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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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The Secret Of The Wish [Max Lord x F!Reader] SEX POLLEN

Summary: You’re a new intern for the Wall Street Journal, sent out to interview Maxwell Lord, a businessman who has suddenly found financial success in the oil drilling industry. When you ask him what does he owe his success to, he gives you a surprisingly honest answer: through the power of the wish. You make the mistake of humouring him, and playing along with his little story until he proves to you just how powerful wishing can be.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (sex pollen in the form of wish granting therefore there is automatic dub-con) unprotected p in v, male oral, handjob, tit play, butt play, spanking, cockwarming, creampie, degradation, praise kink, office sex, power-shift, dom/sub dynamic, implied age difference, mutual pining.

Word count: 4400>

Masterlist

REBLOGS appreciated! 🤍

Black Gold Cooperative was booming with business. Even the outside of the building was swamped with hundreds of people who were desperate to get inside and speak to Mr Lord himself. Luckily, you were a journalist for the esteemed Wall Street Journal and your position in the company had earned yourself an interview with the successful CEO. The entire world had thousands upon thousands of questions for Maxwell Lord, and you were the lucky intern who got to meet with him on this humid Wednesday afternoon.

A tall blonde woman who you assumed was his secretary, led you to his office. All his employees seemed to be young, attractive and wore only the best designer clothes. It was almost intimidating. You couldn’t mess this up. You were conducting an interview with one of the most successful people alive - this could actually be your big break in the industry. Taking a deep breath, you made an attempt to swallow away your nerves before making your way into his own private office.

It was extensive in size, with large plants and statues in every corner and on every surface. Honestly, you found his taste in furnishings to be quite tacky. You knew it was just his way of bragging about how wealthy he was without actually saying anything. He was neck deep in paperwork and he hadn’t even noticed you were just standing there, in his office. Your eyes flicked across his messy desk, taking in the sight of multiple opened bottles of vitamins, colourful smoothies and other supplements. You made a mental note, not exactly pinning the salesman as a health freak. You’d been standing there for longer than you’d anticipated and he still hadn’t looked up, so you cleared your throat and prepared to grab his attention.

“Mr Lord… I’m here on behalf of Wall Street Journal, we’re doing a segment on Company Sudden Search....” you began to introduce yourself but a roll of his eyes and a flimsy yet disapproving gesture of his hand cut you off.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” he grumbled, taking a swing of his green juice before fastening the cap back on the bottle and pulling a face of disgust. If he thought it tasted so bad, why was he drinking it? Maxwell took a minute trying to compose himself for the interview. He’d waited his whole life to be interviewed by the Wall Street Journal and no matter how bad his migraine was… he couldn’t mess this up.

In fact… there was something about the way Maxwell Lord looked in this moment. His bottle blonde hair was sticking up in random places, probably due to the beads of sweat that laced his forehead. His tie was pulled open and his suit jacket was crinkled, yet he still made the effort to keep it on for whatever reason. He didn’t look like the persuasive, bright eyed salesman on the television, that’s for sure. You supposed all those studio lights could make anyone look different, but that didn’t necessarily mean he looked bad. He didn’t look sick as such, just a little disheveled. He kept rubbing his temples as if he had a killer headache. You considered asking him if he was okay, but that wasn’t why you were here.

The prolonged silence made Max Lord look up at you from the many papers on his desk. He was frowning, and if one thing was clear, it looked like he was having a bad day. It looked like he could do with some major stress relief. The first two buttons of his pinstripe shirt were open, and his collar was wonky, and honestly? You had to fight the urge to stalk over to him and help him out. You imagined running your fingers through his golden hair, caressing his face and letting your hands wander down his chest. You imagined whispering dirty little things into his ear until he ached for you. There was something about teasing a higher-up that you just couldn’t resist. Nevertheless, you cursed yourself for the inappropriate thoughts. You were a young intern for one of the most successful journalism companies… and shit, he was the CEO of what had suddenly become the richest organization in the world. He was a powerful man, more powerful than you knew. It would be foolish to mess around with a man like Maxwell Lord.

Maxwell took a shaky exhale and done what he could do best. Fake a smile. Feign confidence. Pretend like he was okay... like he had it together. He promised himself that he would not lose control of his power— he couldn’t— but this moment was only the start of his descent into madness. He never knew how hungry he could get... how satisfying his power could be, until he met you.

“Come here sweetheart,” his frown curled upwards into a smirk and his eyes began to gleam again, just like they did on his famous infomercials. His voice became a little louder, and a little more confident as he stood up and padded around his desk, pulling out a chair for you to sit down on. You hesitated, his change in attitude wasn't lost on you, but still, you obliged, and shuffled into the golden plush chair. The material was so soft and you struggled to suppress a moan. “Everything okay?” he asked you, placing a large ring clad hand on your shoulder and giving you a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah I just… I’ve never sat on anything so comfortable.” you confessed, shuffling around. Maxwell’s eyes lit up with desire at your comment and his gaze fixated on your face.

“Really?” Never?” he chuckled lightly, brushing his thumb against his lower lip as he took in your appearance. Just the shape of your perfect body was enough to initiate something primal in him. The tightness of your blouse and the vision of your short pencil skirt that cut off mid-thigh already had his cock straining against his tailored suit pants. “I can think of at least one more comfortable thing in this office for you to sit on.”

You’d be lying if you said you were unfazed by his little flirtation. If any other middle aged man had said something so crude to you, you’d have snapped back with something witty to put them in their place. But Maxwell Lord wasn’t any man and his charm alone had cast you under a spell. Your knees were weak and you felt like putty under his touch. Even when he removed his hand from your shoulder, you felt completely and utterly submissive to him.

You cleared your throat and opened up your notepad. “I’m just here to ask you a few questions…” you told the businessman, biting your lip nervously. Maxwell nodded and sat on the edge of his desk, waiting patiently for you to get started. “So uhm, Forbes is reveling in the fact you’re self made… but not much is known about your past. We don’t know about your family or where you come from… is there anything relevant you’d like to share with the world?” you asked curiously.

And for the first time, Maxwell Lord broke his gaze with you and looked down at the carpeted floor. “There’s not much to say, really.” he said, but there was something in his tone of voice that indicated he wasn’t willing to provide any further details. Hoping you hadn’t struck a sensitive cord with him, you glanced back down at your notepad to ask him another question.

“I hope you don’t think I’m prying, but not much is known about your personal life. A handsome, wealthy man like yourself can’t be single, right?” you asked, even startling yourself over how over bearing you’d begun to sound. Maxwell let out a chuckle and quirked an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I’m single, yes. Tell me darling, is this Wall Street Journal or US Weekly?” he joked, and you felt a flush of heat radiate your cheeks. You knew better.

“I’m sorry. It was an unprofessional question,” you quickly backtracked. “Do you uhm… do you have a pen… I could borrow?” You asked awkwardly, feeling a little irked over how flustered his simple presence had made you. You'd been so nervous to actually meet with Max Lord, you'd even forgotten to bring something to write with. You were so embarassed. But Maxwell was hardly paying attention to your lack of organization, and instead he just smiled and grabbed a gold encrusted company pen from his desk. “Thank you.” you said timidly. “Can I ask you something?”

“That’s why you’re here… isn’t it?” he retorted playfully.

“The interview is about Company Sudden Search and for some reason there are no questions about your company… just you,” you frowned apologetically. You hadn't come up with the questions, one of your executives had. You were just there to look pretty and milk as much information out of him as you could. “I guess the world is curious about you, Mr Lord. More curious about your private life than this empire that you have created. But Black Gold Cooperative had been off the grid for many years only prior to this week and now suddenly you’re the wealthiest company in the world. You’re the richest man in the US. And data shows absolute no correlation towards that. Your purchased oil wells were dry until one day they just weren’t. It wasn’t gradual, but Mr Lord, we are living during the Cold War and oil is as scarce enough as it is. How… how did this happen? You must know something.”

As you rambled on, Maxwell stared dead into you. You hadn’t been asked to say this, this was coming from your own interest. You had done your own digging about this (just like any successful journalist would), snooping into Maxwell’s business and finding out exactly which oil fields he owned and how much oil was in them in the first place. This wasn’t coming from the Wall Street Journal. This was coming from you. Maxwell never expected to be confronted with such a question. You were practically trapping him, but the way you could swindle the truth out of him was an attractive quality of yours. Not many people could get the truth out of Max Lord.

Maxwell chuckled lightly. He could tell you. It wouldn't make much of a difference. Besides, you’d be foolish to believe the truth. You’d think he’d gone insane. Had he gone insane? These damn migraines… he was drunk on power… his mind had become corrupt with the idea of fortune and success. And he needed this interview to go well.

Maxwell grinned, as charming as ever, and took both of your hands. “I made a wish.” he told you, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You paused, unsure what to make of his comment. Was he making a joke? It didn’t sound like he was joking. In fact he sounded more serious than ever. “Like… upon a star?” you asked, giggling only slightly in attempt to make a judgement of whether or not he was just messing with you. Maxwell smirked and nodded his head. He’d expected that you wouldn’t believe him.

“On my journey to self fulfilment I locked into a secret, the secret of the wish. So I wished for it. Or, someone wished for it for me…” Maxwell explained, talking in tongue twisters. His fingers brushed over your knuckles. As you listened to him, he noticed the way your eyebrows knotted together in bewilderment. He was definitely serious about the wishing thing. But if he wasn’t going to be honest with you, then maybe this interview was more trouble than it was worth. Just as you were about to break away your contact with his hands, he continued. “Tell me what you wish for you and I will show you how it works.”

That was quite the proposal coming from him.

You blinked. “Uhm…” He stared at you, waiting for you to come up with some kind of answer. You supposed that you could always just humour him. “So you’re like a genie?”

“I’m Max Lord, sweetheart, and I can make your darkest fantasies come true as long as you just say the word.” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

The sexual tension between you both was undeniable, and it had been since you had entered his office. His already chocolate brown eyes had darkened considerably with lust. You pursed your lips together into a fine line and you tried your very best to ignore the fact that your lace panties were damp with arousal. You knew he was powerful. Strong… sexy. You’d been in his office for barely five minutes and he already had a hold on you.

“I suppose I’d want success in my career. It’s hard… being taken seriously, as a woman in journalism. It would be nice to just feel respected amongst my peers.” you confessed.

“The people at Wall Street don’t respect you?” Maxwell asked, and you swore that for a split second he sounded genuinely concerned.

“Uhm… I feel like I’m not really at liberty to discuss that. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place.” you scrunched up your nose.

“Because you deserve respect, miss Y/L/N.” Maxwell promised you, his hand sinking down to caress your thigh. You gasped under his touch and looked up at the ceiling. “Is this alright… me touching you like this?” he cooed, tracing circles over your pantyhose.

“Mm.” you mumbled in agreement, your eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dipped under the hem of your skirt.

“So if you could wish for one thing… one thing at this very moment in time, it would be for success in your career? Is that true?” Maxwell quizzed, eyeing you up with curiosity.

No.

It wasn’t true.

In fact your career— this interview— was the last thing on your mind.

Fuck.

Silently, you shook your head. “So darling, tell me, what would you wish for?”

You sighed in defeat, remembering that you’d just humour him. It wasn’t exactly professional but he wasn’t helping you out either. Just go along with it, you told yourself. You finally looked back down at him and saw that his lips were moist from where he’d hungrily licked at them, his eyes fixated on your breasts and the way he could just about see the lace print underneath the thin material.

“I’d wish for you…” you shakily exhaled. And that caught his attention. His gaze flicked up to meet yours and he waited for you to continue. “I’d wish for you to let me use you to get what I want. You’re rich… powerful… wealthy…” A gust of air distracted you and a breeze blew through your hair. The windows weren’t open, the fan wasn’t on, and Maxwell looked completely and utterly spent over your revelation. It had just came out of nowhere. There was a few beats of silence and Max looked you up and down.

“What do you want?” he croaked meekly. He removed his hand from your thigh and his whole demeanor changed in a split second.

When you noticed how stiff his manhood was, and the way his precum had already leaked out onto the grey material of his pants, it stirred something up inside of you. He wanted this too, that much was clear.

And now, the roles had reversed. You were no longer the shy intern interviewing the big name CEO, you were a sexy journalist who’s nipples had hardened significantly and you had this fresh yet welcoming air of power to you. There were two people in this office and yet suddenly, you were the one in control.

Maxwell’s perfect, plush lips had parted and his dark eyes followed you as you stood up from your seat. He looked down at the wet patch from where you were sitting and gulped, imagining just how great it would feel to slide his fingers through your folds and feel your arousal himself.

All for him.

“I think you know.” you replied softly, sitting him down in the golden chair that you had once made yourself comfortable in. You pulled off his crumpled suit jacket and discarded his tie, throwing it haphazardly onto his already messy desk, and then sunk down to your knees, spreading his legs apart.

You began to palm at his erection through his pants, involuntarily licking your lips as your fingers danced around his growing bulge. “Ngh- fucking tease.” he groaned, his eyes snapping shut the second he felt you begin to work at removing his belt. You pulled down his zipper and reached into his pants, pulling his cock free. He wasn’t enormous, but definitely above average, and thicker than you’d ever taken before.

“You just need someone to make you feel nice, don’t you?” you cooed gently before licking a stripe up the base of his cock. “All this stress from work… huh? From making people’s wishes come true.”

“You… you have no idea.” Maxwell grunted, his cock twitching in your hands as you pressed a sweet little kiss to his head. His slit was still leaking with precum and you were desperate to get a taste of the CEO. You gave him a small kitten lick, relishing the saltiness of his seed. He was delicious.

This shouldn’t have been happening. Sure, Maxwell was hard before you’d even made the wish, but holy crap, he didn’t expect for this to actually happen. And neither did you. You assumed he was lying, just like he lied about everything else in his life. Afterall, who was going to believe a man who told you his success was owed to wish granting?

“Mr Lord… you’re so big.” you sighed longingly before making an attempt to attach your lips around his cock. He looked down at you and let his hands grip the back of your head as you sucked on his sensitive tip.

Who would've guessed that a good blowjob was exactly what Max Lord needed to feel better about himself?

Max felt like he was in heaven. He was already seeing stars. He’d been granting peoples wishes left, right and centre. He wasn’t necessarily touch starved but it had been a good few weeks since he’d gone without sex; his only motivation being to find and harness the power of the dreamstone. But you were giving him the best head he’d ever had in his life. It was like everything was pent up inside of him. His balls were tight and he was achingly hard and in a moment of pure lust, he thrusted his hips deep into your mouth. The sudden movement had you gagging and a trail of saliva mixed with his precum dripped down your lips. You pulled off him, gasping for air but quickly wrapped your lips back around him and taking his length even further than before. If he filled your mouth this good, you wondered how he’d feel filling your pussy.

“Not gonna last… fuck!” Maxwell cried, his cum shamelessly spurting into your mouth. His load was massive and he doubled out of you, the remnants of his seed spilling against your lips and down your chin. His heart was beating rapidly against his chest as he took in the appearance of you, down on your knees, in between his legs, with his milky white cum all over your pretty face.

Despite his orgasm, Maxwell was still hard. He still craved more. More of a release from you. It must’ve been your wish that created this desperation that dwelled inside of him.

“More,” he pleaded, his eyes round and doe-like. “Please, I need more.”

“Say less.” you whispered, unbuttoning your blouse and pulling down your skirt and pantyhose so you were simply just standing there in your white lingerie set. You looked so pure and innocent, and yet you were in absolute full control of this situation. You were the one dominating him.

“You said you wish to use me, so use me.” Maxwell begged as he extended his arms and made grabby fists, desperate for you to come over and help him out.

He was right. This was your wish. You could play along with this for as long as you wanted. You removed your panties, unclipped your bra and discarded the garments, letting your breasts fall free. Maxwell’s jaw dropped at the sight of you and you stalked over to him. You straddled him and sat on his lap.

With one hand, you wrapped your fingers around his cock again and began to slowly jerk it, beginning a handjob which was more than pleasant for him. With your free hand, you grabbed onto his shoulder and steadied yourself, before stretching your body and pressing one of your breasts into his mouth. His lips latched around your tit immediately and he began to suck on your nipple as you continued to rub his cock. You moaned with pleasure, tossing your head back as his tongue worked at the hard little bud.

You subconsciously found yourself riding his thigh, dragging your dripping wet cunt along his expensive pants and making an absolute mess of them. He experimentally flexed the muscles in his thigh a few times, trying to gauge a reaction out of you and see how you liked it. His teeth grazed your breast and he let himself get a little too excited, peppering love bites all over your chest.

“Yes, that’s it,” Maxwell groaned. “Take what you need sweet girl.” he praised.

You whimpered when he flexed his thigh again and you felt yourself begin to reach your climax. You clenched around nothing and his cock was throbbing in your hand. You knew he needed more too.

You let go of him and he pulled his mouth off your tit with a ‘pop’. You cupped his face with both your hands and adjusted yourself slightly, this time so the tip of his cock was pressed against your entrance. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for his stretch before sinking down onto his length, settling balls deep. “Fuck… Fuck fuck fuck,” you chanted, your eyes squeezing tight shut as he filled you.

“Move.” he gasped, biting down on your shoulder. You whimpered and tugged on his golden hair, sending him into an absolute frenzy.

“Fuck, Mr Lord… oh god please, you’re so fucking big.” you cried, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. He wanted you to move, sure, but this was your wish, and you were more than happy to just sit on and warm his cock for a few minutes.

Your walls were tight and perfect around him, just like he’d imagined. You brought your finger down to your cunt and began to rub at your clit as his cock stretched you out. Your moans of gratification echoed throughout the extensively sized office and you felt your juices drip down his cock.

“So good,” he whispered. “Move, please.”

“Mmm,” you couldn’t even fumble out words, and your vision was nothing less than a haze.

He rubbed the pad of his finger against your puckered asshole before sliding it in. Your body tensed up at the intrusion but God did it feel good. “Fucking move.” he growled, biting down on your earlobe as he began to thrust his index finger in and out of you.

Maxwell brought a hand down to cup your ass and he gave you a rough spanking. “Move.” He repeated, this time his tone a lot more demanding and less polite than the first time.

And just like that— he was in control again.

You obliged, not wanting to irk him any more, and began to bounce on his cock. “Greedy bitch,” he grunted, spanking you again. “Fuck… thinking you can use my dick for your own pleasure, huh? Everything comes with a price.” he hissed as you rolled your hips over his manhood.

“Oh Mr Lord.” you sighed with every movement, as his cock pressed against that sweet spot inside of you.

“You just couldn’t resist it, could you?” Maxwell asked rhetorically, a villainous smirk crossing his lips. “One great wish and you wish to ride my fucking cock," He had a point. People had come to him wishing for Porsche's, political power,— and you, with your whole chest, had wished to be the one who could pleasure him. Help him let go. “Shit baby, you take me so well.”

Despite his growls of degradation you knew he wasn’t going to last long, if the way his cock throbbed inside of you was anything to go by. You didn’t mind though. He could disrespect you all he wanted. You were more than happy to be Maxwell Lord’s little cumslut. His little whore.

“G-gonna cum, oh fuck, please.” you screamed, pressing your fingernails into his back as you rode out your high.

“Yes,” he moaned wantonly. “Soak my cock.” And with those three words, you came undone, sat on top of the richest and most successful CEO in the world. “Are you safe?” he asked, his hips bucking up into your sensitive core.

“I am.” you confirmed, and without even asking for permission, he spilt his seed inside of you, ruthlessly painting your walls with his cum.

He kept his cock inside of you until it softened and slipped out, and you mumbled something incoherent at the loss of his fullness. Maxwell watched your chest as you heaved, making every attempt you could to catch your breath. He pressed a sweet kiss into your collar bone, and then up your neck and along your jaw. You relished the feeling of his lips against skin; post coital bliss fostering your every thought.

“You’re a good girl,” he whispered, rubbing the curve of his nose against your neck. “I grant you your wish, and in return, I give you the utmost success in your career.” he sighed, and for the very first time Maxwell Lord said something completely and utterly selfless. It was through no gain to him whatsoever. You didn’t deserve to be looked down upon by your peers and employers, he knew that much. And if he had the chance to change that, he sure as hell would.

“You will achieve things no journalist has achieved before, you will be rich, and be the first to seize every opportunity.” he said in between kisses.

To you, he was just whispering sweet nothings into your ear, humouring your larger-than-life dreams and ambitions. But if there was one thing that Maxwell Lord admired in a woman, it was her aspiration and goals. If you were brave enough to waltz into his office as let him cum all over you, you definitely deserve this. At that moment, you had no idea that Maxwell Lord would change your life forever...

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ipuckwithhockey · 4 years ago

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The Perception of Stress Baking- M. Tkachuk

a/n: it’s so like me to say that i’m putting this blog on hold and then two days later write a completely self indulgent matthew tkachuk story. it’s short and fluffy, and again, completely self indulgent.

warnings: none

You met Matthew a few months ago. He came into the coffee shop where you work between classes. The interaction was simple and short, but when he continued to frequent the shop during your shifts and started hanging around a little longer at the counter, you started to take notice.

You of course knew who he was, you could spot that ratty forward from the Calgary Flames a mile away. What you didn’t expect, was that he’d be so nice. He would stand by the counter if it wasn’t busy asking you about the books you were studying and how to make different drinks on the menu. He was funny and sweet and his visits to the shop soon turned into coffee dates after your shifts. It took him a month to ask you for your number and another week to ask you on your first official date.

Matthew was busy with hockey and you were engulfed in your senior year, so your time spent together was sometimes slim. Either way, you found yourself liking him more and more as you got to know him. You both had an affinity towards staying in and getting takeout. You would switch off picking a movie or a show to watch.

You liked him. A lot. But you still hadn’t totally opened up to him. He was a big shot hockey player, and you were just trying to finish your degree before trying to find a job in the real world. You weren’t ready to let him see all the sides of you, but really you just didn’t want to scare him away too soon.

