#he can clearly hear the *crack* sound they would make the first time Michael lays under it

[driftingvoid-155]

Scooped Michael wanting a weighted blanket and Jeremy terrified to get it for him bc he thinks it’s going to break his bones.

[deliriousgeek]

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: A quiet evening meant for celebration is thrown into chaos. Y/n wills herself to play into the daunting role that comes with being Thomas Shelby’s wife, because it might be the only thing keeping her alive. 

Masterlist

Tommy lowkey feels very oc so idk how to feel about that. im not good at writing suspense...its also very long. ha :,)

Warning: blood, guns, knives, fights, usual peaky blinder violence

If anyone knew Y/n Shelby, then they would know that she can’t stand seeing dead bodies. Although in her case, having that reaction would seem ironic, considering her husband was Thomas Shelby. 

It was around 9pm when Y/n slipped her night robe off and lay back on her bed. Her night was just winding down and she was waiting for Thomas to get back. He said he would try to be home around midnight, and to not wait up. He and his brothers would be at the Garrison, celebrating Arthur’s return from prison and discussing what was to be done with the Jews and Italians next. 

Y/n knew it would be a couple hours for Tommy to be home, so she settled onto their bed and grabbed a book off her night stand. 

The room was bathed in a warm, orange and yellow light— the type of light candles can give. When she was home alone, Y/n liked to use candle light. It reminded her of a time before the war and before this gang business, when all she and Tommy had to worry about was getting enough candles to light up the dinner table. 

Half an hour had passed and Y/n had gotten through a decent number of pages in her book. She felt her eyes drooping and decided it was time to call it a night. She stretched and cracked her neck before turning to place her book on the nightstand. Just as she was about to place the book down, she heard a creak downstairs. 

She froze.

Tommy wasn’t supposed to be back until midnight and none of the Shelby family would come over this late without a call, that was their safety protocol. 

She listened for more creaking. 

After Tommy had bought their house he had insisted on replacing the creaky floor boards, but decided to keep a few. In certain spots, that could be easily avoided if one knew where to walk, the floor would still creak. It was a safety thing that Tommy and Y/n agreed would be good to have. If the floorboards downstairs still creaked after the first step, it wasn’t one of them. 

Creak...creak...creak...

That wasn’t Tommy. 

Y/n took in a deep breath as she put herself back into a sitting position on the bed. An intruder was in her house. At the moment, the Peaky Blinders had a lot of enemies. It could be anyone. Mostly, someone with a gun. 

She listened as the person made their way upstairs. She could hear them passing Tommy’s office, and the guest bedroom. This person knew where their room was, and she could only deduce from their movement’s that they were coming for her. 

Y/n was scared. She knew how to defend herself, but didn’t like doing it if she didn’t have to. Rolling her shoulders, she prepared herself for the inevitable. She’d have to fight tonight. 

To be clear, Y/n Shelby wasn’t unable to fight. She was a pro at throwing knives, which she preferred to guns; much to Tommy’s dismay. She knew how to shoot a gun and could decently fare in hand to hand combat, but she was still scared. Her heart beat in her chest quickly and anxiety bubbled to the surface. A normal reaction to knowing someone broke into your house to hurt you, or worse. Y/n assumed it was the latter. However, instead of letting her fear show, she turned on her fake calmness. A trick she forced herself to learn as Thomas Shelby’s wife. The alarm that was spread across her face vanished, instead being replaced with an eerily calm facade.

There was no point in locking the door. The person knew how to get past those if he made it into their living room. She heard their steps stop at the front of her door, she raised her book to her face, pretending like she was reading.

Act calm. She told herself.

Then, the door burst open.

Back at the pub, the Shelby brothers  were sitting around the table in the snug. Sharing laughs and taking on their third round of Whiskey.

“Alright boys,” Tommy began, placing his glass down and looking around the table. “We’ve had our fun, business begins now.” His content expression turned serious. 

His other brothers, and cousin Michael, cleared their throats and straightened up. 

“As you know, taking Arthur out of prison is a direct threat to the Sabini’s. It shows that even in London we have enough influence to get our own men out, if needed.”

The brothers nodded, and shared looks.

Tommy continued, “Getting Arthur out was our first move. Now it’s the Italian’s and the Jew’s turn but we don’t know when their next strike will be. So, from this moment on we have to be aware, alert, and ready for every—”

The door flew open.

Sir!” Out of breath, Isaiah stood with one hand on the door knob, looking at Tommy. 

“Oi!” Arthur shouted. “You know better than to interrupt!” 

Tommy nodded his head at Arthur, then turned to Isaiah. “What is it, lad.”

“Better be important,” John added. 

“Sir, the Italians are here. My dad spotted them making their way down the lane. They got a group with guns and a car. We best hurry.” Isaiah said in a rushed voice.

With that all the Shelby men stood and placed their caps on, rushing out of the snug. 

Upon noticing the urgency in which the brothers exited, the rest of the Peaky Blinders in the pub were at full alert, waiting for Tom’s next words. The crowd silenced as the brothers stood at the snug doors, facing the onlookers. 

“If you aren’t a Peaky Blinder,” Tom eyed the crowd, “leave.” 

Noise filled the bar again as chairs shuffled, cups were placed on tables, and the front doors opened and closed.

Tom didn’t speak again until there were only Peaky Blinders left. He pulled out his revolver and checked it, making sure there were bullets, before looking up again. 

“Battle formation, men. The Italians are here.” 

Then in a flurry of peaky hats and over coats, the rest of the men got into their positions. Some ran up the stairs to get the extra cases of shotguns and revolvers. Others pulled out their own handguns and checked them as well. The Shelby boys looked at each other, a silent way of saying ‘good luck’. 

Once Tommy deemed every one armed, he nodded to Arthur, who shouted to move out. 

The Shelbies were at the front, while everyone fell behind them in triangle formation. As they marched outside, they could see the group of Italians rounding the corner. 

It was rather intimidating. An outline of men and guns on shoulders, a rather sizable group at that, illuminated by the truck headlights that followed behind. It was a sight to see.

Darby Sabini stood at the front, a shotgun slung over his shoulder.

As the groups marched towards each other and came to a stop, a man behind Thomas called out to the front. “At your command Sergeant Major.”

A hushed tone of agreement spread throughout the group.

Darby stepped forward. “Thought you could come on our turf and get away with it, aye?” 

Tommy stepped forward as well, hands in his pockets. “It was meant as a friendly gesture, but I don’t think you have enough friends to know what that means.”

A small smirk made its way onto Tommy’s face as he stared Darby down. 

Darby narrowed his eyes, irritated at that remark. “I’ll show you what friendly means. Now!”

A hail of gunfire began and the sound of shots being fired filled the lane. It was chaos. Bullets flew and body’s fell. Punches were thrown and blood was spread. More men jumped out of the covered truck and ran to beat down the men on the other side. 

Tommy ducked and punched, kicked and shot. In the middle of punching a man in the gut he yelled, “Leave Darby for me!”

His men did just that. 

Thomas fought his way to the center of the fight, where Darby had just knocked out a Peaky Blinder. Tommy aimed his gun and walked forward, aiming at Darby. The fighting on both sides ceased.

“I didn’t bring a battalion to your town.” Tommy spoke clearly, in a raised voice. 

Darby aimed his gun as well. The two circled each other as men on both sides stopped to observe the interaction. They watched Tommy and Darby tread carefully, like two tentative predators waiting for their opposer to falter.

“You still showed up. That was enough.”

The two men were breathing heavily, a result from the brawls they just finished.

“What’s your purpose for being here, Sabini?” Thomas stopped pacing, his gun still firmly held up. 

Darby stopped as well. An obnoxious laugh left his lips. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Tommy didn’t move. He held a blank face, but his eyes still watched Darby with intensity. 

Not waiting for a response Darby continued, “I’m reminding you that I can take away everything you have in an instant. I already put your brother in jail, which it seems wasn’t a good enough warning for you, since you stupidly had him released so quickly.”

Darby took a couple steps toward Thomas, gun raised. 

“Killing me won’t do anything. I got people in place to still ruin you.” Thomas stated, his tone flat. 

Darby lowered his gun, a sickly calm smile spread across his face. It was an unsettling sight that made Tommy begin to think something was off.

“Oh Tommy boy, I’m just the distraction,” Darby’s eyes noticeably darkened, “How’s your wife these days?”

Tommy’s eyes widened and his finger pulled the trigger.

Darby fell to the ground dead, a bullet was lodged in the center of his forehead. 

Then like a wave, the fighting began again.

As soon as the gunshot rang, Tommy saw red. He shot, punched, kicked or swung at anyone in his way as he fought to get out of the crowd. He didn’t bother shouting an explanation to his brothers as he ran to his car. 

Tommy shoved his keys into the ignition and started the car. Tommy slammed his foot on the gas as soon as the engine roared to life. The car’s lights illuminated the carnage left from the battle. The Peaky Blinders were the last ones standing, as Tommy expected, but paid no mind to. His thoughts too consumed with conjuring the hundreds of horrible possibilities he might see upon arriving home, all ending with a bloodied image of Y/n.

John and Arthur ran towards the car, causing Thomas to slam on the breaks. 

“Where are you going?” John asked urgently. 

“They’re going for Y/n.” Thomas hastily replied.

John and Arthur jumped on the side of the car just in time before Tommy could speed up again. 

Michael and Finn watched as the older Shelby boys passed them. 

“Great. So we’re left to clean up the mess.”

At the house, Y/n held her book to her face as the door burst open. She turned her head and was met with the sight of a man pointing a gun at her. His clothes were clean and he looked very young. Her eyes flitted from the gun to his shoes, then to his eyes, then back to the gun. 

“On your feet.” He demanded. 

“What?” Y/n feigned innocence, despite her struggle to keep calm.

The man, gun still held towards her, trudged over and ripped the book from her hands, throwing it onto the floor. 

“I said on your feet!” He yelled in her face, backing away so he was a few feet from the bed.

She stared into his eyes, an impassive look on her face. Y/n looked back down at the gun. 

With a purse of her lips and a shrug she stated, “I’d rather not.”

The man’s soldier esc demeanor nearly slipped at her blatant defiance of his orders. “It’s not an option lady! Get up.”

She chuckled. “Y’see, lad. I’ve been on my feet all day. Have you ever worn heels for over six hours? Rather painful you know.”

Her cocky attitude betrayed her quickly beating heart that was full of adrenaline.

In an effort to scare her, he menacingly stepped forward. “I ain’t afraid to hurt you lady, but the boss wants you alive. If you keep disobeying me, I'm allowed to use force.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh really, and who is your boss? I must thank him for not wanting me dead.” 

She knew she was playing with her life, but if this boy was as inexperienced as he looked, she would get the information she needed to warn Tommy. Granted, if she got out of this situation. 

“Sabini.” The man bluntly answered. 

Y/n swallowed. This wasn’t good. If Sabini’s men were here and not in London, she needed to warn Thomas immediately. Her heart pumped faster than she thought possible and every nerve in her body was on the verge of trembling from fear.

“I see.” Y/n turned her head to the foot of the bed. “Well, like I said, I’d rather not get up. Matter of fact, I’d rather keep reading. So be a dear and hand me my book, would ya?” She was stalling.

“C’mon lady, stop being stubborn. You don't even got a weapon to be making these demands.” The man sneered.

Y/n slowly adjusted herself so that she scooted away from the pillows that propped her up. She straightened her legs on the bed, her left crossed over her right. Then she leaned back on her arms, purposely pushing up her chest to show off her unbinded chest. Hopefully, he’d be dumb enough to look at her distraction, and he was. 

“Ah, well. It was worth a shot. I can tell that you're new to this whole— kidnapping thing. If you want to get better at it then you should learn this.” She paused before looking back at the man, “Always do research on your target.”

The young man’s brows furrowed, obviously confused. 

“If you did your research, like a good little gangster,” She began as she slid her left leg up off her right, causing her silk nightgown to slowly expose her leg. The man’s eyes roamed her leg once she stopped moving, leaving her left leg in a bent position. She reached for the hem of the dress and raised it further up her left leg, stopping until it got to her mid thigh, “Then you would know, that I’m always armed.”

In a swift and well practiced motion, Y/n grabbed the sharp, throwing knife from her thigh holster, and threw. The knife landed in the man’s chest, in his heart. Looking down at the knife, the man stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his back. Blood quickly formed a growing splotch of red on his shirt. Y/n quickly stood from the bed to remove the gun from the man’s hand, she then crouched over him. 

She placed her hand on the knife handle, “It was a shame you didn’t do your research.” Then she pushed the knife forward, until she felt through the blade that it had really punctured his heart.

Y/n stood over the man’s body, gun in her hand, and watched the blood puddle grow. She backed away until her knees hit the bed and gave way. Letting out a shaky breath, she sat with the gun in her lap. In an attempt to avoid looking at the body laid in front of her, Y/n stared at the ceiling. 

The adrenaline began to wear off, and the reality of the situation dawned on her. She could have died, quite easily too. If her attacker had not been so inexperienced and if she wasn’t wanted brought back alive, she could have died. Then, she thought of her husband.

Tommy. 

Had the man lying dead on her carpet opened the door and shot, Tommy would have had to come home to her dead body instead. The thought of Tommy finding her body, cold and bloody, scared her more than death. She couldn’t imagine the pain of him being alone. He would blame himself for her death. He would say he couldn’t protect her, and he would loathe himself for the rest of his life. Tears began to prick her eyes and her throat tightened. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go away and for her erratic heart beat to calm down. 

She killed a man.

That’s the only thought she could process. Her emotions muddled her thinking. Never before had she used her knives to kill. She used guns, from far away. She used punches to knock people out. She used her knives to injure, but never before had she needed them to kill. She was slightly glad for the memory of Tommy coming back home from an errand, returning with the thin knife holster that he insisted she wear when he wasn’t home. She was also glad that she made it a rule for herself to never take it off unless Tommy was home with her. 

