‘woah!’ and I was like ‘woah!’ and like… woah!”

Sirius smiled as he overheard Julian Lupin come in. Remus’ little brother had become the team's little unofficial mascot, appearing frequently in the locker room, peppering everyone with questions and following Remus around like he hung up the moon.

(Although, knowing Remus Sirius wouldn’t be surprised if he actually did).

“Sirius! You were amazing!” Jules buzzed, appearing right in front of him, at a level of pure excitement that only children ever seemed to fully reach. Sirius reached out and ruffled his hair. “Thanks bud, did you have a good time?”

Julian stared up at him, wide eyed. “Yeah.” He breathed. “It was so cool. And mom says I only have ten more minutes because it’s past my bedtime but I want to stay with all of you.”

“Hmm, I’d say your mom probably knows best kiddo, but…” Sirius said, lowering his voice conspiratorially and leaning in, Jules copying his movements, “That is enough time to help me with my cool-down stretches, would you be up for that?”

Julian’s enthusiastic, affirmative response would replay in Sirius’ head for days.

“You’re good with him.” Remus commented later, leaning against the doorframe in the kitchen. The muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing to support himself. Sirius swallowed and forced himself to look away. He never let himself look at Remus too much. Never in the showers - it would do too much to him. It would also hurt too much to know exactly what he was missing out on. This was at least, Sirius could pretend that Remus was horribly misshapen.

(Though Sirius would love Remus if he looked like a toad).

“He’s a good kid.” He said simply, blinking and realising several seconds had gone before he had responded.

“Yeah I think so,” Remus agreed, moving into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. “But I suppose I’m biased.”

“Nah, he’s just a good kid, no bias in sight.”

Remus met his eyes and smiled. Sirius closed his and wished.

Sirius and Remus rose through the ranks. The metaphorical ranks. By which Sirius meant they were no longer treated like rookies. They had Finn and Logan now, so Remus and Sirius were off the hook.

“So what do you think of the new rookies?” James asked him as they stood at the bar, having offered to get the next round of drinks.

“They seem okay, I haven’t talked to them much.”

James nudged his shoulder playfully. “Of course you haven’t.” He said, rolling his eyes. “Well, I like them.”

“Of course you do.” Sirius replied, taking the cue to roll his eyes. Pots liked everyone.

“Hey! They’re nice! And they already know each other so that should help them adjust a little quicker.” James speculated and Sirius glanced back over his shoulder to see the two rookies sitting with their heads close together as they talked. As he looked around, he spotted Remus, who was talking to Thomas but as he watched a girl walked right up with him and started talking. Thomas took his cue to walk away and Sirius took it as he=is cue to leave.

He could stay with the Lions. He could leave his family. He could find a new home here.

But he wouldn’t watch Remus potentially find a home with someone else.

The day Sirius made captain was the best day of his life. For an insurmountable amount of reasons. However one Remus John Lupin pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug and whispering; “You deserve it Captain.”, well that played a big part of it for sure.

(For sure - now Sirius was starting to even sound like Remus.)

For a moment, everything went quiet. Sirius didn’t know how to describe it - everything happened so fast and yet it was like it happened in slow motion. Sirius felt it like an outer body experience, like when you watch a game on the TV and see the replays. It was just like that except it wasn’t on TV and it was happening to him. Snape had made a dirty play. And Sirius was falling.

He fell for forever and for no time at all and he knew only the cold of the ice yet it felt like for a split second the secrets of the universe were revealed to him.

Then the pain kicked in.

His eyes found Remus’ as his team rushed to him, but stayed a distance away to give the medics space. Remus came the closest, his gloved hand reaching up to cover his throat as his lips mouthed Sirius’ name. Sirius looked at him until Remus was out of sight and after that, his hazy, drug-induced dreams were full of laughing eyes, quirked smiles and ridiculously long eyelashes.

Sirius’ recovery was long, but he did it. How could he not? If the choice was hockey or no hockey, well it wasn’t even a choice really. Sirius needed hockey like he needed oxygen, both were key to his survival. He returned to the ice. He pucked around with James and chatted with the baby rookie Leo and played with the Dumais children. He hung out with Remus. A lot.

Until one day, Sirius accepted a dinner invitation, on a stormy night.

Twenty four little candles on a cake, ready to put their special little magic to use.

Sirius closed his eyes and wished.

(And well, we all know how that works out ;) )

#sweater weather lumosinlove #lumosinlove #coast to coast lumosinlove #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #coops #wolfstar #what if remus wasn't injured #sweater weather au

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

Text

—

Chomp. Slurp. Smack.

He glanced up at the group of foreigners. Nothing.

Slorp. Crunch.

Still nothing.

Hiravias was beginning to wonder if he was wasting his time.

He knelt over the still-warm deer carcass, watching the strange little party as they stood just beyond the treeline, talking and stretching and tending to one another's wounds while he licked the blood from his fingers, pulling each digit from his mouth with a loud sucking, popping noise. Ordinarily he'd never eat so ostentatiously– it was never a good idea to draw attention to oneself while eating in the wild, unless one liked having one's hard-earned kill stolen away by something bigger, stronger, and hungrier than oneself. But they still wouldn't look his way, and by now he was starting to feel full. Wael's bowels, how much more loudly am I gonna have to chew before they hear me and decide it's worth investigating? Maybe I should just throw a handful of offal at them instead.

It was unlike him to be so indirect with his intentions, but one never could tell how some estramorwn would to react to a tiny, hairy man openly approaching them with a toothy smile and copious amounts of blood smeared all over his hands and face and clothes. So he had decided to play it safe and try to lure them to him, although he had apparently underestimated either the foreigners' capacity for curiosity or the limits of their sensory perception. These foreigners were the strangest he'd seen out here in a long time, and he was dying to talk to them– for instance, there was only one Dyrwoodan among them, if their accents were anything to go by, and he actually seemed to be taking orders from the orlan in the group. That alone was reason enough to try to insinuate himself into their company, just to find out what was going on there.

He had a few other reasons for seeking their attention, of course. And they were curiosity-based, too. Mostly. Hiravias let his gaze drift slowly over the orlan woman as she allowed the feathered Ocean folk to lay her hand on the curve of her furry hip, a soft, golden glow emanating from the Godlike's fingertips. The orlan woman sighed in relief as the bruise marring her tawny skin faded in the golden light, and she smiled up at the other woman with gratitude, her thick, full lips parting just so, her long eyelashes fluttering.