All of this brings you to where you are now. Standing in your kitchen with piles of chocolate chip cookies next to you and a new brownie recipe staring you in the face. You were mid semester and that meant exams were coming up. It just so happens that your most common coping mechanism for stress was baking. You had reached your breaking point in studying a few hours ago and proceeded to find solace in your kitchen.

Matthew had been texting you off and on for the past few days, wishing you luck on your exams and asking if you needed anything. It was so sweet, but you really didn’t want him to see you like this. You haven’t showered in a few days and you were sure that the bags under your eyes wouldn’t be easy to conceal. When you finally hit your breaking point, it culminated in a tear-filled meltdown. You knew that if you called him, he would have come over, but you didn’t want to put that on him; you didn’t want him to see you with tear-stained cheeks because of a stupid exam.

So, you chose to bake.

Three hours, dozens of cookies, and a brownie recipe later, you hear a knock at your door.

You weren’t expecting company, and your roommate was locked away in her own room studying. Then, through the peephole, you saw a curly headed boy in a bright red sweatshirt.

You sigh, and open the door, revealing your flour covered hair, and exhausted body.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” You ask, but he’s already walked through the threshold and is moving toward the kitchen.

“Your whole floor smells like baked goods… Holy shit. That’s a lot of cookies.”

Then he turns and seems to take in your appearance. His eyes soften just a bit, and it’s like he knows exactly what’s going on. He knew you were stressed from studying, which is why he came over, but he didn’t necessarily peg you as a stress baker. Either way, his next question surprised you.

“So, what are we making?” Matthew smiles and moves around the island to where you were standing just moments ago. He’s looking at the mixing bowl and picks up the recipe card to examine it.

“I don’t consider myself a good cook, let alone a baker, but if you tell me what to do, I’ll try my best.” He didn’t ask you what was going on, or even if you wanted to talk about it. He didn’t pry or judge. He had caught on enough in the months that he’s known you, to know that you just wanted to bake through it and then, when you were ready, you would be willing to talk.

It struck you that over the last few months he had caught on to more than you thought. He knew you better than you gave him credit for. Matthew Tkachuk was surprisingly perceptive. It must be how he gets under peoples skin so easily, you think.

There is now a smile on your face for what feels like the first time in days and just can’t resist, so you make your way over to where he stands and give him a quick kiss before explaining the recipe.

Later that night, after the batches of brownies have been cooled, you return to your studying. Matthew offered to clean up the kitchen, and when he is done, he plops down on the couch beside you.

He looks at you intently and you think that maybe he’s decided he can’t handle a girl who stress bakes dozens of cookies at a time. What he says instead surprises you, “so, the boys keep asking me why I’m in such a good mood all the time and why I’m never around. They want to meet you… If you’re up for it.”

It’s cute how nervous he is and it’s even cuter that he’s been in a good mood because of you. He thinks you might just say no, and maybe before tonight you would have been hesitant, but now? Now you can say yes without hesitation.

“I just hope they like me.”

“Maybe bring some of those brownies with you. Those will definitely help.”

#matthew tkachuk #calgary flames #matthew tkachuk imagine #hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #hockey fic #matthew tkachuk fic #matty tkachuk

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hannie-dul-set · 4 years ago

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US, AGAIN | four.

SUMMARY. they say history repeats itself, but you’d like to disagree. you had to disagree. history changes, even if you had to force it. but when all your attempts to twist fate were met by nothing but the flashing recurrences of the past, what were you supposed to do?

or, wherein you try everything in your power to have nothing to do with na jaemin, but na jaemin wants nothing but you.

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader GENRE. college! au, historical! au, soulmate! au, past lives, forbidden love stuff, reincarnation, romance, drama, humor, angst, fluff, looots of flashbacks, this is an entire kdrama, very loosely inspired by the webtoon “see you in my 19th life” WARNINGS. (for this chapter only) swearing, night terrors, hospital mentions, passing out, the works hgdhjasf WORD COUNT. 5.1k

NOTE. I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG <///3 but life is life thank god we only have to go through this once unlike our dearest mc HJGASDJSF anyway!! lots of jaemin fluff here!! you’ll want to punch him in the face!! hope u enjoy <3

CHAPTER FOUR: why the sun sets and rises

(Running.

Through the winding branches that cut into the air, the silver lake, the jagged ground, the clouds in the wind at each and every shallow pant, you were running—

A gunshot.

—running until your legs gave away.)

You woke up in a cold sweat.

God.

Looking around, you noticed that it was far too early for you to be awake— the hazy light that barely slipped through the thin curtains, the desolate silence that seemed to have consumed your room whole, and the bedside digital clock down below you that said 6:21AM in big bold letters, indicating that you should be fast asleep especially after staying up at ungodly hours in the morning finishing up an assignment. But even after burying your head in between two of your pillows, you couldn’t even suffocate yourself into unconsciousness.

You groaned and jumped off of the top bunk.

When your feet landed on the floor, you had expected to see Seungah’s ghost of a face lying sideways on the bottom bunk, but all that met you was a small, neon orange sticky note laying soundly on her smoothed out pillow. ‘Had to leave early to the diner! Eat the breakfast I made you or else xoxo’, it said. You sighed.

There was no point mulling over the past when you had an entire future to take care of.

“Oh my gosh.”

Hong Nabi was in shock with what she saw when she arrived at the benches by the garden to work on your group assignment today. It was shocking to the point that she dropped all her binders and papers onto the pavement.

You sighed, sliding out of your seat to help her. She spared you a few, quick glances as the both of you were slouched on the floor, and he couldn’t help but bite her bottom lip in worry. The Y/N that was usually so cool, so put together, and so unbothered looked like she was casket ready. That, or ready to star in a Tim Burton animation.

“Is it Halloween today..?”

“Let’s just get this thing started,” you groaned, finally finished cleaning things up and you were now back onto your seat. Nabi sat right in front of you, organizing her now jumbled up material. She wanted to ask if you were okay— but would that be offensive considering that you were very clearly not? Still, she opened her mouth to speak, but was scared into silence when you suddenly cursed out loud. “Since when did this become a paired project? Where the hell are they?”

Nabi pressed her lips together, looking around. “I’m not sure.”

You still had around two weeks more until the presentation, but that didn’t mean that they could slack off as much as they wanted. In a fit, you grabbed your phone from your sling bag, exasperatedly tapping on the fragile screen that Nabi was almost sure that you were going to break it, but before you managed to burst a vein, an incoming sound of noises and laughter approached your ears.

Boys will be boys, but you weren’t having any of that shit.

“Yah,” the moment Jeno, Renjun, and Donghyuck showed up at your table as if nothing was wrong, you decided to smack the nearest head with a rolled up sheet of stapled paper. “Didn’t we agree to start at nine?”

“Yah,” Donghyuck snatched the weapon from you, his other hand focused on caressing the spot on his head that you’d just every so gently smacked. “Don’t you ‘yah yah’ me, missy. Did you forget that you’re younger than us?”

If only he knew.

“Is that so? You should grow a sense of responsibility, then. It doesn’t take fifty fucking years.”

With that, you let out a huff and swung your laptop open.

The rest of the people occupying the table exchanged concerned glances as they shuffled to find seats of their own. They haven’t known you for long, but this type of temperament from you was arguably out of the ordinary. Even when Donghyuck would strike a chord too dangerously, you wouldn’t snap at him— today, you weren’t your usual self, and they all mutually agreed in silence that they were going to tread carefully if they still wanted their heads attached to their necks.

When the sounds of your fingers clicking against the keyboard stopped, they felt their hearts stopping, as well.

You looked up from the laptop screen, proceeding to look around, closed your eyes, and then breathed out. “Where’s Jaemin?”

At that moment they all flipped their phones open, scrolling, clicking, and typing before they can taste any more of your unraveled temper. You had to admit, you were feeling a little guilty for being such a bitch. A part of it was yes, sleep deprivation, shitty nightmares, and a whole truck load of stress can really take a toll on your sanity, but the other part was voluntary.

Jeno looked up, the first person who managed to pinpoint Jaemin’s whereabouts. “He just texted. He says he’s running— oh, there he is.”

There he was indeed, a couple of feet away from where you all were. Once you confirmed that he wasn’t absent, you turned back to continue working, but the rest of them continued to stare at Jaemin, who was barely hanging onto his dear life, sweating and panting. And as they all watched the poor boy breathlessly running towards the table, they all thought of the same thing with one mind, heart, and soul.

Na Jaemin was a dead man.

He pulled up right in front of you, hunched over breathless with his hands on his knees. He stood up and promptly apologized. “Ahh, so sorry for being late. I had to stop by somewhere and there was traffic. I’m really—”

“I didn’t ask about your personal business,” you hummed, not even looking at him. Everyone, not only Jaemin, flinched at your explicit coldness. “Did you get the files that we need?”

He looked at you. You weren’t looking at him, but you knew he was looking at you.

“...Yeah. Hold on.”

As if the mood wasn’t already shit earlier, it actually turned into absolute horse crap after Jaemin arrived. It wasn’t his fault, really, but circumstance after circumstance didn’t exactly paint the prettiest picture of him. When the clock finally struck eleven in the morning, everyone except you all released a synchronous sigh. “We’re done today, right?” Renjun asked, and you responded with a quick nod, noticeably a lot more mellow than earlier.

Nabi stood up and started fixing her things. “I’ll send everything later to you tonight, Y/N,” she smiled at you.

“Yeah, sure,”’ you hummed, nodding. “Thank you.”

The four boys froze. Why were you being nice to her? Of course, their complaints were verbalized into nothing more than silent whines, groans, and grumbles that easily flew above your ears, Jaemin being a lot more quiet about voicing his complaints than the rest despite taking most of your attacks.

Still, even if you were being particularly thorny to him, he thought it would be a good idea to speak out just as you were about to leave. “Do the both of you have any classes after this? We were planning on getting lunch together,” he said. “Would you like to join? My treat.”

You looked at him. There was a polite smile on your face. Evidently forced.

“No, thanks.”

Donghyuck let out a genuine gasp.

“Did she just—” he stammered, switching his sight back and forth from Jaemin to you. “Did she just turn down a free meal offer?”

“She did,” you sighed, rolling your eyes as he continued to gawk at you. You picked up your heavy bag from the bench seat. “I gotta get going. Have fun, you guys.”

And you let them just like that, with five pairs of eyes trained at the back of your head until they finally lost sight of you.

For someone like you, the bulletin boards at the bus stops were like a gold mine. A gold mine of part-time jobs just waiting to be filled. There were flyers haphazardly plastered onto the board, all in different colors and different fonts. You bit a chunk off of the granola bar that served as your lunch for today, eyes meticulously scanning the available offers, a few flyers already wedged in between your armpit.

“Hair salon assistant— can’t do that. Diner waitress— a hard maybe. Already have a restaurant job pending, my shifts might clash. Library assistant? Alright, I need to check it out further, though. What about a movie— oh!— oh my god, you scared me.”

“What are you doing here, Y/N?”

Sooah suddenly appeared beside you, looking up as she clutched her backpack straps. You let out a sigh of relief upon the realization that it was just her.

“Fancy seeing you here, cadet,” you hummed, folding the neatly folding the few flyers that you had and shoving into your sling bag along with the emptied granola bar wrapper. “Are your classes over?”

“Mhm! I’m waiting for my mom to pick me up.”

“Aren’t you honored to spend time with me as you wait?”

You let out a chuckle, sitting down on the wooden seat, patting down the empty spot beside you, and Sooah happily hopped to sit down right away. Peeling off one of the flyers stuck onto the board, you decided to fold it— once, twice, countless more times until the flat, square piece of paper was now shaped into a lotus flower. Sooah beamed in amazement.

“Y/N,” she started, and you dropped the little paper flower onto her tiny hands. She placed it on her lap before looking up to you, large eyes hinted with curiosity. “The story you told us last time— was it a true story?”

You suddenly felt a chill in the air.

“...Why do you ask?”

“Oh, well,” she mused. “My mommy is a Korean Literature teacher at my school, but she teaches a grade above me. Sometimes, I’d go through her stuff to read some stories that I haven’t read in my class, and the other day—”

Uh oh.

After living for twelve whole lifetimes and currently going through your thirteenth, there was always this feeling that haunted you all throughout, a feeling that you were all too familiar with. It was gnawing, grinding, and chewing up the bottom most part of your gut. A warning sign for something bad to come.

You were definitely feeling that right now.

“—I found the same story as the one you told us, big sis.”

Yep. It was never wrong, and it never will be. You bit down your bottom lip.

“And I found something interesting!” oh, how much more must anxiety drown you, but Sooah seemed so excited that you didn’t have the heart to stop her. You raised a brow, urging her, and she smiled brightly. “You said you don’t remember the girl’s name, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Y/N! She has the same name as you!”

Of fucking course.

“The last name is different, though—” she added as an afterthought. “She was Song Y/N, and you’re not. Still. Isn’t it really cool?”

Not cool at all. You wanted to scream, maybe cry a little and lose a generous chunk of your mind, because as far as you knew, there had never been an instance where you had heard of this story being shared to the public— to an entire class, nonetheless. It shouldn’t matter, right? It wasn’t your life anymore. Just an old, tragic tale passed on from mothers to their children as a bedtime story.

But somehow, it made you feel vulnerable.

How many more people knew about this?

“But, sis. You’re kind of a dummy, though. How could you forget someone’s name when it’s the same as yours?”

Sooah questioned, tilting her head, but it eventually washed pon her that you weren’t looking all too well. You had your lips splayed into an evident frown, worry creasing your forehead, which she could not at all get. Were you okay?

“Did you finish reading all of it?”

You asked after a bout of silence. Sooah shook her head in response. “No, not yet,” she huffed. “My mom caught me making a mess out of her things and scolded me.”

That’s good, you thought. At least she didn’t make it to the end— that would only complicate things. After a second of deliberation, you figured that this would be the best move if you played your cards right.

“Sooah,” you started. “Do you think your mom will let me borrow that story?”

The next day, your classes were all condensed into the afternoon— a deliberate decision to allow yourself to recharge in bed for the entire first half of the day.

But right now it was eight in the morning, yet you were already busying yourself inside the campus.

No, you didn’t have a group meeting today, neither did you have any prior commitments needed to be accomplished here in school, but you figured after not having a single fucking blink of sleep last night thanks to Sooah’s revelations yesterday, you might as well head to school early to apply for the part-time job at the library. Only one problem— where was the library?

It was eight in the morning. You had been here since seven-thirty. Not a single bookshelf in sight. You opted to just give up and mold yourself into the floor because you couldn’t even ask anyone for directions because no one was there.

Well. Almost no one.

You had just passed by a single living soul earlier as you were trudging around the bottom floor like a zombie, but you completely missed him. Na Jaemin caught your disheveled figure marching through the hallways earlier, evidently lost, as he left the faculty office with a steaming hot cup of coffee in his hands. He immediately brightened upon seeing you— as if his bloodstream was directly charged with caffeine, but he didn’t come around to approaching you until now. He couldn’t get the timing.

Even now, as he discreetly tailed behind you without your knowledge, he didn’t know when was the appropriate time to give you a simple ‘hello’. He pressed his lips together, taking in a sharp breath through his nose, and decided screw it— you wouldn’t even be happy to see him no matter the timing.

He picked up his pace and sounded from right behind you.

“Morning, group leader.”

You stopped, swiveling your heels around, and he was met with your grimacing face.

As expected. He gave you a blinding smile.

“How are you?”

“My morning is shit, thank you very much,” you spat. “Even more now, after seeing you.”

Ouch.

Jaemin knew that you weren’t exactly fond of him, and he’d spent too many hours wondering why. Maybe you just disliked him without bearing much of a reason. Some people were like that, but he didn’t hold it against you. He still pressed on with a smile.

And it irritated you.

(You believed that it was irritation, or made yourself believe. Yeah, let’s go with irritation.)

“Now, what do you want?” you crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one leg as you looked at him with exasperation. “You’re definitely not here to ask me about our assignment, right? I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I might as well say it to your face for your own good.”

You roughly shoved a finger to his chest, mustering up not a glare— but a plain look of disinterest.

“I don’t like you.”

Jaemin simply looked at you.

“You don’t like me.”

“No matter what you try to do, that won’t ever—wait, what? What the fuck?” you had to double take, expression suddenly morphing into a comical confusion, which Jaemin found cute, but of course he couldn’t say that out loud. He settled with the same smile as earlier, which you found a little more irritating as much as it was conflicting this time around. Within a second of silence, you felt heat slowly rising and you felt it slowly getting to your head. “You’re just gonna take that...as that?”

He let out a hum, shrugging. “I can’t dictate how you feel, can I?”

You gawked at him.

“You’re not even gonna ask why? Not even gonna protest?”

“Do you want me to?” he leaned forward, face a little closer to yours, smile a little more irritating than before, the heat growing a little more prominent than ever, your grasp on your consciousness becoming a little more hard to hold than earlier. You felt yourself getting caught in a stammer. “I would, if you want me to.”

Fuck this shit and fuck it completely.

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business,” you stormed off before you could find yourself getting caught inside a heatwave, breathing out long, fervent breaths to calm yourself down, the dizzying heat slowly getting to your head making you woozy. It would be a bad idea to even turn around and look at him. “I’d appreciate it if you don't follow me.”

Jaemin frowned when he saw your back yet again. He felt like this was the only thing he’d seen from you— your back perpetually facing him without any hope of you even turning around to spare him a quick glance, but he didn’t want to go against your wishes. He wasn’t planning on following you. But when you suddenly collapse on the floor a few feet away from him—

Thud.

—what else was he supposed to do?

(“Your Highness.”

It was without question that he’d answer your call sparing not even a second to waste with those gentle eyes of his, and this time was no different. The only difference being the quirk of his lips— pursed, pouting. He stepped away from the bush of azaleas, and stepped closer to you.

“I thought I told you not to call me that anymore,” he huffed, languidly dropping beside you on the stone bench, taking your hands into his with an earnest glimmer. “Say it. I want to hear you. Please?”

It was impolite to laugh at the prince— a punishable crime by itself. You were fortunate that he liked you enough.

“Your Highness,” you hummed. His shoulders drooped down, visibly dampening, but he shook his head with a newfound resolve and instead lended all of his attention to you, instead. “It is without saying that the very breath you take is incomparable to any person on this land—”

Your gaze darted upwards, looking at him.

“—but why do you choose to come see me everyday in the garden? Even when I am not around?”

He was still for a moment, fazed and the littlest bit taken aback, but not a second too long for you to spare any worry. A newfound smile playing on his lips, he lifted up your hands that he was holding, pressing a tender kiss on your knuckles.

“Why does the sun rise in the east and set in the west every single day?”

He looked at you, continuing.

“Just because it was made that way.”)

“Daegang.”

The whisper that you sounded in your state of unconsciousness caught Jaemin’s ears as he carried you to a vacant room inside the campus hospital. He looked down at you, your voice as clear as day despite the hoarseness of it, peeling himself away from your closed eyes, lashes fluttering above your cheeks before he could stumble over his own feet.

When he gently dropped you on to the bed, the mattress sinking underneath your weight, his windpipes nearly closed, a choking noise escaping the moment he felt you tug him down by the sleeve of his shirt, but he maintained his composure. He dropped your sling bag onto the bedside table, taking notice on the colorful piece of paper peeking out of the bag’s zipper mouth, a huff of a smile when he closed it up. Even you can be a little disordered, sometimes, he wondered in amusement as he gazed down on you.

Jaemin let out a huff of breath, dropping down the chair placed beside your bed, and he pulled out his phone to send a few messages here and there. An hour passed. He noticed you stirring underneath the sheets.

“Ah, you’re awake!”

Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. You couldn’t tell if the blurred out silhouette of the face you have grown to both hate and love was a mere figment of your memories, or if he was actually real. There was the temptation brought about by your disorientation— to stretch your arm out to his face just to make sure, but you were lucky that your flimsy consciousness came at just the right time before you were to do anything regretful.

“Ugh.”

“You’ve been out for over an hour. Maybe you should just skip your remaining classes today,” at that point you were sure he was real. Na Jaemin had worry laced all over his voice, expression, and posture. It wasn’t a sight welcome to your peace of mind when you had just woken up after passing the fuck out. “What happened? Did you not get enough sleep? Did you skip breakfast? I asked Jeno to buy some food just in case you wake up and I’m not here, but you were unconscious for longer than I expected.”

“I’m fine, I’ll just—”

A regretful action. You tried to stand up, but all that happened was you falling pathetically back onto the bed.

“...”

“Don’t push yourself, Y/N,” Jaemin sighed, tucking you back in and placing a hand on your forehead, and by god you could hear the alarm bells ringing in your ears. “I checked earlier. It doesn’t seem like you have a fever. Oh? You’re starting to heat up, maybe you actually do—”

“I don’t!”

Was it possible to voluntarily pass out?

You threw the blanket over your head.

It was fortunate that he didn’t decide to press on, and instead he just left you alone underneath your makeshift tent to calm the sudden blazing of your face. Did he know that you were embarrassed? Oh god, did he know that it was because of him? Not that it was, of course, but it wasn’t unlikely for him to assume that he was the cause of your sudden temperature rise. It would be much better for him to believe that you did have a fever. Fuck, you should have just told him that you were sick.

“Knock knock,” outside of your blanket shield, you felt something lightly pressed at the side of your head, prompting you to peek outside, just enough for your eyes to be exposed. When you turned around, you were met by a box of Orion Choco Pie, just one of the few snacks that he had brought for you. “Here, have this. Eat.”

You blankly stared at the red box.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Leave it. I’ll eat once you leave.”

“No can do, missy,” Jaemin clicked his tongue, and without your consent, grabbed your nearest hand and opened it into a palm, placing the far too large box on top of it. “I have to make sure that you actually finish it.”

He was resilient.