Then, the silence of the house was broken again. She flinched. This time, the sound came from the front door slamming open and muffled shouts that she could only register as her name. 

“Y/n! Y/n where are you?” The voice shouted.

She couldn’t pinpoint who it was, not in her boggled state of mind, but she knew it was safe. So she answered. 

“In the bedroom.” 

Her eyes were still shut and her head faced the ceiling when Tommy rushed in.

“Y/n.” His voice was slightly breathless as he took in the sight before him. 

The room was covered in warm, candle light, giving a complete opposite tone to the tense atmosphere. His wife sat on the bed with a gun in her lap. A man, with his wife’s knife in his chest, laid dead on the ground and a puddle of blood surrounded his wound. 

Y/n opened her eyes and looked at her husband. She could see the fear and worry that filled his eyes, his face in slight shock.

Thomas was relieved to see his wife unharmed, but he could see the tears that were threatening to fall. Her slumped shoulders were signs of exhaustion. The way her chest moved up and down with heavy breathes told him she was on the verge of holding herself together. 

Arthur and John came bounding up the stairs next, and found their places on either side of Thomas. 

Y/n’s voice came out void of emotion, but her teary eyes said it all. “One of Sabini’s men.” She stated before turning her eyes to the ceiling once more, trying to blink away tears. “Please get him out of my sight.” The growing puddle of blood made her want to throw up. 

“You heard her,” Thomas said in a low tone, staring at his wife with concerned eyes. “Get rid of ‘em.” His voice was just above a whisper.

Arthur and John stepped forward, grabbing the man by his arms and lugged him out of the room. Only once the man had been removed did Thomas walk towards his wife. Only when he wrapped his arms around her did she let herself cry. She let herself sob and express how truly scared she was when the man burst into her room, and pointed a gun to her head. 

Thomas held her close and kissed her head. He whispered in her ear that she was okay, and that she did what she needed to do. Holding her close, he told her he loved her, and promised to never let anything like that happen to her again. 

Masterlist

well I tried

Edit: Bro this blew up in less than a day with 41 notes. Thank you♡

[huntingforsatisfaction]

Pink Promise

Pairing: Dean Winchester X younger sibling reader(not in an incest way)

Summary: Dean is there to help his younger sibling after they have a nightmare 

Words: 2211

Warnings: fairly angsty, but still very very fluffy, a detailed nightmare, mentions of John Winchester’s parenting style, bad writing?, like one cuss word, a tiny tiny bit of gore

Note about characters: in the present scenes the reader is 16 and in the flashbacks they’re 6 and the reader and Dean have like a 13/14 year age gap so he’s like 19/20 in the flashbacks, there isn’t any gendered terms for the reader so it’s neutral(unless you count hair being braided as a gendered term, but boys can have braided hair cause gender isn’t real), and finally this takes place in season 5

Dean woke up, not for any purpose, just one of those weird moments where you randomly wake up in the middle of the night. He shook his head and began fluffing his pillow, stopping when he heard soft crying.

“(Y/N)?” He softly called out.

You were laying with your back facing out and your face squished into the musty cushions of the small motel room couch, a failed attempt at muffling your cries.

“Y-Yeah Dean? Something wrong?” You tried to play it off.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Were you crying?”

When you guys first got your room Dean cursed the streetlight right outside the window, but now he watched how it illuminated you as you dropped your head down.

“Nightmare?”

You looked up and made eye contact before slowly nodding a yes.

“Think you’re gonna be able to go back to sleep?”

You dropped your gaze again as your face screwed up and you could feel new tears form on your lash line.

“No.” You softly croaked out, barely audible over Sam’s snores.

                                                   ~Flashback~

You couldn’t breathe, too focused on staying quiet to risk opening your mouth. Once the sting in your eyes and the back of your throat calmed down you went back to sleep.

“Sammy?”

You screamed out running through an old grey house.

“No no no please no!” You heard him scream somewhere you couldn’t find.

“Sammy!” You huffed before taking off running down the hall you came from.

As you ran around the house you felt small and helpless, like when you got separated from your brothers in the corn maze at the pumpkin patch in Iowa, the one Dean took you to without your dad knowing.

“Dean?” You desperately called for your brother as your feet pounded against the floor. 

Completely unaware of your surroundings you ran, the only thing on your mind was finding your brother. Not paying attention to your surroundings you tripped, your heart raced knowing how your dad always got on you for that. You got up and looked down to see what sent you flying to the cracked floorboards.

“Dean!” You screamed

You woke up again, heart pounding in your head and toes. You stopped gasping for air when you felt your dad roll over next to you, holding it in again to stay quiet. Collecting your moose and your blanket, the one you got in Oregon when you were 3 and have refused to sleep without ever since, you slipped off of the bed as silently as possible. Your dad and Dean were fumigating a house in a fancy neighborhood so the only hotel available was a little nicer than your usual moldy motels. The vinyl floorboards stayed quiet as you snuck over to the door that joined your brothers’ room to you and your dad’s. You glanced at your brothers sleeping in their beds before moving their jackets off of the chair that sat in the corner. Dropping your blanket on the floor you traded it for the two flannels that were under their jackets and curled up into the chair. Once you were comfortable you finally let the tears flow, crying softly at first and burying your face into Mort the moose as your chest heaved more and more with the weight of your cries. 

 “(Y/N)?” You heard Dean call out in confusion as he shut the drawer of his nightstand. 

 “S-sorry for waking you up.” You tossed off the flannels and picked up your blanket, heading back to your proper room.

 “No, no, hey, hey, come here.” Dean moved over in his bed and opened his arms, lightly flicking his wrist to call you over to him. 

You gingerly padded over to his bed and with a little effort jumped up.

 “I’m gonna guess it wasn’t growing pains that woke you up.” Dean chuckled. 

 “Ok, I’m sorry, bad timing. Now come on peanut, stop giving me that face and come in closer.” He said shifting so he could comfortably open up his arms for you. 

You still continued to pout, but scooted into his embrace until your body felt lighter. 

“Sorry.” You quietly mumbled, it came out kind of funny because of how your cheek was squished against your brother’s chest. 

Dean pulled back and nudged your chin up, signaling you to make eye contact  with him before resting his hand on your shoulder. His comforting softness melted away as he turned dead serious. 

“Listen to me, do not ever and I mean ever apologize to someone because you’re upset. Ok?” He searched your eyes waiting for an answer, which you gave him with a nod. 

“Now tell me why someone broke into my room and stole my favorite flannel.” And just like that Dean pulled you back into him and your softy of a brother was back.

“Dad yells at me when I don’t sleep and when I cry and when I ask him questions, so I came in here to cry” Even your big brother’s arms couldn’t shield you from the sadness that entered your body.

“Well I’m not dad, neither is Mort the moose, and neither is Sammy.” Dean started.

“Sammy snores now, he’s old.” You shot Sam a dirty look even though he was dead asleep.

“Yeah Sammy is old now, he drools too.” Dean joined you in giving his younger brother the stink eye. “Now tell me, what has my peanut so upset?”

“Nightmare.” 

“Nightmare? Do you wanna talk about it?” Dean began playing with your hair as he awaited your response.

Staring up at your older brother’s face you thought about it. 

“No.” You wanted to say what happened, to get it out of your mind, but you didn’t want to tell him about how you saw his still body covered in blood with his stomach in shreds. 

“No? That’s okay.” 

You guys sat quietly listening to the traffic outside and Sam’s snores. After a while Dean assumed you had fallen asleep, but just as he shut his own eyes your little voice stirred him.

“D?”

“Mm, yeah (Y/N)?’

“Are monsters real?”

                                                       ~Present~

Dean watched you hang your head again before scooting to the side and opening up his covers.

“Wanna talk about it kid?”

Even in your sad and scared state a genuine smile broke out across your face, it was small, but still genuine. Without responding to your brother you kicked off the soft blanket that you had fought Sam for and walked over to Dean’s bed. Since motel beds are always oddly tall you had to do a little jump to get onto it, shooting a quick glare at Dean for being clearly amused at your struggle. Tentatively Dean opened up his arms to you and you awkwardly shuffled in until your head hit his shoulder and you instantly melted. The both of you sat there without a word, wondering what the other was thinking, unaware that you were both thinking the same thing. You thought about how long it had been since you two laid like this, both of you becoming aware of how long it had really been since you showed each other affection and comfort, and how after all of these years you two felt so natural. Neither of you took into account how the other’s muscles softened, how the past few years of Azazel, the door to Hell, your dad’s death, Sam’s death, Dean’s death, demons, vampires, and vengeful spirits all released from your guys’ bodies. For the first time in months neither of you cared about Lucifer or Michael or any other dick with wings. 

“Hey Dean.” You finally broke the near silence.

“Yeah?” Your ear being pressed to Dean’s chest made his voice sound deeper and you could feel his jaw move against the top of your head. 

“Do you remember when I was super young and we were staying at that nice hotel in Seattle and I had that really bad nightmare?” You slipped the comforter under your brother’s arm so you could fidget with it.

“Yeah I do actually, but how the hell do you remember it? You were like what, six? So that means it was ten whole years ago.” 

“I don’t think I would remember it if it wasn’t the start of the recurring nightmare I always have.” The first part was a lie. That night had been the first time you ever truly felt like you had a family, the first time you had felt comfort in your life. You could never forget that. 

“Oh.” Dean began to play with your hair, taking three small pieces and trying to see if he could still remember how to braid, something he learned because you hated how John would always cut your hair. 

“This dream,” you started, “it’s bad. It’s always the same house, this weird grey one with cracked floors and for some reason the walls are cement. It’s weird. But in the dream I can never find my way, it’s like a labyrinth and every time I get more and more lost the hallways get darker and darker. It always starts with me screaming for Sammy and he doesn’t respond, but I can hear him. I can hear him.”, Your voice begins to break, “I can hear him screaming no over and over again, like he’s getting attacked and then when I call out for him again he’s silent. So I’ll start running to find him, I guess I’ve always had a hunter's instinct. Then when I’m running around I trip and every time I trip I always get this feeling of fear about dad yelling at me for always being clumsy. But then when I. '' You stop, dropping your head and gaze so far down that all you can see is your own chest. Dean drops the chunk of hair he was twisting in his fingers and looks down at you.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, lightly squeezing your arm to ground you, something he always does when you’re upset. 

His encouragement only made things worse as tears began to fall again. Closing your eyes you take a quick deep breath.

“When I look down to see what I tripped over it’s you. You’re dead. Bloody with your stomach all ripped up, I never see the monster, but it must be something with claws. Then it just ends there. Tonight was kind of different though. Our ages are always different in the dream. Sammy’s voice always sounds like it did when he was 16 so I don’t think he changes, but sometimes I’m a kid and you’re a teenager like when I first had it or we’re both teenagers or we’re the ages we are now or sometimes I’m a kid and you’re an adult. But tonight, tonight I was 16 like I am now and you were a little kid.”

                                                      ~Flashback~

Dean didn’t know what to do, he felt like the deer that stopped in the headlights and actually got hit. He’d been through this before with Sam, but he had been older and wasn’t already upset when they had the conversation. He had felt guilty every time he lied to Sam about monsters and didn’t want to give you that same false hope, but he resented his dad for teaching him about monsters when he was this young. 

“I’m not sure of anything, (Y/N).” It technically wasn’t a lie, while Dean was sure that monsters existed he wasn’t sure of what to tell you.

“Well actually no, I am sure of one thing. Nothing and I mean nothing, no man, no woman, no animal, and sure as hell no monsters will ever hurt you because you are strong and I will kick their butt if they even try.” Dean meant that fully, he’s meant that since the day his dad sat him and Sam down to tell them they have a little sibling.

“Pink promise?” You said looking up at Dean.

“Pink promise?” He pulled back and questioned you.

“A pink promise.” You huffed, freeing your arm out from under Dean’s and extending your pinky finger.

“Oohh, a pinky promise.” Dean held up his arm and extended his own pinky.

“No, it’s pink promise.” You pulled your hand back.

“Ok, I pink promise that nothing will ever hurt you.” And to that you guys joined pinkies.

                                                     ~Present~

You begin to quietly sob into your brother’s chest. Dean put his hand at the nape of your neck and put his cheek on the top of your head and let you cry it out, as you calmed down he pulled back and kissed your forehead.

“Hey look, peanut. Sammy and I are not going anywhere, we will always be with you, ok. A lot is going on right now and it will all be okay, we’ve gotten out of so many situations that we shouldn’t have and this one will be no different. I pink promise.” Dean raised up his arm and extended his pinky.

“Oh fuck off.” You lightly hit his hand. 

Unfazed Dean kept his hand up and smugly smiled down at you. You sigh and extend your own pinky. As your fingers wrapped around each other your annoyed façade broke, your smile was joined by a few tears.

“Pink promise.”

A/N: So hey, your local forest wench here. This is definitely different from other stuff I post. I’ve never written a fanfiction before(so basically sorry if it’s not too good and please be patient with me), but I do read a lot of of it and maladaptive daydream a lot so I always have plenty of ideas. I came up with this idea this morning and really liked it, thought that maybe other people would like it and that it would be kind of greedy to keep it to myself. I’m actually really insanely proud of this ngl. If people like this and I feel comfortable, I might even write some more in the future.

[racheyace]

Sick Day (GT)

Just a small short story featuring cute fairy/human fluffiness. Enjoy :)

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It was ten AM and Shylah was still asleep, Michael had left her alone on his pillow earlier in the morning after his failed attempts to rouse her, she was clearly exhausted and so decided to let her get her rest.

Michael had kept himself busy, tidied up their small apartment, caught up a bit on work and was just getting ready to sit down and do some painting with his mug of coffee in hand when he heard it.

If his ears weren’t already adapt to hearing the sounds of small beings it would have gone unheard, but he had gotten used to listening for the sounds of the Fae folk. A tiny cough and harsh snorts could be heard coming from his bedroom. Carefully he walked towards his room and cracked the door open to peak in at his diminutive wife sitting up on his pillow and wiping her red nose on the sleeve of her nightshirt.