He pulled his thumb from his mouth with a loud, wet pop.

The Ocean folk woman whipped her head around suddenly to face in his direction. "We are being watched," she hissed, her hawk's eyes narrowing as she searched the underbrush.

Finally! He feigned surprise at being "discovered" as best as he cared to, freezing and holding up his gore-streaked hands when the adventurers charged over, cautious but not aggressive. Yet.

"Woah, there, sorry if I startled you," he grinned, relishing the looks of confusion and disgust he was inspiring on the shiny new faces before him. "I was just enjoying the bounty of nature a little too enthusiastically, I guess. By the way, this isn't your forest, is it? Because if it is, you need a better game warden." He turned his head and spit out a wayward wad of gristle before wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and the wood elf in their party actually gagged and turned away. Hiravias couldn't help but feel an odd sense of satisfaction at that.

The orlan woman, on the other hand, seemed to relax a bit at his words. "I don't think Stormwall Gorge is in my jurisdiction, no. You took this deer down by yourself?"

"A stelgaer killed it, actually," Hiravias replied, smiling pleasantly. Not quite a lie. "A rather large and ornery one. Although the deer had a badly malformed heart and would have been dead within the year even if the stelgaer had never crossed its path. I'd show you, but, well, it was also a very delicious heart." He gestured to the carcass, spreading his arms wide before him. "Here, be my guest. There's no way I can eat all of this myself!"

The dwarf actually stepped forward, her eyes lighting up like stars in the night sky. "I call the shank," she said, drawing a knife while the fox at her knee slavered, panting eagerly. Everyone else remained where they were, their grimaces slowly intensifying.

"And here I thought Sagani was the only raw-meat-eater I was liable to encounter in the Dyrwood," the orlan woman chuckled, indicating the dwarf woman with a tilt of her chin. "You don't cook either, huh?"

"What, and burn out all the flavor? Wreck that incredible texture?" Hiravias scoffed, shaking his head. "Galawain would strike me down where I stood for disrespecting one of His beasts in such a manner, and for damned good reason, too! I mean, look at this–" He dug into the creature's guts and pulled out a fat, juicy loop of intestines. "How is this not appetizing?"

He held the viscera out to her, trying valiantly to fight the mischievous grin twitching into place on his face, but he couldn't quite help himself. "Here, go on. It's the best part! You won't regret it!"

She fixed her eyes on his, a smirk of her own slowly crawling across her lips as she crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom. "You first," she murmured, her voice low and smooth and sultry.

Well, shit, woman, say it like that and how can I refuse?

Feeling a bit sophomoric, but determined not to give up, Hiravias defiantly returned her stare as he stuffed the pink, glistening tube into his mouth and began chewing– and of course, instantly regretting it. "Mmmmm," he managed, performatively rubbing his belly even as he winced and drooled. "S-so... good..." The taste of shit and lingering digestive acids mingled in his mouth. So much for my full stomach.

The aumaua towering above them all choked out a half-laugh, half-groan. "My friend," he declared, "I somehow seriously doubt that."

"Desgant," the bird woman spat, baring her teeth in a disgusted scowl. She didn't look away, though, so Hiravias counted that as at least a partial victory. The dwarf and her fox watched, too, silently filling up on strips of raw venison with only mild bemusement on their faces. He was definitely in there.

Finally he swallowed, although it took him a couple of tries. "Well! Now I know it had elderberries for its last meal. Praise be to Wael for the revelation!" He wiped his mouth again, shuddering, and held out his filthy hand for a shake. "Name's Hiravias, by the way. It's been a good long while since I've shared a meal with such pleasant company, so... thank you for tolerating me." The little woman nodded, smiling, but she kept her hand out of his.

The Dyrwoodan snapped his fingers suddenly, pointing at Hiravias and grinning as though he'd finally solved some great and vexing mystery. "Oh! I got it. You're Glanfathan, ain't ya?"

He barked a short, sharp laugh in response. "This is the brains of the operation, then?"

"What Edér lacks in intellectual prowess, he more than makes up for in other fields, trust me." The orlan woman's smile turned kind as she gently patted the folk man's wrist. "I'm Axa Mala, the... the Watcher of Caed Nua." She almost seemed to have to force the words, as though she wasn't quite used to associating herself with that title just yet. It made him think of the Autumn Stelgaer, a pang of sympathy striking his heart. "What's a nice Waelite like you doing in a place like this, then?"

"Me? Oh, seeing what there is to see, eating what there is to eat, experiencing the wonders of this strange and beautiful and world the gods have blessed us with." He dipped his head low in reverence for a moment before peeking back up at her. "I'm a Druid of the Circle of Hawk and Ivy of the Fisher Crane tribe, you see, and I've been all over Eir Glanfath a few times over now, even pushed into the Dyrwood where I thought I could get away with it without having to face down a bunch of drunken meatheads calling me a hairy little face-painting catfucker. But I have to say, throughout all my travels over the years, I've never had the good fortune to meet a Watcher before."

Her smile broadened even as her eyes narrowed. "And you'd like to see more of this Watcher, is that it?" She may have taken a while to get rolling, but she sure caught up fast. "Well, a Druid's talents could certainly be a boon to us, as well as a native Glanfathan's knowledge of the land and the locations of Engwithan ru– uh." She stopped abruptly, her face blanching as she reflexively readjusted her satchel, pushing it a bit further behind her back. "Not that– we don't– I mean, uh..."

Right. There was that. He'd been so caught up in actually talking to other kith again– another orlan, at that, and not a Dyrwoodan orlan with that depressing, beaten-down, high-strung, constant-victim-of-horrendous-bigotry baggage they tended to suffer from– that he'd almost forgotten that they were a bunch of grave-robbing ruin defilers. He'd watched them descend into Lle a Rhemen hours before, and then he'd watched them emerge with their rucksacks bulging, and although his old protective instincts had flared up inside of him, the familiar rage and indignation wrapping around him like a fiery blanket, instead of shifting and pouncing on them or bidding the earth to open up beneath them, he'd just... watched. Waited. Thought. And now, in place of any lingering urge to gut them, he found himself wanting nothing more than to walk with them, talk with them. It had been so long since he'd run with a pack, and even though they were estramorwn with no respect for the land or for the Builders, they were at least kind to him and easy to talk to. And he knew he'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't itching to find out what secrets lay buried inside the ruins of the Builders, just a little bit...