Much like someone else, you grumbled, opening the packaging and stealing one of the cakes nestled inside. He had a satisfied smile on his face— almost like a proud parent watching his four year old daughter writing her name for the first time. You wanted to throw the damned snack to his face, but voted against the act and took a bite from it instead. “Fine. But for your information, I might have passed out because I barely got any sleep last night, so stop wasting your worries.”

“That doesn’t make things any better,” he said. “How am I supposed to stop worrying after hearing that? You should take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“I’m not buying it. I have to make sure that you’re getting enough sleep every day.”

“What the fuck? Do you think you’re my mom, or something?”

“No, what the hell? Don’t make things weird,” He grimaced, looking at you in disbelief. Holy fuck. You nearly broke out into a fit, if you were being honest. Na Jaemin who was usually all smiley and kind was looking at you with an expression that you were sure his facial muscles didn’t even have the knowledge to conjure. His next words were nothing more than a low grumble. “How can she think I want to be her mom when I like her? Jeez.”

The choco pie that you’d been eating threatened to climb back up your throat.

“Wh— What the fuck?”

“What?” Jaemin replied naively. “One more time? Should I repeat it? Y/N, I like—”

“Okay, okay, I got it the first time, please—!”

Dear lord, he was going to be the death of you. You took in a long, sharp, painful breath.

“I get it.”

Jaemin looked at you with a small smile. He didn’t seem like he was going to continue teasing, so you quickly scared down the remaining chocolate snake inside the box so that you could slip away from him as soon as possible. That wasn’t the best idea, though, because the choco pie almost ended up going down the wrong throat and the guy was sure to freak out over it. Luckily you managed to get away with forcing it down and having Jaemin only looking at you with a minimal amount of concern.

It was time to get the fuck out of here.

“Thank you for the food, Jaemin, but I need to get going,” he didn’t even get the chance to say anything, but you were already on your feet, ready to set out to the door. You looked back at his frozen stature before reaching out for the door handle. “I’ll pay you back some other time.”

You bowed politely. Jaemin had only gotten back to his senses once he’d realized that he couldn’t see your face anymore, only the back of your head— a sight that he’s used to seeing, a reminder of where he stood. He scrambled to his feet and took off after you.

“Wait, you should drink water first! And take these with you! Y/N—”

Shit. He didn’t want you to leave yet. Not when he’s finally had a proper conversation with you. The two of you were already out in the hallway, the glimpse of light from the heavily clouded sky leaking through the windows and coloring the white walls and floor with an out of place brightness and at one point the light stuck on you. It was difficult to match your pace— staying not too far behind, not right beside you, never ahead of you. He swallowed.

Jaemin felt bad about pulling this, but he couldn’t think of any other way to make you stay.

“Daegang.”

You froze on the spot.

There was a heavy weight anchoring Jaemin’s conscience, falling even heavier as you slowly turned around to face him. It fell to the bottom of his stomach the moment he caught your expression.

“How—” you stammered. “Where did you get that name?”

He pressed his lips together tightly, a considerable distance between the both of you as he averted his eyes. “You muttered it earlier while I was carrying you.”

“C—carrying?”

How else would he have hauled you over to the campus hospital? But an obvious fact such as that was still enough to dumb your IQ a couple of notches down. You would have been fine if he didn’t mention it and leave you in your blissful ignorance, but he just had to drill the existence of that fact that you were in his fucking arms when you had sworn to be a piece of shit to him.

The heat was rising to your head again just like earlier.

“Ah.”

You heard Jaemin utter a sound from a few steps in front of you— a light grumble, you’d assumed, but you weren’t entirely sure— and it was at that moment that you’d realized how freaking awkward the distance between the both of you was. Were you social distancing?

His hollow sigh and evident pout threw all of those meager thoughts out the window.

“Is he the reason why I can’t get close to you?

What the hell does he mean?

“An ex you can’t over?”

You broke into a coughing fit. Jaemin instantly ran over to you in panic, patting your back to help appease the violent coughs, but in reality he wasn’t of any help at all because his palm was barely touching you. “Holy fuck”—cough—“oh god. I guess— I guess you can say that...?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled from behind you. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. It must be a sensitive topic.”

“If you knew that it was touchy then why bring it up in the first place,” you shot him a glare, looking back, but it was less threatening and more questioning. You couldn’t bring yourself to get mad at him at this point. He stood there in blatant guilt, his expression, stature, and demeanor without any intention of hiding it all. This was why you couldn’t get mad at him. Jaemin was transparent.

You weren’t sure if it was just his nature or if it had something to do with you.

You wouldn’t know what to do if it was the latter.

His lips finally parted after a moment of silence to answer you— even if you hadn’t expected an answer in the first place.

“I didn’t know how else to make you talk to me a little longer.”

You didn’t know what to do, at all.

Jaemin’s cheeks were stained with a shade of pink and fuck— you could see in his eyes that were looking at you, trying not to look at you, that he was bearing all the sleeves of his heart to you without an ounce of regret, but a euphemism of the bright red color that he was trying to hide.

God.

Why did you have to meet him in this life?

“Why?” you voiced, quiet. “Why do you like me so much? You don’t even know me that well, and I’m not even in any way nice to you.”

He didn’t answer.

“So, why?”

For a moment, Jaemin kept quiet, as if waiting for the pink to fade from his cheeks before doing anything, but it never did. Even when his lips stretched into a closed smile, his eyes crinkling and showing the stars that weren’t in the sky, he was still tinged with that soft, powdery color.

He didn’t wait. He didn’t wait for you to speak when he left— when he left right after saying two words that stretched inside your mind until the sun set in the west and the skies turned pink.

“Just because.”

TAGLIST. @danishmiilk @wownajaemin @kkakkdugi @jccv @bat-shark-repellant @kiri-ah @huanginjoon @sehunniepot @lvingjaem @hiddenzen @lanadreamie @w0nni3wrld @dnyls @doderyscoffee @seungstarss @patchi-chi @marklexleaf @thorscrown @mieohmy @lvoejimin @viastro @dejvns @junglewoos @pewpewpwe00 @unknown5tar @chezzontop @leejunini @lixseu @yunoyeol @42hyuck @keemburley @sungchannel @charm-art @eyyyyyyyow @nshitae @lolibaaae @colpen @juyeo-eon @deliciouslyyellow @nct-writers @czennienet @neowritingsnet @kpopscape

#NCT-WRITERS #cznnet #neowritingsnet #kpopscape #nct x reader #na jaemin x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenarios #na jaemin scenarios #jaemin x reader #jaemin scenarios #nct angst #nct fluff #na jaemin fluff #na jaemin angst #nct dream fluff #fic: us again

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kareniliana · 4 years ago

Text

Jeremy: Meet Again

A//N: a little different and low key long. not really first time meeting but you'll see the connection when you read it. Also if you want to request something just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one!

xx Karebear 💛🧸

Being a sixteen year old in high school is stressful enough but being a sixteen year old witch, with little to no friends and absentee parents makes it harder for you to get your emotions in check. But you were able to find something that helps calm you, weed. You don’t necessarily need it but when the moon is full, your powers are enhanced and a little out of control.

okay that's a little bit a lie, they become too much for you to control. Thats where the amazing marijuana plant comes in handy, it calms your anger. You've always had problems controlling your anger. At one point your parent’s noticed too many holes in the walls of your personal rage room and sent you to anger management.

It helped for a few weeks but when the full moon was in effect, all that progress- everything that you learned, it went down the drain. You slowly became more and more angry and uncontrolled during the day but at night. It only seemed to get worse for you.You don't sleep because it gets too hot upstairs. You go down to your basement, where your parents moved your rage room to, for this reason exactly. Over the night you continually get fed up and release the pain and anxiety and anger against the four walls of your rage room. You thought you were helpless and a waste of energy to help.

You were contemplating on your life, if it was ever even worth the trouble to get to know or help. Having no real friends doesn’t help either. As you lit up a joint in the stoner pit you see the regular groups of people who use drugs to escape from everything but that wasn’t you. You weren’t escaping reality, you were reverting back to the median. Your emotions sometimes gets the best of you and with your magic you start chaos.

“Y/n Y/l/n” Your one and basically only friend comes up to you and sits with you before school starts.

“Jeremy Gilbert, to what do I owe the pleasure” you joked and laughed as you passed the small joint to Jer.

“So I found some stuff out these past few weeks. I just need someone to talk to.” He said almost awkwardly, hitting the J and passing it back to you. You looked into his beautiful chocolate brown eyes, almost getting lost in them. You shake your head of any intimate visuals your brain is coming up with.

Jer smirks, almost as if he knows about your little crush for him. “but uh, You cannot tell anyone, not a single soul.” He looks at you with soft and adoring eyes, almost making you think maybe he likes you too?

“Who am I going to tell, my weed?” You joke, lifting the joint to your lips. “Seriously though, what is it?”

He sighed deeply before looking at you with worried eyes, “Vampires and werewolves and witches- they exist. They’re real, we have students who are supernatural creatures.” He drops the bomb, studying you for any kind of reaction. You held a straight face, you’re a witch. But you didn’t know about werewolves and vampires, you really only know about witches because why the hell else would you research more on the supernatural spectrum?

“You can’t be serious Jer.” You stared into his eyes looking for a hint of dishonesty, but he wasn’t budging.

“Why would I lie to you? We think someone here is a new incoming witch, and we need to find them and help get their magic under control before something big happens.” His voice sounds worried and caring but who else here is a witch.

“What makes you think that?” You asked, a little worried because you can admit sometimes you lose control at school but you never knew if it was noticeable or not. You’re a loner, no one really cares if you’re having a panic attack or whatnot.

“You cannot tell me you haven’t noticed all the bizarre shit that’s been happening here? Just yesterday before lunch everyones locker in the halls opened. Everyone heard the sound of them opening simultaneously, it sounded like a canon!” You realized you were the witch they were looking for, you had birthday dinner set with your parents but they called you during class to inform you they were sent on a business trip to New York for a client. Which meant they were canceling on you. For the third birthday in a row. You lost control of your emotions and you let it out as a scream, you heard the echo of the lockers burst open from the basement of the school.

“A few days ago Stefan and Caroline were mind tased that only a witch can do. And-” Jeremy looking to the two vampire from a few yards away, your face tinging with guilt, every time you went to let your anger out, you did something to the school or something around you.

“-Wait, why only Stefan and Caroline? Are they..” you interrupted.

“Vampires. Luckily no one else was in the halls...” your head falls in disappointment, a frown and sad eyes very evident. Jeremy looks back over to you, instantly concerning himself.

“Whats wrong? Wait, hey Y/n, what happened?” Jeremys hand reaches for your face, lifting your head to look at him. Tears formed, threatening to spill out. Guilt was written all over your face.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone I swear I just get so angry. I- I -” Your bottom lip started to quiver, almost sobbing you looked over to the vampires, “I’m really really sorry.”

“Hey wait, what are you...” He tried comforting you as he realized it was you they are looking for. “oh... it- it’s you. You're the witch.” You nodded your head, leaning away from him. He’s gonna see you differently now. He’s gonna hate you. He’s gonna leave, and you'll be all alone... your breath quickly increased, becoming into a panic attack and it’s beginning to become too overwhelming.

As your breathing increases, clouds roll in slowly covering the sun, then the wind starts raging around you all, you were doing this without even realizing it. It scared you more.

“Y/n? No, hey hey its okay.” he tried reaching for you, but you were too fast. Jumping off the deck and running to your car. Then suddenly the clouds begins to crack with thunder, you can see the lightning across the clouds, ready to strike the earth.

You saw Stefan and Caroline begin to run to you but without really thinking you wave your hand at them, sending them flying into a bus. You ran without a second look back. Getting to your car and driving home, down the lonely winding road to your driveway, passing other driveways to the very few neighbors you have.

“Okay, calm yourself!” You shouted at yourself as you hit the steering wheel, causing the storm to hail down rain. Suddenly you got the feeling os pins and needles all throughout your body, every muscle you felt a stab or slicing. You can feel your skin warming up.

“No, no, no, no, no, this cannot be happening!” You gripped the wheel and let all hell loose, screaming at the top of the lungs. A wave of power and force struck out from your body, feeling a wave of calmness come over you. You stopped the car, keeping your eyes closed hoping you were able to hold back the storm in your brain and above you in the dark sky.

You got your breathing under control, opening your eyes you see the storm is rolling away, and the sun is shining through. You chuckled, you were able to pull it back. “I did it, I really did it?” You smiled at yourself, letting out a deep breath. You got out of the car to really look at the sky.

As you got out, you look ahead and see tire skid marks on the road, they look fresh. You following the trail to a crash and totaled car, thrown again a wall of trees. Bringing tears instantly to your eyes, you hurt someone.

“Please be alive, oh, please be alive!” You scream trying to open the door but it’s at a weird angle the side doors aren’t opening and you're not climbing the death trap to the top. You can see blood on the windshield and drivers window, anxiety making your hands begin to shake.

“Okay... Think! Think!” You yelled and hit at your head. “You're a Goddamn powerful witch, start acting like it!”

You took a deep breath, standing a few feet away. You concentrated all of your magic to lift and stabilize the wrecked vehicle. Closing your eyes and feeling the earths pull on the car resist you, smirking at the feeling of power for good and not an emotional outbreak.

“Y/n! Y/N!! WHERE ARE YOU?” Jeremy, Caroline and Stefan followed after you in Carolines car. Jeremy convinced Stefan to let him go look after you alone. You trust him, you know him, you don’t trust Stefan- you barely know him. And Caroline has a reputation, you make it your mission to avoid her.

You opened your eyes seeing the car is now on all four wheels, you exclaimed in excitement. “I’m here, their bleeding! Come help me!” you walked into view, he stood at the road near your car. Jeremy saw you emerge from the trees and ran to you.

“Help me get them out!” You didn’t even give Jeremy a chance to get to you before you sprinted to the car. You can’t be responsible for killing someone.

“What happened?” He asked as you try to pry the doors open.

“I happened! What else?!” You exclaimed as it finally gave in and opened. The bloody elderly man in the passengers seat had cut’s everywhere, he lifted his hand just for it to fall again, letting go of his last breath.

“No, no! Stefan!!” Jeremy screamed the second we got the door opened. The vampires showing up not even a second later. “Help him!”

Stefan listened for a heartbeat, but there was nothing. “I’m sorry, he’s gone.” Stefan says sadly.

“But, no...” You said sadly, “I killed him? I actually killed him?” You looked to Jer.

“Can you explain to me what kind of witch you are? ‘Cause I’ve never seen just one witch make that bad of a storm and especially not that fast.” Stefan asked nicely but worried. You looked to Stefan with a scrunched up face, wondering how he could jump from you killing an innocent man to your supernatural abilities. But it slowly made sense, he’s probably an older vampire than you thought and has more experience with this than you did.

Your face relaxed into a frown, “I don’t know, just a regular witch. I don’t even know that much. I don’t know anyone in my family who could be a witch. I have some control of it... except..” You sighed deeply, suddenly feeling very embarrassed.

“Except when?” Stefan said a little more sternly than before, taking a step towards you. Caroline grabbed his arm holding him back and interrupting.

“This seems like a witch problem for Bonnie. She can help you get control, no matter what it is, we can help.” Caroline said with a nod and soft smile. You returned her a smile of your own.

“But what do we do now? About him?” You asked about the dead man in the totaled car. Stefan walked towards the door, seeing the man drenched in his own blood but none of the windows are broken.

You brought Stefan’s attention away, “What am I supposed to do? Should I turn myself in?”

“Y/n, when do you have the least amount of control?” He asked sternly and worried, like he was depending on my answer to be best case scenario.

You gulped loudly, “during the full moon” you muttered, everyones eyes on you. They looked confused yet scared.

“Y/n, look at him. Tell me, how did he die by this much blood loss without any broken windows, the car I trashed but the windows are for the most part intact.”He spoke softly, almost guiding me through his thought process. You looked up at him confused by the scene in front of you.

“What were you feeling when the accident happened?” Jeremy asked, almost catching on to what Stefan was trying to conclude.

“I... first, I felt this overwhelming feeling of fear and self anger. Then I felt almost like something was slicing into my muscles, kinda like pins and needles... And I was hot, like I kept trying to stay warm but I couldn’t...” You looked down before asking, “Instead of me feeling that pain, I passed it to him?”

Jer sighed sadly,“Yeah. but his body doesn't heal like yours, because he's human... and you’re...”

“A witch...” You finished, looking down with a frown on your face and sad eyes.

“And a werewolf.” Stefan added, causing your head to whip up at him. Confusion and sadness written on your face.

“What? Is that even possible?” You asked looking back and forth between Stefan and Jeremy.

“We’re not sure but if we’re right, you just triggered the curse.” Stefan said point-blank.

“No, I can’t be!” You raised your voice at Stefan.

“You have trouble controlling your anger, you lose control of your magic on the full moon during the day.” He said quickly, almost scared of you losing control again. “What happens at night? Huh?”

You thought back to those sleepless nights of complete chaos, you’re starting to think he’s right.

“Tonight’s a full moon. What can we do to help?” Caroline spoke up, worried for you.

“I need to figure out how to control it, what if now that I actually triggered it, it’s only worse from here?” You asked, worried out of your mind.

“Don’t think of it like that, I think you can do it. You just have to believe in yourself. Okay?” Jeremy brought his hands to your shoulders, comforting you. “Maybe now, you’re not bounded. You can shift and feel it instead of passing it on.”

Jeremy hugged you, trying his hardest to help keep you calm. He was worried for you. He was scared this would be too much for you and you’d end up hurting yourself instead.

“Okay, Jeremy get her out of here. We got this okay.” Stefan said, suggesting he would make it go away or at least make sure nothing points to you or Jeremy.

Jeremy takes you home, you showed him your rage room with all it’s damage and glory. He thought it would be best to stay here where you’re most comfortable and your parents were still out of town. Being worldly known defense lawyers means, business trips to New York or L.A. or Seattle. Really anywhere but Mystic Falls.

“Okay So I called Tyler and Bonnie. They should be here soon.” Jeremy sat down on the sofa with you, looking over to you. You sat up and looked confused to why you needed Tyler.

“He’s a werewolf, he can help guide you through the shift. He’s probably going to say something like ‘accept the pain’ blah blah.” He joked, making you laugh a little.

“Can you stay with me?” You asked shyly, after the laughter died down a little.

“You sure?” He asked looking at you with worried but loving eyes, getting lost in your y/e/c eyes.

“I’m basically going to go through the shift with strangers, I don’t think I could do it without you there. But if you don’t feel safe-”

“I’ll stay” His hand reached for yours, giving it a little squeeze. “You need me, I’m not leaving.”

You looked up from your hands to his eyes, you smile softly. You opened your mouth to say something but then the doorbell goes off. Almost scaring you both, you go to the door. Opening it to see Tyler Lockwood and Bonnie Bennett. You never in your life expected to ever see them at your front door, let alone being the supernatural creatures that they are. Crazy how life turns when you found out you're not human.

You showed them your rage room, and ensured them that your parents will not be in town for a few days. Then Tyler pulled out sets of chains and some restraining equipment, Tyler drilled anchor points on three of the wall and ground. Bonnie began to assemble the wrist clasps and what looked like a collar but metal. This all began to start to scare you and you could feel your magic begin to storm. But shortly after the magic spark, you could feel your body radiate extreme heat. Jeremy was helping Tyler connect the chains to the anchor points. You stood there confused, in pain and beginning to lose yourself. But then you’d catch a glimpse of Jeremy and you came back to the median. When this cycle of pain and anxiety came, you'd look to Jeremy and you'd look back to you with a smile, and you seemed to get control.

Until suddenly, your bones begin to break. You screamed in pain and fell down to the floor. “Jer!”

“It’s starting already?! But the moon isn’t even at in effect yet!” Tyler exclaimed, helping you get up from the floor.

“Oh yeah? Well why did it start nearly an hour ago! Ahh!” Your arm breaks, you’re a panting sweaty mess. Tyler, Bonnie and Jeremy are trying chain you up but it’s a little difficult when you’re in the middle of shifting. Then the agonizing pain of your fangs coming out causes you to roar in pain, your eyes glowing an iridescent yellow. Claws and wolf hair growing out of everywhere.

Tyler pushed Jeremy towards the wall, getting him out of harms way. Jeremy watched in amazement, he’s never seen a shift like this one. It was oddly controlled. You moved as if you’ve done this before, but everyone knows you haven’t. Jeremy didn’t realize he was the reason why she was so relaxed and accepting, he would look at you and you’d remember what he said. just believe in yourself.

Bonnie and Tyler moved back once they finally closed the last cuff. You roared, but held onto your humanity, you stayed in this half way form, holding Jeremy’s gaze.

“Yeah that's it Y/n, you got it. Just accept it, embrace it, don’t fight it. Okay?” Jeremys calm voice led you do letting go of your fears and you let yourself finish your shift. Your clothes ripped into shreds as you transformed into a white wolf with your bright iridescent eyes- even your fur seemed to glow a yellow tint. You glowed, truly glowed. The three of them stared in amazement, this was their first time experiencing something so magical and boundless.

Once they realized you were shifting back to human they left the room for you and bonnie, she brought down some clothes of yours that weren’t shredded to pieces. She released you from the restraints and handed you the clean clothes. As you got dressed you talked about your magic and how in control you seemed, she goes on to say that maybe your problem isn’t losing the control it’s that you get scared and make yourself lose it. You’re scared of what embracing the magic can do to you. She mentioned she also was scared of fully embracing it and letting herself be powerful.

“Last night you were too focused on your shift that your magic was controlled. You never wavered. You should be proud of yourself.” Bonnie praised you and had left a few spell books with you to help you get comfortable using your magic.

You followed after Bonnie to the front door, walking Tyler and her out. “Thanks for everything, I know who to call if I’m in trouble with the shift.”

“Call me for anything.” Bonnie smiled and got into her car, Tyler opening the door and nodding at you before getting in. He rolled the window down.