She looked up at him as he quietly approached the bed and sat down in front of her. Normally the slight rocking of the immense man sitting on the bed wouldn’t affect her too much but this time she rocked uneasily and shook the dizziness from her eyes.

“Uhh I feel like complete shit” she murmured rubbing her temples before wiping more snot onto her shirt.

Without hesitation he scooped her up in his hands and brought her up to his face, he could see clearly now just how pale she was, her nose was red and her eyes bloodshot, even her gossamer wings laying still against her back seemed a little dim this morning.

“You definitely don’t look very well, are you sure your gonna be able to make it to the meeting tonight?” he asked her, voice full of concern.

“I can’t miss, we are making final plans for the winter solstice tonight, the Fae committee will be furious if I miss it” she finished off with a strong sneeze that seemed to take the wind out of her and she fell back in his palm. She buried her face in her hands and sniffled.

“I think they can either postpone or make plans without you this year, you need rest babe if you want to get better” Michael lowered her level with his chest and held her securely there as he began to walk towards the door, ready to set her up with Panadol, a hot cup of tea and lots of tissues.

“I’m fine *achoo* it’s only a couple of hours *achoo* I’ll be fine” he watched as she continued to sneeze and look bleary eyed up at him as he continued towards the kitchen.

“Your calling in sick, the elders wont appreciate you spreading your illness” the kettle was on and he raised her back up to eye level, she glared at him, crossed her arms and sniffled.

“I’m fine” she grumbled, she eyed the kettle in distaste “And I can make my own tea thank you very much” not a second later she was on her feet, she shook the dizziness from her eyes once more from standing up too fast and then leaped from his hands.

Her wings weakly flapped to keep her in the air but she was loosing altitude, she breathed heavily as she slowly descended to the floor landing on her hands and knees with tears leaking from her eyes. Shylah was always independent from the moment they met, she refused to let him simply take care of her, she could look after herself. Now, she couldn’t even fly, the essence of her independence, gone.

She felt the ground beneath her tremble as her human husband approached her, the shifting of immense fabric told her he was crouching down behind her.

She felt a warm pressure on her shoulder where his finger had reached for her to offer comfort in her clearly distraught state. A second later the rest of his fingers gently wrapped around her body and lifted her up to his chest where he held her there in a hug.

“Everyone deserves a break sometimes babe” he whispered into her hair “today, just this once, can you let me take care of you, like a husband should” the love and concern in his deep voice soothed her like a balm and she nuzzled deeper into his chest.

“Okay” she said softly, she looked up into his deep green eyes whirling with worry “just this once” she conceded.

The relief on his face was evident, carefully he stood up, he picked up her cup of lemon tea between a finger and thumb and headed for the couch. Once he got comfy, he set his wife down in his lap, she leaned back against his stomach as he held a hand over her like a blanket. He then set down a ripped-up bit of tissue beside her and handed her the teacup.

After several hours of watching particularly girly romcoms he looked down at Shylah to see she had fallen asleep curled up in his lap and held snuggly against his abdomen, he smiled softly down at her. As gently as he could, he trailed a finger through her hair, down her spine and gently over her wings, she sighed contentedly.

Michael was so engrossed by the serenity of his wife that he didn’t even notice a Fae Official had flown through the window and was currently standing on the arm of the couch looking at the scene with mild interest.

“So this is the reason Shylah missed the Winter Solstice meeting, she was getting petted by her human husband” Michael flinched in surprise at the unexpected visitor and turned to see Jonah standing right beside him on the arm of the couch with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked deadly serious especially in his official uniform, he waited patiently for the giant to answer.

“God, Jonah, you scared me” Michael said to which Jonah smirked in amusement, scaring a being so much larger than yourself was not usually this easy.

“Shylah is sick, she’s so weak she can barely fly” Michael explained, Jonah looked down at his sleeping friend in Michael’s lap with concern.

Jonah sighed unable to hold up the angry official façade especially with one of his closest friends so unwell “the elders will understand, this is the first time she’s ever missed a meeting” he flew down and landed a few feet away from Shylah on Michaels knee. He had been around the human long enough to know he could be trusted.

“It looks like your taking good care of her” he said after a moment, he then looked up at Michael “Um, I’ll be sure to let the elders know of her current condition. If she is well enough tomorrow tell her to come to the village, they will want to discuss the outcome of the meeting with her” and with that Jonah gave a small nod and took to the sky headed for the open window.

Michael gave a small sigh and snuggled down further into the cushions being careful not to jostle Shylah too much, he then pressed play on another random movie and let his own eyes flutter closed, content to enjoy the peacefulness around him.

[planetsam]

S2 prompt if you ever feel so inspired: Michael Sanders AU. Walt spends the time between asking to adopt Michael and when Michael returns to Roswell getting his life cleaned up. Not being able to help Michael was the shake up he needed. When Michael returns to Roswell Walt is able to become a foster parent. Gruff!Dad Walt is able to eventually adopt Michael. Michael learns about his mom from Walt much earlier and when Caulfield comes around they are more prepared and get Nora out safely.

Michael’s perched on the bed and all Walt can think about is how he looks like a bird about to take flight.

He’s been told a messed up story about the kid and though he’s grateful for him to be out of those hell places, there’s a difference between knowing a thing’s going to be hard and having it sitting perched on a makeshift bed in a makeshift bedroom clocking the exits. Michael’s eyes are focused on him even before he knocks on the wall to ask for entry. Michael says nothing and Walt fights the urge to smack his head against the wall. He’s lost his damn mind doing this.

“You gonna let me come in or should I try again later?” He asks and Michael flinches.

“It’s your house,” he says.

“And it’s your room,” Walt reminds him. Michael looks down and mumbles something along the lines of thank you and it makes Walt want to build a time machine, go back and kick his own ass until he gets his shit together a lot sooner, “you don’t gotta thank me.”

“Sorry,” Michael mutters.

“You don’t gotta apologize either!” He winces at the own exasperation in his voice. This kid needs professional help and neither of them is in a position to do that. Michael seems to curl in on himself, his eyes squeezing shut and his fingers clenching on the bed sheet, “be careful of your—“

“I need to get some air,” Michael says and scrambles to his feet.

“Don’t—“

“Excuse me.”

Michael doesn’t make it an option as he barrels past him and scrambles out. Walt hears something thud and fights the urge to reach for the bottle. He can tell why someone would think the things that are in Michael’s too thick file. Demons are a easier sell pretty much anywhere that isn’t here.  Walt scrubs his face and looks over at the shape watching from the couch. The damn dog is more judgmental than the people of the town but she helps.

“Well don’t get up and help or anything,” he says and goes after him.

Michael’s standing a few feet away breathing hard. Walt walks past him and looks at the other side of the car, the one that was facing the house. He sighs at the massive dent in it and looks back at Michael who looks like he’s going to be sick. At first Walt thinks it’s with fear, but then he doubles over and spews the contents of his stomach. No-one’s puked here since he went through withdrawal but he supposes that’s as good a run as he’ll ever get. He waits for Michael to be done and collect himself before he straightens up.

“Can you pop it back out?” He asks. Michael goes pale, “the dent, can you pop it back out?” He asks.

“I didn’t do that,” Michael blurts out.

“I’m not deaf,” Walt snaps, “or as stupid as your other fosters,” Michael looks stunned and it’s an odd look for such a young kid, “and I’m not going to hurt you.”

It’s clear Michael doesn’t believe him and Walt can’t say he blames him. The world’s a messed up place, he figures he knows that better than most people. He was probably younger than Michael when he learned it, but Walt’s not one to compare. No-one should be in that fucked up contest. Walt sighs and scrubs his face and pushes the itch for a bottle out of his head.

“I can help you fix the car,” Michael says abruptly, “I’m good with my hands.”

Briefly Walt wonders if the feeling of ‘this is never going to work’ is ever going to go away. Maybe it’s just part of being a parent. Walt remembers that he never wanted kids for a damn good reason. But one’s here and he’s gonna have to deal with it.

“Let’s go inside,” he says.

“You don’t have to call them,” Michael volunteers abruptly, “I didn’t mean to lie—“ he freezes as the sound of groaning metal echoes, “that’s not me!”

“Would you stop lying long enough to catch your breath? I know damn well it’s you,” Walt says, “why the hell else do you think we’re in a junkyard?”

Michael’s so surprised that whatever he’s doing cuts off and Walt hears something snap. He looks over to see one of the racks has cracked and watches one of the cars slide off and land on it’s roof. It looks almost comically like a bug that’s been turned over. Walt’s known for a long time he wasn’t cut out to be a parent to a regular kid. He’s got no idea what he’s going to do with a god damn alien. He figured this was a good place to start but he wasn’t expecting it to involve so many broken cars from the onset.

“How—“

“I knew your mother,” Walt says, figuring it’s best to rip the bandaids off in one go. Michael sways on his feet, “you gonna be sick again?”

Michael manages a nod before he hurls this time.

It might be the first honest thing he’s said.

Walt supposes it’s as good a start as any.

He steers the boy back inside and gets him into the chair. Nora hops off the couch and trots over, laying her head on his lap. Walt doesn’t have ginger ale but he’s got ginger beer which he guesses will have to do. He sets the can in front of Michael who looks ill at the sight of it.

“What do you need?” Walt asks. 
“Acetone,” Michael says.

“You better not be killing yourself in this house,” Walt mutters, getting the bottle out, “what’s this do for you?” 
“It makes things hurt less,” Michael says.

“Don’t drink too much then,” Walt tells him. Michael takes a few mouthfuls under his watchful gaze and then sets the bottle down. Some of the color has returned to his face. Walt takes the acetone and reminds himself he’s gonna have to lock it up and hope the kid respects him enough to listen, “well you don’t look half dead.”

“Is my mom dead?” Michael asks abruptly. Walt winces at the swerve but Michael’s apparently not done, “when did you see her? Do I look like her? Did she talk about me? Who was she with? Was my dad there? Could she move things with her mind too or did she read thoughts or channel electricity?”
 He cuts himself off breathing hard. It’s the most desperate Walt’s seen the kid since he’s been back. He’s got no business dealing with a desperate kid like this. He can picture his own old man’s reaction. Michael keeps look at him like a starving man and Walt has to remind himself he’s a kid who just found out someone knew his mother.

“I don’t know is the answer to most of that,” Walt says, “I saw her when I was about your age. She wasn’t the worst last thing to see with two eyes,” Michael looks surprised, “she mentioned you. Said you had her whole heart. You do look damn like her,” he leans back, “she said her name was Nora.”

“Did she say what my name was?” Michael asks. Walt shakes his head and Michael looks down, disappointed.

“Michael’s a good name,” he says.

“What about her powers? What could she do?”

“Well I saw her make fields grow,” Walt says. Michael perks up, “and some other things but that was the most impressive,” he looks at the boy, “can you do that?”

“Kinda,” Michael says, “I’m not good at it though, I usually make the planters explode.”

Walt blows out a breath and tries not to think about how this is going south faster than he could have thought.

But they’re here and they’re just going to have to deal with it.

** “This is ridiculous.”

Walt keeps his mouth shut as Jesse Manes checks his watch again. He guesses it was inevitable that the two would go at it eventually. He just prays to every God he knows that Michael didn’t do any of that alien shit. It’s going to be hard enough to explain this to the social worker as it is.

“Have we been called in yet?” Jim Valenti asks as he joins them.

“No,” Jesse says.

Jim nods.

Walt wonders what the hell he’s doing sitting with two people who represent the government. He’s been in trouble with the law enough to not want to be here. He’s also been in trouble enough in his school days to not want to be in there either. But he’ll take the slap on the wrist over the cuffs. When they are motioned in he’s the first up. Michael twists the second he walks in and gives him the barest head-shake. Walt lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. No alien shit then.

“What happened?” He asks.

“Your foster son fought with one student and attacked another,” the principal says.

“Why?”

Michael doesn’t answer.

“I told you—“ Kyle Valenti starts up in a tone that makes Walt want to plug his ears.

“The question wasn’t directed at you,” the principal cuts in, “Mr. Guerin, would you care to explain?”

Michael flinches like he’s the one whose been hit and Walt wishes things were different but he can’t be Michael Sanders if the paperwork doesn’t go through. Kyle looks smug. Alex whose been silent the whole time shifts in his seat. The look his father gives him is eerily familiar to Walt, the urge to grab Michael and get the hell out of there is a strong one. Alex wavers and then looks at the principal.

“His name’s Sanders,” Alex Manes pipes up.

“Not yet,” Kyle says.

“I started the fight,” Alex continues, “I was teasing him because he doesn’t have parents. Kyle got involved because he can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“No, I got involved because I don’t want to be in the locker room with someone who likes boys.”

The air vanishes.

Walt’s surprised to see Michael look equal parts devastated and furious. Alex looks angry as well, but anyone can see how hard his father is gripping his shoulder. It’s only Jim Valenti who looks ashamed.

“So it’s Kyle’s fault,” he says.

“Huh?” Kyle whips around.

“It’s his fault, clearly. You going to suspend him?” The principal looks surprised, “I think being off the team for the rest of the year sounds appropriate too.”

“Dad!”

The principal nods slowly. Jim hauls his devastated looking boy out. Alex lets out a sharp breath that Walt might mistake for relief until he sees Jesse’s hand hasn’t moved. Michael has seen it too and though Walt wants to tell him to mind his own business he knows that’s not what’s about to happen.

“I think that’s a fair resolution,” he says and sticks his hand out to Jesse in a sign of friendship. The main claims to be full of honor but it takes him a moment to pry his fingers off, “you boys want to apologize to each other?”

They both mutter sorry and Alex seems hard pressed not to rub his shoulder.

They’re all sent home. In the front seat Michael looks straight ahead. Walt gives him a moment, then a few more. When it’s clear he’s not going to be speaking up, he finally looses whatever patience he has left.