"You don't what?" Hiravias huffed, hands flexing at his sides, clenching them into fists over and over. "I didn't see you do anything. ...Maybe the gods did, and if so they'll rend your soul asunder when it passes the Veil, as would be your richly deserved fate, but..." He shrugged, forcing a smile. "This eyepatch isn't just for show, y'know; I really am half-blind. So maybe chance had it that my blind side was facing you when you did... whatever it is you did or didn't do."

Axa scratched at the back of her neck, blushing, not quite able to look at the Glanfathan. "Yeah, I, uh... noticed your Eye of Wael, there." The conversation lulled awkwardly for a moment, until suddenly she smiled at him again, her whole face lighting up. "Hey! Wanna help us track down some assholes who stole scripture from a temple of Wael? Maybe it'll redeem me a little in Their eyes, if indeed I've offended Them."

The aumaua brightened up as well. "Ondra's teeth, I'd very nearly forgotten about that! Will we go to Searing Falls as well?" He leaned toward Hiravias, his smile as bright as the sun and twice as big. "We were asked to go there by a priestess of Magran, you see, on a quest to realize a mysterious vision from her fiery Mistress..."

Edér frowned. "Hey, you said you'd take us to that battlefield where my brother died, look for clues there. ...I guess he ain't gettin' any deader, though, so it's no real rush. Just... you know. Be nice to get some answers, if we can."

Axa gave Hiravias a pointed look. "Well, you heard. Scrolls of Waelite wisdom, mysterious visions, and answers from beyond the grave. We'll have you if you'll have us. You in?"

He ran his tongue over his pointed teeth, smile broadening as he shouldered his pack. "With a pitch like that, how could I resist?"

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #fic wip #first foray into writing hiravias!#party management soon to follow #thanks for reading ♡

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blue-bird-on-a-wire · 4 years

Text

Vercopa (Hope)

gif credit: @coredrive

Part 1 of the Gar Cuyir Yaim series

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,620

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x (Y/n) with she/her pronouns

Warnings: Jabba’s slave culture, violence, threat of unwanted sexual harassment. This takes place in a universe where Jabba never died in Return of The Jedi (maybe he passed out or something).

Summary: All (Y/n) can remember is being sold to Jabba at a young age. She has grown up within his palace walls, hears tales of great warriors called Mandalorians. Just as she faces what may be her last few days alive, a big blue Mandalorian shows up.

A/N: Hi! This is my first time posting a fic on Tumblr. You can also find this on Ao3 under B1ue_Bird_0n_A_Wire. Please feel free to give feedback, as I don’t have a beta reader and often miss spelling mistakes. Or if you feel there need to be more warnings/other warnings, feel free to DM me! I don’t bite 😊. Enjoy!

The room was always full and loud, bustling with music from the band and conversation between various criminals. It was a place full of sleemos making deals, only to backstab each other when the twin suns set. The smell of sweat left a foul taste in your mouth, but it was easier to ignore the longer you stayed. One might say this palace was full of life if not for the giant slug who controlled everyone within it. All who stayed there were either a slave through debt or in chains.

I was not so lucky as to be a slave through debt. I could not work my way out of slavery, for I was in chains.

Sold to Jabba as a girl, almost all of my life had been within his palace walls. I had been a server while growing up. Hardly anyone ever paid attention to me as I scrambled around the place. I served and refilled drinks, or cleaned up after “guests” who died by the hand of Jabba's goons.

My biggest fear, aside from the rancor pit beneath my feet, was being turned into one of Jabba’s dancers. He went through them faster than a womp rat could scurry through an alleyway at night. If Jabba’s rancor wasn’t fed by someone who failed to pay back their debt, it was fed by a dancer after Jabba grew tired of them. A pretty face would only last so long.

I had learned a lot from listening to bounty hunters tell stories about their travels. My favorites were the stories about the Mandalorians. They were warriors who lived by a strict code and valued family just as much as they valued their weapons or beskar armor.

As a child, I would dream of these Mandalorians coming to Jabba’s palace, and taking me away. They would raise me to be one of them like I was a foundling. I wanted to be strong like a Mandalorian too, in how they could strike fear into even the most dangerous criminals with only a tilt of their head.

Although I had never seen one before, I knew they wore what was called beskar armor, and were not allowed to take off their helmets. Some people said they would paint their armor a different color from the shiny silver of beskar metal. I remember overhearing a conversation about Mandalorian traditions in regards to their loyalty and the love for their children. I painted a picture in my head of these great warriors and idolized them as the heroes in my daydreams. I never thought I would meet a real one.

~ ~ ~

“‘Nother round o’ spotchka!” a bounty hunter called as I walked past his table. “An’ ‘Urry it up, Babe!”

I did my best to refrain from rolling my eyes as I quickly made my way to the bar.

The thin metal collar around my neck rubbed at my skin as I turned my head to look up at the bartender. It was a constant reminder of my place within this hierarchy, though after so long I had nearly grown numb to the pain.

“Spotchka please, for table six,” I said, watching as the bartender took a glance behind me to make sure there was actually someone at that table.

There were no true friends here. It was almost a rule to expect lies coming from everyone's mouth. Besides, Jabba had issues with his slaves and alcohol consumption in the past, hence the unease for my honesty (not that I had ever been dishonest with this bartender before). The bartender turned around and pulled a glass from off the shelf. He filled it with the glowing blue alcohol and slid it across the bar table.

I smiled at him, picked up the glass, and gave a nod in thanks.

Though I did my best to ignore it, my neck burned at the gesture. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a little bit of bacta gel from one of the closets downstairs. I planned to sneak in there while no one was watching. Maybe I could find a few moments to myself as well, away from the hustle and bustle of the people in the throne room.

“Took ya long enough, Babe. I was startin’ to think ya ‘ad forgotten abou’ me,” the bounty hunter said as I returned with his alcohol. He stroked his patchy beard and eyed me up and down while I set his drink on the table.

I kept my gaze cast downward with my lips tightly pressed together. All I wanted was to get in and out without being noticed, but as I have grown older that had become much harder to do.

Just as I turned to leave, I saw the bounty hunter pick up the glass and dump its contents on the floor.

“Oops,” he said. “Guess ya gotta clean that up, Babe.”

I could feel my face heating up, knowing full well what game he was playing at. I wasn’t stupid. I had seen guests do this to other slave girls before. It never ended well for one or the other person.

I pulled a rag hanging from my belt, as it was common for me to be cleaning up spills. Instead of bending over, I chose to keep my front facing the bounty hunter and squat in order to wipe up the blue alcohol.