“You got this, if you ever need anyone to let off some steam, come to me. We can figure out healthy ways to release that anger.” Tyler waved and they were off. Jeremy came out from the bathroom, grabbing his jacket.

“I have to get home to shower before school.” He pulled his phone out as he received a text from Elena. You turned around as you heard her car pull up before you can see it. This werewolf hearing is gonna take a while to get used to.

“I’ll see you there?” He asked, worried you weren’t going to school.

“Yeah, of course. I- I feel good. I think I got a good handle on it now.” You smiled proudly in yourself. He smiled with you.

“I’m proud of you too.” He went down the steps and climbed into his sisters car, as they drove off you could hear Elena tease Jeremy about you.

You ran upstairs getting to finally shower off this exhaustion and soreness, shifting was painful but once you’re through it, it feels like a huge relief. You’re at peace and calmed. but now you’re back to human form, and it’s like your personalities of each are at each others neck. You were able to control it and keep them at bay. You weren’t helpless, you’re not a lost cause. You were helped, after all those terrible sleepless nights and the pain, the feeling of being alone in your pain and agony. You were found, you found yourself. You’re more you than you’ve been.

You cleaned up your rage room and put a lock on it, that way your parents don’t get curious and check it out- not that they have but just a precaution. Getting everything locked up and squared away you got int your car and went to school, driving past the site of the accident there was police tape a little ways into the woods. Stefan and Caroline had told the sheriff the truth, seeing as she knew about the supernaturals and helped cover up some major instances. Much like the accident you caused, which you will never stop feeling bad about. You don’t think you’ll be able to look at a human life the same again. Because you had to take a life to finally feel free and like yourself. You never knew being a were-witch would be the answer to your emotional health.

You pulled into a parking spot, getting your things together before getting out. Seeing Jeremy leaning on a tree, waiting for you nearby. You smiled at him and walked to him.

“You seem different.” Jeremy pointed out once you reached him. You smiled up at him.

“Yeah I feel different. I don’t feel like the same Y/n as before.” You chuckled, embracing yourself for the first time is empowering.

“In that case. Hi, I’m Jeremy and I'm a Human.” Jeremy held his hand out, meeting you all over again.

You laughed and played along, “Hi Jeremy, I’m Y/n. A Were-witch.” You giggled, feeling a sense of self.

You gave him your hand, not letting go of your gaze. He smiled at you and pulled you into a hug.

#jeremy gilbert #jeremy x reader #jeremy gilbert x reader #the vampire diaries #tvd x reader #tvd #the vampire diares imagine

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djmarinizelablog · 3 years ago

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Christmas Birthday

If there's something that Levi despises about December, it’s the fact that it’s not summer. He hates it that there's snow blocking the pathway outside their apartment, and hates it even more that he's going to have back pains from shoveling it on his own. His friends are useless when it comes to household chores during the winter.

"Levi, you're getting stressed, and it's almost your birthday." Hange puts a hand on his shoulder while he’s studying and squeezes him with affection. "Maybe you should take a break for a while."

"I can't, Hange," he says as he buries his face in his hands. His textbook is propped wide open in front of him, but everything’s garbled right now in his mind. Nothing’s getting absorbed. He’s been thinking about too many things at the same time, and he knows that’s not a good sign. On top of having to pass his final exams next week, he’s thinking about the professor he hates, his mother waiting for him to come home, and him surviving this gruesome month.

But Hange is insistent. "Come on, just for the weekend. What do you say to a trip to the mountains?" She kisses the top of his head and that’s how he relents. Levi can’t really deny her anything these days. They use Hange’s car for a little weekend getaway trip to the winter cabins just an hour and a half away from their campus. "I mean, I can't turn the winter into summer, but we can always leave some room for imagination." She then winks at him as she drives.

They're both clad in warm clothing, their winter jackets and snow boots thick enough to fight the cold, and Levi can feel his cheeks heating up. Maybe this is what it means to be in love. As he sits in silence on the passenger's seat, Levi watches the scenery drastically change from the residential area to the snowy mountains, the landscape all veiled in white. The sight is a beauty to behold. He turns his head towards Hange and she's smiling at him. This is technically their first date, and truth be told, he's more than excited to be going out with his best friend.

It really isn't summer at all, but they can somehow pretend. He can imagine himself going skiing with Hange, maybe do some cross-country racing with her as they traverse down the snowy slopes. Running past the thick trees blanketed in snow. Shouting words of love from the top of his lungs. He's not even a sappy person. Perhaps this isn’t going to be so bad at all. He knows he can handle this.

However, he’s proved otherwise when they finally arrive at their destination. Instead of a ski lodge, Hange has brought him to a small mountain hill.

"Wait, aren't we going to a ski lodge?" He's confused.

"Who said we're going to one?"

Levi tries to recall their conversation and realizes that Hange has never mentioned what they were about to do. "What was your idea right from the very start?"

"Well... skiing is quite expensive, but uhm, this one isn't." Hange climbs out of her car and pops the trunk. He follows her outside and sees something huge covered with a red blanket. Levi's mouth opens when Hange removes the blanket, revealing a giant plastic sled.

Levi has never been so discombobulated, dumbfounded, and disconcerted all at the same time. "What the fuck? Sledding is for kids."

"Aren't you excited?" She beams at him as she takes out the sled. "I was like 9 the last time I went sledding!"

"Hange, I am not sliding down a hill with a bunch of brats."

"Oh, you won't be alone. I'll be with you." She grins at him and holds her hand out for Levi to grab on.

He huffs in defeat and takes it anyway. They trudge along the top of the steep hill right where the parents are, waiting to push their kids down the smooth snowy ground. Said parents are also eyeing them with judgment—just two college kids, technically grownups in terms of age, dragging a children’s sled right behind them.

"You ready? Go sit." Hange positions the sled right at the brink of the hill.

He'd want to protest and go home, but he also doesn't want to hurt Hange's feelings. Maybe he can pretend not to be an asshole and a killjoy for a day. He sighs and puts one foot inside the sled, slowly, to test it out. He can definitely fit inside, and he has to swallow his pride to admit it. Once his arms and legs are properly tucked in, he looks up at Hange. "This is extremely embarrassing. What now?"

Hange then clambers inside as well, sitting right behind him, her legs on either side of his hips, her arms around his small frame. It feels somehow comforting. She then holds onto the reins. As much as he wants to focus on the view in front of him—the white slope heading down, the pine trees covered in snow beyond them, the bone-dry skies—Levi can't help but notice Hange's breathing against his nape. He likes it when she’s this close to him.

"Ready?" She doesn't wait for her answer and pushes themselves off the edge. Levi yelps from the sudden motion, and finally, they plunge down into the depths of winter wonderland.

It's a blur, it's a whirlwind, all the whiteness of the surroundings passing them by as they speed past the trees lining up the side of the hill. He looks up at the skies and sees the birds soaring through the air, the cold rush hitting their faces.

Perhaps this is what it means to be free. All the stress gone in an instant. The entire ride feels like an adrenaline rush, like a rollercoaster, all the joy and the thrill in his mind. Right behind him is Hange whooping and laughing as if she's having the time of her life.

Levi's still struck with awe when he realizes that there's something sticking out of the snowy ground a few feet away from them. "Is that a rock? Hange, shit, swerve, swerve, swerve!"

Hange does so in time, avoiding the rock that could have toppled them over, or worse, sent them flying through the air. She maneuvers them back into the path and continues speeding down the hill, the powdery snow flying around them as they slide halfway down the path. The children at the bottom are cheering them on, and the next thing he knows, he's laughing as well.

He can feel the ridges of the slope beneath them, their bottoms at the mercy of the bumps of the uneven terrain. It's a magical experience, nevertheless, and Hange's right: they can imagine summer in this dreaded snow if they try hard enough.

However, they both don't notice another rock protruding from the ground and Hange is unable to maneuver them out of the way. The sled jerks from the sudden movement, and out he goes.

It all happens in slow-motion: Levi flying out of the sled just like in the lyrics of Skyline Pigeon (fly!), his limbs all useless as he rockets into the air, his cursing filling everyone's ears. He hits the snowy ground with a thud, face-first, but the humiliation doesn't stop there. Since he's in the middle of the inclined plane, he rolls down unceremoniously for the remainder of the slope like an avalanche, except he's human and this metaphor is just as horrible as his pride—dissipating with every tumble on his sorry ass until he finally reaches the bottom of the hill, right where the kids are watching him, his face covered with snow.

He groans and the kids start snickering. He tilts his head up and he can see Hange climbing out of the sled, completely unscathed for some miraculous reason, her face painted with joy as she comes running up to him.

"What do you think? I'm so glad I was able to borrow this sled from the neighbor!"

Hange helps him up as they pat down the snow that had clung to their pants. She's breathing hard from the exhilaration of their ride, and Levi can see the small tufts of air coming out of her mouth.

Levi clicks his tongue. "This was not what I expected."

She stops dusting off her jacket. "Oh," Hange says, disappointed. "Sorry, I really should have gone with the skiing—"

"No, we should use an air mattress next time," he tells her, holding her hand. "But let's do it again."

--------

My gift for @snudootchaikovsky. I hope you like it! I wanted to play around with the prompt and combine Christmas + summer vibes in one drabble, so here's what I came up with.

(This is technically a teaser for the next chapter of SOS tbh so I will probably dedicate the Chapter 12 to you!)

#LevihanXmasinJuly #levihan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyoujin #attack on titan #levi ackerman #snk levi #hange zoe #hanji zoe #fanfic #fanfiction #mine #djmarinizela

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casifer-is-king · 4 years ago

Text

Goldfish

PI!Frankie Pt. 2 (Private Investigator Frankie Morales Pt. 1)

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x fem!reader

Rating: M

Warnings: some language, sexual situations: dry humping and making out.

A/N: I can't get this these two out of my head so I just keep writing hah. It is cross posted on AO3 under my username BlondiMarie.

Frankie is bored out of his mind - watching some high up bank employee as he sits through some shady meeting - when his phone pings.

Pollito: Today's the day. At 3pm tonight I will officially be a divorced woman. And by 9pm I will hopefully already be drunk on celebratory drinks! Are you gonna come have a shot with me??

Sorry dulzura I have to work.

Pollito: Bank dude still? You must be slipping, Mr. Morales. You've been stalking that guy for weeks now.

Please don't call it stalking woman. It's surveillance. And I'll have you know I'm about to close this one.

Pollito: Oh I don't doubt you. You're the best investigator I know XD

Frankie shakes his head with a grin. The meeting he's been watching seems to be coming to a close, so he throws some money down for the coffee he'd ordered and walks out to his truck. He looks over the information he gathered from this most recent surveillance and knows that tonight is going to be the best night to follow up on it. He just wishes he could put it off. Spending the evening celebrating with you sounds like a much better time. Especially after everything you've gone through this past month with the divorce.

In the past few weeks, the texting between the two of you had been just as constant as ever, but you had added hanging out together to the mix as well. There had been one dinner so far, which you insisted on paying for, claiming you'd never pay him back if he paid. Then there had been a couple of times you went out for drinks, but Frankie did pay for those even through your complaints that you can pay for yourself.

It was all friendly, though. Not that Frankie didn't want to move on from friendly. He just didn't want to push that move too quickly. You were already stressed enough without him adding his own shit to the mix. So he goes on being the supportive friend, ignores his growing feelings and focuses on work.

And it's a plan that works well for him up until this night.

It's almost midnight when the next text from you comes through.

Pollito: where ar youuuuuu

I'm working Pollito.

Pollito: but yo should be here drikinh with me Fishyyyyyyyyy

Sometimes Frankie really wishes he hadn't told you about his Delta call sign, but he can't help but smile down at his phone as he waited for whatever you were typing now.

Pollito: I need a ride home :(

I thought you had it covered dulzura

Pollito: nuh hh. Come get me?

Frankie bites his lip and peeks up through his windshield. A man in a suit is walking up to the door Frankie has been watching for the past hour. One more glance at the slew of little sad faced begging emojis you had just sent and Frankie was out of his truck and closing the distance to his target with long strides.

Simultaneously hitting record on his phone and pressing a forearm into the target's chest, Frankie quickly takes control of the situation. “This is being recorded. Now I want you to tell me what you and your buddies are doing here tonight?” he asked in a tone that commands an answer.

“Get off me!” the man tried to push Frankie away, but ended up being pushed harder against the building behind him.

“You tell me what I want to know and you can go on your way. Now, what are you doing here tonight?”

“I will call the cops,” the guy made one last ditch attempt. His voice was weak, though, and didn't hold near the authority he had hoped for.

“That's not going to happen,” Frankie's growled out. He glared into the target's eyes for a moment, his teeth clenching. “What's going to happen is you're going to tell me exactly what you and your pals are doing in there. In as much detail as possible.”

“Ok! It's a skim operation!” The man finally gave in. He proceeded to give Frankie everything he needed without any additional prompting from the ex-special forces soldier.

When Frankie got everything he needed, he finally let up on the target, who immediately collapsed into himself. “See, that wasn't so hard,” Frankie said. “Thanks, man. I'm sure you'll be hearing from some people soon.”

Walking away, Frankie looks down to his phone. It's been 15 minutes since your last text.

I'm on my way bonita.

〰️〰️〰️

You know that you're well past drunk when you find yourself singing Total Eclipse of the Heart at a karaoke bar, surrounded by your best friends. Said friends are just as drunk as you are after too many rounds of sickly sweet shots.

You saw him as soon as he strode into the bar. He was wearing his usual baseball cap, but tonight he was wearing a black leather jacket over a tee shirt that stretched deliciously over his chest. You locked eyes with him from the stage, then followed his broad form as he made his way to the bar. With a beer in hand, he watches you sing with a warm look in his chocolate eyes.

As soon as the song is over, you're off the stage and by his side. With a huge smile you throw your arms over his shoulders and he stoops to wrap his arms around you in return.

“I'm so glad you came, Fishy!” You yell directly into Frankie's ear.

“You look like you're having enough fun without me, Pollito. And stop calling me that” Frankie retorts, pulling away with a faux glare.

“I'll stop calling you that when you stop calling me a chicken!”

Frankie laughs outright, showing off the adorable dimple in his cheek. “I promise it's just a nickname. It's not meant to be offensive.”

You glare up at the taller man, fingers still holding onto the plush leather of his coat. He only smiles down at you, though, with a fond look in his dark eyes. “Have a shot with me!” You finally demand. “We are celebrating the fact that I'm a free woman, remember?”

Frankie indulges you with a smile as you grasp one of his large hands in yours and turn him back toward the bar. He doesn't pull away, so you take that as a good sign and lightly run your thumb down the prominent vein running down the back of said hand.

Ever since the night Frankie came and kicked your ex out for good, he had been tip-toeing around you. You were more than certain that the man felt the same about you as you did him, but he hadn't made any move to go any farther than the dinner date you took him on. But every time he'd peek the tip of his tongue out when he concentrated on something you wanted to kiss him. And whenever he'd wrap his arms around you and pull you into a friendly hug, you wanted to push him against the nearest surface and leave marks across his neck. Not to mention all the little things, like watching him drive and yearning to grab his hand in yours. Or even just sitting next to him on the couch and wishing he'd pull you closer so you could just bask in his warm existence.

But, ever the gentleman, Frankie does none of those things. He texts you all day, spends time with you when he's not busy, and lets you vent to him endlessly about your divorce. And so maybe that's where the issue lies: you were technically still a married woman and Frankie is just the kind of gentleman who wouldn't make a move on a married woman? Regardless of how separated she was from her husband.

Marriage isn't an issue anymore, though, you think happily as you and Frankie down your shots of Jameson and it's subsequent pickleback in two smooth steps. Because this was your celebration as a newly single woman! You just had to make sure Frankie was aware of this as well.

Your little Frankie bubble was invaded as your friends squish up to the bar beside you. “Oh, look who made it right as we are leaving!”

“Hello, Erin. I see you two have been taking care of her,” Frankie nods toward you with a mildly facetious smile.

“Only the best divorce party for our best friend!” Ashley cheers, sloppily throwing her arms around your neck. “But our Uber is here, so it's time to pack it up.”

You can almost feel Frankie's eyes squinting at you as you turn to your friends. Oops. So maybe you had exaggerated just a little bit to convince Frankie to show up tonight. But it was worth it now that he was here. “Actually, Frankie's gonna take me home.”

Erin and Ashley exchange looks and you know, even in your drunken daze, that is time to usher them out to their waiting ride. “Come on, loves, your car won't wait forever.”

After long winded goodbyes, multiple hugs and some empty promises from Ashley that you would all get lunch the next day, you finally packed your friends into their Uber.

“Ready to go, too, cariño?” Frankie asked, looking down into your eyes.

Your head tilted to the side. This was a pet name he had not called you before. You are about to ask about it, but suddenly his large hand is covering the span of your lower back and warmth is radiating from that spot straight into your belly. With a dreamy nod, you allow Frankie to lead you across the lot to his truck. He gently lifts you into the passenger seat and his full torso covers you momentarily as he leans across to buckle you in securely.

You're struck, in this moment, by the realization of how broad this man's shoulders are. Of course, it's not something that you can miss; but in this moment, warmed by his body covering yours, he seems broader than ever. Shoulders leading to strong arms, ending with those hands. It was obvious that Frankie was accustomed to working with his hands, with long, thick fingers calloused from engine work and handling guns. But it's the little things about Frankie's hands that always captured your attention. The way they twitched when he was feeling anxious, always looking for the first thing he could to occupy them. He'd caress the table beneath his fingers, following every groove over and over again. Or when he tapped along to the music on the radio as he drove and his fingers would flex, showing off all of his tendons.

You're brought out of your thoughts when one of those fingers reaches up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. He's still close. Close enough that it wouldn't take much effort to just lean forward and place your lips on his.

But in the next instant he's retreating, shooting you a wink as he closes the door and jogs over to the drivers side.

“Did you get the guy?” You asked once Frankie had pulled away from the bar. “The one you've been watching.”

“Of course I did,” he drawls. “I'm the best, remember?”

“I am certain that's not what I said,” you laughed.

“That's what I remember you saying.”

You laugh at him, enjoying how his deep laugh harmonizes with yours, enjoying the moment with him. You wish you could drag this moment on, you think blearily. But soon enough he's parked outside your new condo and gently helping you up to your front door.

“Stay,” you whisper as Frankie fights to get your door unlocked while also dealing with you draped all over him. He grunts, just a general signal that he heard you speak, but he doesn't answer your request.

He's depositing you onto your couch when you say it again, more forceful, “Frankie. Stay with me.” You're grasping at the sleeve of his coat, both hands attempting to pull him down with you.

Frankie freezes, suddenly a statue in the middle of your living room. Seeing that you aren't going to be able to make the man budge by pulling him down, you relent your grip and move on to pouting up at him.

“Not a good idea, cariño. Not tonight and not like this.” He sounds just a little bit regretful. So you latch onto that and double down on the pouting.

“I want you to Frankie. Want you to stay here and kiss me and touch me with your pretty hands.”

Frankie groans in a way that makes you feel like you've won, but instead he takes a full step back and pulls off his hat to run his hands through his hair. The curls are messy, but they look so soft and you want to touch them desperately.

The next thing you know, you're standing in front of him and Frankie's hands are curled gently around your wrists as he's pushing you back at arm's length. “Dulzura, it is time for you to go to bed.”

You frown and whine, “don't wanna go to bed.”

“Goodnight, cariño,” was the last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep under your warm blankets.

Frankie 🐟: The guys are doing an early bbq then the fight is tonight.

You pick up your phone to read the text as it pings a second time.

Frankie 🐟: You're still coming right??

Of course! What time should I be ready?

Frankie 🐟: I'll be there around 3.

Sounds good. See you then!

Frankie is there at 2:47pm. It's the first time you've seen him since the day of your divorce just a week ago. You aren't exactly ready, but he only stands around impatiently for 10 minutes before you are finally out the door. The drive is across town, and 20 minutes later Frankie is pulling up to a nice little house in an equally nice neighborhood.

Frankie walks into the house without knocking, leading you through to the back door. In the back yard a group of guys are standing around a grill, two of them with beers in their hands and one with a water bottle.

“Hey! Look who finally made it!” One of the guys calls out as he sees you and Frankie approaching. A wide smile graces his handsome features.

“Hey guys,” Frankie greets, “Sorry we're late. Someone wasn't ready when they said they'd be.” Frankie ignores your huff in liew of introducing you to his friends.

You shake each man's hand, trying to match faces to names you already know: Santiago with his dark eyes, stubbled jaw and curly hair; Benny is the one with the wide smile and crystal blue eyes; and Will who's eyes match Benny's, but who has blonde hair and a beard that enhances his chiseled jawline perfectly.

“I've heard so much about you all.” It's a cliché line, but it's the truth. Frankie talks about these guys more often than he talks about himself.

“Want a beer, dulzura?” Frankie asks. When you nod he turns back to the house.

“So we finally get to meet Frankie's new best friend,” Santiago turns to you with a smile. “You and Catfish have known each other…. How long now?”

“One month, two weeks and four days,” Will pipes up from your left.

Before you can even comment on the absurdity of him just knowing that, Santiago is already going on. “Exactly! And we are only just now meeting you?! It seems a shame that Cat would keep such a niña bonita from us!”

“You know how possessive Fish can be, Pope,” Benny cuts in. “I'm surprised he didn't wait another one month, two weeks and however many days.”

The guys laugh and you join in, though yours is definitely more confused than anything. “I don't think that's it,” you reply. “Just timing hasn't matched up, ya know? But I'm glad things worked out tonight. I'm excited to see your fight, Benny. Frankie talks a lot about y'alls training.”

Frankie appears by your side again, handing you your beer bottle and casually draping an arm over your shoulders. “Ben's gonna do great tonight. He's put in a lot of work for this one and he's gonna leave that ring the champ.”

“I always leave the ring a champion,” Benny puffs up.