“I’m waiting for a explanation,” he says.

“His family killed my mom,” Michael snaps.

“We don’t know that!” Walt shoots back, “do you think she wants you getting yourself locked up or worse?” Michael looks down, “that wasn’t a rhetorical question!”

“No,” Michael says finally.

“How did Valenti get involved?”

“I was fighting Alex and he tried to back me up. He said because Alex likes boys.”

Walt would normally say that you need backup in life, that Michael shouldn’t let his stubbornness get in the way of that. But he can see how this doesn’t fall under that. He doesn’t like the Manes family on principal, not after the shit they’ve done, but even he’s not stubborn enough to see that Alex is like them. He might one day be, but right now he’s the same kind of prepubescent nightmare Michael is. Walt wonders if that’s a nightmare across all universes or if being in earth has just made things like that for Michael.

“It sounds like you did the right thing,” Walt says, finally catching onto Michael hanging on his every breath.

“You don’t think it’s wrong Alex likes boys?” Michael asks quietly. Walt cringes and Michael’s face falls, “got it.”

“No, you don’t,” Walt says, “I don’t care who you like, I just don’t want to be called into school for you pulling anyone into the bleachers or wherever you kids are making out these days. We have your hearing in a few weeks and we’re on thin ice with the noise complaints as it is.”

It’s nauseating how fast Michael whips to look at him. And how quickly he dives forward to hug him. Walt claps his shoulder as Michael jumps back into his seat. Sure maybe he never counted on raising a kid liking other boys, but he didn’t count on a kid period. And in the face of being an alien, well, Walt’s seen what Max is doing with his blackouts. Michael’s in trouble no matter who he wants to make out with. At least Walt can console himself there’s no risk of a cross species baby. He’s not sure he’s ready to add being a grandpa to his list of jobs.

“How long’ve you known?” Walt asks.

“Always I guess,” Michael says, “it’s like being a—“

“Not on school property,” Walt cuts in sharply.

That’s the last thing they needed added to this mess. There’s only one thing that could make it worse. 
Thankfully he and the Manes boy hate each other.

** Michael staggers in and Walt sighs deeply.

He’s done his best to keep liquor out of the house, for one he’s not strong enough to deal with that and two Michael’s got enough reason to drink. He doesn’t need to throw temptation in his face. Michael’s grown up into a good man, a man Walt’s damn proud of. He hasn’t done any of the stupid shit the other seniors are doing. Walt knows he’s a good man, he also knows how one drunken night can lead to a lifetime of regrets.

“You know I’ve got half a mind to keep you from that and let you feel the hangover,” he says finding Michael fumbling with the medicine cabinet.

“M’not drunk,” Michael slurs out.

“Sure you’re not,” Walt says sarcastically, “come on,” he says, “let me—“

“No!” Michael gasps and Walt suddenly finds he can’t move. Michael doubles over with a sound that goes straight through him, “just gimme a minute.”

“Okay, okay,” Walt says, “take your time. Breathe.”

Michael sucks in air and sobs on the exhale. Something in Walt aches to comfort him but he’s being held back. It’s been a damn long time since Michael lost control of his powers like this. Walt waits and after a long time he finds he can move. He forces himself to approach carefully, though he doesn’t think Michael will hurt him. He just doesn’t want him to stop him either. He crouches down on Michael’s level where he can see he’s shining with sweat, snot and tears. Like the first night he came. Walt doesn’t ask anything stupid like what’s wrong, he can see the way Michael’s got his hand clenched to his chest.

“Jesus,” he says and Michael pulls it closer with a whimper, “easy, easy,” Walt says. Comforting hasn’t ever been his forte. He settles his hand on Michael’s shoulder and eases him down to sit on the floor. He crouches in front of him, “let me see,” Michael shakes his head, “come on, give it here.”

Michael sobs as he supports his hand and eases it away from his chest. Walt pulls back the makeshift bandage. His hand is a mess of torn and twisted skin and misshapen bones. It looks bad. Walt can’t imagine how it must feel. Michael hasn’t offered any bullshit like it’s an accident. So Walt has nothing to go on but that it isn’t.

“We need to call your brother,” he says. 
“No,” Michael tells him.

“Why the hell not?” Walt questions.

“This can’t just vanish,” he says, dragging in a lungful of air, “they’ll know.”

“I don’t give a damn—“

“Jesse Manes did it,” Michael says and Walt finds he can’t breathe, “he did it because I got between him and Alex.”

“Why would you do a stupid thing like that?” Walt demands, “Manes boys are trouble, you know that. I thought you and Alex hated each other.”

Michael’s throat bobs.

There’s a frantic knock on the door. Michael tries to push himself up so fast he nearly falls over. Walt stops him from trying to scramble up and helps him brace his hand on his other one. He gets to his feet and gives Michael a warning look before he goes to the door. For a moment he lets himself be stupid and say that it’s going to be Max here or Isobel, someone who can actually help. But the stupidity only lasts as long as it takes him to look through the peephole.

“What do you want?” He questions sharply.

Despite having been frantically knocking on his door a moment earlier, Alex jumps. Walt can’t say he likes Alex, the boy seems to put sticking out like a sore thumb above everything else. Like survival. But he can’t say he hates him either and there are definitely teenagers he hates. Alex sneaking around with his son though, that’s a big mark against him. The worry on his face lessens that mark only slightly.

“Sorry to bother you so late, is Michael home?”

“He’s home alright, you wanna tell me what happened to his hand before I press charges?”

Alex pales but his jaw clenches and he meets Walt’s eye. Which is more than Walt would’ve expected from the boy whose been sneaking around with his son.

“I can tell you but pressing charges isn’t going to do any good,” Alex says, “Sheriff Valenti won’t do it.”

“He will if he knows what’s good for him,” Walt snaps.

“He doesn’t,” Alex replies. He looks anxiously over Walt’s shoulder and even under the mess on his face, he fucking lights up.

“I told you to stay put,” Walt says, turning around to see Michael leaning against the wall. He looks back at Alex who looks maybe five seconds from charging through his front door if he doesn’t move aside, “oh now you two don’t want to sneak around?” He looks between the two of them, “well does Romeo or Juliet want to answer me?”

“I didn’t want my father finding out,” Alex says. He looks at Michael’s hand, “I told him not to tell you.”

“Jesus,” Walt repeats.

He’s not a praying man but he’s going to need all the strength he can get if these two are planning on continuously sacrificing themselves for each other. One of them is going to do something stupid if he doesn’t move and he’d rather not deal with the telekinesis part of that. So he steps aside and nods Alex in. Alex scrambles forward so fast they nearly add another injury to the growing tally. Michael sinks down with a pained sound as Alex falls to his knees, his hands fluttering over Michael like he doesn’t know where to touch him. Michael tries to smile up at him but winds up folding over his hand. Alex pulls him close and even though it’s his own damn house, Walt turns away to give them a moment.

Thankfully he hears the car.

He shuts the door.

“You boys better get upstairs,” he says, “I think your dad’s here.” It’s hard to say who goes paler, “upstairs,” he repeats.

“I should—“ Alex starts.

“I wasn’t asking,” Walt says, “be glad I’m letting in you in his room at all after this,” he adds, helping get Michael to his feet, “and keep the door open.”

He takes the eye patch off. When he opens the door and Jesse goes a shade paler at the sight of that mess, he’s glad he did. It takes him a moment to recover and Walt wonders if he knows how involved his family is. He supposes that’s a question for another day. 
“Is my son here?” Jesse asks.

“Why would your son be here?” Walt counters, “did something happen?”

Jesse’s got some major balls on him to stand there.

“My son is involved with your—“ he begins

“Let me help you out, my son,” Walt says. Jesse presses his lips together, “don’t tell me you have as big a problem with adoption as you do with your son liking boys,” he says.

“You’re noble looking after him,” Jesse says.

“I’m not,” Walt shoots back, “I’m keeping a promise to a friend,” Jesse’s eyes narrow. Walt figures if he’s in for a penny, he’s in for a pound, “you’re damn lucky my boy’s a better man than the ones they produce here.”

“I’d watch your tone,” Jesse starts.

“I’d get the hell off my property,” Walt says.

Jesse holds his gaze for a moment longer but Walt’s faced down worse than some insane army man on a power trip. He’s sure as hell not folding. Not once Michael’s been hurt. Jesse at least seems to have enough sense to know Walt’s insane enough to take him on. Hell Walt’ll be insane if that’s what it takes. Jesse glances up and Walt ignores it. Michael’s barely standing and he sure as hell ain’t stupid enough to be by the window.

“If he comes by tell him I’m looking for him.”

“Do I look like a damn answering machine?”

It’s not easy to turn his back on a man he knows would shoot him, but for Michael he does and gets back into the house, making sure to slam the door behind him. He can’t tell if his heart is racing because of that, because Michael is hurt or because Michael’s got the boy he’s been sneaking around with in his room. He figures one thing at a time and goes for the first aide kit. Only to find it’s gone.

The door’s not closed all the way—because Michael has yet to meet a rule he doesn’t like to skirt. But it’s closed enough that he can peer inside quietly. Alex is splinting Michael’s hand. Michael barley lets him see him cry but both of them are snot nosed and teary, though Alex seems to have his wits about him. It’s not the worst splinting Walt’s ever seen. It’s on his lips to announce that Alex is sleeping in there over his dead body, but Michael’s laying his head on Alex’s lap and Alex’s fingers are moving through his curls.

He’s sleeping there for one night and one night only.

** “Is Michael here?”

Walt turns to look at Alex. It’s almost normal now to see him without his makeup and piercings, though Walt’s not sure he’ll ever get the image of him shipping off and looking out the window for a boy who wasn’t there out of his head. He’d ripped into Michael so badly that the boy had stopped whatever spiral he was on. College hadn’t been his favorite time but at least he could say he got his boy through that. Even if he’d continued to live at home. Walt’s not about to take that from him.

“No,” he says, “can I help you with something?”

Alex stares at him long and hard like he’s trying to read Walt’s mind or find out his secrets. He looks like he’s in shock, not an easy thing for someone whose been through the shit that Alex has been through. Walt sighs.

“Let me guess: you know.”

Alex looks so relieved that Walt knows his guess was right. Michael’s an adult. Hell Liz knows already. So it’s not like this is the first person to find out. But Alex is a Manes who looks uncomfortably like his father when he’s in his uniform. But Walt knows that a part of him still loves his boy. The fact that he’s not here with a team of scientists is proof enough of that.

“Do you—“

“Of course I know,” Walt says, “he’s my boy,” he drops his tools, “I knew his mom too,” Alex’s brow furrows, “oh you don’t know about that?” He shakes his head, “your family goes way back with his.”

“We do?”

“Yeah,” Walt looks over as Michael pulls into the driveway. He gets out of the car and stops dead when he sees Alex standing there staring at him, “you’d better come over here,” Walt says.

“I thought we were avoiding each other,” he says. Alex’s throat bobs before he straightens up.

They’re both adults, entitled to make their own mistakes. But Walt’s not sure he’s got it in him to watch them act like fools for another second. It’s been ten years of this pining, dancing around each other bullshit. Even now that they’re in the same place, neither seems to be able to get out of each other’s way long enough to do something productive. Even just standing next to each other they’re both struggling to be taller, though they damn well know Alex has an extra inch on Michael.

“Can we stop the dick swinging contest,” Walt says, “you both are ridiculous,” he looks between them, “well?” He prods Alex.

“I know,” Alex says.

“Know what?” Michael jabs. Walt swears he raised a smarter child. Alex looks annoyed, “what do you know?”

“He knows you’re an alien,” Walt says. Both whip to look at him, “I’m not standing here watching you two be idiots,” he says.

“Could you go inside then?” Michael asks. Walt raises his eyebrows, “please?”

He figures he can give them a moment before they need anything filled in. But if they start making out in his yard he’s going to ground them both. How that will work, he doesn’t know, but he figures it’s a start. There’s no making out, there’s just some arguing and a lot of gesturing from Michael. Alex eventually sits down because he’s still getting used to his missing leg. Michael paces like a wild animal. Walt watches and wonders if parents of straight human children have to go through shit like this. When they come inside neither of them is moving slowly or has shut up. What he isn’t expecting is for Alex to stay in the doorway and Michael to go upstairs and return with a bag.

“There’s an alien prison we’re going on a rescue mission,” Michael says.

“Bye Mr. Sanders.”

They’re both gone just like that.

It’s a full day before they pull up and Walt has decided he’s going to murder both of them so it’s a moot point. But he wants an explanation first. Just so he doesn’t have to have any guilt on his conscience when it comes to it. He’s fully ready for the murder too when Kyle ‘no longer an asshole’ Valenti gets out and jogs around to the passenger side. He’s not ready to see Michael helping out an old woman. She’s old and bald and wearing rags, but he’d know her anywhere. When she looks at him, she’s so surprised she nearly faints. But Michael keeps her upright.

“Walt Sanders,” she rasps, “you’ve gotten tall.”

Funny because he doesn’t feel tall.

Especially when she takes his hand.

“Hi Miss Nora,” he says.

“I guess I have two dance partners now.”

Walt looks over his shoulder as Alex gets out of the car. Even though he’s holding his mom’s hand, Michael is already watching him. Miss Nora sees it too. She squeezes his hand to get his attention and Walt looks at her. He has no idea if this is a thing where she comes from, but there’s nothing but soft pride in her eyes when she looks at Alex and Michael. And nothing but sharp humor when she looks at him.

“Well maybe just the one,” she says, “but I think you’ll do.”

[adiwriting]

(gif by the lovely @darlingnotso)

PSA: As I’ve stated before, I will be putting money towards the Navajo Nation COVID-19 Relief Fund every time that I post Malex fic. 

********Please don’t reblog*********** 

This is going to be the last Sunday Morning fic for awhile. Leaving it untagged with the hopes that it remains just for my followers and doesn’t attract more harassment. If you want to comment, reply or DM me please instead of reblogging.