“‘Ome on now, Babe! Don’ be tha’ way,” the bounty hunter wined, banging his fist on the table as I stood up.

“Would you like another drink?” I asked, plucking the now empty glass from the table.

“Betta’ watch ya tone with me, ‘ittle one. I’m sure Jabba woulden’ wanna ‘ear abou’ trouble comin’ fro’ ya.”

I smiled, though it did not reach my eyes. “I’ll take that as a no,” I said and walked away to dispose of the rag and fetch a new one. I felt proud of myself, though the feeling did not last very long.

“Jabba!”

The throne room grew quiet with the bounty hunters' booming voice.

My blood ran cold and I froze in place.

Jabba finished chewing on a roasted frog before grumbling out in huttese.

“The great and powerful Jabba demands to know what you want, bounty hunter,” translated the crime lord’s red protocol droid.

The middle-aged man stood from his seat, drunkenly staggering up to Jabba’s throne.

“Don’ ya think tha’ pretty ‘ittle server ovah there,” the bounty hunter pointed at me. “Odda make a good danca?”

I thought my knees were going to collapse. I could feel my fingers twitching around the glass, and my eyes widened as I watched him.

Jabba paused for a moment before speaking.

“The all mighty Jabba wants to know what makes you say this,” droned the protocol droid.

The man looped his fingers through his belt while he turned to look at me. “She’s been ‘ere for a long time, Jabba. She’s experienced with this crowd. I’d imagine she’d make herself more useful to ya in tha’ way before her expiration date.”

My heartbeat was picking up speed with every second this dragged on. My expiration date? What, were they planning to kill me once I reached a certain age or something?

Jabba spoke again, his tone was much harsher than before.

“The great and powerful Jabba says you should not be telling him what to do.”

“Oh! Bu’ o’ course not! Look, Jabba, all I’m askin’ is tha’ ya-”

Jabba cut the bounty hunter off and spoke more aggressively.

Everyone in the room flinched back at his tone, even the protocol droid.

“The all mighty Jabba says you are in no position to be making deals, bounty hunter.”

“Jabba! Jabba! Now, wait a minute and jus’ liste-”

The overgrown slug slammed his fist down on a button on his throne, opening the rancor pit.

Gasps could be heard through the room as the bounty hunter fell into the beast’s layer.

The crowd quickly swarmed around the grates on the floor, subsequently pushing me forward as well. They laughed and jeered as the rancor was released from its cage.

I felt my stomach churn as I listened to the bounty hunter screaming and pleading for his life. I would never understand the appeal of watching a monster devour people.

At least that man would never pray on anyone ever again.

As the rancor picked up the helpless bounty hunter and swallowed him whole, the crowd let out a big cheer.

I was nearly elbowed in the face with all the commotion before the crowd pulled back and dispersed to where they had been before.

I shuffled backward with everyone, the breath I had been holding was finally released.

This must have meant I would remain a server after all.

Jabba finished laughing, and I began to leave and fetch another towel when I heard my name leave his slimy lips.

Oh boy.

I halted in my steps, dread shooting back down to the pit of my belly. I turned on my heels, knowing one should never leave Jabba waiting.

“Yes, great and powerful Jabba?” I squeaked out, quiet enough that I wasn’t sure I had been heard at all.

Jabba hummed before he spoke.

“The all mighty Jabba says the bounty hunter was stupid, but made a good point,” explained the protocol droid. “You are getting old, and your youth will not last for much longer.”

I didn't think I was that old. I must have been in my 20′s at least. If I wasn't so terrified, I might have been offended.

I tried to control my trembling but my muscles ached with the effort. Was it hot in that room, or was it just me?

Jabba gestured to some of his goons as he continued to speak.

“He says you have one rotation to learn the dances.”

One of Jabba’s goons grabbed me by my upper arm, dragging me away into the back of the Palace while the music resumed and chatter once again filled the palace.

I had no words, but my thoughts were running a mile a minute. This was it. This would be my death. Within a week I would be eaten by the seething monster below if I wasn’t sold off to a bounty hunter as payment or reward for a job well done.

I couldn't even dance! How was I supposed to learn to dance in twenty-four hours? I could probably wiggle like a Hutt, but nothing more elaborate than that!

Who was I kidding? With my only skills as a scurrying little waitress, my lack of grace when it comes to moving my body in any fashion, and my definitely-not-as-beautiful-as-a-twi'lek’-body there was no way I would survive even an hour on that throne.

Before I could register what was happening, I was being fitted into royal blue undergarments underneath a black fishnet jumpsuit. The outfit left hardly anything to the imagination. This was something I had once seen a green twi'lek girl wearing several years ago. Oola, I believe was her name. It seemed as though Jabba had someone fish her outfit from the inside of his pet’s belly. Maybe it was worth more than it looked, but I would not want to be the one assigned the task of retrieving it.

I was shoved into a secluded room, where a holo-vid with a skinny-looking rodian was showing demonstrations for various dance moves.

As soon as Jabba’s goon left, I began to watch the rodian. I stood and tried to copy his gestures and from, but ultimately I stumbled over myself and was left winded.

Late into the night, I continued to practice until the soles of my bare feet hurt. I could already feel the blisters I would have in a few hours, and I had grown frustrated.

I was about ready to completely give up, curl into a ball on the floor, and cry myself to sleep. It felt useless anyhow. The rancor probably already knew my name, and was just waiting for me down below.

I felt hopeless, at least until I began to think about those Mandalorian stories.

I was sure a Mandalorian would never give up. They probably fought until their very last breath even when they knew the end was staring them straight in the eyes.

I took a deep breath, grounded myself, and did the best that I could to fight through the pain, tiredness, and hopelessness that threatened to break me.

Keeping track of my feet while also making sure to move my arms and put on a smile was difficult. It was like juggling glasses of spotchka while walking on a tightrope over a Sarlacc pit. However, I was determined to figure it out.

I would not be a pathetic little thing who laid down at death's door. I was going to fight with everything I had, even though I felt like I was attacking a Krayt Dragon with a spoon.

Come morning, my muscles were stiff and ached. I was covered in layers of sweat, but I knew I had done all I could to prepare myself to go out with a bang.

I was led to the sonic showers, where I cleaned myself up before donning that same dancer's outfit as before. It was as though the whole outfit screamed my designation as a slave, with the revealing design meant for the pleasure of anyone but the wearer.