“Except when you get the shit kicked out of you,” Santiago says, feinting a jab to Benny's torso which leads to Benny grabbing Santiago in a headlock.

Will gives an exasperated eye roll and he and Frankie begin to drift over to the smoking grill in tandem, you being pulled along with them from under Frankie's arm. “You really thinking he's got this one?” Will asks as he opens the grill to check on the food inside.

“No doubt. He really has put the work in, and we've been working on taking advantage of Thompson’s weaknesses. Benny's the better fighter between the two anyway, so this one is a no brainer,” Frankie replies with confidence.

Will seems convinced by this and nods. “Good. He needs this win.”

They leave it at that as Benny and Santiago make their way over, still pushing at each other and laughing.

“Ok, save it for the ring, brother,” Will says to Benny. “Foods done, let's eat.”

〰️〰️〰️

Frankie downs the rest of his beer and peeks over at your own bottle. Seeing that it's nearly empty as well, he leans in and interrupts your conversation with Will by whispering in your ear, “another drink?”

You turn to him with a sweet little smile and a nod before turning right back to listening to whatever Will was telling you.

Standing and walking into the kitchen, Frankie can't help but feel happy seeing how well you're dealing with his best friends. Brothers, really, after everything the four of them had been through. Which is just another reason for Frankie to smile, knowing that the guys are going out of their way to make you feel comfortable.

Opening the fridge and grabbing two more bottles, Frankie hears the soft padding of footsteps and raises his chin to see that Benny has followed him. He steps back and let's the younger man grab a water bottle and a beer.

“So, you tappin’ that yet?” Benny asks with a salacious wiggle of his brows.

Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend's crudeness. "Come on, man, she just got divorced."

"Ok, but if that wasn't an issue?" Benny pushes.

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't know if she'd even want that."

“But you are into her?"

"Of course I am, Benny!"

"Well, don't wait too long, brother. Don't let her slip through your fingers."

〰️〰️〰️

In the living room you are left with Santiago and Will. Santiago takes the opportunity of having Frankie out of the room and turns to you. “So, has Fish been treating you well?”

You're confused by the question, but answer, “of course. He's a really good friend.” You smile as you lower your head.

“But I'm sensing you're maybe interested in more than that?” Santiago pushes.

“Um, well, I'm just kinda going with the flow. He's just kinda been there for me through a whole shit storm,” you explain.

“Well one of you is gonna have to make a move at some point.”

Before you can deny anything, Will comes to your defense. “Come on, Pope. This isn't an interrogation here.” You smile at the man appreciatively, but then he ads: “anyway, we both know Frankie is gonna take his time making any moves."

The conversation is cut short when Benny saunters back into the room, presenting you with another beer in a flourish.

“Do you do any fishing?” Santiago changes the topic swiftly.

“Not at all,” you laugh.

“Don't like fish?”

"More like fish don't like me. I had a goldfish once, but it died pretty much as soon as I got it home."

“How do you murder a goldfish?” Benny asks, looking your way incredulously.

“I don't know! I did everything the guy at the store told me to do.”

“Well, lucky for you, it's ok if the ones you catch die, goldfish killer,” Benny jokes. “The goal is to eat them anyway.”

“I don't know. I have zero experience with fishing,” you protest.

“Don't you worry, we will teach you everything there is to know,” Benny says with a wink. “I hear catfish are pretty easy to catch.”

Santiago snickers and you see Will try to hide a smirk.

“Is that what you guys usually fish for?” You ask, trying to gain some context for the comment and following reaction.

“No, darlin’, it's not,” Will answers, his smirk evolving into a smile. “But we will be happy to have you come with us whenever you want to tag along.”

“Where are you guys trying to take her, hermano?” Frankie asks as he re-enters the living room. You notice that his lips are turned down slightly and his brows are pinched, creating that worry line between them that he sometimes gets when he's thinking too hard about a case.

“Just offering to teach the goldfish killer how to do some real fishing.” Benny's smile is wide and definitely leaning away from innocent.

“It was literally just one goldfish,” you mumble.”It's not like I'm some mass goldfish murder.”

Frankie pats your shoulder as he takes his seat beside you, “of course not, cariño. I know you'd never purposely hurt a fish.” His tone was only mildly sarcastic, so you let him off with a glare.

“Well you might have to break that rule once we get out to the lake with a hook in the water, but I think you'll manage just fine,” Benny laughs. “Here, put your number in my phone!”

Benny's phone is slapped into your palm, so you have no choice but to comply with his request. He also grabs for your phone and unlocks it to immediately start adding his contact info in return. Only seconds after you have swapped phones back, your own phone alerts you to a message. Opening the screen you note that you have now been added to a group message labeled “Operation Teach Goldfish To Reel In A Big Catch”. You see Frankie listed in the chat, as well as two other phone numbers that are not saved in your contacts.

“Kinda long for a chat name, don't ya think?” You comment, raising one brow toward the younger Miller brother.

“It's a working title,” Benny laughs out loud. “Now let's get going, guys. I have a fight to win!”

There were only a few people there when you got to the venue where the fights were being held. You go back and watch Benny warm up, surprised that the goofy guy from back at the barbecue has now turned deathly serious. He's definitely in his element here. Frankie and Will offer some pointers and words of encouragement until it's time for him to go change.

“I'm gonna go get our seats,” Frankie says as you all file out towards the changing room.

“You're not gonna walk out with me?” Benny sounds suddenly anxious.

“I don't wanna leave her alone, hermano,” Frankie explains, gesturing toward you.

Benny's brows pinch together and his frown deepens.

“I can go save the seats myself,” you assure with a smile at both men.

“Are you sure, cariño?” Frankie looks mildly worried, but he's also glancing back to Benny, clearly at a loss for what to do.

“Of course! You guys do your manly ritual stuff and I'll be out there when you get done.” Turning toward Benny you give him a bright smile, “good luck out there!”

The smile Benny gives in return is full of relief and appreciation. “Thanks, Goldfish.”

“That's… You didn't forget my name already, did you?” You ask hesitantly.

Benny laughs outright at that. “Of course not, sweetheart. But Goldfish Killer is too long to say every time.”

With a huff and an eye roll you try to hide the smile that's creeping into your face. “Ok, asshole. You go focus on not getting knocked out in the ring.”

“Not a chance of that happening,” he retorts with a wink before turning to go into the changing room.

Frankie turns to you once more. “You sure you'll be ok out there?” He asks once more.

“I'm positive, Morales. You go make sure Benny is ready to win this thing.”

Frankie smiles down at you with a soft look in his eyes. “Kay. I'll see you out there soon.”

People are starting to trickle in as you enter the arena and scope out for the seats Frankie had mentioned earlier where they usually sat. They are in the front row and still open, so you make sure to stake your claim on four seats and sit down to wait.

You're scrolling through social media when a shadow falls over you. You look up and see a man standing next to you, waiting to catch your attention. “Hey, are these seats taken?” He asks.

“No, those ones are free. I just have these ones on my left,” you smile politely.

“Thanks,” the guy smiles back before taking the seat next to you. You focus back on your scrolling for a moment before the guy speaks again. “Should be a good fight tonight, huh?”

Looking back up, you see the stranger is still addressing you. “Yeah, I'm sure it will be,” you respond.

“Who are you betting on?” He asks.

“Ben Miller,” you answer without a thought.

“Really? Ok,” the guy laughs.”I'm Nick, by the way.”

You give him your name in return and, with mild reluctance, allow him to engage you in a conversation.

It's 20 minutes before the lights dim and loud music starts pouring out of the speakers. You turn to focus on what's happening, but Nick leans closer to say something else. In that moment, you feel Frankie settle into the chair to your left, his arm automatically falling across your shoulders and he's pulling you toward him.

“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry that took so long.” Frankie's voice is deep, but usually it's a soft gravely sound that drapes over you like a warm, wool blanket. In this moment, though, his voice has turned stentorian. It's so clear, even over all the background noise, that you are sure Nick has heard every word without issue.

To prove that point, the stranger immediately backs off.

You smile up at Frankie thankfully as Santiago and Will make their way over, passing beers to you and Frankie. He takes his beer in his left hand and keeps his right arm firmly around your shoulders. Accepting that he wasn't going to move any time soon, you subtly lean toward him and focus on the fight that's starting in the ring.

As the second fight begins and the announcer introduces Benny, the solid arm moves from your shoulders and Frankie's hand drops to your thigh. The weight of that hand causes your stomach to flutter as he gives one squeeze of his strong fingers.

You glance over to the owner of the warm hand and see that he is leaning over Santiago, listening to something Will is saying.

You take the opportunity and bring your hand up as well. You allow yourself to touch the denim of his jeans, feeling along the solid span of his thigh, moving inward until the tips of your fingers are touching the inner seam of them.

His hand squeezes your thigh again, this time just a hint harder. Not a warning to stop; probably not even something he meant to do, you realize after peeking up at his face through your lashes. Frankie is straight faced, appearing to be watching as Benny gains the upper hand early on his opponent. But his eyes flicker down to your quickly every few seconds, and each time you catch him you move your hand just a little farther up his leg.

〰️〰️〰️

Frankie's arm is around you again, but this time he has you pulled firmly into his side as he leads you down the hallway. The announcer had barely finished announcing Benny as the winner before he had grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the arena. With one sharp turn he leads you through one of the doors along the hall and has you backed against it in one swift motion.

“I've been waiting to kiss you for so long,” he growls into your neck.

“So why haven't you already?” You counter. And that's all it takes for Frankie's lips to come crashing down on yours.

It's a rough meeting of mouths, both of you having lost all patients after weeks of waiting for this. His mustache tickles you and you giggle a bit at the sensation of his facial hair as well as the euphoria of finally kissing this man after dreaming about it for so long. He takes this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and you eagerly accept.

The kiss has melted into a deep exploration of each other's mouths while his hands find their way up your sides. Those hands cover your ribcage, up just below the swell of your breasts; he caresses the very bottom of them with just his thumbs before both hands continue toward your back. He traces fingertips down each vertebrae of your spine until he reaches your ass and firmly takes a handful of each cheek.

This action causes you to be pulled closer to his body and it's that moment that you realize he has slotted his leg between your thighs. The friction causes you to gasp and your head falls back against the door. Frankie takes this opportunity to begin exploring your exposed neck, mapping out all the places that make you moan and squirm on his thigh.

You move your hands up to push your fingers through his curly hair, knocking his hat off in the process. As his mouth meets the juncture of your neck and shoulder, electricity flashes up your spine and you grip a handful of his hair in one of your fists. The pull on his scalp rips a moan from deep in his chest and he jerks his hips into yours. With this added closeness, you can clearly feel his excitement pressing into your hip.

You drag a hand slowly down Frankie's body, feeling all the firm muscle of his shoulder and pecs, traveling further down his stomach until you reach the edge of his tee shirt. His mouth has migrated toward the other side of your neck as you push your hand up under the bottom of his shirt, fingers dancing across skin covered in a speckling of hair, following the trail down to his belt and…

Suddenly both of your phones are vibrating at the same time. You squeak loudly as you feel his phone through the pocket of the leg he has firmly pressed into your center.

“Fucking shit,” Frankie curses, stepping away from you and reaching into his jeans for the phone. “Fucking assholes,” he curses again, turning the phone to show you that Santiago is calling him.

You fall back onto the door and retrieve your own phone with shaking hands. It's Benny calling you, which you allow Frankie to see with a shake of your head and sardonic smile. He huffs out a deep breath and ignores the call.

“Guess we better find them,” Frankie sighs, running a hand over his kiss-swollen lips.

“Yeah, we should do that,” you agree, running your hands through your hair in an attempt to tame it. Once you both have composed yourselves to the best of your abilities, you allow Frankie to open the door and lead you out with a hand low on your back.

Immediately you hear Benny's voice hollering from down the hall, “Well well well, there they are.”

You feel your whole body cringe before turning toward the rowdy voice, knowing full well your face is flaming red from both embarrassment and where Frankie's stubble had rubbed your skin sensitive.

“And where have you been?” Benny questions as the three men approach.

“Around,” Frankie answers, barely nonchalant.

Benny laughs loudly, but Will expertly leads him continuously down the hall. Though not without throwing you and Frankie a knowing smile.

“Did you lose your hat while you were “around” exploring random storage rooms?” Santiago inquires with a leer as he also sweeps past the two of you, following the Miller brothers.

Frankie's hand shoots to his head and he runs his fingers through uncontained hair. He curses under his breath then turns to hastily swoop his hat from the floor and place it back on his head.

When he stands back to his full height, he pauses a moment to gaze at you. The corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile as your eyes meet his and in an instant he's leaning down to deliver a soft, quick kiss to your lips. “We better catch up or we'll never hear the end of it,” he comments.

The three men are standing around outside the doors when Frankie finally escorts you out. Benny wastes no time pulling you into their conversation. “Bar? I need a drink after that win!”

You turn to look up at the man beside you, your eyes meeting is chocolate ones instantly. The two of you have a moment of silent communication before Frankie turns to his friends. “I think we'll skip the bar tonight, hermano. You guys have fun though.”

“Oh, you hear that, gentlemen? Frankie and Goldie are gonna skip the bar,” Santiago says satirically.

“Oh, we heard, brother,” Will affirms in a matching, though more subdued tone.

“Yeah yeah, ok,” Frankie interrupts the banter. “Come on, cariño, let's go before these comedians get too deep in their skit.”

The guys laugh and start their rounds of manly goodbyes.

You turn to Benny when he's stepped back from Frankie's hug. “Great job tonight. Congrats on that win,” you smile up at him.

The beaming man instantly pounced to sweep you into a hug. “Glad we finally got to meet you, Goldfish.”

“You're not gonna give that up, are you?” You glare good-naturedly.

“I've already changed your name in my phone. Can't go back now.”

You sigh half heartedly and return Benny's hug. “It was nice to finally meet you too,” you pull away with a sincere smile.

Back on the ground you get a side hug from Santiago and Will offers a friendly nod and a smile. Then, with one last wave, Frankie grabs your hand and leads you to his truck. After each of you are buckled in, he turns to you with hesitant eyes.

“So….” he doesn't hold eye contact for long, quickly tipping his head forward to hide behind the bill of his hat.

You smile at how cute he is, here in this moment. A distinct difference from the man who had you crowded against a door and rubbing yourself all over his thigh not even 15 minutes ago.

“So, I have this new condo full of brand new furniture, if you wanna check it out,” you suggest.

“Sounds perfect to me,” Frankie agrees, reaching over to grab your hand as he sets off toward your house.

✨✨Three✨✨

#triple frontier #pi!frankie #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you

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ddullahan · 4 years ago

Text

hadestown au 1

HI SO My anxiety has been through the fuckin roof for the past few weeks and in a fit of stress I deleted the first look of the bees hadestown au that I posted a few weeks ago. I’m feeling much better now and I wanted to repost it because I really am super excited about it >< Anyway, second verse, maybe same as the first, here we go! ---------------- it’s an old song As all tales begin, there comes a moment of question. The precipice we all stand at, toes hanging over the edge, eager to take the plunge. The question, different for every eye and ear turned to the story, starts as a feeling. It buoys us through the long swathes of paragraphs ahead. It seeps into our minds, and pushes us off the edge. We have that moment of freefall. Of realisation. We have to trust in something to catch us. Like most fairy tales, it begins with once upon a time. There laid a railroad track. If you've ever heard the rails sing on a good, windy day, you'd know the sound sticks to the back of your mind. There to stay until the dark of night, when it creeps up to whisper wanderlust into your bones. The song of the rails is a low and resonant thing, humming into the willows scattered along the railroad sides. They used to say the rails were the Fates groaning in your ears. Urging you along. Waiting in anticipation for the train to come to call. Waiting for the story to start its freefall. The metal likes to wail beneath blackened wheels on hot, summer days. Days much like the one in which our story begins. Once upon a time - Metal chatters under the weight of an ancient, scorch-marked train. Decorated with blacked out windows. Panes of glass soot-stained, like they’d been brushed with fire one too many times. Coal smoke bursts from its chimney with a grudge, flooding the gray skies in the type of black smog that you can taste in the back of your mouth, long after the train’s disappeared. It was painted white once, a long, long time ago. A gift from the boss man down below for his flowering wife; but it’s one of those gifts you shove in the back of your drawer. One of those things that you spend your nights lying awake in bed, thinking in guilty chords. The train still runs, but the old white sides are now black and cold. Like the panting of dogs on the skin of your heels, the wind still blows hot behind it. The only thing it tows are souls to their final destination, but it won't take you if you ain't got the gold to board. It’s a fact almost everyone knows. ‘Cause the old legends say the road to hell could lead you out of poverty, but you gotta pay the toll to get that good money. The wind cracks and snaps after the train; sends the short ribbons of inky black hair whipping. Snapping into the brown-skinned face of a hungry young woman. Blake Belladonna’s eyes glint like knives with a debt to pay, and her steps are sure footed against the rolling rocks under her boots. She wears a weathered bag slung over her shoulder, and a once-warm leather duster now worn to shit and hole-y. She seems small among the billowing willows and smoggy skies. She doesn't know where she's going or how she got to the railroad at all - but she knows how to turn her collar against the wind. And she knows how to run. Metal shrieks, pulling her eyes up like a hand to the chin. She’s left to watch as the ruined, black omen of a train screams past a small, dilapidated station. It’s the only structure for miles. The cicadas are screaming along to the wailing of the tracks in a symphony, until the locomotive vanishes over the curve of a distant hill. The station's dry, mud-caked windows send silt drifting to cracked, rotting floorboards. The coke-bottle thick panes rattle angrily in their fragile frames, and then come to find their peace once more. Damn this is a dump, the young woman thinks, approaching the station. But it'll have to do. The sun's rays sink into her skull and turn her warm brown skin hot to the touch. It's far too hot for April. Stepping into the shade is an immediate relief, until the hot wind kicks up again. It blasts in her face as if to remind her it's there. As if she could ever forget. She's used to the way it whispers starvation in her ears. She throws the door open and escapes from the wind; stumbles her way into the empty station. Small and dusty like it’d been forgotten, filled with only two benches facing each other and a single door hiding behind them in the gloom. There's a sign on the door that reads "End o th line Caf ". Faintly, she can hear music behind it. Blake doesn't hesitate, and heads for the door. The knob breaks off in her hand, but it feels familiar and solid so she pockets it and heads inside. Follows the hallway and the pull of her feet to the music. The walls grow darker and thicker with polished wood. Her steps don't seem to echo and the music has since paused. The quiet starts to make her anxious. She doesn't like dark hallways. She's dreamt of them enough for a lifetime. The further she goes, the more her unease starts to grow and the more she starts to wonder if she's been here before. It's ridiculous, really. This is the farthest south she'd ever gone. Or was she in the east? Her anxious heart speeds up for a reason she can't see, and it's like her feet already know where to go. The hallway turns suddenly and she finds herself standing at the rim of an amphitheater of sorts. The music fades back in. There's a band jamming to soft jazz in the stands, people crowded and conversing at tiny tables scattered about the flat floor at the bottom. There's a man at a piano playing a diddy, there's a flicker of gold in the kitchen beyond. It's alive in a way that she hadn't seen in a long time, and she finds her feet eager to join the dancing 'round the tables below. She takes a step and nearly runs into another woman, decked out in a crisp white and red suit. She’s older, maybe late thirties or mid forties - has this eternally kind, yet melancholy smile. Her features are fair, but tired. Her black hair is pulled back like Blake’s, but tipped with red like the ends had been dipped in paint. Blake apologises immediately - "E-excuse me, sorry," and starts picking her way down to the tables. "No worries dear," She hears faintly behind her, the older woman's face already blurred from her memory. She blinks and suddenly she’s on the bottom floor, with the movers and shakers rattling cups with their stomping jive. She wants to move with them, but she's already reaching for an empty chair, like her hand was following its own storyline. The flash of gold catches her attention again. Her feet slip into a shallow groove in the floor, and she is rooted. Something crashes, and her eyes follow the clattering sharp shards of porcelain. One piece with purple trim bounces off a brown boot. She notices a hole near the big toe. Blake looks up, and her heart decides to freefall. All the way across the floor stands a young woman in an apron. A bucket of newly broken dishes lay at her feet. Her eyes are so pale and pretty they have their own orbit amidst the aging lights above. Her blonde hair ripples into liquid gold, twisted messily into a bun. Broad shoulders are cinched into position with suspenders and there's an off-white shirt rolled up to her elbows, the hem tucked into a pair of trousers. The skin of her strong forearms are tanned and riddled with freckles, spreading constellations all the way up her neck and across the gradual slope of her nose. Oh, there's something familiar about all of this. Blake feels it in her bones. There’s something familiar in the ‘o’ of her startled mouth. Something about the empty hands she hovers, still holding an imaginary bucket of plates. She's got those sharp lilac eyes pinned on something in front of her. It's a jolt to realise she's staring right at Blake. Though suddenly, that older woman in the white and red suit sweeps by that freckled face, and it's with a smile and a wave that their staring contest ends. No one claims the victory as the spell breaks. The older woman asks something that Blake can't hear, but she knows her voice is soft and sweet. Her feet move like she’s skating on air, and Blake decides to focus on that. She focuses on that instead of the heartbeat in her chest. She doesn’t think about how her pulse no longer feels like it belongs to herself. The golden woman nods stiffly and turns. Follows the gliding woman to the back of the house, and Blake is left with a heart migrating into her throat. The hungry young woman quickly tears her gaze away, uproots her feet from the grooves in the floor, and sits at the table she'd claimed. Her skin feels clammy. Her body is buzzing. She shrugs off her bag and coat, then pulls her bag into her lap. As if there was anything in there worth protecting. It could be minutes, it could be hours. She's really not sure, when a shadow falls over her table, and the sight aches like an old friend. A bottle of some fizzy drink is set gently before her, the bottle cap rattling towards her side of the table. Sunflower Pop, it reads. She looks up. The poor young woman, with her liquid gold locks wrapped in a messy topknot, stares right back. They're both struck speechless. If there was ever a moment where destiny fills the lungs, it was then. Anticipation strings itself between their ribs, the cords like telephone wires humming their universal tune. I found you. I found you. I found you. But neither of them say a word to each other. The anticipation feels closer to a noose than a cup-and-string, the longer they spend breathing in the other's presence. The hungry young woman with hair black as night, just couldn't look away. Couldn't make her voice work right. The gold haired woman's jaw seems to work, but there was still no sound to be heard. Eventually the woman just turns around and walks away, toddling and tripping like her knees were unsteady. Blake sits where she left her, feeling much more than sympathy. She feels like her chair would collapse with her if she tried to follow. And again, there are voices whispering in the back of her mind. The wind already found her inside this place, its voices groaning and hollow. It always finds her, and she knows. She knows it always will. But as her slender fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle left on her table, Blake tastes the fizz and hums. Feels the crackle of carbonation all across her skin as she tracks the tall blonde with her eyes. The wind doesn’t feel like a whip in this vibrant, lively place. That has to count for something. Maybe she should stick around, just for one day. Maybe she would stick around and wait for the band to play.