Week 16

When the puppies start barking at their usual 6:30am time, Alex instantly regrets all of his life choices. His head is pounding, his leg aches, and his stomach is a mess. It doesn’t help in the slightest that Michael is plastered to his side, hot as hell, and making Alex sweat. 

“Why did we get a dog?” Michael grumbles, nuzzling his nose into Alex’s neck and making him feel even worse. 

“Why did you let us get four?” he asks, pushing at Michael’s body. “And why the hell are you so hot?” 

“‘s cold,” Michael says, throwing his arm over Alex’s stomach. 

Alex pushes him away. “You’re a thousand degrees and I already want to die. Roll over or something.” 

Michael groans and Alex swears he hears him curse under his breath, but he thankfully rolls over and Alex feels like he can breathe a bit as cool air hits his overly heated skin. The relief he feels is only temporary though as his mind then zeroes in on how much his stomach is swirling and twisting. 

The puppies continue to bark. It’s too loud and the sun streaming in through the window is too bright. Everything is just too much right now and Alex needs it to stop. The mattress shifts as Bell jumps up onto the bed, making the world spin and Alex’s stomach does a dangerous tilt. He’s not even sure if he could make it to the bathroom fast enough to throw up if he had to, and so he prays he doesn’t need to. 

Michael loves him, but he doubts Michael would love it if Alex threw up in their bed. 

Bell pushes her head against his shoulder, demanding cuddles. Any other day, Alex would be more than willing to give into her demands. He loves cuddling with Bell in the mornings. But right now, he can’t focus on anything aside from not vomiting. She gives up and moves to do the same to Michael, who lifts his arm up and allows her to crawl on top of him and lay down. 

“Please tell me you’re as hungover as I am,” he complains, closing his eyes against the sun and willing the world to stop. He regrets not springing for blackout curtains when Michael was redoing their bedroom.  

Michael chuckles and it makes the bed shake, causing Alex to groan. “No, but I had about five beers and six shots less than you did,” he says. 

Alex cracks his eyes open just enough to give him a doubtful look. 

“Hey, I’m not the town drunk everyone thinks I am,” Michael protests. “And somebody had to make sure that everyone got home okay. Liz and Max were a mess. Only one of you guys who held their liquor with any dignity was Maria.” 

That’s probably fair. Alex doesn’t remember a lot of last night after the first two hours. Isobel had challenged him to a drinking game that he outright refused to lose on principle. But even the first two hours, he could tell that it was going to be one of those nights. He can’t blame his friends. It’s been a long few weeks of one alien drama after another but yesterday had been a surprisingly drama free Halloween night for them and they’d all just let loose. What he can remember of Michael though, is that he’d taken things slow most of the night, taking on the role of caretaker for everyone. 

“You had fun though, right?” he asks, worried that Michael had perhaps seen it as his duty to take care of everyone else instead of partaking in the fun himself. Part of the argument for having the party at their place was so that they could both enjoy the party rather than having to worry about getting home or taking care of the dogs. 

“Yeah, it was nice,” Michael says with a smile, running his hands over Bell, who looks perfectly content. Alex is jealous. He knows that there are few places more comfortable than Michael’s chest, but right now the thought of being anywhere near the furnace that is Michael sounds awful. 

“Don’t tell Isobel I said that,” Michael adds. “I already told her we are not having Thanksgiving here under any circumstance… Which probably means I should start working on making that table I’ve been wanting to build for out back, because I’m pretty sure my protest means that we’re having Thanksgiving here.”

Alex laughs before it causes his head to pound even more and whines. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.” 

“I bet,” he says. “I’m not sure why you thought you could out drink my sister. On her lightest days she polishes off two bottles of wine a night.” 

“Because she gets annoying and smug when she wins and I refuse to put up with it,” Alex says and Michael just laughs. “Is Bell still wearing her wings?” 

Michael runs his hands over the fairy wings that Bell had worn yesterday as part of her Tinkerbell costume. They’d dressed all the dogs up in Peter Pan costumes to match their namesakes. It had been adorable, if Alex does say so himself.

“She didn’t want to take them off,” Michael says with a shrug. 

“Oh yeah? She tell you that herself?” he teases. 

“As a matter of fact, I tried to take them off last night and she whined and moved away, so yes she did,” Michael says. “And the puppies were asleep when I came back inside so I left their costumes on as well.” 

Alex reaches over tentatively, careful not to move too much of his body so that he doesn’t reignite the nausea, and pets Bell. “She does make a really cute fairy.” 

“Of course she does. She’s the most beautiful fairy in the world,” he agrees, lifting his head to kiss Bell’s nose. She licks his face in return. Michael turns to look at him, “Look at what Rosa taught her yesterday when they were both hiding out in here.” Michael looks back at Bell and says, “I do believe in fairies.” 

Bell howls twice as if to say, ‘I do, I do.’ 

Alex smiles, holding back his laugh for fear of making his stomach twist even more. Bell’s howl causes the puppies to go crazy from their spot in the kitchen though and suddenly everything is far less cute. Alex’s head pounds and he’s back to hating the world and wanting to curl up and die. 

“I guess I should go walk them since you’re clearly useless today,” Michael says. 

Alex throws his arm over his eyes and doesn���t bother arguing. 

He hears Bell protest before the bed shifts again, making Alex suck in a breath as he fights against his body’s urge to hurl. “Why don’t you try and shower? I’ll bring you breakfast in bed when I get back from walking them.” 

“Can we spend the entire day in bed?” Alex asks, hopefully. 

“I’ll even let you pick the movies we watch today,” he promises, placing a kiss to Alex’s forehead. 

“You smell like a distillery,” Michael says. 

Alex has a flash of Isobel breaking out a bottle of whiskey as they played Two Truths and a Lie with Maria. He’s sure that he’s got liquor coming out of his pores at this point. He doesn’t even remember the last time he drank this much. Perhaps the one time he’d gotten plastered before shipping off to Iraq the last time? The time they’d gotten into that nasty fight over Alex’s decision not to tell Michael he was being deployed again. Michael had had to hear it from Maria and had been none too pleased. 

Michael flips on the light and Alex whines. “I regret all of my life choices.” 

“Surely not all of them,” he teases. 

“Why didn’t you stop me last night?” Alex asks. 

Michael snorts. “Oh, I tried. Several times. You told me that you were a grown ass man who didn’t need a babysitter.” 

Alex grimaces, he doesn’t remember saying that, but he’s sure he probably did. “Sorry.” 

“You’re fine,” he says. “Max was way worse and far less cute while telling me to back off. You’re good.”

“It doesn’t sound like you had a good night,” Alex says, pushing Michael despite his earlier words, wanting to make sure that he truly did enjoy himself and wasn’t miserable.

“I promise, I enjoyed myself,” he says. “Rosa and I had a nice long talk. She’s gonna start working at the junkyard for me. I wouldn’t mind having somebody help run the office side of things. She loves her dad but needs some independence.” 

“That’s understandable,” Alex says. 

“Yeah, then Liz and I nerded out over science before Max stole her away. Kyle, Maria, and I played poker and I won $150. And I ended up watching Hocus Pocus for the first time and making cookies with Rosa once everyone got too shitfaced to form coherent sentences.” 

“You’ve never seen Hocus Pocus?” Alex asks, shocked. 

“Okay, first of all, why does everyone react like that when I say that? I watched it last night with Rosa and it was cute but it does not deserve that reaction out of people,” he says, grumpily. “And second of all, you know that I didn’t have any of that shit growing up.” 

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Alex says, kicking himself for always doing that. Always reacting to experiences Michael says he didn’t have growing up with shock. Alex knows better. He himself grew up in a home void of normal childhood experiences. But he had the Ortechos and the DeLucas to help give him happy holiday memories. He always assumes that Michael had that in the Evans family, but he’s regularly proven wrong. 

“Hey, listen, go walk the dogs,” Alex says. “I’ll hop in the shower. After breakfast we can watch all the holiday movies you never got to see growing up.” 

“Can we start with Home Alone?” he asks, that light, happy tone back in his voice. 

“Of course, followed up by A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving,” Alex promises. 

Forty-Five minutes later, the entire family is piled in their bed, warm and comfortable. Alex is slowly eating the pancakes that Michael prepared him, keeping his plate away from Peter’s thieving paws as best he can. His stomach is starting to settle and his headache is muted thanks to the ibuprofen that Michael left for him before he took the dogs on their walk. Home Alone is playing on the TV screen and Michael is curled up with a sleeping Bell and John, smiling soft and content. 

And right here, in this exact moment? Life feels utterly perfect.

[mulletcal]

scrabble - ashton irwin blurb.

a/n: would you believe me if i told you i fucked up 4 different times trying to post this. WELL, anyways, here’s a pt 2 to this post and i still mildly blame @sexgodashton​ for it.

word count: ~2.2k (oops)

warnings: none

-----

Since that day where Ashton had realized that his Words with Friends stranger was also his neighbour, his mood surrounding this lockdown brightened significantly.  His niece was good at keeping his spirits up, but it was nice to have someone around that he could talk to as a fellow adult.

More often than not, you would show up with a baked good that you had googled how to make, dropping it off at Ashton’s doorstep before waiting at the end of the driveway to make sure either him or his niece picked it up.  Ashton would return the favour in his own small ways, letting you know what they were cooking that night, asking if he should make extras.  You both had taken to putting lawn chairs at the end of your driveways, maintaining the appropriate distance, but balancing your plates on your laps as you all enjoyed a meal together.

Getting to know Ashton, it grew increasingly difficult to push down your feelings for him.  He was intelligent, handsome, goofy, and he clearly cared for his niece, which also warmed your heart.  Even though anytime Ashton would say something, she’d give him a certain look that had him turning as red as a tomato; which didn’t help you find him any less endearing.

Your Words with Friends games continued, you kicking his ass each and every time - well, except for the one time you let him win, even if he vehemently denies that.  You had suggested that when the lockdown was lifted, he should come over some time and play a game of Scrabble with you, to see if somehow being in person made it any different.  It could be to his benefit, of course, because being that close to those hazel eyes would distract you.

On Ashton’s end, the feelings were very much the same.  He couldn’t stop thinking of you, and how he wished to be closer.  Ashton had never started a friendship, let alone a relationship where he wasn’t able to touch the person he was talking to - whether it be a handshake or a hug.  The most he could do was crack jokes from more than 6 feet away, grinning as you rolled your eyes at another stupid pun.

Ashton realized he had run out of fresh produce once again, but this time before placing his order he sent you a message to ask if you needed anything.  If only you could write back asking if he was something that was available - but you had nowhere near enough confidence for that, so you just replied that you didn’t, but thanking him.  Ashton wanted to use it as an excuse to see you more than just around dinner, but he could never let you know that.

A few weeks later, you heard on the news that the lockdown - as long as everything continued on the decline it had been on - would end next week, with some limitations so people aren’t going too wild too soon; but this meant something huge: you could actually be closer to Ashton.

Figuring a call would be more satisfying than a text, you pressed ��Call’, vaguely thinking about when you both first exchanged numbers in the first place.  He had forgotten to look at the app all day, busy with Instagram Live interviews, but he felt so guilty and insisted you exchange numbers so you could keep the casual conversation going.

“You there?”  Ashton asked, bringing you out of your memory.

“Shit, sorry! Was just calling to tell you that it looks like our Scrabble game is gonna be happening sooner rather than later,” You speak with a grin that’s probably evident in your tone of voice on the other line.

“Wait really? I haven’t checked the news at all today.  I’m assuming none of the guys have either, we have a music video going up in about ten minutes.”

Oh, right.  You had forgotten he was in a band, his constant drum playing wasn’t just to make noise - he actually did it for a living. “Which music video is it again?” You ask, trying to think of the title before he could speak. 

“Wildflower.  You gonna watch it?” 

“Yeah, of course! I need to support the boomer uncle in the band,” You could hear him scoff on the other end, causing you to let out a small laugh.

“Yeah, I see how it is. Just cause I play the internet’s version of Scrabble makes me a boomer.  Puts you right there with me, though,” He stated, and it wasn’t a lie, but you enjoyed making fun of his age anyways. “I’ll see you later though, the guys wanna have a group FaceTime to watch the video together.  Makin’ pasta tonight, want some?”

“Not tonight, I’m all pasta’d out.  But I’ll meet you guys there, just text me when you start dinner, yeah?”

“Sounds good. Bye!” You could hear an enthusiastic ‘bye’ in the background that made you smile, setting down your phone and looking up ‘Wildflower’ so you could be apart of the video’s premier.

You were most definitely not expecting what you saw while the video played - Ashton had told you, from what you remembered anyways, that they had filmed all their parts separately in front of a green screen in their house.  You didn’t know that you would get so much of Ashton’s personality through the video though, and you couldn’t wipe the grin off your lips the entire time.

Once the video ended, you picked up your phone to send him a quick text message to say you enjoyed the video, and it didn’t take long for him to reply with his gratitude towards you.

Dinner that night had a different air to it, you couldn’t tell if you were all just excited to not be stuck in the house anymore, or sad - or, in your case, if you were flustered because Ashton was wearing the same shirt he had chosen to wear in the video.

This week was going to go by incredibly slow.

**

As you predicted, the days leading up to the lockdown being lifted dragged on - every hour feeling like another day, but you were aware that it was mostly due to freedom, or your feeling of freedom, was so close.

Ashton knew that the guys would all want to see each other right away, and he had agreed on that front - FaceTime calls just weren’t doing it for him anymore.  He was so close to being able to hang out in Calum’s backyard again, laying in the sun and making jokes with his best friend.  All of them had agreed on one thing though - rather than all get together on their first day out where none of them really had much in their house; the first day would be spent gathering supplies for a “family dinner” on the second day.

This also meant that his first night was free.  Ashton knew he didn’t need to worry about his niece, especially since it was only right next door, and he would have the security system in place to be alerted of any suspicious activities.  He had to see you and deliver on the promised Scrabble game; and he needed to test the waters to see how you felt towards him as well.