No matter, I fixed my hair and kept my chin up as I was escorted back to the throne room.

Sure enough, Jabba was waiting with a heavy-looking chain in hand.

He said something in huttese that the protocol droid did not translate before he clasped the chain to a loop in the front of my collar.

I had never been this close to the crime lord before, but I swore his breath could kill alone. That must have been how he had risen to power, as I just could not imagine Jabba as a fighter who won his way to victory through blaster fire or skill with a vibroblade. No, he most defiantly must only need to burp to murder everyone within the room. If I didn’t know any better, I would say the entire palace only smelled so badly because of him.

"The great and powerful Jabba commands you to sit," says the protocol droid.

It was only then that I realized Jabba had addressed me, as he gestured to a spot on his throne beside his tail.

I moved to that spot and crossed my legs as I sat there, the chain swaying heavily with my movements.

I lifted a hand to rub the irritated skin around my neck, only to flinch away as the touch of my fingers stung my skin. Perhaps touching my wounds was worse in the long run. Disappointment filled me knowing there would be no way to get ahold of that batch gel now.

I wondered how difficult it would be to dance with the giant chain connected to my collar because of the extra weight it put on my neck.

Soon enough, the crowd in the throne room was as lively as ever, with the band playing their repetitive upbeat melodies.

For a few hours, not once did Jabba command me to dance, and for that I was grateful. My bare feet were allowed a few hours of rest, while my mind was allowed to wander.

Would it hurt to die? Would I feel my soul slipping from my body? What would happen in death? Would everything go black or would there be something waiting beyond it? My mind was spiraling and all I could focus on was my inevitable doom.

That was until a new bounty hunter entered the palace.

Thud. Thud. Thud. His steps were heavy.

He was huge, dressed from head to toe in blue armor. Easily 6’6”, this man could command the room with his size alone.

I struggled to find what he was looking at, as the dark visor on his helmet left no clues as to where his eyes wandered.

Jabba laughed as he spotted the bounty hunter. He raised his arms in welcome.

"The all mighty Jaba wonders what you are doing here, Mandalorian," translated the protocol droid.

Mandalorian? Wait a minute. This was a Mandalorian?

I felt my face heat up in embarrassment while my spine straightened a little. I had been waiting for a Mandalorian my whole life, but it occurred to me at that moment I was dressed in something so revealing when one finally showed up. I hoped he wouldn’t notice me, but I was right beside Jabba which made that very unlikely.

He looked so much more powerful than I had imagined those of his creed to be. This man would be able to take on a rancor just by barreling into it, given how much he looked like a tank. There was no doubt in my mind anymore about how Mandalorians were able to tame the great Mythasaures on their homeworld.

There was something about him that was also familiar. Perhaps it was the black visor which hid his eyes, or simply the general design of his armor. I felt like I had seen those of his kind before, though I swore I had never met a Mandalorian before. Surely I must have been creating false memories for myself.

The Mandalorian paused in front of Jabba's throne, and it became apparent he made sure not to stand above the entrance to the rancor pit.

"I mean you no trouble, Jabba. I am only seeking out a bounty said to be hiding within your palace," the Mandalorian said. His voice was deep and raspy, like the rumbling of a generator just before it reaches full power.

As Jabba again spoke in his native language, I noticed the Mandalorian’s helmet tilt in my direction and his shoulders tensed.

There was no way he was looking at me, right! It had to of been someone behind me.

He was definitely looking at me, and I was trembling from both fear and excitement under his gaze. He could shoot everyone in this room if he wanted to and not suffer a scratch from it.

From the bottom of my heart, I hoped he was here for me, though I knew those thoughts to be childhood fantasies. I had lost hope long ago of seeing the stars one last time before I would die in this place.

"The wise Jaba asks who you are looking for."

The Mandalorian’s focus snapped back to Jabba. He unclipped a bounty puck from his belt. "I am here for someone that owes a debt to the crime lord, Twene Shias, here on Tatooine."

Jabba, as well as the crowd gasped. He pulled back and began to gesture wildly, which caused my chain to be inconsiderately tugged.

I tried not to choke at the movement while I scooted closer to the giant slug in an attempt to ease the pressure on my neck.

Jabba hummed before his protocol droid said, "The great and powerful Jabba, though shocked, wants to make a deal. He says he will hand over whoever you are looking for, in return for the murder of this Twene Shias."

The Mandalorian paused for a moment. "This bounty I am after is worth much less than the head of this other crime lord. Surely, as a part of one of the most powerful and wealthy crime syndicates, you can offer me a little bit more than this."

Jabba considered the Mandalorian’s words with small nods of his head.

"Jabba the Hutt says that although this is already a generous offer, he wants to know what else you might want."

The big blue Mandalorian nodded while he gestured with his helmet in my direction.

"How about her?"

Me? Was he serious?

Jabba burst into laughter, the crowd within the palace following suit.

I felt my face heat up and my heart jumped into my throat. I turned my head away from the Mandalorian, fiddling with my skimpy outfit.

I must have been dreaming. There was no way this mandalorian was referring to me. If he was, he had no clue just how useless I would be to him.

Once Jabba was able to get a hold of his laughter, he spoke again.

"The all mighty Jabba says this girl is not worth anything. She is a servant in this palace with no skill sets of value to a Mandalorian such as yourself," explained the droid. "That is, unless you are a Mandalorian with other needs."

The blue armored man scoffed. “Then Jabba can spare one measly dancer in exchange for the murder of a rivaling crime lord.”

Jabba, whose pride was easily wounded, wasted no time to correct his words.

“The great and powerful Jabba says that if this is what you wish, he will gladly transfer ownership of the girl to you after you bring back this crime lord’s head.”

I felt my heart skip a beat as my head shot up to look at the Mandalorian.

Oh my gosh, he was serious. I would belong to a Mandalorian? What would this mean? What would he want with me?

The Mandalorian puffed out his chest, “You have a deal. Now, where is the toydarian, Drob Tufme?”

Jabba gestured to some of his goons behind him, who quickly entered the crowd.

Yelling could be heard from near the bar before a hunched-over toydarian was shoved onto the floor at the Mandalorian’s feet. “Hey! Hey!” Drob Tufme shouted, scrambling to stand up. “I didn’t do nothin’! I don’t got no debt!”

The Mandalorian quickly shoved Drob to his knees, running the blinking red fob over his head before clipping it back onto his belt.

“Doesn't matter,” said the Mandalorian while he cuffed Drob.