#rwby hadestown au #rwby fanfiction #bumbleby #bumbleby hadestown au #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #i'm still waiting to finish the whole thing before posting it on ao3 #but the more i reread it #the more excited i am #i fucking love this au #thank y'all for your patience T.T #and thank you yangsbandana #for encouraging me to post it again i appreciate you v much T.T #rwby

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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years ago

Text

kings of the southside: CHAPTER 2

The storefronts on the block were different now— fragile minimalist displays and organic coffee shops uprooting the aged wooden bar signs with peeling paint and bullet holes— but against all odds, and with everyone else moving on, he and Mickey had decided to stay.

(a canon divergent fic in which ian and mickey stay on the southside and take over the alibi)

read chapter 2 here on ao3, or below the cut! (see notes on ao3 for various credits)

The end of the first weekend of them running the Alibi came quickly, and with it came Mickey’s focus being pulled in a million goddamn directions; they still had to unpack all of their shit upstairs, still had to figure out inventory and restock the bar and balance the books. Between all of the swirling and circling tasks Mickey felt like his head was going to explode, a sharp shift after the smooth waters of doing fuck-all for the past few months before the weed security business took off and he’d been forced to snap back into business mode.

Ian had bounced back from that first Saturday night of running the bar, the slump relaxing and fading out of his shoulders, and he was chipper as ever all Sunday afternoon, constantly grabbing at Mickey’s waist and singing fucking songs in his ear as they brushed elbows while pouring beers beside each other at the bar. As always, Ian fucking sunshine Gallagher’s mood seemed to have some sort of trickle-down effect on Mickey on Sunday, despite Mickey’s best efforts to not be a love-crazed loon. So even though they had a million things to do for Ian’s 80s night bullshit and Mickey had every reason to be stressed, he found himself fucking whistling when he rinsed the dishes behind the bar on Sunday night, and Tommy started giving him shit— and Mickey realized that he didn’t think there was a time he’d remembered whistling, ever, in his goddamn life.

He couldn’t really help it; Ian was radiating this new, breezy energy that Mickey still hadn’t had the time to feel the past few months, with all the bullshit going on with Terry and his family next door that set his teeth on edge— but now Ian was melting into their new life, acting settled, acting like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world and everything was all figured out. And Mickey started to realize, in the fuzzy back corners of his brain, that maybe, just maybe— he could start to feel that way about their new gig at the Alibi and their new place, too.

They didn’t have to run from anything anymore.

Mickey practically couldn’t believe his ears the other week when Ian had willingly accepted custody of the Alibi with a too-relaxed air of nonchalance, with a well, maybe Mick and I could take it off your hands, on one of their final days scarfing down sugary cereal in the late hours of the morning in the Gallagher house kitchen. There was no way Gallagher was being serious about this— Ian was always talking about going somewhere, about being something bigger than he was, so there was no way he was offering to Kev that they would take over his dump of a bar. Except he definitely was— and for a sharp and splintering instant Mickey was worried Ian was saying this for him; that once again, he was holding Ian Gallagher back.

But Mickey had felt Ian’s warm palm resting on his leg under the kitchen table— and he’d seen the warmth, that fucking warmth that always heated Mickey’s insides, as Ian turned to him with his eyebrows raised in a question, in a wordless proposition— and once again it struck Mickey like a goddamn lightning bolt just how much Ian Gallagher loved him, if he looked this blissed out about the prospect of living in a shitty Southside apartment and running an even shittier bar with Mickey Milkovich for the rest of his days.

Mickey knew part of Ian doing this was for him, after all the Westside bullshit that Mickey had resisted at every turn. Mickey knew he’d lost his shit when he made that yuppie poodle lady rip their lease to shreds, but could anyone blame him? The few hours they’d spent at the apartment complex made Mickey feel like he was going to crawl out of his fucking skin, like the glares of everyone he passed by in the too-clean, air-freshened hallways made him itch from the inside out. There was no fucking way he could stay in a place like that. But he was going to try, if Ian wanted.

But with a simple sentence, with a simple maybe Mick and I could take it off your hands spoken into the dusty kitchen of the Gallagher house, Mickey was saved. This Alibi plan pulled them both above water, gave them both a shore to rest on— and now they were finally, finally on the same fucking page, after figuratively (and literally) butting heads about the future for so long.

So now they were here, and they were doing it, and it was scary as fuck. Mickey had never lived in a place so quiet, a small space so devoid of the press of other people screeching and fighting and leaving trails of clutter, and he knew that Ian hadn’t either; both of their childhood homes were always crawling with various drunks or Russian prostitutes or batshit crazy relatives, and the silence of their too-small studio, in the morning hours before the bar was opened downstairs, was deafening.

Mickey could feel his jaw start to clench as he laid twisted in the sheets on Monday morning, when Ian had gone for a run and Mickey was left in the apartment alone for an hour and it was quiet, too quiet— but instantly the boisterous noise of the Southside streets had started to flow just outside the open window, a cacophony of honking horns and shouted slurs and gunshots, and the trickling in of the sounds tickled Mickey’s scalp, and reminded him that he was still rooted— he was still home.

And then Ian came clomping up the stairs like a sweaty monster after his run and tackled Mickey into the mattress, flopping onto him like a fucking Saint Bernard—and Mickey remembered why they did this, why this was good for both of them.

Against every single one of Mickey’s instincts, against everything he’d always known— he was going to let himself have this.

Ian’s brows were furrowed, a pressed series of creases narrowed in focus, as he stared at the paint swatches with a too-sharp glare.

“Mick, I really don’t see the fucking difference between Charcoal Gray and Burnt Ember.”

Mickey huffed, snatching the series of paint swatches out of his hand. “Nevermind then. You’ve got no eye for this shit, Gallagher. Charcoal Gray has cool undertones, Burnt Ember has a warmer vibe. We’ve definitely gotta go with Burnt Ember, the lighting in this place is shit and I wanna make sure the kitchen has a good ambiance.”

Ian’s lips curved into a smile of disbelief, rolling his eyes. Annoying motherfucker. “They both look like gray to me.”

Mickey flashed a grin in reply, then swatted Ian’s chest with the remaining paint swatches he was holding. “It’s a good thing you’re good at manual labor. If we wanna have this place painted by Wednesday, we’ve gotta get moving.”

“On it. Lip’s coming by with the paint for the main room and the wallpaper stuff, too.”

And just then, there was a gentle tap at the door. “Ey, it’s me and Liam.”

Ian bounded across the room to pull the paint-chipped door open. “Speak of the devil.”

Lip strode into their shithole apartment carrying cans of paint and a wrench clenched between his fingers, Liam trailing behind him.

“Damn. It’s only been two days and I already forgot what a dump this place is.”

Ian shoved Lip’s shoulder. “Fuck you. If you can renovate our shitty house, fixing this place up should be a piece of cake.”

Mickey noticed Liam scanning the room— in a fit of annoyance the other morning, with the bright fucking sun streaming in because they hadn’t gotten curtains yet with the bar pulling focus downstairs, Mickey had sliced a black trashbag and pinned it to the window as a makeshift curtain. Liam’s eyes lingered on the hanging trashbag, and he raised a judgmental eyebrow at Mickey.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Ian chuckled. “Yeah, Mick’s a real interior designer.”

Liam just sighed. “You guys need all the help you can get.”

Mickey’s brows furrowed. “Fuck you both. That was a temporary solution.” He walked over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer, just so he had something to do.

Ian grinned again, then reached out to ruffle Liam’s hair. “How’s the new place, superstar?”

Liam shrugged nonchalantly. “I like it. I just hung up all of my posters. Added a bit of vibrancy to the color palette that Tami chose to paint my room.”

Ian smirked, and nodded a head towards Mickey, who was standing by the fridge and fumbling with his beer bottle. “You should talk to Mickey about color palettes—we’ve been arguing for the last half hour about what shade of gray to paint the kitchen. Something about cool and warm undertones?”

Liam turned to examine the kitchenette in the back of the studio, hand on his hips. “Definitely warm undertones in a small space like this, unless you get some updated light fixtures.

Ian grinned. “Damn. Guess I really do have two interior designers in my family.”

Liam smiled back, his eyes lighting up. “You need any other advice? Mickey, I’d love to hear what unified aesthetic you’re aiming for with the décor.”

The rest of the afternoon was filled with the rhythm of smooth paint rollers sliding against the wall, the old radio in the corner of the room (that had probably been there for decades) turned to a low hum— Liam and Lip helped them shuffle through their belongings in the trash bags, moving the mattress to the center of the room and not even bothering to cover the already-stained hardwood floors with a drop cloth before they coated the studio’s walls in thick layers of paint.

Mickey and Liam were tackling the kitchen, priming the walls in a comfortable silence. Frank’s death had hit Liam pretty hard, and Mickey could only imagine how fucked up it was, to have all the heaviness and all those complicated clumps of emotion that came with Terry dying inside you when you were only a kid— losing a shitty father was almost harder than losing a good one.

But Liam seemed enthusiastic about helping with the renovation efforts— he covered the walls dutifully in multiple coats of primer, ran to the corner store to pick up canned pints of “Burnt Ember,” and even offered Mickey advice on various wallpaper swatches for a feature wall in the studio (which Mickey actually appreciated, because he was still learning all this shit and fuck if he knew what a “feature wall” was or how to make it look good). Liam also gave his review of the various pieces of furniture Mickey had circled in an Ikea catalogue with a black Sharpie. Mickey was flipping through the catalogue, Liam methodically painting a final coat of paint in the kitchen beside him in a comfortable silence, when Mickey tuned in to Lip and Ian’s conversation from where they were painting in the main room.

“So, you guys are really doing this shit, huh? Running the Alibi?”

Ian paused, presumably taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Don’t know, man. The neighborhood’s changing. My bet is the crowds’ll get thinner and thinner.” Lip paused, ripping a paper towel to wipe his hands. “You sure that you and Mick have thought this through?”

Mickey tried to hold back an audible scoff from the kitchen. There were a number of things he could’ve yelled from the other room— for starters, when in the last 12 months had fucking Phillip Gallagher thought anything through— but he decided to hold his tongue, listening for Ian’s reply.

“Jesus, Lip. Yes. We’re already living in the place, not gonna give it up now.”

A pause.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole.”

Mickey could hear Lip twisting open the soda can he’d been drinking from.

“I don’t know, man. It’s my job to care about this shit, isn’t it? I thought Fiona taking over the laundromat was a bad idea, and she still did it anyways.”

Ian gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah.”

The soft tempo of the paint rollers on the wall continued.

“You sure this is what you wanna do with your life?”

Mickey felt that twist in his stomach again— the ice cold one, the feeling of fear that always sunk into his bones in moments like this, when he knew other people saw what he saw: that Ian Gallagher was far, far too good for him, and that all Mickey doing was ensnaring him in the dirty streets of the Southside and holding him back, when everyone else was moving on with their lives into gentrified apartment complexes.

But he’d heard the smile in Ian’s voice as he replied.

“Absolutely.”

Finally, after a long fucking day, Lip and Liam had left the creaky apartment— the place was looking pretty good, the kitchen and the main room both painted, and Lip had even been able to do a bit of work on the plumbing and fixed the leaky sputter of the upstairs bathroom faucet (he had also tried to convince Ian to install some sort of fucking backsplash thing in the kitchen, a multi-day project that they’d both resisted). Now, with Lip and Liam out the door, he and Ian were ready to crash. Mickey strode across the room and opened all the windows as wide as they could possibly go, trying to dispel all the paint fumes and let in gusts of humid summer air so they could collapse on the mattress. They probably could’ve crashed at one of the other Gallaghers’ places for the night if they felt suffocated by the fumes— but for now the light evening breeze was quickly drying the paint, circulating the almost-too-small room.

Across the room Ian flopped onto the mattress, a ridiculous streak of gray paint smeared across his forehead. Mickey smirked, and crawled into bed next to him, sitting so his legs were pressed against Ian’s upper torso.

“I can’t wait to get a fucking bedframe,” Ian breathed out—his face buried in the pillow, his eyelids drooping. “And a new mattress. Not this shitty one with stains all over it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey smirked, reaching a hand over to card through Ian’s hair.

“Mm.” Ian hummed happily in reply as he kept his eyes closed, probably starting to drift off to sleep.

While was probably a horrible idea— at the very least, Ian should change out of his paint-streaked clothes and wash his fucking face. There were flecks of paint all over his face and in his hair, mingling and dried in his copper curls, from when he and Mickey had gotten into a moderate paint-splattering war like a couple of teenage boys when they were trying to paint the living room walls later in the day. He prodded Ian in his side, who was now laying curled beside him with a dreamy fucking smile on his face.

“Hey. Mumbles. Get the fuck up. You’re gonna fall asleep with that toxic shit all over your face.”

Ian yawned, his nose crinkling. “Don’t care,” he said into the pillow.

“C’mon, Ian.”

And all at once Ian’s eyes were open, and he was crawling his way on top of Mickey, boxing him in with his arms on both sides of Mickey’s head. Mickey felt a gust of air whoosh out of his lungs in surprise—and in an instant he was reminded of when they used to live at the Milkovich house, in his shitty bedroom with far too many bad memories for Ian’s presence to completely tip the scale and outweigh them with the good ones, when Ian would be laying sleepy beside him and they’d get into little wrestling matches and tussles like this, with grips of hair and breathed out “C’mere, army!”s. There was the same energy buzzing between them in this moment—but god, they were so fucking different than they’d been then. They were fuller, more solid; Ian was measured in a way that still made Mickey’s toes curl when he looked at him and compared him to the scrawny and glassy-eyed teenager that he’d been, to the hollow frame he’d been on the worst days when Mickey placed a hand on a too-cold ribcage curled under thin blankets and run a hand through his hair and whispered “please,” trying to will the light back into Ian’s eyes.

But that light was there all the goddamn time now— and it was there right now as Ian dipped down and kissed at Mickey’s neck, Mickey breathing out as a no-longer-sleepy Ian made his way downward.

He guessed Ian could probably just shower all the dried paint out of his hair tomorrow morning.

Tuesday was a blur of getting ready for Ian’s idea to host fucking 80s night, and getting ready for Franny to stay— Mickey had thought the extent of Ian’s plan for this party thing was going to just be playing some tunes and charging a little extra for beers, but apparently Ian wanted to go all out. He’d had Debbie make some sort of poster with a colorful font and stapled them all over random bulletin boards and telephone poles on the Southside, and posted a bunch of shit on her Instagram (which had a weirdly large following because of her whole “hot handywoman” thing, which was still a complete fucking mystery to Mickey). Mickey wasn’t sure that Ian’s plan of throwing a party at their random Southside bar on a Friday night was going to fix all of their financial problems— but hey, if they needed cash then they needed cash. And while Mickey’s preferred way of procuring cash was heading down to the local corner store with a gun stowed at his waistband, for once in his life he was trying to do this shit right. So maybe his goody-two-shoes husband was making him soft (he definitely, definitely fucking was)— but when his jackass ginger giant of a husband looked at him with fucking puppy dog eyes and asked him to go along with this plan, instead of Mickey’s not-quite-joking suggestions that they just rob the bodega two doors over instead to fix all of the Alibi’s money problems, there really wasn’t much that Mickey could do about it.

He and Ian were wiping the bar, Mickey mentally running through the list of shit they had to order to prep for Friday’s crowd, when their phone screens both illuminated with text messages on the bartop.

Debbie (2:34 PM): everyone make sure to post the 80s night flyer on ur socials!!!!

Lip (2:34 PM): What the fuck are socials

Debbie (2:35 PM): 🙄

Debbie (2:35 PM): u aren’t an old man, phillip. instagram, twitter, even facebook for dinosaurs like u🦖

Liam (2:35 PM): 👍👍 Already posted.

Liam (2:36 PM): But I don’t know how useful advertising to a bunch of 11 year olds will be…

Carl (2:36 PM): me and a bunch of the boys r gonna roll through- get ready to rage motherfuckers!!!

Ian (2:37 PM): ❤️❤️

Ian (2:37 PM): Thanks for all your help Debs

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Sappy motherfucker.”

He decided to reply to the groupchat in the way that he knew best:

Mickey (2:37 PM): 🖕

Mickey remembered the first day that he’d been initiated into the Gallagher family group chat, nearly a week after returning from their “honeymoon” in the dingy motel that smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke— he and Ian had been back at the Gallagher house for about a week, sleeping in most long lazy mornings and getting up to… various activities. It was one of those lazy mornings in bed when Ian had gotten decidedly distracted from said activities by the series of notifications that were lighting up Mickey’s phone on the nightstand from the groupchat Gallagher Fam:

Debbie (11:34 AM): the jonas brothers are playing upstairs. everybody take cover

Lip (11:34 AM): Thank god I don’t live there anymore

Debbie (11:35 AM): also welcome to the group chat mickey xoxo

Liam (11:35 AM): Noise-cancelling headphones are on. An excellent investment

Carl (11:35 AM): i’m just seeking shelter & keeping it real in the basement 😎

Mickey had never been part of a fucking family group chat before—he’d barely been involved in any group chats, since the extent of his smartphone use before prison was nonexistent, and he’d relied on burner phones to do all of Terry’s shady bidding after he got out of jail up until the wedding. He’d used some of their wedding cash to get himself an iPhone—even though he barely fucking knew how to use it half the time, except for shitty multiplayer games he and Ian liked to mess around with— but he’d barely had an excuse to text anyone except Sandy about various wedding logistics, and obviously Ian.

But now he was crashing with Ian’s family, and he and Ian were fucking married, and he was a part of this shit for real— it was group chat official. Which strangely felt all the more real, even though Mickey already had a fucking ring on his finger. And he’d never tell a fucking soul, not even Ian, but it made something warm pool in his stomach— to have siblings to fucking banter with about who ate the last of the potato chips, or who could pick Franny up from school, or whining about whoever was making too much noise, in the same ways he and Mandy and his brother used to get on each other’s fucking nerves.

Ian smiled down at his phone at Mickey’s reply to Debbie’s nudge about the posters. “Excellent contribution. Thanks for showing Debs how grateful you are.”

Mickey brought his emoji to life and flipped Ian off. “You’re welcome.”

Ian bit at his thumbnail, looking down at his phone. “Debbie says she can get us a karaoke machine for Friday. That might be kind of fun, right?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Whatever you think, man. It’s your idea.”

Ian started tapping away at his phone, and Mickey turned back to tidying the bar, the rows and columns of those fucking black binders from the Alibi’s storeroom still lingering in the murky corners of his mind. He didn’t want to blow too much money on this shit— he had no idea how much a karaoke machine costed, but it probably wasn’t cheap. Why the fuck couldn’t they just steal one? Mickey gritted his teeth. He could crunch numbers any day, could make enough bank to stay afloat— but something about this, about running a fully legit business, was making him start to feel like he was being pulled underwater.

Mickey stayed tense the rest of the day, feeling like a bundle of fucking nerves without really knowing why— there was just so much going on, between moving and painting and Ian’s nervous excitement at planning this event bullshit. They’d both stumbled through the slow day at the bar, and now were collapsed in bed for the evening; Mickey was scrolling through various furniture store websites, weighing their options, while Ian was curled next to him, talking about something in a low voice that Mickey wasn’t really paying attention to.

“Sorry, what?”

Ian breathed out and smirked. “Nevermind. You weren’t listening.”

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sorry, man. Just distracted.”

“Why’re you distracted?”

“Just thinking about all this shit. Furniture shopping, unpacking, whatever.”

Ian smiled. “Yeah? We can probably just pick stuff out when we go in person, we don’t have to overthink it.”

Mickey blew out a breath. “Yeah. Guess so.” He stretched his arms over his head— when the fuck did his shoulders get so tight?

“You ready for bed?”

“Yeah. I’ll grab the light.”

Mickey stood to pull the string for the bare lightbulb hanging directly above them, then thudded onto his stomach on the mattress. Immediately he heard Ian rustling under the sheets, moving closer to him, and eventually lifting on his arms to hover over Mickey’s back.

“The fuck’re you doing?”

“Relax, Mick. Just take a deep breath. Lemme take care of you.”

Mickey blew a breath out of his mouth into the pillow. “Not in the mood right now, Ian. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Not like that— just lemme make your shoulders hurt less, at least.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s hot breath on the back of his neck as Ian settled, sitting back on Mickey’s upper thighs and leaning over him. He ran his hands along Mickey’s upper shoulders, delicately rubbing his thumbs up and down near his spine and trying to work at the permanent knots there.

“R’you giving me a fucking massage?” Mickey mumbled the words into the pillow, letting his eyelids droop. It did feel pretty fucking good, if he was being honest—the tension was draining from where he’d been holding it in his shoulders all week long, absorbing the impact of all the changes swirling around them and trying to keep them both afloat.