When the fateful day came, Ashton was practically buzzing with excitement.  He headed to the grocery store, wanting to pick up essentials for the dish he would bring to Michael’s, but also he wanted to attempt to recreate the cookies you made for him as a welcoming gift - though he was sure his baking skills couldn’t hold a candle to yours.

Having gathered all the ingredients, he headed back home to try and bake.  Ashton was excited when you texted him, asking if you guys were still on for tonight.

[2:04 pm]: You bet your gluteus on it.

He could tell you were laughing on the other end, due to the amount of times the three dots had appeared and disappeared, when his phone finally vibrated in response.

[2:05 pm]: Stop trying to make gluteus happen, it’s not going to happen.  Also that’s only roughly 8 points, so nice try.

Ashton couldn’t contain his fit of giggles - his excitement bubbling out of him again, grinning at his niece who walked into the kitchen.

“Someone’s excited to see his crush today,” She mused, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Not a crush, just excited to be within six feet of someone who I’m not related to,” Ashton retorted, both of them sticking their tongue out at the other.

“Tell me why I see ingredients to make those cookies, then?”

“Can’t a man just buy apples and cinnamon, and all the other ingredients to make cookies without being judged?” Ashton pouted in a feudal attempt to win this debate, but he knew it was pointless to argue with a 14-year-old.  “Wanna help? I’ll let you eat some cookie dough.”

Very quickly she agreed, and they set about making the cookies for you. 

While on your end, you were doing something similar for him; you had gone out to buy ingredients to make a cake, that you were going to decorate to say “Happy End of Lockdown”.  You weren’t sure if you were taking it too far, but you were genuinely excited to see his reaction when he read it.

You had just finished the final touches on the cake when the doorbell rang.  Furrowing your brows, you glanced at the time, realizing much more time had passed than you had thought.  Suddenly you were nervous again, not having time to fix your appearance, or fix up around your house for that matter.  Your phone on the kitchen island buzzed, and you quickly picked it up to make sure it wasn’t anything super important - only to find a text from Ashton.

[7:56 pm]: Can you hurry up? We’re free, and I promise I won’t spit on you.

If it were any other person in your life, you would have replied with something along the lines of, “Too bad, I’m kinda into that.” But you couldn’t be that way with Ashton - you felt as though you needed to restrict that part, or risk losing Ashton in your life all together because you weirded him out.

Tugging the door open, you mustered up the best grin you could at the man who now stood before you, “Hey stranger,” you spoke, stepping aside so he could come in.

“Hey yourself.  Even though you left me out in the dust, I brought these cookies for you, in hopes you won’t do it again.”  Ashton offered up the plate of cookies, and you recognized the scent that had wafted from them almost immediately. 

“You made those cookies?” You asked softly, your heart completely melting at the sentiment. Glancing up at him, you noticed he was watching you, your eyes meeting his hazel ones, so you cleared your throat.  “You gonna come in, or you gonna wait to be invited in like the boomer you are?” You left him there, mouth hanging open at your words as you brought the cookies into the kitchen.

“For the last time, m’not a fuckin’ boomer.  I was born in ‘94!”

Spinning back around, you nearly collided with his chest, rather instead backing up to pat it while looking up at him, “Okay Boomer.”

After that moment, your nerves disappeared completely.  Flour was in your hair, but the two of you didn’t care; much preferring to laugh over your cups of tea and the treats you had both made.

When it came time to play Scrabble, you were excited to see how he’d live up to his online persona from Words with Friends, or if instead he’d just mutter curse words when you put down a word that was worth triple.  It was fairly easy to stay focused, your eyes trained on the letters before you, instead of the raven haired man whose eyes were boring into the side of your head after each word he put down.

You hadn’t realized why until you looked up from your tiles to the board, trying to place your next word to finally beat him.  There was a word spelt out at the top of the board, one that hadn’t been there previously - the word was ‘date’, but beside it there was a small piece of paper with a question mark on it, and in the corner where the letter value would be was drawn the tiniest heart you’d ever seen.

“Did you make that heart yourself?” You asked, a grin spreading across your lips, finally looking up at the man.

There was a long pause before he whispered, “Yes,” almost sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink.

“You wanna go on a date with me?”

The response was quicker this time, a more confident, “Yes.”

Looking from him to the tiles, you reached across to grab the letters to spell ‘Kiss Me’, stealing his question mark to add to the end of it.

Ashton read it, looking back towards you with a smirk, “You know that’s cheating right?”

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?”

tag list:   @haikucal​ @talkfastromance4​ @softbabiestan​ @boyfriend-cal​ @calum-uncrowned​ @wildflowerirwin​ @irwindoll​ @gosh-im-short​ @atlcalm​ @thesubtweeter​ @heavenisapeach​ @ridingcthood​ @loveroflrh​ @wokeupinjapanisabop​ @mantlereid​ @inlovehoodx​ @irwinkitten​

[spaceskam]

The Desert Three (2)

ao3

Maybe he’d had better ideas.

“What kind of man do you think I am?” Jesse accused, “I have never affiliated myself with any of those things! Neither have my sons! How dare you accuse me of that, Valenti!”

“I didn’t accuse you, Manes,” Jim sighed, rubbing his temples, “I was simply asking if there was a reason why both the handprint and your son’s DNA was at the crime scene.”

Jesse paced, face angry. Jim had to give it to him. This was quite possibly the only time he’d ever seen him go to bat for Alex. Rather than call him weak or demean him, he was insisting that he could never. Alex would never.

"Listen, I don't know how his DNA got at the scene, but he didn't have anything to do with that handprint, Valenti. There's evil out there and my son makes questionable decisions, but he's smarter than to get caught up like that," Jesse spat. Jim huffed, shaking his head.

"If you're so sure, then why didn't you say that in your interview?" Jim asked, "Manes, what happened that night?"

Jesse stared at him with cold eyes for a moment before shaking his head. He dismissed the whole situation and stalked out of the bunker, leaving him there to wonder what he was supposed to do next. Who else knew about aliens? 

 After a few minutes of brainstorming, he decided he was sort of at a stopping point. He needed to talk to someone else. Someone who knew more. There was clearly an alien on the loose and it was dangerous. He needed to find it before anyone else turned up dead.

He slowly started making his way out of the bunker and towards his car. He let his mind slip a bit as he thought about Rosa. The one night she wasn't with him, the one night she was vulnerable, it'd gone so bad. Was this because of him? Was she targeted because of what he knew? Was this really his fault?

"Excuse me, sir?"

Jim turned quickly towards the voice and saw a tall, thin man. He looked weak and desperate, clothing tattered and face sunken in. His skin was clearly a shade of brown, but he looked sickeningly pale. 

Most importantly, there was a handprint on display on his neck.

"Good God," Jim breathed, trying not to drop his things. Instead, he sat them on the hood of his truck and went near the man. "What happened to you?"

"Someone– Something attacked me," he said, somehow looking up to Jim even though he was taller, "I heard I should come talk to you."

Jim thought about questioning who he heard that from, but the thought vanished from his mind almost as quickly as it entered. He became much more focused on this man.

"Can you help me?" he asked.

"Yes," Jim said honestly. He wanted to know everything. "What's your name?"

The man leaned on Jim to steady himself.

"Noah," he said, "Noah Bracken."

-

"This is so fucking illegal."

"Yeah, but it's kind of a rush, isn't it?" 

Alex shook his head with a smile as he typed. They were crouched behind the police station, trying not to seem suspicious as Alex quickly tried to dismantle the cameras just long enough for Kyle to get in and get out.

“If you become a criminal, don’t blame me,” Alex snorted. Kyle flicked him in the arm.

“Says the guy who literally got arrested.”

“For something I didn’t do!”

“Don’t yell, we’re trying not to get caught!” 

“Okay,” Alex said instead of arguing, finishing one last little bit on his computer before looking over to Kyle, “You’ve got twenty minutes to copy everything.”

“I only need fifteen,” Kyle bragged.

“Don’t test me.” 

Kyle grinned, body pumped with adrenaline as he slipped in through the back door.

It was 1:10 PM. Half the officers were on their lunch break (including his father) and the other half were too wrapped up in the Desert Three case to notice young Valenti walking around. He got lucky and anyone who did see him didn’t think anything of it, thank god for both of his parents being on the force. It also happened to be the day that Mr. Kahn was on camera duty and Kyle knew from personal experience that he was more than likely doing crossword puzzles instead of watching them enough to see that they were frozen.

Kyle looked both ways before using a key he’d taken off his mom to open his dad’s office. It was dark and Kyle wasn’t going to risk actually turning on the lights. Instead, he pried open the bottom drawer of the desk and searched through the files until he found his father’s copies of the case papers. He flipped through them, taking papers he didn’t recognize.

He stopped when he saw the post mortem photos.

“Oh my God,” Kyle breathed, eyes focusing on the handprint on Rosa’s face. He’d never seen anything like that before. How did they happen? How did they think Alex was capable of doing that? 

Instead of thinking too hard about it, he shoved the papers into the waistband of his jeans and went to get the hell out of there. His mind was racing and he needed to go show it to Alex. Maybe he would know who could’ve caused that. 

���Kyle.”

Kyle’s back hit the door and he tried not to act suspiciously as his mother walked near him. She eyed him and he smiled, sucking in to make sure she wouldn’t be able to see the papers down his pants. She looked him up and down anyway.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was coming…” He hesitated for a moment too long. “To see if Dad wanted to go hunting this weekend! But he wasn’t in.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll ask him when he gets home, I guess,” Kyle went on, “I’ll see you later, Mom.”

“Be home for dinner, you hear me?” she said. Kyle nodded and quickly fled before she made him crack. 

He made it back to Alex with a minute to spare.

“Here, put this in the back,” he said, lifting his shirt to get the papers. Alex made a disgusted face.

“Ew, I’m not touching those, they’ve been down your pants.”

“Such a baby.”

“Says the homophobe.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and put them in the bag himself. Alex made sure there was no trace of him tampering with the cameras before he closed his laptop and stood up. 

“Now what?” he asked. Which was a valid question. He couldn’t exactly read over stolen police documents at the Crashdown or Bean Me Up with a suspected murderer. Bringing them back to Alex’s could seem sketchy if they got caught and bringing them to Kyle’s sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. 

“I… I don’t know where to take them without risking getting caught.”

“Well, where’s somewhere that no one goes?” Alex asked, “Also somewhere that isn’t sketchy for us to be. Also close enough for me to get home quick so I don’t get caught leaving my house. I am supposed to be on house arrest, you know.”

Kyle knew he wasn’t trying to be complicated, but he was.

“Okay…” Kyle breathed, looking around as if an idea would just pop into his head. Which, it sort of did. “Wait, we could go to my dad’s hunting cabin. He barely ever goes there anymore.”

Alex looked at him like he’d lost it. “That isn’t close.”

“Look, do you want to be close or be caught?”

They glared at each other for a few minutes before Alex finally realized he had a point. Kyle liked when he thought of good ideas before Alex. He had to be a genius to out-think him.

“See, I’m really smart,” Kyle grinned. Alex glared at him.

“I’d hit you weren’t literally breaking the law to help me.”

Kyle felt awfully proud as they snuck towards his car.

-

“You both are going to give me a fucking aneurysm.”

“We haven’t done anything!”

Max grabbed Michael’s arm, pulling him back so he didn’t react badly to Isobel. But Michael was already fucking angry. She kept bitching at them, kept scolding them for simply existing. The more that was said about the case, the more she lost it even if no signs were pointing to them.

He was beginning to think maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling guilty.

“Isobel, you can’t lock us away,” Max said calmly, “We have to act normal or we’re going to be suspicious.”

“Then stop going to places where you’re more likely to fuck up!” Isobel said.

“I went to The Crashdown for a fucking burger!” Michael snapped back. Isobel glared at him and went to say something before she winced and grabbed her head.

“Just be careful,” she said calmly.

“Iz, what’s wrong?” Max asked, letting go of Michael to go towards her. She shook her head.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, “Fuck.”

Michael caved just a little bit, his head tilting to the side as he watched Isobel slowly move to sit down against the bed of his truck.

“Isobel, what’s going on?” he asked. She just held her head and let herself fall against Max.

“My head hurts.”

Michael stopped arguing. He always stopped arguing.

-

Max moved Liz’s hair off her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she sniffled. He managed a small smile and watched her take another bite of ice cream.

He knew she was off-limits, that being around her was a bad idea, but she’d called him and he couldn’t say no. Now, as he sat with her and listened to her, he was glad he hadn’t.

“I’ve never felt so confused in my life, Max,” Liz admitted, “I mean, Alex is my friend‒one of my best friends. I’ve known him since we were little and he loves Rosa. Or, I thought he did.”

“I don’t know Alex all that well, but he doesn’t seem like the killer type,” Max said. Then again, Isobel didn’t seem like it either.

“I know! He’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met!” she groaned, laying her head on his shoulder, “He literally couldn’t even kill a roach. But then how did his DNA get there? It was the middle of nowhere.”

“I don’t know,” Max answered honestly. Even though Michael had confessed that he liked Alex, it still didn’t explain his DNA. how would Michael have even gotten it on him in the first place?

 “Sometimes I just want to talk to him, hear his side, you know? I’m so tired of not knowing,” Liz said. She molded into him closer. He stared at her for a moment and got a serious urge to push her away. Why did she have to wait to get so close until after he had something to hide? “But I can’t even look at him.”

“Uh,” Max said, shifting in his seat just a little, “I can… I can talk to him for you.” Shut up, Max, shut up!

Liz lifted her head off his shoulder and looked him with wide, thankful eyes. She trusted him so much. Why did she have to trust him so much?

“You could?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my God, that means so much to me. Thank you, Max.”

He let her hug him even though he knew he wasn’t going anywhere near Alex Manes.