The Mandalorian pulled Drop to his feet and gave Jabba a nod before he turned and dragged the squirming toydarian out of the palace.

There was a pause before the quiet throne room burst back to life with the Mandalorian now gone. It was as though a weight had been lifted from everyone’s shoulders.

It was at that moment a new realization came over me. I wasn’t going to die in this horribly smelly place. I wouldn't be eaten by the monster below, nor shot by stray blaster fire. I refused to allow myself to think about what my life would be like in the hands of this Mandalorian. I did not want to believe my circumstances could get any worse than they already were. Perhaps it was simply for the preservation of my sanity, but I felt giddy inside that my childhood fantasy of being taken away by a Mandalorian was sort of coming true. One should never give up on childish hopes.

(Part 2 coming soon!)

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lyssismagical · 4 years

Note

Maybe 28 and 57 for the prompt writing? That would be really cute 💖

28 - “No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

57 - “Who changed the thermostat settings? I’m freezing to death.”

Idk how it happened but nearly 4k words of Cheerleading Captain!Peter x Quarterback!Harley for your consideration

Joining a new school in junior year wasn’t easy. Moving from Tennessee to New York was even harder.

But if there was one thing Harley had on his side, he was a fantastic football player. And everyone knew football players were top of the social pyramid.

“Quarterback? Really?” One of the boys say when he says it to the coach. “You think the new kid will get the position?”

Harley shrugs. “I played in Tennessee. I won every game.”

The coach lifts an eyebrow and then nods in approval. “Ever since the schoolboard started talking about implementing athletics at a STEM school, we’ve been pretty emptyhanded. Not enough students willing to drop robotics to join a team, not enough good students. We won one game last year out of a total of nearly fifteen.”

With a smug grin, he rolls his shoulders and slips his helmet over his head.

He gets Quarterback with ease.

As he’s leaving the field after tryouts, he notices a group of girls and a boy congregating by the bleachers, all dressed in blue and gold.

“You’re new here,” a girl says, appearing beside him. He recognizes her, having been sitting in the bleachers alone during tryouts. She’s not wearing a football uniform or the ones the group across from them is wearing.

“Harley Keener,” he replies. “You’re Michelle, right? You’re in my chemistry class.”

She offers half a smile. “MJ. I heard you landed Quarterback.”

“Not that it was particularly hard, there’s not much competition.”

Looping their arms together, she leads him a few more feet away from the group. “They’re the cheerleaders in case you didn’t know. Cindy, the one with the pink water bottle, she’s co-captain. And Peter Parker is captain, he’s been captain since freshman year.”

“He’s captain?”

MJ’s smile turns knowing. “Yeah, he’s captain. Too bad you missed him in freshman year. The school didn’t have the budget for two sets of cheerleader uniforms, so Peter had to wear the short skirt the whole first year. I had to teach him how to shave his legs. Now he gets to wear pants.”

Harley turns, pretends not to look, but still says, “The pants are nice.”

“I know what that’s code for,” MJ laughs.

Indignant, Harley huffs, “I’m not a creep, his pants are just really tight.”

“Well, he is both single and bisexual, so if you’re courageous enough, I’d say to shoot your shot, Keener.”

Before Harley has the time to reply, MJ’s already walking off towards the school, without even a glance over her shoulder.

Harley’s not courageous enough to ask Peter out. All he does is wave from a distance, reveling in Peter’s little smile in return before making his way to the locker rooms.

* The first game of the season they nearly lose thanks to Harley’s constant staring at Peter on the sidelines.

The next two games, he focuses so intently on winning for Peter that they totally annihilate the other teams.

At the end of their third game, a home game, Harley’s on his way to the showers, grinning at his teammates when Peter catches up to them.

“Congratulations on your win,” he says.

Harley’s stunned into silence. It’s the first time he’s really seen Peter up close. They only share one class together, Spanish, and they sit on opposite ends, with Harley only able to see the back of his head.

But Peter’s gorgeous.

His brown curls are messy from the last few hours of cheering on the sidelines and the halftime show, some of it still sticking to his forehead. His pale skin is practically glowing in the lights of the field, bambi-brown eyes sparkling and wide, and chest still heaving from the exertion of their last, over-the-top performance. His arms are practically straining in the tight t-shirt he’s wearing, the gold accents making his eyes look a little more honey, smile wide on his face.

“I, uh-” Harley chokes out, cursing himself for acting dumb. “Thank you. You guys were pretty incredible.”

“Thanks.” A soft blush rises on his cheeks, makes him look down, smile turning shy. “Good luck on your next game. The Brooklyn Team’s the best in state.”

Harley can’t help the frown. “You won’t be there?”

“I’ve got Academic Decathlon competition in DC that weekend. But good luck anyways.”

“You too…” Harley feels like his chest is constricting over the knowledge that Peter’s smart too. “I, uh, I guess I’ll see you around?”

Peter smiles sweetly and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

* Over the next few weeks of short conversations after games or practices, Harley finds himself watching Peter all the time.

Peter wears his cheerleading uniform all day everyday like the others do, head held high and students parting for him like he’s royalty. He’s friends with pretty much everyone, sending smiles and having short conversations as he goes down the hallway to class.

He’s also unbelievably kind, stopping teasing at every chance he gets, using his popularity to keep people in line, being nice to even the nerdiest looking freshmen.

Harley finds himself falling hard the longer he knows Peter.

Watching the way he moves with grace and confidence in such contrast to the way he blushes and smiles shyly whenever he’s complimented. It makes Harley’s heart clench with this crush that feels like it’s developing way too fast for his own comfort.

* “Could I talk to you?” Peter asks him after practice.

Harley’s still sweaty, still uncomfortably warm in his pads and uniform, helmet dangling from his fingertips leaving his hair messy and ruffled. But he offers a smile. “Yeah, everything okay?”

The cheerleader looks uncomfortable, turning his gaze to the grass, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Hey,” Harley says, voice dropping low and quiet as he pulls them farther away from their teams, trying his best to keep his thoughts away from Peter’s bicep flexing wondrously beneath his fingers. “You can talk to me, whatever it is.”

“It’s just embarrassing…” Peter looks up at Harley through his eyelashes. “My grades have dropped in a few of my classes, and I know we only share Spanish, but I kinda got MJ to snoop and it turns out you have one of the highest GPA’s in school.”

Harley frowns because that can’t possibly be right. “From what I’ve seen in Spanish class, you seem really smart.”