“Mm.” Ian hummed in reply, working his hands down to Mickey’s lower back and digging his thumbs in right where there were bundles of dull pain. Mickey almost flinched—not because it hurt, really, but because Ian’s fingertips gliding across his skin felt so fucking good.

He remembered the first 17 years of his life, the years when he’d been touch-starved without even realizing it, when the only touches his nerve-endings knew were high-impact beat downs and fists connecting with his jawbone. Milkoviches didn’t fucking hug, aside from a casual slap on the shoulder or side-hug when one of them was released from juvie—and even after he and Ian got together it took fucking forever to know what being held, what being gently touched, felt like. Those first few times when Ian had dragged his fingers over Mickey’s hipbones when they were fucking made Mickey nearly shudder, his nerve endings sparking like goddamn fireworks; and he couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. It was like his body was going on alert, like there was an invader breaching and he was always used to bracing for impact; but despite himself, all Mickey wanted was more— all he wanted was to press his cheek to Gallagher’s fucking jawbone and just keep it there and breathe in the scent of him, absorbing the warmth of his skin.

He still wasn’t totally used to this shit, the luxury of a warm body next to his after those years in a narrow prison cot, and on the run— but as he drifted off to sleep, his shoulders now unclenched and Ian’s warm, sturdy limbs circled around him, he thanked god, if god even did fucking exist anyways, that living in the shitty apartment over the Alibi was where he ended up in his life right now, with Ian by his side.

The next evening, just as the sun was setting pink outside the windows and Mickey was finishing up organizing everything behind the bar, Debbie towed Franny into the main room of the Alibi, wearing some sort of pink frilly shirt and carrying a kid-sized backpack with her pajamas and toothbrush inside.

“Thanks for watching Franny tonight, you guys are the best!” Debbie had barely set foot in the door before she was out it again and letting it swing shut behind her. Seconds later, Mickey could hear the distinct roaring of a too-expensive car engine coming from the street outside the bar.

Ian peered out the front window to inspected Heidi’s ride. “Jesus. It’s some sort of Ferrari convertible.” He scooped up Franny’s backpack from the floor, slinging the comically small bag onto his broad shoulders as he crouched to give Franny a hug. “Hey Fran, it’s so good to see you!”

“I missed you, Uncle Ian!” Franny enthusiastically squeezed Ian back.

Ian pressed a peck to the top of her head. “Missed you too. We’ve gotta have a talk with your mommy when she gets back about child road safety. That Ferrari was noticeably lacking a car seat.”

“Uncle Mickey!!!” Franny nearly squealed as she spotted Mickey behind the bar, running up and trying to jump up onto a stool so she could reach him. Ian laughed and lifted Franny so she was perched on a stool, her legs dangling as she reached forward. Mickey reached out an arm to fist-bump Franny, the best he could do with the bartop between them.

“Hey there, Little Red. Missed ya.”

Franny immediately looked Mickey up and down, like she was assessing if he’d changed at all since she last saw him. Her brows furrowed—then finally she spoke.

“Uncle Mickey, I have a question.”

Mickey reached across the bar to ruffle her hair. “What’s up, kid?”

She paused. “Can I rip the sleeves off my shirt too, like you?”

Mickey chuckled in surprise. He was wearing one of his flannel tank-tops with the arms ripped off—a white trash summer look in every way. “Let’s see what we can do. I think Uncle Ian’s got some old shirts packed upstairs that we can mess around with.”

Luckily, the bar was totally empty for the evening, aside from their three or four regulars— so Ian and Franny got to go upstairs and play dress-up while Mickey dealt with shit at the bar for an hour or so, deciding they’d close early so they could pay attention to Franny.

“Hey, Mick! We’ve got a surprise for you.” Ian’s voice wafted down from the back stairway that led up to the apartment.

“What’s up?”

“One sec. Stay downstairs.” Mickey could hear two sets of pattering footsteps coming down the staircase—and Franny dashed into the room, wearing a very baggy white tank top that reached her knees and an oversized flannel with the sleeves ripped off, an exact replica of Mickey’s outfit.

“Look, Uncle Mickey! I have an outfit like you! Now we can play liquor store robbery.” She looked at him seriously—then her face contorted, her brows furrowed and her lip sticking out in a face that Ian had taken to calling the “Milkovich scowl,” a trait that Franny had adopted in her many hours of playing “robbers” in the backyard with Mickey with her fake guns he’d gotten her for her birthday.

“Gimme all of your money!”

Mickey chuckled, and threw his hands up in surrender. “You got me, Wonder Woman.”

Ian walked towards the bar, lifting Franny up so she was perched on the countertop. “You like Franny’s new look? She was pretty insistent about wearing the tank top too.”

But Franny was still peering over at Mickey, like something had caught her eye.

“Uncle Mickey, can I have drawings on my fingers too? Like you? All the real robbers on TV have those.”

This time it was Ian who was laughing. “Oh my god. Debbie’s gonna kill us. If Franny gets knuckle tattoos by the time she’s seventeen, I’m blaming you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Ain’t nothing wrong with family tradition. Fuck you.”

Ian tapped his fingers on the counter. “Wait, I have an idea. Franny, wait here.” Ian rushed upstairs, and came back down holding the black Sharpie that had Mickey had been using to circle pictures in the Ikea catalogue.

“Here, hold out your hand Fran.”

Franny held out her hand for Ian to hold—and he started to draw blocky letters between each of her knuckles. When he finished, he held Franny’s hand up for Mickey to see the doodled serifs, smiling sheepishly.

“L T T L R E D ♡”

Mickey grinned. “Now you’re a real robber, Rockstar.” Franny looked at her hands and smiled contentedly, running her thumb over the letters.

“L. T. T. L. I know all these letters. They’re different from Uncle Mickey’s. Mommy said his say ‘fuck.’”

Ian snorted. “Yeah, you get your own special letters Franny. They say ‘little red.’”

Franny beamed. “That’s what Uncle Mickey calls me!”

“You got it, kiddo.”

The rest of the afternoon involved many rounds of playing “liquor store robbery,” and Ian lifting up Franny to “help” behind the bar by pulling the lever of the beer tap— and by the early evening, when even fucking Kermit and Tommy had gone, Ian had the idea to make a fort out of the leftover empty inventory boxes, and Franny had repeatedly busted through the tower of boxes and shouted “Put your hands in the air!” as she pretended to blow up fictional liquor store walls.

Now it was late and they were all upstairs—Franny had crashed after dinnertime, after bouncing on the bed with a sugar high from the Poptarts Mickey had snuck her after dinner (to supplement some bullshit pasta thing that Ian had forced Mickey to feed her, even though he never remembered wanting to eat that shit when he was five— he practically lived on Honey Buns and pork rinds from the nearby gas station).

They still didn’t have furniture, and at one point they’d perched on the mattress so Mickey could show Franny videos of monster trucks on his phone— and now Franny was totally passed out against Mickey’s chest, breathing those raspy, loud breaths kids make when they’re deeply asleep.

Ian came in the room from the semi-divided wall of the kitchen, wiping his hands after finishing rinsing the dishes (two plates, and a bowl that Franny ate from because they’d only swiped two of everything from the Gallagher house last week); and Mickey saw Ian’s lips curve upward in a knowing smile as he noticed Franny curled in the bedsheets, half-leaning on Mickey’s chest. Franny and Mickey were smack in the middle of the mattress, taking up most of the room; but Ian crouched to sit on the edge of the mattress beside Mickey, hooking his chin on Mickey’s shoulder casually as he peered over at Franny, still wearing her oversized flannel and smudged knuckle tattoos.

“Guess our babysitting duties are over.” He breathed out, trying not to unsettle Franny’s steady breathing. “Hope we didn’t corrupt her too much.”

Mickey scoffed. “Debbie’s dating someone who’s more of a fuck-up than we’ll ever be. Don’t think the ball’s really in our court on that one.”

“Fair.”

Franny scrunched her nose in her sleep, sighing out heavily before nestling deeper into the bedsheets.

“I kinda missed her, man.”

Mickey was surprised by the words as he heard them coming out of his mouth— they were true, but he hadn’t even voiced them to himself until now. As shitty as he’d always been with kids, he had to admit that goofing around with Franny was pretty fucking fun.

Ian smiled from where his mouth was pressed against Mickey’s shoulder. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a silence, the room filled with the soft sound of Franny’s steady breathing. And then:

“Maybe… we’ll have a kid of our own sometime.”

Immediately, Mickey felt his gut lurch. It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about this shit—they definitely had, in the abstract moments before the wedding; before everything blew up in their face and the pandemic took hold and any thought of kids was pushed way, way to the sidelines. And it wasn’t like Mickey was avoiding the topic— but he wasn’t exactly bringing it up, either, and neither was Ian.

Mickey thought back to that moment before the wedding, back to the hushed “you want kids?” Ian had placed between them— and how in that moment Mickey had known how much Ian wanted kids, how much Ian constantly cared for other people, how his voice got all soft and mushy around the edges in the vicinity of a baby. He knew how much Ian wanted this— but even broaching the topic made Mickey’s muscles start to clench.

Mickey tried to keep his cool—even though he felt the tides starting to roll inside of him, threatening to pull him under.

“I’d be a shitty dad, man.”

Ian’s head pulled away from where it had been nestled against the crook of Mickey’s neck—and Mickey turned his head to meet Ian’s piercing gaze.

“No you wouldn’t.” Ian’s voice was soft, surprised.

Mickey swallowed. “What if I like. Beat it. Or—” he cut himself off, knowing his voice was starting to waver.

Ian’s voice was firm when he replied. “You won’t. You’re great with Franny.” Ian paused.” “You were great with Yev.”

And there it was—the other fucking elephant in the room, beside all of Mickey’s other daddy issues; the fact that Mickey already was a father, was forced to be a father against his own will, giving him some sort of complex that he didn’t even have the energy to dig into about the potential of scooping up some kid to raise with Ian…. when there was already one out there with his gene pool that he didn’t want, that he couldn’t want, whose existence was forced onto him at gunpoint and who he didn’t have the strength to take care of.

Mickey felt Ian’s hand, feather light, tracing down his side— pulling him out of the current of his internal monologue. Ian’s hand hooked around his hip; a touch to root him, giving Mickey solid ground to hold on to.

“Hey.”

“What.”

“You’re gonna be a great dad.”

Mickey swallowed down the lump in his throat—and with it he tried to swallow down whatever bullshit was holding him back from letting himself have this. He thought about Ian—despite all his own reservations, he knew Ian must be having the same type of feelings about all of this shit; Ian was the one who had stolen Yev, who had worked so hard to get himself to the person he was today—a stable place where he was allowed to dream about being a parent, allowed to dream about shit like this.

“I hate this.”

Mickey didn’t really know what he was referring to in particular as he said the words—he hated all of this, he hated the churning emotions inside him. He felt so fucking uncomfortable—but that was always the first thing he felt, wasn’t it, when there was something deeper inside? It was the first thing he’d felt when he started to fall for Ian, when he started to realize he much preferred scrawny redheads to the busty figures with long hair; the pushing and heaving of no no no from somewhere in his ribcage, because he knew how much letting himself have this was going to hurt, how much shit he was going to have to wade through.

But he’d fucking done it—and look where he was now: Ian curled against his back, their fucking niece sound asleep beside him.

“Hey.” Ian’s voice was soft, nearly tickling Mickey’s ears. “There’s no rush for any of this shit. I’m just talking about… big picture. Eventually. When we’ve got all our shit settled.”

There it was again—that word, the one Ian had been saying all the time lately, the one that had been radiating out of his pores. Settled.

Mickey clearing his throat, trying to dispel the huskiness he knew would be there when he spoke. “Yeah. Maybe someday.”

He looked down at his hands. He knew that saying that wasn’t enough— Ian had to know how much he meant it.

“I— I wanna give you that shit. Someday.”

Mickey knew that was still an inadequate expression of everything he was feeling, of how much he wished he could just race carefreely into making fucking forts and playing dress-up with a kid of their own; but he also knew that for tonight, Ian understood. He knew in the way Ian pressed a kiss to the corner of his jaw, and said into the silence of the room:

“You’re so fucking good at taking care of people, Mick.”

Mickey let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. They were going to do this—someday.

“You know… now that we’ve got our own place.” Ian’s voice trailed off.

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Well— we could be good millennials and start with a dog. Y’know, as a practice run. Get your fucking Milkovich pit bulls or whatever.”

Mickey instantly felt whatever remaining tense energy that had been clinging to him dissipate. He felt a grin creep onto his face. “Hell yeah. I’m in.”

Ian pecked his shoulder. “Cool. We can check out shelters sometime next week.”

Mickey shook his head, still smiling in relief. “A pit bull, I can handle. We’re gonna treat her like a fucking princess. Who needs kids anyways?”

Ian smiled back. “The first step in starting our own Southside family.”

Mickey’s insides instantly got warm and gushy at the words— and again, it was that mix of no no no and you don’t deserve this alongside something deeper, something more solid. He tried to do what Ian always told him to do, in the moments that he felt like this: he forced a breath in, forced himself to expand his ribcage. He forced himself to think:

You deserve this.

The next day had been uneventful, other than Franny’s tearful goodbye— and now it was the early afternoon on Friday, far too early for any sort of rush. Once again only Tommy and fucking Kermit were seated at the bar, but today he and Ian were barely paying attention to them, despite Tommy’s halfhearted attempts to drag Mickey into some sort of bullshit banter (as much as Tommy said he preferred silence at the bar, everyone knew that was a lie. Why the fuck else would be have been coming here every day for the last eleven years?).

Today, Ian had dragged a chalkboard out from the clutter of the dingy back closet of the Alibi, a sandwich board meant to be placed on the curb to promote the bar that looked like it had hardly been used. Ian continued to shuffle through the various boxes in the back room, making a shit ton of noise, until he finally found whatever else he’d been looking for.

“Aha!”

He held up a bent cardboard box of multicolor sidewalk chalk— half empty, and half broken, but it would get the job done.

He strode over to the bar, laying the chalkboard on it— then turned to Mickey, folding his arms in front of him.

“Alright, bartender extraordinaire. What drinks should we make for 80s night?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, puffing out a breath. “I don’t fucking know. Most of the guys who come in on Fridays just drink beer. We don’t gotta overcomplicate shit.”

Ian pressed his lips together, contemplative and looking down at the blank canvas of the chalkboard. “I’m not saying we should force out the regulars, because that’s definitely not what we’re going for with the event— but it’d be nice to have a couple of new things, in case the new people in the neighborhood do some by. Nothing too fancy or frilly or whatever.”

Ian dug in the cardboard box, plucking out a piece of chalk.

“And we should make our own signature drinks anyways, since we’re taking over the place. Make our mark on the Alibi.” He grinned. “Got any fun drink name ideas?”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, and felt the corners of his lips turn upwards in an amused smile against his will, thawing. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”

Ian continued smiling. “How about… the Milkovich Mojito.”

Mickey puffed out a breath of air, shoving Ian in the chest and furrowing his brows. “No fucking way.”

Ian just waggled his eyebrows. “C’mon, we own the place. It’ll just be a mojito with a shit ton of rum, only enough for someone with Milkovich-level tolerance. People will think it’s funny.”

Mickey felt his eyebrows lift upwards a bit, and he could see from the expression on Ian’s face that he’d lost this one. “Fine.”

Ian smirked, penciling in “Milkovich Mojito” on the chalkboard and drawing a little design around it. Mickey forgot how good Ian was at this— at the little details like this, at making shit look nice.

Ian rose from where he was hunched over the chalkboard when his masterpiece was completed, hands on his hips. “Alright. What else?”

Mickey shrugged. “I don’t know. How about ‘just fucking beer’?”

Ian laughed, and a warm feeling pooled in Mickey’s stomach despite himself. “Yeah. We should spell that out on the menu, so people know that’s our standard.” He leaned to write “JUST FUCKING BEER” on the chalkboard, drawing a little cartoon beer stein with foam on the top next to it. Mickey reached out, smudging a bit of the chalk of the drawing to annoy Ian, just because he could.

Ian swatted his arm away. “Hey! No touching the masterpiece.” He drew over the part Mickey smudged as best he could, biting his lip in concentration. Fuckin’ dork.

Ian stood tall again, admiring the finished product. “There. One more?”

Mickey shrugged again, feeling utterly out of ideas. He could balance a budget, sure, but he was useless with all the creative shit like this.

Ian bit his lip again, thinking. “What’re even mixed drinks people like? Sex on the beach?”

Mickey smirked. “There ain’t a lot of beaches in Chicago, man.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I guess it’s more like ‘sex behind a dumpster.’ Or ‘sex on your twin bed at your family’s house.’”

Mickey grinned, catching Ian’s drift. “Sex in the dugouts.”

Ian laughed, then made a little gesture with his hands like inspiration had struck. “Mick, I think we have our final drink name.” He turned to write it on the chalkboard.

“What the fuck are we gonna put in it? Just a fuckin’ lukewarm beer?”

Ian smirked, looking off dreamily. “Ah, memories.”

Mickey prodded him in the sternum. “You’re a fucking sap.” He shoved Ian over. “Here, let me write this one.” He took the chalk from Ian’s hand. “No peeking.”

He scratched on the chalkboard for a moment, then stood back to reveal his work. “Ta-da.”

In scratchy handwriting, not unlike the “STAY THE FUCK OUT” sign that used to be taped to his door, read “SEX IN THE DUGOUTS”—and next to it was two drawings, of a cartoon dick and two stick figures fucking doggy-style.

Ian grinned wide. “It’s perfect. Definitely captures the vibe of the new owners.”

Mickey just smiled back.

It was 6 p.m. now, and the bar was just about ready—Ian had compulsively swept the floor during the lull in the afternoon, even though it would be dirtied and scuffed within seconds of the usual Friday blue-collar crowd streaming in through the doors, and Mickey was perched on a stool at the end of the bar, laboring over his playlist. He usually didn’t overthink this shit— he’d included all the classics, from Bon Jovi to Queen to fucking Cyndi Lauper, but there was something so public about he and Ian running this thing now, and about throwing a loud event to proclaim it, that make Mickey’s stomach start to do somersaults for some reason as the first huddled crowd of Southsiders shuffled their way in through the door.

The bar did look good— Ian had got some sort of lighting gels to put over the lamps in the Alibi, and the room’s lighting was tinted a suave blue color, making the small space feel a little hipper, a little cooler, while still retaining its comforting dingy feel. It almost reminded Mickey of the soft, colorful lighting in that random Westside bar they’d gotten engaged in, with the shitty overpriced beer and the sparkly fucking lights when they’d watched that god-awful harp band with Barry or whatever the fuck his name was— but the lighting here looked cooler, more deliberate, and cast a calculated glow across the room that added to the vibe. The bass was thrumming low through the speakers Ian had rented from somewhere— right now it was just playing some mellow Joy Division song as people continued streaming into the bar.

Ian had crept upstairs at some point, probably to change out of whatever sweaty t-shirt he’d been wearing all day; and Mickey saw a flash of red hair emerging from the stairway now, turning the corner to stride into the dark room.

“Hey! Oh my god, it’s great to see you guys!”

Immediately Ian was swept away by some group of people in their mid-twenties near the swinging door that led to the back of the bar, who were chattering away about how they’d seen the poster on Debbie’s Instagram or some shit. Mickey assumed they were some people Ian had known when he’d been locked up, one of the unfamiliar faces from their wedding that got involved with Ian’s “Gay Jesus” bullshit—and as much as Mickey knew Ian’s relationship with those figures from a very different time in his life was complicated to say the least, it was nice to see Ian leaning comfortably against the bar, chatting away with someone that wasn’t him or Lip— chatting with friends. Looking settled.

Mickey smirked, knowing his gaze was lingering for too long when Ian locked eyes with him from across the bar, tilting his head towards the stairway. Giving Mickey a chance to go upstairs, to freshen up, to take a deep breath if he wanted to.

Fuck it. Mickey strode across the bar, heading upstairs to the quiet sanctuary of the studio and its fresh-painted walls. He shuffled through the various shirts and baggy jeans that were now in their designated-clothes-pile in the corner of the room, at least until they got a dresser and hangers and all that shit. He decided to peel off his sweaty tank top and change into a blue Hawaiian-print shirt, the one he’d swiped from the laundry room at the yuppie fucking Westside apartment complex before he’d burned that bridge, to amp himself up and fit the vibe downstairs. The shirt was only a little bit creased from being shoved in a pile in the corner of the room, which felt like a bonus— and Mickey smoothed a hand through his hair and fixed the collar of the shirt as he caught his own eye in the cracked bathroom mirror. There weren’t lots of times Mickey really gave a shit about what he wore—he and Ian pretty much lived in tank tops and boxers at home, and tank tops and denim at the bar especially on hot fucking days like these ones— but he had to admit that it did feel pretty nice to put on a shirt with a collar, a shirt with bright colors and patterns on it that, fuck it, he knew made his eyes pop—just because he wanted to have fun, just because he could.

He ruffled his hair one last time, then clomped back down the back staircase towards the light chatter swirling in the room below. Immediately he noticed the line at the bar starting to grow, and walked with intention over to behind the bar to start taking orders from a mixed sea of regulars and younger, new faces.

“Looking pretty festive there, Mick.”

Mickey held up a middle finger to where Tommy was seated on his usual stool. “Fuck you. I look hot and you know it.”