-

“Dude, did they even look into anyone else? It looks like they decided you did it on day one and just looked for evidence to prove them right instead of looking for the actual killer.”

Alex sighed and dropped the thick stack of paper, rubbing his eyes. There was something about reading pages and pages about why you killed your friend that was really disheartening. Stupidly, he wished Michael was looking through it with him. Even though he’d made it clear he was only in it for sex, he wanted him. He wanted to be held and kissed like he wasn’t racing against the clock to prove his innocence. Was that so much to ask?

“I don’t know,” Alex said. When he looked up, Kyle was half-way through a pretty shitty murder board. “What the fuck is that?”

Kyle whirled around with a wounded look on his face. “I worked hard on this.”

“You look like you watched too many Unsolved Mysteries episodes.”

“Jokes on you, they didn’t use these in Unsolved Mysteries.”

“Yeah, because that’s where the joke is.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and turned back to his murder board. It had borderline-comical red string connecting things, but a bunch of sticky notes on it to mark the parts that didn’t connect. On the side were all the questions. Who had a motive to kill Rosa? Who had a motive to frame Alex? Who was capable of putting those handprints on the girls? How did this person get Alex’s DNA at the crime scene? 

“I just… I don’t understand how you connect,” Kyle said, huffing softly. Alex stared at the board for a few seconds longer, almost forgetting that he was involved and becoming super interested in that handprint.

“What the hell could cause that handprint?” he asked, “That… That barely looks human. Like, it’s human-shaped, but why is it that color? It doesn’t look like a bruise.”

“Alex,” Kyle said, sharp enough to steal his attention, “It says your hair. Who the hell got a strand of your hair?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, think,” Kyle pushed, “Anyone you’ve gotten close enough to that they could’ve gotten a strand of your hair?”

“I would’ve noticed if someone pulled my hair out.”

“Fine, anyone you’ve, like, gotten in a fight with? Or like ruffled your hair? Something like that, something where you might not have noticed,” Kyle rambled. Red flags struck Alex and he felt painfully uncomfortable. He shifted and looked very seriously up to Kyle.

“What if, whoever is framing me, isn’t framing me on purpose?” Alex said. Kyle furrowed his eyebrows. “Like, what if my hair got on someone’s clothes and they were at the crime scene and it fell off?

Kyle seemed to be holding his breath as he asked, “What do you mean?”

“Okay, if I tell you this, you can’t say anything to your dad or anyone, okay? Promise me,” Alex said. Kyle nodded, becoming gravely serious alongside him. “The night of the murders, I had a guy over and we… Well, you know. What if… What if my hair got on him and he went there?”

“Alex,” Kyle said seriously, stepping closer, “Who?”

Alex started to feel sicker and sicker by the minute, tears brimming his eyes as it made more sense. No wonder he wouldn’t be his alibi. Alex blinked them away before he could let his emotions get the best of him. If someone was able to fucking frame him, they weren’t worth his tears.

He looked up at Kyle with newfound determination.

Questions:

Why would Guerin kill the girls?

How did he put the handprints on the girls?

Did he act alone, or did he have help? 

“Still can’t believe you slept with Michael Guerin of all people. Why not Zach Little? He’s hot and he’s into dudes and he doesn’t murder girls in the desert,” Kyle said, “Sounds like a catch to me.” Alex rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t know he was going to murder people when I slept with him,” Alex retorted. He didn’t add that he’d slept with him after the murders, nor did he ask how he knew Zach Little wasn’t straight when, last Alex had heard, he was firmly in the closet.

“Well, have you heard from him since then? Did he seem suspicious?” Kyle wondered, already prepping his marker to add any new information.

“I mean, yeah,” Alex sighed, “I asked him to be my alibi and he pretty harshly rejected me, but I took it as him being scared to outed, you know? Plus, with his personal situation, it’s not a good thing to be putting himself under the eye of police. Or… that’s what I thought, I guess.”

Kyle let out a motherly hmph and wrote on the board that Guerin was “a sketchy murdery mofo”. The whole thing had Alex feeling jittery and anxious, so he stood up. He needed to have something on his mind other than the guy I love is framing me for murder, the guy I love is a murderer, the guy I love somehow murdered someone with a broken hand and‒ 

“Wait,” Alex said, “Michael couldn’t have done it. Or, at least, not done the killings. Maybe he was there‒he was probably there‒but his hand was broken.”

“Was it already broken then?”

“My dad broke it that night,” Alex said. Kyle’s eyes widened and he clearly went to ask about that, but Alex wasn’t about to receive any questioning on that. “I’m gonna go get some water, do you want water?”

“Um, okay,” Kyle said, voice softer than it’d been since they’d decided to look into this together. 

Alex made his way into the kitchen and began getting two glasses of water. Only, as he checked for ice, he realized there was fresh fruit in the refrigerator. It didn’t really make any fucking sense, but Alex tried not to think too hard about it as he got the two glasses.

“I thought you said your dad never comes up here,” Alex said as he walked back into the living room.

“He doesn’t.”

“There’s fresh fruit in the fridge,” Alex said. Kyle looked over to him with genuine shock on his face. 

“What?”

“Yeah.”

Alex followed Kyle back into the kitchen where they both stared at the fruit as if it was going to solve the world’s problems. It didn’t. They began looking around the kitchen, suddenly more concerned as to why his dad was coming all the way to the cabin enough to have fruit. 

Which is when they found an entirely different file.

“What’s that?” Kyle asked, looking over Alex’s shoulder as he opened it. 

It left little to the imagination. Detailed accounts of everything, even down to the handprint. It described things that Alex had presumed to be fiction. Some of them were things Alex hadn’t even thought about, even in a fictional sense.

“Aliens.”

-

Jim looked at all the new information Noah had given him. It was too much information.

“How do you know all of this?” Jim asked. Noah was sitting across from him at Mimi DeLuca’s bar in a back room she’d let him use when he asked. He explained he wasn’t really eager to bring a sketchy man to any place that he could be around his son and she’d complied.

“I got attacked by one,” Noah explained, “Could I get some more water, please?”

“Sure,” Jim said, “But that doesn’t explain how you know so much. Did this alien tell you everything?”

“No, I saw him kill a girl. It made him stronger, I saw it,” Noah insisted. He was clearly affected by whatever happened. 

“And that handprint… It didn’t kill you?”

“No, but it almost did,” Noah said, shaking his head, “Don’t you believe me?”

Before Jim could say maybe he didn’t, he suddenly did. He believed him quite a lot. But he was smarter than that. He had to be. Jim excused himself to get water, trying to clear his head as best he could despite the cloudiness that had overcome it. 

He passed Mimi and she gave him a tiny pendant to slip into his pocket.

Suddenly, his mind felt a lot clearer. He put on a smile and went along with whatever Noah said.

-

“Alex, let me in.”

Something was wrong. Michael knew he was supposed to stay away from Alex, but the guilt was weighing on him; he wanted to make sure Alex knew he was on his side. If Max could support Liz without outing themselves, then Michael could sure as hell show Alex that same support. He just needed Alex to know he wanted him for more than sex. 

He was going to be his alibi.

But the problem was Alex wasn’t answering him. He knew he was in there. The light was on, but he wasn’t answering. That was a fucking problem.

“Alex, open up,” Michael repeated, knocking a bit harder. He just wanted to see him. He wanted to protect him. He was willing to sacrifice himself for that.

When the window finally opened, Michael had to reroute his entire thought process. Alex stood there in nothing but low-hanging sweat pants that Michael hadn’t actually seen before. His hair was wet and his chest was glistening. Michael could smell the distinct scent of his body wash.

“Get in here,” Alex demanded. Michael blinked at him twice before he clambered through the window.

He didn’t actually have time to ask him how he was or tell him that he would be his alibi because Alex just grabbed him into a biting kiss. He could feel his brain malfunctioning as Alex stripped him of his shirt, ripping it halfway through.

Getting a proper breath in wasn’t an option. Alex pushed him into his bed, climbing on top of him and pinning him down before he could think. Things moved so fast and, honestly, he didn’t mind. He kept kissing him deeper, biting harder, distracting him more and more from whatever was in his head.

Distracting him so much that he didn’t realize he was tied to the headboard until the knots were so tight that it hurt even his undamaged hand.

“Whoa, Al–”

He was cut off by Alex shifting all his weight onto his chest and a fucking toy lightsaber was shoved under his chin, pinning him in place.

Alex was staring down at him with wide eyes, mouth set in a hard line. He looked more than a little betrayed and Michael quickly realized that maybe he should’ve expected this. Alex was one of the smartest people he knew. Of course, he would figure it out. Of course.

“You’ve got five seconds to tell me why you fucking framed me or I’m calling the cops.”

Michael was frozen with a fear he wasn’t used to having with Alex. However, it became very, very obvious that Alex knew a lot more than he could’ve ever imagined. Alex looked sort of scared, yes, but he’d decided he was going to put up a fucking fight. Because of that, Michael relaxed as much as he could, trying to show he wasn’t going to hurt him.

“What do you know?” he asked softly. Alex shoved the lightsaber harder under his chin, forcing him to make eye contact.

“Doesn’t matter, does it? Tell me everything then I can see where the lies are,” Alex said. Michael took a heavy breath, but it was hard with Alex on his chest. He seemed to notice that and lifted his weight just a little. It was super conflicting, honestly, because Alex looked hotter than ever. You know, despite the fact he looked like he would kill him.

“Okay,” Michael agreed. He knew Isobel was going to fucking kill him, but he was running out of options. He had no idea what Alex knew or didn’t know. If he lied and it didn’t match then he was fucked. “Okay. I didn’t frame you.”

“Oh?” Alex asked, his tone showing he didn’t believe him. Thankfully, his eyes betrayed him.

“I swear to God, I would never, ever put you in harm's way. I didn’t mean for your DNA to get there and I am so, so sorry that it did,” Michael said. Alex didn’t let up on the lightsaber. “But, yes, I was there that night.”

He could see Alex gulp. He knew he was right, but hearing the confirmation didn’t make him feel better. Instinctually, Michael tried to move his hands to grab ahold of him, but it pulled against his restraints and he let out a pained groan as it rubbed his damaged hand the wrong way. Alex pushed harder on the lightsaber, pushing Michael’s head into the pillow.

“Why?” Alex demanded, “What do you get out of killing Rosa? How did you do it with a broken?”

“I didn’t kill Rosa, Alex, I swear I did not kill her or any of the girls. I promise you,” Michael insisted, trying to show Alex how sincere he was. He could take Isobel and Max thinking he was a killer, but Alex? No.

Yet, Alex didn’t seem to buy it.

“You expect me to believe that?” Alex scoffed.

“Yes,” Michael said definitively, “Alex, I am so sorry. I should’ve been honest with you from the moment shit got bad for you. I wanted to. I really, really did. I’ve never felt so fucking guilty in my life. I was coming to tell you I would be your alibi.”

“So, what, you feel guilty about framing me, but you don’t feel guilty about killing three girls?”

“I didn’t kill them!” Michael insisted. Alex gave him a look that said ‘shut up, my dad’s home’. Michael took a deep breath. “I didn’t kill them. I saw who did and I fucking bolted.”

“Why wouldn’t you go to the police?” Alex asked, his cold exterior breaking just a little as his eyebrows twitched towards the middle, “Unless it was someone you care about and you were trying to protect them‒Max or Isobel. And, their hands weren’t broken, so they could’ve done it… So, they’re the aliens? Not you?” 

Michael felt his blood run cold and he stopped breathing, surely looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Or… are you? Is it all of you?”

Alex’s accusatory tone was switched out for sheer curiosity. It reminded Michael that he was still a kid, still a boy who was curious about the world and not a man trying to interrogate him before he turned him over to be killed. However, the lightsaber didn’t move, so it was kind of up in the air.

“You look scared of me,” Alex said out loud. He moved the lightsaber, but Michael still couldn’t breathe. “You’re an alien.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Michael breathed. Alex blinked a few times, the thoughts behind his eyes shifting and readjusting to the situation. 

“Your friends killed three people and you let the police frame me. Even if you go to be my alibi, if you don’t say anything, I’m fucked. You fucked me over and you let me sit with that for weeks. You let me trust you and… for what?” Alex scoffed. “I don’t give a shit if you’re an alien or not. I do care that you’re a liar and an accessory to murder and that I’m going to get life in prison for it. Or, fuck, the death penalty is still a thing in New Mexico. I could die because of you.”

Michael closed his eyes, trying to remember how to breathe for a completely different reason now.

“You’ve ruined my life, Michael,” Alex said, that cold tone coming back, “You ruined my life to save an actual fucking murderer. Even if I get off, people will still think I’m guilty. I’ve done my fucking research, I know how this ends.”

“I made a mistake.”

“You and your friends destroyed my life, destroyed the lives of Rosa and Kate and Jasmine’s families, and you don’t even care because it saves yours. You only want to cover you and your friends’ asses,” Alex went on, “And everyone else be damned. I should turn you in.”

“Please, Alex… Please, if we get caught, it’s worse than jail. If they find out what we are… what I am, I’m done for. I’m a science experiment. I’m sorry, I am, I just‒”

“I’m not going to,” Alex said softly. He slowly untied his hands from the headrest, somehow being gentle even after everything. “I’m not as cruel as you.” Michael felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “But if you ever try to talk to me again, I’ll tell my dad. And, trust me, he’s a lot scarier than any cop.”

It was strange, looking up at Alex. He seemed so sure of himself and of his statement. He was using his father as a weapon and he didn’t seem to even notice. For a moment, Michael was scared for him, scared for whatever was going on that he was blind to. But then he remembered that he’d destroyed a boy he loved and it didn’t matter.

“Get out.”

-

All he needed was this.

“I can’t believe those girls got murdered by that monster. Rosa must’ve been special, huh?”

Three days. Jim had been talking to this man‒this thing‒for three days. He already knew he wasn’t human, he caught that quickly. He just needed proof that he was the one who hurt his daughter. 

And now he was getting it.