“Well, I don’t want to sound overly confident, but I am smart. I’ve just had a bad habit of slacking off when it comes to homework. So my grades aren’t looking too hot and my aunt threatened to make drop out of cheerleading if I didn’t get it in order.”

Offering a reassuring smile, Harley nods. “Not really tutoring, but I can sit with you in the library and help you work through the homework? More like study date- sessions. Study sessions.”

Peter positively lights up in a grin. “Wow, really? Thank you! I’ve got cheerleading practice three nights a week and Academic Decathlon every other night, so I’m not really free, but if you’re willing to hang out after your football practices…”

“Yeah, of course, sounds perfect. We’ll start Wednesday?”

“Yes! Thank you! I promise I’ll be a good study partner. I’ll see you around, Harley!”

And with that, Peter skips off to catch up with his cheerleader friends.

Harley can only shake his head in wonder and head off to the lockers.

* Wednesday comes quickly, and Harley’s glad because with how much time he spends daydreaming about Peter, he’s not sure he can keep up his grades either.

But soon enough, he’s waiting outside the locker rooms for Peter, hoping that the shower was enough to wash away the sweat from the tough practice.

“Hey!” Peter says, bubbly and smiling brightly. “I know we said we’d study at the library, but I’m getting a little bit sick of being inside all day. Do you want to work out on the bleachers?”

Harley nods, swallowing thickly and trying his best to keep his eyes strictly on Peter face and not watch his arms or his neck or his legs. “Sounds good.”

They head out into the setting sun, playfully nudging shoulders and nearly racing each other to get to the bleachers first, which ends in Peter laughing and shouting when he makes it their first.

“So, I heard from MJ this morning that you were being unbelievably humble when you said you were smart. She said you have a genius IQ. And you needed study help, why?”

“I told you,” Peter says, laughing. “I haven’t done homework in nearly three years. My grades are solely based on test scores and participation which would be fine if the take-home projects weren’t weighted so heavily.”

Harley rolls his eyes but takes out his Chemistry textbook anyways. “Alright, let’s get you caught up then. You’ve got nearly two months of homework to catch up on.”

“Let’s do this then.”

It turns out, Harley loves watching Peter work. He really is a genius, easily getting the work done like it’s second nature to him, able to answer mathematical equations without a calculator or a second thought, speed reading his way through chapters in the textbook. And it definitely helps that he looks absolutely stunning in the light of the setting sun and the gentle wind.

Eventually, though, they can’t stay much longer with the fading, and curfew closing in.

“Thanks for your help today… Same time Friday?” Peter asks, eyes all wide and hopeful, smile sweet.

“Actually, not to be presumptuous, but we’d have more time if we hung out for longer… Would you want to come over? Spend the night? We could work later and get more done on Saturday?”

Peter thinks about it for a moment and then he shrugs. “I don’t think my aunt would be happy with me spending the night, but you’re welcome to come to mine?”

“Sounds like a plan, Parker. You need a ride home?”

“Sure, yeah, thanks.”

Harley helps pack up their things and then takes Peter’s bag before leading him out to his truck. He opens the door for Peter, memorizing the dazzling smile he gives in return.

They only have half an hour together on the drive home, but it’s enough time for them to share more personal information.

Harley tells Peter about his sister and his mom, about Tennessee and how different life was there, how much he loves New York in comparison. He talks about getting quarterback, winning games, being on top of the social hierarchy for the first time in his life.

Peter, in turn, mentions quietly how he was bullied in the ninth grade before and when he first joined the cheerleaders. How at first, people told him it was girls team, that it wasn’t meant for him. But then they won their first trophy which snowballed into him becoming captain and leading them to win nationals and get them fifth in worlds. And then, very quickly, he became the most popular kid in school.

By the time they reach Peter’s apartment, Harley feels like they’ve grown closer and he doesn’t want to say goodbye to him.

“Today was really nice,” Peter murmurs, leaning across to kiss Harley on the cheek. “Thanks for helping me out. I’ll see you at school tomorrow and then Friday night?”

The words are on the tip of his tongue, wanting to ask Peter out, change Friday Night into a Date Night instead of a Study Session.

But then Peter’s hopping out of his truck, bag slung over his shoulder and gold accents of his uniform glimmering in the streetlights. And Harley misses his chance.

* Peter’s quiet the whole way to his apartment, bag sitting in his lap.

He looks almost out of place in the outside world while still in his Midtown Cheerleading Uniform. But Harley’s still in his jersey, so it’s not so strange in comparison.

Peter leads him into his cozy apartment, empty apart from them, and they make themselves at home in the living room around the coffee table.

“Everything okay?” Harley asks, almost startling himself with his own voice. He was planning on leaving it alone, he’s not really Peter’s friend.

“Yeah, I just kind of have a lot riding on this.” Peter’s quiet for a second, fiddling with his nails before he explains, “I can’t afford to go to a school like Midtown, but I got awarded a full ride. If I don’t get my grades up, I might be put on academic probation, have my scholarship taken away… I’d have to switch schools for my senior year, also meaning I’d probably lose the university scholarships I might’ve been offered for cheerleading.”

Harley mulls over it for a moment before shrugging. “Well, you have a very good study partner on your side. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your grades are up by exams. Don’t start thinking of the worst-case scenarios just yet.”

The tenseness leaves Peter’s shoulders in one exhale, expression softening. “Thanks. I don’t want to put pressure on you, but-”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Smiling, Peter opens his bag and they get to work.

Time passes quickly when they’re focused on getting things done, it’s not hard for Peter to get closer and closer to catching up, but there’s only so much they can do before boredom and hunger starts to set in.

They order pizza, Harley offering to pay but Peter insistent after Harley’s helped him so much.

“You know,” Harley says after Peter gets off the phone, “Breaks are important to keep up consistent work.”

Peter grins knowingly, flopping down onto the couch beside Harley. “Are they?”

“As an avid homework-doer and studier, I can totally say that breaks are important. So, I suggest we do pizza and a movie, and then a bit more work before bed.”

“Of course. And as someone who doesn’t do homework or study, I can’t disagree with anything you say. Here.” Peter gives him the TV remote. “Let me go get changed, I can only wear this for so long before I start craving sweatpants, and when I get back, we’ll start on a movie of your choosing.”

Harley picks out Star Wars, seemingly a safe bet considering the very obvious Star Wars poster stuck to the wall above the couch, and texts Abbie in the meantime who teases him endlessly, already having figured out his crush on Peter.