“You definitely do.” Ian slid behind him, speaking low into Mickey’s ear and his hands gliding to bracket Mickey’s waist for a moment as he shuffled by to pass a beer to a customer, then walked to the end of the bar and start to take more orders without a glance back. Mickey felt his neck flush red, just for a second— Ian was always just saying shit like that, about how good Mickey was, whenever he looked nice. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

After a few hours the party was fully humming, and both he and Ian could barely glance up from the bar because of how many people were streaming through and placing their orders. Courtesy of Debbie, a karaoke machine was up and running in the corner of the room, the speakers blasting a series of poppy instrumentals across the small space—and as much as Mickey hated to admit it, he had to say that this event bullshit was actually a pretty fucking good idea. There were a handful of new faces in the crowd, a bunch of fucking millennials with man-buns and Ray-Bans and brimmed hats; but most of the crowd was the typical neighborhood crew, blue-collar workers with beer guts who were dropping slightly more money than their usual tab on an extra beer, and walking sloshed to the corner of the room to serenade their buddies with “Livin’ on a Prayer” (which made Ian stare across the bar at Mickey with a knowing smile between pouring drink orders).

At some point in the evening Debbie rolled in with a group of people from some gay bar she’d been pregaming her evening at, and Carl came by with some of his cop buddies; and all in all, the place had all the makings of a good fucking party. Which meant they were making good cash—beyond the wads of bills left on the bartop as tips, all the millennial jokers filtering through the space were surprisingly biting on the overpriced cocktails Ian had concocted, and they were racking up a good profit as the night went on.

Maybe they could fucking run this place after all.

Right now, a very sloshed Debbie was singing on the karaoke machine in the corner, belting out the final verse of “I Will Always Love You” and practically eye-fucking her new Grand Theft Auto girlfriend— an image that Mickey was trying not to pay attention to at all costs as he scanned the room, trying to mentally calculate just how well they’d done for the night. There’d been a good crowd streaming in for hours— and now the numbers were finally dwindling, and at last he and Ian could finally slow their pace for a bit, instead of being pulled in a million goddamn directions to wipe up beer spills or clear tables or refill the ice cubes in the freezer.

“Heeeyyyyy everyone! Listen up!” Debbie’s muffled voice took over the fade of the final chords of the song, her mouth a little too close to the microphone and making it screech as she spoke out to the crowd in the bar. “I just wanna say a shoutout to Ian and Mickey for taking over the Alibi! And for being the heroes that kept this place alive!” She teetered slightly. “Southside forever!”

Mickey scowled, and locked eyes with an amused Ian across the bar. “Control your fucking sister, man.”

Ian shrugged. “Eh. She’s the one that helped plan half this shit. Let Debs have some fun.”

Debbie pointed a finger over to where Ian and Mickey were standing behind the bar. “Everyone give them a round of applause! C’mon, they deserve it! C’mon!”

There were a couple of chuckles from the crowd, at Debbie’s deeply inebriated state as she tried to put the microphone back in its stand and drag herself away from the small TV showing song lyrics— but then, one by one, people at the bar started to clap— regulars, random newcomers, and even Tommy gave a little whoop as the cheers grew louder and louder and started to erupt.

Mickey just rolled his eyes, but Ian straightened his spine and smiled as he addressed the crowd. “Couldn’t have done it without all of you guys!” He wiped his hands with a towel, and went back to wiping down the bar as the applause settled.

Just then, Debbie turned and fumbled to grab the microphone once more. “Wait! Ian, Mickey! Come up here and sing a song.”

If Mickey thought he was scowling the first time Debbie had stumbled her way into the mic, now he was on a whole different level. He flashed a glance to Ian, and saw the sappy grin starting to grow on his face, like it always did when Ian had some dumbass idea. Jesus Christ.

Mickey needed to pump the brakes on this one fast. “No fucking way, Gallagher.”

Ian stepped closer to Mickey, reaching a placating hand onto his elbow. “C’mon, Mick. It’ll be fun.” Ian raised his eyebrows— and his stupid fucking eyes were shining again, doing that fucking thing where Mickey could feel in his bones that Ian was so ridiculously happy that they got to do sappy, mundane shit like this together…

Mickey blew out a breath. “I gotta do a shot or some shit before we do this.”

Ian’s grin grew ten sizes as he dropped the towel hanging from his shoulder onto the bar and swiftly turned to pour Mickey a shot of Jameson. Mickey’s frown deepened as he lifted his head back to pour the liquid fire down the back of his throat, bracing himself for battle; of course his stupid fucking American-Idol-wannabe husband couldn’t resist a call to do goddamn karaoke. Mickey blamed himself—he should’ve known Ian anywhere in the 1-mile radius of a karaoke machine would inevitably be a recipe for disaster.

Ian strode past the length of the bar and toward the corner of the Alibi where the illuminated screen of the karaoke machine was sitting there waiting— Mickey trudged behind him, shooting a glance at where Tommy and Kermit were seated on their regular stools.

“You two are in charge of the bar for 2 fucking minutes. Don’t fuck this up.” Kermit raised his hands in surrender, and Tommy just raised an eyebrow.

Ian was already punching at the little arrows on the machine. “What song d’you wanna do?”

“I could give less than a fuck, man. This is your fucking idea.”

Ian just flashed him a grin as he scrolled through the preselected song options. “Here, let’s do this one.”

He handed Mickey a microphone, and reached over to grab the second mic from Debbie’s hand (who was now successfully being corralled back to a booth by Heidi).

Instantly, the techno intro rhythms to the song began—and Ian started bobbing his head, causing the onlookers at the bar to laugh and one person to whistle. Mickey just shoved his upper arm.

“I fucking hate you so much.”

Ian just raised his eyebrows, and in a very off-key voice, started to sing:

“You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar

When I met you

I picked you out, I shook up and turned you around

Turned you into someone new”

Mickey felt his heart thudding in his chest—and fuck that. He owned the fucking bar, he could fucking sing with his goddamn husband if he wanted to. Fuck whatever everyone else was thinking.

So when the first verse ended, and quickly streamed into the second, Mickey clutched the microphone and half-spoke, half-sang the illuminated words on the screen:

“Now five years later on you’ve got the world at your feet

Success has been so easy for you

But don’t forget it’s me who put you where you are now

And I can put you back down too”

Ian’s grin was splitting across his face— and once again Mickey had to reach out and prod him in the chest.

“Stop looking so fucking sappy!”

Ian just held the microphone in both of his hands, and playfully started to sing the chorus:

“Don't

Don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it

When I hear that you won't see me”

He looked over at Mickey, raising his eyebrows. “C’mon, Mick!”

Fuck it.

Mickey swallowed down whatever lingering… feelings were happening about all of this shit, and let the people watching them melt away, fading into the hazy blue lighting— because fuck all those assholes, anyways. He and Ian had been through way too much shit in the main room of the Alibi for Mickey to be afraid of doing fucking karaoke right now; he’d literally come out to his dad in these four walls. He’d had his face bashed in the moment he decided right here, rooted in this same spot on the scuffed hardwood floors, that he would do fucking anything to always be by Ian Gallagher’s side. So he squeezed his eyes shut, just for a second— and pretended it was just him and Ian, singing fucking Lady Gaga in their bathroom as they brushed their teeth (which, yes, they had been prone to do since Chromatica came out, fucking sue him)— and let himself actually sing, deep from his gut in the same goofy, lighthearted way that Ian was doing along with him:

“Don’t you want me baby?

Don’t you want me? Oh!

Don’t you want me baby?

Don’t you want me? Oh!”

Ian’s face was slightly flushed, still grinning from ear to ear, his eyes shining as he bobbed his head along with the music— and as they both finished singing the chorus, everyone in the bar started to lose their shit. Everyone was clapping and whistling; even some of the old regulars Mickey had pegged as homophobes a long time ago were cracking smiles through their scraggly beards and clapping their hands together.

When the song finally ended, Ian took a dramatic bow— then he took Mickey’s hand, clasping it and raising it over their heads. The applause and cheers erupted from the crowd, and someone yelled out:

“Let’s hear it for the new owners!”

After that, for the rest of the night Mickey loosened the fuck up— and maybe it was the couple of shots in his system, or maybe it was the fact that there weren’t that many people in the bar now at all except for a thin crowd of familiar faces— but he was feeling happy and warm as he milled through the crowd picking up empty glasses. At some point Debbie switched up the playlist to more dance-y stuff, causing her and Heidi to start spinning in the middle of the room, and a couple others to push the bar tables to the side and follow suit.

And now, people were dancing—and some random middle-aged neighborhood lady grabbed Mickey by the wrist, a smile on her face, to come dance with them—and usually Mickey would scowl and say “Fuck no” to dancing with some random fucking stranger in a situation like this, but he was feeling the blood rushing through his veins, feeling fucking settled—so for just this once, he decided to dance like a fucking goof in his Hawaiian shirt with the random lady for a while, til he locked eyes with where Ian was standing across the bar.

And maybe they were supposed to be paying attention, because they were still the ones running the fucking bar— but all Mickey wanted to do in that moment was walk across the room and press himself closer, closer, and reach his hand up to the side of Ian’s neck, and drag him to lean down to just the right height to press their lips together, to feel the warmth between them.

So that’s what he did, in the midst of the whirring of their neighbors and strangers in the Alibi around them.

We don’t have to run anymore.

#finally finished!!!#not rly proofread lol #yes it is almost 10k oops #i am actually rly proud of completing this chap i hope u enjoy #i love u all so so much i cannot get over how many amazing hcs i feel lucky to have included in this!#gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher #liam gallagher #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm

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unlikelymilkshakedream · 4 years ago

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A/n: Hello! Here is part 3 for the Charlie Weasley fic I promised. Sorry this took so long. I promised angst, so I'm giving it. Hope you enjoy!

Another day, another exam, or so it seemed that way at Hogwarts. As May came to a close, and June starts, your O.W.L.s were giving you more stress than you had ever felt. Your future was on the line if you didn't do well with your exams.

Not only were your exams crushing you, your relationship had been rocky for a couple of months. After the valentines day dance with your date, Charlie Weasley, nothing could have made your life better. You were dating your best friend, all of your friends supported you, and you had no tests coming up. In other words, very different from your life currently.

You were still technically dating your best friend, but from long classes and homework that came with them, to Charlie's quiditch practices lasting forever in hopes of winning the house cup, you hadn't had time to spend a moment alone together in what felt like years.

Your friends would always be there for you and you knew that, you cared about them with your whole heart and knew they felt the same way, but they had their own exams and futures just as you did. You would never ask them for anything because you didn't want to be a burden.

And of course, your exams. Your dreams of becoming a curse breaker were very important to you. You wanted nothing more than to help people, on top of finding your brother and protecting hogwarts. You were a natural curse breaker so it only makes sense that you would pursue your passion. However, if you wanted to do that, you needed to not only pass your exams, but exceed the expectations.

With that responsibility came nights on end in the library, studying, preparing and hoping that it would all work out. Your exams, finding your brother, hell, even your relationship with Charlie. You knew how rocky it was and you were devastated by that, but you knew if you two truly wanted to, it would work out, or so you hoped.

So, another night in the library, was your fate. You wanted to be with Charlie, but you knew he had quiditch practice, and you had a potions exam in the morning that you weren't ready for. As you flipped through your book, trying to soak up as much information as you could, you didn't notice a certain redhead sneak behind you.

"Hey baby," you felt the hot breathe on your neck and jumped more than out of your skin.

"Blimey Charlie, you scared me." He chuckled as he pulled a chair beside you.

"Sorry, I just wanted to see you after practice, and I haven't seen you all weekend." He smiled at you, which you couldn't help but smile back.

"I know, its just tomorrow starts like the most stressful week of the year. If I don't do well on my exams, my future can be forgotten. Speaking of, I am not ready for potions tomorrow, hence why I'm here." You smiled as you looked back towards your book.

"Hey, you're gonna do great on your exam because you are great, and smart, and beautiful," Charlie said as you rolled your eyes and laughed. "Its just we haven't seen each other in a while, thought i could keep you company." You sighed.

"Look, I know we haven't been the most talkative lately, but what exactly do you want me to say, you know how important this is to me." He put his hand on yours.

"I know, I get it baby, I do, and after this week, we're gonna celebrate." He said with the biggest grin on his face. Suddenly, Madame Pince came around the corner with the dirtiest look on her face.

"Shh!" You smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry Madam-"

"Shh!!!" You sighed as she walked away. You turned back to charlie.

"You better go, I have to study and don't wanna get kicked out." You smiled at him.

"Okay, but I meant what I said about celebrating." He smiled hugley. You returned the smile, only a fraction of what he had given you. That made his smile falter and eventually he turned and walked back to his dorm.

Eventually you had to except the time as 11pm rolled around and Madam Pince kicked you out of the library. You took the book along with all your other stuff and headed towards your common room.

Once you were in, you sat down near the fireplace and opened your potions book once again, flipping to the section about dragon livers and how they were hard to get.

Eventually, you heard the clock strike 2am and had to call it a night. As you closed your booka nd sat back, looking into the fire, you thought of your life as a cursebreaker, how great it would be, how much you wanted to do it, and what you were willing to do to achieve that goal.

As you stood up and headed towards the stairwell, your way was blocked by charlie, the last person you expected to see, especially at this hour.

"Hey, what're you doing up?" Charlie asked groggy.

"I could ask you the same thing. I was just going to bed." You said as you pushed past him and climbed the stairs. He followed you up.

"I thought you'd be up, I was just checking on you." You turned around as you got to the last step before your dorm and smiled.

"Thats sweet, but go back to bed. Goodnight." You leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, then headed into your dorm, falling on your bed and instantly falling asleep.

The next morning, you woke at around 8. Shit. You were late. You quickly got up and dressed faster than ever and ran to the dungeons. You mad either to class just in time, not eating or anything.

"Well, well, Ms. Brooks, you have decided to grace us with your presence, how considerate." Snape sneered at you as you walked to your seat beside Rowan, breathing heavily, across the room, you saw Charlie looking worriedly at you, which was the last thing you wanted in that moment.

Once your potion exam was finished, you walked out of the room, feeling exhausted and like you failed. You started walking to your next exam, which was charms, the easiest of your exams. Soon enough a certain redhead caught up with you.

"Hey, y/n, why were you late today?" You turned to him.

"I over slept, which I dont do, so I didn't realize at which point I had to sprint to make it, which I didnt." You sighed tired lying. "Why?"

"Just wondering, I missed you at breakfast. Did you eat anything?" You smiled softly.

"No, I haven't but its fine, look i have to go to charms and I really don't wanna be late again, see you." Without another word from either of you, you walked away to charms.

At charms, you felt most confident of all classes, which honestly wasn't saying a lot. You finished your exam pretty easily and walked to the great hall, intending on studying until your Defense Against the Dark Arts exam in an hour. Once the clock struck the time to take your next exam, you left the great hall.

Once you reached DADA, you walked in with Tulip and took your seat. You should feel bad, but you just were so glad charlie wasn't there, staring at you like a sorry case. He meant well and you knew it but you just wanted space.

As you finished your final exam of the day, you headed to the library, studying for transfigurations next. When you reached the library, unfortunately you fell into the same pattern as the previous night, except this time no charlie.

When the clock struck midnight, you went to the dorm room and headed straight for bed, not bothering to study anymore. Once your head hit the pillow, you were out.

When you woke up the next morning, the sun was shining into your window nicely. It was a good way to wake up honestly. You say up and saw Rowan asleep. You figured you had a few minutes before breakfast so you got up and got dressed.

You and Rowan walked to breakfast while revising your transfiguration knowledge. You didn't feel as bad about it as potions but you also didn't feel as great about it as charms. Walking into the great hall, you found Charlie sitting with his younger brothers. You knew you had to go sit with him.

"Hey y/n, how'd you sleep?" Charlie asked as he saw you sit next to him and his brothers giggled at him, to which he sent a dirty look.

"Um, not the best but ye know. Its whatever." As you sat down you ate the blandest breakfast ever, granola and coffee, it would just have to do for today.

"Are you guys ready for the big game tomorrow night?" Fred asked the table. You looked at him with a confused expression whereas everyone else seemed to understand.

"What game fred?" He turned to you.

"Uh, the house cup game, we are so gonna kick hufflepuffs ass." Ah.

"Right, good luck." Charlie turned to you.

"You'll come right love? What me win?" You smiled as you sipped your coffee.

"Uh yeah, maybe, I might have to study for History of magic but we'll see." Charlie stopped.

"Y/n, you can't miss the game, its only the biggest game of the year. Please come." Ugh when he gave you those puppy dog eyes, you knew you were done for.

"Okay, yes I will go, of course I will." You smiled and kissed his cheek.

As breakfast finished and you and Rowan made your way to transfiguration, you felt confident in the upcoming essay. Going over info with Rowan definitely helped.

Once you were finished with the exam, you went to the great hall, being assigned twenty five inches of parchment for the second half of the exam was not ideal. You were stressed out, but at least you only had care of magical creatures left for the day, something you were sure you'd excel in thanks to charlie.

As you walked down the grounds for your exam, you felt very confident that you'd do well. Your confidence was correctly placed as you walked to the common room to start on you parchment for transfiguration, doing very well on your exam in care of magical creatures.

The real problems didn't start until the following day, charlies big game was today and you hadn't made a dent in your parchment, due to not being able to focus and eventually falling asleep far earlier than you would have liked. Today you had exams in astronomy, history of magic and a regular potions class. You were extremely busy today, it didn't help you woke up 20 minutes before your exam in astronomy so you had to sprint once again to be on time.

Once you were seated in astronomy, your exam begun and you didnt feel very confident. You gave it your all and after about 75 minutes, you were done. You walked out and saw your boyfriend charlie who lit up when he saw you. You walked over to him with a small smile on your face.

"Hey babe, whats up?" You asked him.

"Not much now that your hear, just nervous for later." You looked at his smiling face confused.

"Later?" His smile dropped. You had forgotten about the quitditch match.

"The match that determines who wins the house cup? I thought you were coming, its really important to me." Shit. Right, yeah of course you would go.

"Right, of course I will be there, sorry I'm just tired you know how it is. I will be there, but right now I have to go to potions, ill see you later." Damn, how had you forgotten?

Potions seemed to last forever as Snape lectured on Beatle brains, you swore you were going to die of boredom, all you wanted to do was study for history of magic.

When class was finally dismissed, you headed straight for the library, not having your final exam for an hour and a half. When you sat down in the library, you immediately fell into studying, the time slipping by quickly until it was time to go to your exam.

Arriving to your exam, you set your things down and got ready for it, feeling confident as you had spent a lot of time studying for this. You finished your exam in 65 minutes and headed to the great hall, feeling hungry.

When you got to the great hall and saw what was happening inside, all hunger left your body.

Shit.

Inside, Gryffindor students were celebrating the win of the house cup, you had forgotten the game. You walked in to the great hall and saw Charlie, held up by his teammates above everyone like a king. You smiled at how happy he looked, but when he saw you, its like every drop of happiness was taken from him and you felt your heart break.

Charlie told his team mates to let him down which they did as he made his way over to you, looking hurt and disappointed. You couldn't do much besides stand there and look at him sheepishly.

"Y/n, why didn't you come to the game, you knew how important it was to me and how much I could have used your support." He said loudly, causing those near you to look on at the conversation.

"Charlie, can we go in the hallway?" He looked pissed but didn't object. Once you were away from everyone, you turned to him.

"Charlie, I am so sorry I didn't go to your game, I was in the library studying and the time just got away from me and before I knew it I had to go to my exam and I completely forgot l. I'm so sorry. But you won anyway so you didn't need me at all, cause your just that good." You said with a smile, trying to defuse his anger. It didn't work.

"Y/n, that's not the point, you said you would be there and I wanted you there. You didn't need to study for your exam, you've been studying all week, this is all I asked of you and you couldn't even give me this." As he finished, you felt sorrow drain and anger rise.

"What exactly do you mean I didnt need to study for my exam? I have been studying all week, unlike you, because I care about getting good grades. You know how badly I need to do on my exams to have a future! I didnt go to your match, because I wanted to make sure I did well. I apologized but now your being irrational." He scoffed.

"Irrational? I asked one thing of you, I asked you to attend a quiditch match to support your boyfriend, but apparently if it doesn't benefit you, it doesn't matter, huh is that it?" You were now fully screaming at each other, thank god the hallway was deserted.

"Are you serious? You know maybe if you cared more about your future and grades like I do, you would see where I'm coming from, but all you care about is a God damn match and dragons! No wonder we've been like this for months. You say im selfish, I've done everything for you. I miss one thing and the worlds over to you." Charlie turned away and scoffed.

"You're right, we have been like this for a long time, because we just don't work anymore." You froze. "Y/n, you can't even support your own boyfriend, you care more about tests than anything, this clearly isn't working." You looked at him while a tear rolled down your cheek, which you quickly wiped away. You didn't want to break up with Charlie, God no. But he didn't seem to want to stay together.

"Charlie, it's not like that, you know how stressed I've been, I'm sorry I didn't come to your game, I truly meant to go. I care a lot about my future, but you don't and thats not on me. You can't put this on me, its not just the match, you've been like this ever since the dance, its not only me." More tears rolled down your cheeks as one slid out from his eye.

"Y/n, this just isn't working, I'm sorry." No, God no please.

"Charlie, no, please, don't do this. I swear I-" he cut you off.

"I'm sorry, its already done." He turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in an empty corridor, feeling your heart leaving your soul. You don't know how it happened, you don't know where it went wrong. Was it truly the match? Or was it ever since the day of the dance? Did he even ever like you?

As you stood in that corridor, you felt cold, you felt like you soul left you. You watched him walk away and eventually out of eyesight, thinking about how you would never feel his kiss again, never feel the comfort of his embrace, never feel his love again.

You didn't want this, God no, but your gut told you it had to happen, you just wish it didn't hurt this much. As you wrapped your arms around yourself and sank to the floor with tears on your face, you felt nothing but hollow, wishing the presence of charlie was still there. Wishing he could hold you and tell you he loved you again, as you loved him still.

You didn't know how you were going to go on without him, but you knew one thing for sure, the last thing you cared about was your fucking grades, because you just lost the best thing in your life.

A/n: okay, sorry this took so long, I suck i know! Im sorry this was shitty, I will try to finish the series relatively soon, there will be 2 more parts. I hope you like it, thanks for reading!

#charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley angst #hphm #hphm mc #harry potter

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