“Star Wars! It’s like you read my mind!” Peter calls out, slipping around the couch.

“I mean there’s science so it’s-” But the words are gone as soon as he sees Peter.

He looks so much different than the Cheerleading Captain Harley’s always seen him as, tucked in a pair of loose sweatpants and an even looser t-shirt, hair mussed and body relaxed. God, if Harley thought he looked incredible in his uniform, it’s nothing compared to the way he looks relaxed and content in lounge clothes.

“So it’s…” Peter prompts, forehead creasing but smiling in amusement.

“Sorry, I- You’re just- Sorry, I’ve never seen you outside your uniform before,” Harley says, voice suddenly thick. “The movie’s educational, that’s all.”

Peter giggles, sitting down beside Harley, against Harley, and presses play so the beginning credits begin to roll. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, but I don’t think Star Wars counts as educational.”

“It is a compliment!” Harley gasps, higher than he means it to come out. “I was just surprised is all… You’re- It’s just- Wow.”

He laughs again. “Wow? For someone with a nearly perfect GPA, that’s not the most articulate compliment.”

“I meant- Oh god, I’m totally embarrassing myself, aren’t I?” He runs a hand through his hair, feeling his face flush warmly. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s sweet. I get a lot of compliments, but most about how my ass looks in the uniform, so I do appreciate being complimenting for being wow while in sweats.”

Harley’s eyes go wide, and he’s quick to try to redeem himself, “You’re just really pretty is all! That was worse than wow, wasn’t it? I’m just making this worse.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Peter repeats, eyes so soft and open and earnest. “That’s a new one.”

For once, Harley manages to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to say anything more, but Peter’s still blushing and smiling when he turns back to the TV, shaking his head fondly.

Long after pizza and their movie’s done, homework continued through until they were laughing too much to continue to think straight, Peter finally calls it a night.

Harley changes in the bathroom and purposefully leaves his jersey on the back of the couch, while Peter makes him a bed on the couch.

It would’ve been a good time, Harley knows, to ask that question, to see if this will lead in another direction, but he chickens out and ends up just with, “Goodnight, Peter.”

And Peter smiles, all warm and sweet, and he murmurs, “Night, Harley.”

And that’s that.

In the morning, Harley wakes to the smell of coffee.

He pretends he’s still asleep when he hears voices drifting in from the kitchen.

“So that’s the infamous Harley Keener,” a woman says, Harley guesses it’s Peter’s aunt.

“He’s helping me get my grades up.”

The woman laughs. “For someone with a genius IQ, I don’t know how you managed to let your grades drop like that. It’s not his fault? Or cheerleading?”

“No, May, I promise I’m working on it.”

“Good. Don’t let him get in the way of your education or focus, honey. Don’t let him hurt you, alright?”

Harley finally stretches up, making himself known as awake. He yawns, looking over the back of the couch towards the kitchen. “Morning.”

Peter lights up in a smile. “Morning, Harley. You want coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He slips up just as May says she’s off to bed, still wearing her nurse scrubs, and he offers a quiet greeting to her on her way out.

And then it’s just him and Peter.

“Sleep well?” Harley asks when the silence stretches a second too long. Peter nods, passing him the mug of hot coffee. It’s a Star Wars mug and he can feel his cheeks warm.

“We don’t really have much breakfast food… You wanna maybe go out somewhere to get some?”

Harley, still sleep-warm and relaxed, jumps as the chance. “Do you want to go out? Like on a proper date? Breakfast? On me?”

“The quarterback with the cheerleading captain?” Peter says. “That’s a bit of a cliché, isn’t it?”

“I suppose. Is that a no?”

Peter seems to ponder it for a moment before he shrugs. “I kind of love clichés.”

“Breakfast then.”

Grinning, Peter nods, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Let me get dressed and then we’ll go.”

“Perfect.”

As soon as he’s left alone in the kitchen, he pumps his fists in the air, barely managing to stifle his excited cheer.

“I saw that!” Peter calls out.

Flushing, Harley quickly sets down his coffee, grabs his bag and heads to the bathroom to get changed quickly, wishing he’d packed something nicer than jeans and a flannel.

“I’m surprised you’re not in your uniform,” he says when he sees Peter waiting by the door.

He’s wearing a pair of tight jeans and a simple t-shirt, grinning just as bright as always.

“I only wear it at school.”

Harley shrugs. “I was starting to think it was the only thing you owned.”

Peter links their hands together and pulls open the door, smiling just as bright as ever.

* All eyes turn towards the cafeteria doors.

“Oh my god-” Betty breathes from near Harley.

He looks over his shoulder, expecting to see something vaguely newsworthy but otherwise boring, but instead finds Peter.

Peter who’s wearing his blue and gold cheerleading uniform as always, curls messy and cheeks flushed pink, except he’s wearing a jersey over his uniform.

Harley’s jersey.

“Who changed the thermostat settings? I’m freezing to death,” Peter calls out, dramatically loudly to get the rest of the student’s eyes on him.

Harley trips up to his feet, eyes wide and shocked because after one date, Peter’s already announcing it to the world.

“You left this at my place,” Peter says, walking up to him. His eyes are bright and amused like he expected Harley to get this flustered. His voice drops to nearly a whisper. “I know it’s soon but I saw you staring, saw you watching me during practices. The only reason I saw is because I was watching you too. I want to make this official.”

“Yeah, I- Yeah, I want that.”

Peter grins, kissing Harley on the mouth for the first time, they’d parted yesterday with only a kiss on the cheek. When he pulls away, he’s still smiling. “Sorry about doing this here. I couldn’t wait. Too much?”

“No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes,” Harley chokes out. “I’m just- You look good. I didn’t expect you to like me too.”

“I do. I really do.”

Harley finally smiles back at him, grabbing Peter by the waist to kiss him again. “You want to go out with me again? Wednesday? After practice?”

“I would love to. Can I- Would it be okay for it to be as boyfriends?”

“Okay? Yes, more than okay. I would really love that.”

Peter laughs, tucking himself close to Harley’s chest. “Wow. Boyfriends.”

For the rest of the year and the following year, they’re considered Midtown’s Power Couple.

And when they make it MIT together, Peter having managed near-perfect grades with Harley’s help, they’re considered MIT’s Power Couple too.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spidey-reids-2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @justme--emily @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

#lyss writes #lyss answers #parkner #peter parker #harley keener #may parker #abbie keener #parkner fic #harley keener/peter parker

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