“I mean, why else would that boy separate her from the other two? Must’ve been special.”

How proud of himself must he have been to brag about that? Brag about details that weren’t even released to the public? Jim knew that aliens all had some level of pride about their race, but this? The audacity.

He stared down at the piles of evidence and every detail of the case, trying desperately to piece shit together. He needed something to directly tie this man to Rosa’s case. He needed proof that he did it and not Alex. A motive for why he did it wouldn’t be so bad either.

“Jimmy, come to bed,” Michelle said. His eyes looked up to where she stood in the doorway. 

Sometimes he forgot how lucky he got. Sometimes his mind would slip and he would get clouded or distracted. But then she would stand in the doorway of his home office in nothing but one of his shirts, her hair down and face bare and he remembered. 

He put the files down, giving her his full attention. She smiled at him and came closer. When he pushed away from the desk, she sat in his lap and he held her close. He liked moments like this. Quiet, normal moments. No aliens, no work, no infidelity, no addiction. Just her and him. It didn’t take much to remember Kyle’s little feet padding through the halls to find them and acting all disgusted when they kissed. The disgust stopped when the kissing happened less.

“I need… I need to figure out how to fix this,” he admitted to her. His eyes closed as she cradled his head, massaging his scalp. “I feel like there’s no answer.”

“You need to relax. Overdosing on information isn’t going to help you,” she told him, “I want you to solve this as much as you do, but you haven’t slept in days. Come to bed.”

“I know, I know, I just… I need that one thing, you know? Just the one thing to make it all fall into place,” Jim said. Michelle breathed against his skin and he thought about just falling asleep right there with her on him.

“Well, maybe talk to your son,” she whispered, voice reluctant. Jim blinked out of his thoughts and craned his head to her.

“Excuse me?”

“I caught him coming out of your office the other day and then found my key to the station in his pocket when I was doing clothes. Not to mention he made it no secret that he was talking to Alex on the phone last night,” she informed him, “He thinks he's so slick.”

Jim blinked in confusion. Kyle? Kyle was putting himself in this? Why the hell would he do that?

“As much as I don’t want him to be involved in this case, I think he already is,” she went on, “I’d rather one of us steps in before he does something we can’t fix. So, talk to him, see what he knows, and then ask him to stop.”

“What the hell could he know?” Jim asked out loud.

Michelle lifted her head and she looked at him in his eyes, really looked at him. She said nothing, insinuated nothing, but he knew. He didn’t know what she knew or how she knew it, but her silence spoke volumes. He felt a little sick.

“Okay, I’ll talk to him,” he agreed.

“Thank you.”

They sat there for another moment and then he took a deep breath, grabbing a hold of her before standing up. She held onto him tighter.

“Let’s go to bed.”

-

Isobel knew something had changed for the worse.

“Hey, what happened?” she asked softly. Michael was laying on her bedroom floor, trying his damndest to act like he wasn’t crying. He was relatively silent, but his breathing had changed and she’d been way too good at noticing little details lately.

“Nothing, leave me alone,” he grunted.

She watched his back intently. Something had gone very shitty, but she wasn’t sure. Well, she could guess. Last they’d actually talked about anything serious, they’d agreed no Liz, no Alex, and no talking about it. Sure, every new detail had her on edge, but… still. 

“You’re crying, that’s not nothing.”

“Isobel, leave me alone,” Michael said firmly.

Isobel considered it but instead chose to reach out to him. If they couldn’t talk about what was going on, they were going to explode. She was already dealing with the worst headaches of her life every five seconds.

“Don’t touch me!” he snapped when she reached for him. She jerked her hand away and watched as he turned to her, face tear-streaked and angry. “You just can’t leave anything alone, can you?”

“Wh‒”

“This is your fault, everything that’s gone wrong with Alex is your fucking fault,” Michael continued, “I-I finally found something good and it’s all fucked up because of you. He won’t even look at me.” 

“I only said not to talk to him because I don’t want you to feel guilty or tell him! It was for your own good!” she argued.

“Jokes on you, he’s a fucking genius,” Michael laughed, a new wave of tears showing in his eyes. Isobel could feel her blood turning cold.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That he knows. And he figured it all out on his own,” he told her. She felt like the air was stolen from her lungs. “He knows it all. All except…”

“Except what, Michael?” she asked, horror more than clear on her face and in her voice and he didn’t even seem to notice. “Except what?”

“Except that you’re the one that killed those girls,” Michael told her. The bed seemed to drop out from beneath her as her mind swarmed.

“Wh-what? No, I‒”

“Killed them. I saw you,” he said, “You didn’t look right, but it was you.” 

Isobel didn’t know what happened after that.

-

“Have you talked to Alex?”

Max wanted to put his head through a wall. He didn’t know exactly what to tell Liz. Could he feel bad about not doing something he had no intention to do? It didn’t matter, he did anyway.

“Um, Michael did,” he said. Liz was holding onto his arms and she tilted her head to the side, no less interested even knowing that he didn’t speak to him himself. He gulped softly and tried to think of what to say. He should’ve prepared for this moment. “Alex didn’t do it, Liz.”

“How do you know?” she wondered, clutching his arms for details. He didn’t know what the hell to give her.

“Just… Just trust me. Alex didn’t do it, I know for a fact that he didn’t.”

Max watched confusion flush over her face and she held onto him tighter. He wasn’t really able to get out of her grasp without literally prying her off which he didn’t want to do, so he stayed put and stared at her. 

“How?” she asked him softly. Liz watched as he gulped and looked anywhere but at her. She’d watched enough true crime documentaries to know the signs of a man trying to figure out a good lie.

“I just do. Please don’t let this ruin your relationship with Alex, okay? He’s innocent,” Max begged.

Liz felt a little sick and she slowly let go of her grasp on him. She felt more sure than ever that Alex was innocent and that Max… wasn’t.

“Okay, thank you,” she said. Max smiled and he looked so sweet. And yet, not quite. “I’ll see you later.” He blinked a few times before realizing she wanted him to leave.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll see you later. Bye, Liz.”

Liz waited until he was outside before pulling out her phone. She dialed the number that she knew by heart and it picked up on the second ring.

“Liz?” Kyle asked. She took a deep breath.

“Are you in contact with Alex?” she wondered. She knew they weren’t exactly friends, but she knew Kyle was nothing but loyal when it came down to it.

“Uh…”

“Figured. I need to talk to both of you. Where do you guys meet?”

“Alex is on house‒”

“We both know Alex figured out how to fuck with that day one, so where do you guys meet?”

Kyle was silent for a moment before he said, “My dad’s cabin.”

Liz held her head high and watched Max drive away. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

-

“She’s what?”

“Drunk! She’s drunk, help me.”

Michael scoffed and turned his truck around, quickly heading towards the crash site that he really wasn’t that far away from. He hadn’t seen Isobel since their argument a few days prior purely for self-preservation reasons. He wasn’t expecting her to go in the desert to get wasted.

When he pulled up behind Max’s jeep, he wasn’t all that surprised to see them both just sitting in the sand. In fact, he was a little annoyed that they were just sitting all calm.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he walked closer to them. Max looked up to him with eyes that could kill.

“Michael, I thought we agreed that‒”

“That what? That it was totally fine as long as I took the fall?” Michael asked. He meant to have a lot more anger than it actually held. He was just so drained. However, Max didn’t have a reply to that. Michael sighed and plopped into the sand beside them. “I get it though. There was just… a lot of weird shit about that night.”

“I think,” Isobel said, voice higher and louder than usual as a reminder that she was definitely intoxicated, “I think I should just turn myself in.”

“No, you’re not going to do that,” Max sighed. He seemed to have lost the fight too.

“Why not?!” she asked, voice quivering slightly. Michael frowned as he watched her eyes fill with tears. “Michael’s right, I’m ruining everything for both of you. If I just… come clean, you can be with Liz and Michael can be with Alex and I can be where I belong. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“Honestly, I’m pretty sure Liz is mad at me,” Max sighed.

“And Alex basically threatened to get his dad to dissect me if I ever talk to him again,” Michael added. They both looked to him with wide eyes. “But, listen, Iz. I know I said a lot of shit to you, but… Honestly, it didn’t look like you that night. Like, it was you, but there was just this look on your face. It didn’t look like you.”

“I don’t remember it at all,” she whined, falling against Max’s shoulder with a pout on her face, “I swear I would never do that. I-I’m not a killer.”

“I know, Izzy,” Max said, hugging her close. Michael stared at them both before locking eyes with Max. They had a short, silent conversation that ended with them both on the same page.

They were all in way over their heads.

-

“So we’re in agreement that Isobel did it.”

“Well, Max’s hand is too big and Michael’s hand was broken and they both have reason to cover for her, so yes.”

“Fuck.”

Alex couldn’t help but smile as Liz leaned against him to get a better look at the murder board. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her. Well, that’s a lie. He definitely realized, he just didn’t want to. But now he was more than a little thankful that she was on his side. 

“Now we just have one piece left of the puzzle to find,” Kyle said, marveling at his masterpiece, “What was the fucking motive?”

“I don’t know,” Liz groaned, raking her hands through her hair. They both turned to watch her collapse on the couch. She was clearly thinking hard, thinking of something to piece it together. “This is all just so weird and so much. I mean, Max and Michael were still trying to be on our sides while covering for her. They tried to be good while loyal, right? So maybe there’s a piece we’re not seeing because we’re not in the situation.”

“But they’re aliens and all the files make it pretty clear that they’re evil,” Kyle said. Alex looked at him for a moment and they were both only sure about the fact that they weren’t sure. It just didn’t sound right that Max and Michael were evil. Even if they did assist in murder.

“Michael’s a dick, but… I don’t know, I think they’re all scared,” Alex said, “Whenever I last spoke to him, he was genuinely scared I was going to turn him into a science experiment. Maybe Isobel felt threatened?”

“Okay, but Michael didn’t kill you when he felt threatened,” Liz interjected, “And Max… Well, fuck, I basically cornered Max and he was too out of it to even think of a lie ahead of time. I think there’s something off, something we don’t know.”

“Color me impressed,” another voice said which caused them all to jump. They all looked to see Sheriff Jim Valenti standing in the doorway. Alex felt his blood run cold. Of course, of course, he gets caught by the fucking Sheriff. “Lot of strings you put together.”

“Um, sir, I‒” Kyle started. Sheriff Valenti held his hand up to silence him.

“You don’t need to explain to me. Like father, like son, right?” he chuckled, stepping forward to look at the murder board. Alex stayed a few steps away, ready to run if he had to. “Tell me. Where does a Noah Bracken fit in on this board?”

“Who, Sir?” Liz asked. Sheriff Valenti gave her a kind smile.

“He’s the man who I believe is guilty. He knew much more about the case than was released publically and he seems emotionally attached to not only the case, but Rosa in particular. He’s guilty, I just need one solid piece of evidence,” he chuckled. Kyle, Alex, and Liz all shared confused glances.

“But… But Max and Isobel and Michael…” Kyle started, “They’re guilty. Look, that looks like a girl-sized handprint. That guy…”

“Is attached to the case,” Sheriff Valenti said, confusion on his face as he tried to piece it together. Alex felt like his brain was short-circuiting. “How do they fit together?”

“Sir, I don’t think he was there,” Alex managed to say. Sheriff Valenti looked at him. “Michael would’ve told me if he was there.”

Sheriff Valenti took a long, deep breath. It made Alex both uneasy and like he finally had a shot at fucking being free all at once. Finally. 

“I guess we’ll just have to have a talk with them and see.”

[i-never-look-away]

I Keep Myself Busy With The Things I Do, But Everytime I Pause I Still Think Of You

Alex is missing. Michael finally breaks.

I attempted to write a short angsty prompt and it grew a bit, according to my abilities that is.

Thank you again to my lovely and encouraging friends. This is for all of you.

Also on AO3

“I think you need stitches”

Michael barely realizes Liz is talking, even when she pokes around the gash near his temple. It should hurt, and he can register in his mind somewhere that it does, but he doesn’t have the time or care to focus on that feeling right now. He knows that head wounds always bleed a lot, he’s sure it’s not as big a deal as she’s making it out to be. He didn’t even realize till he was halfway to Max’s that he had even hurt himself enough to be bleeding. He still can’t believe that he fell down those last steps on his bunker. He was in a hurry and wasn’t paying attention. He doesn’t have time to be worrying about things like that. Alex doesn’t have time for him to be worrying about things like that.

He doesn’t know how long Liz has been trying to get his attention, didn’t even realize she was still talking until the papers he was looking at are ripped out of his grasp.

“What the hell Ortecha????”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last couple minutes. You can look up from the research for one minute and focus on what I’m saying.”

“Those papers are our best lead to finding Alex. Are you seriously trying to slow down the process of rescuing Alex because you want to chat?”

It’s a dick comment. He knows it is as he’s saying it, but he can’t seem to stop himself and he’s honestly not sure if he cares at this point. He’s got a lot to apologize for, he knows, but until they get Alex back and he’s in his arms, he can’t even begin to worry about anything else. He knows his family and friends are concerned about him. They’ve all seen him fall apart before, but never quite like this. He knows this is a whole different level and they are helpless to do anything.

But it’s Alex, and he can't, he can’t…

“MICHAEL”

It startles him and pulls him out of his momentary spiral that he doesn't have time for. He realizes belatedly that the table and everything on it were beginning to rattle before she got his attention.

“I’m choosing to ignore what you just accused me of because I know how much you’re hurting right now. But don’t you dare ever say anything like that to me again. He’s my family too.” She replies calmly and lethally.

He swallows and nods. He briefly sees Liz’s gaze soften a little and give him a slight smile that lets him know for now he’s forgiven and reminds him once again she’s probably the most forgiving person he’s ever met. He knows he’s been so selfish. That he is far from the only one affected by Alex missing. Everyone has mostly let it slide though because they seem to all finally be on the same page in understanding what Alex means to Michael. What he’s always meant to Michael.

They understand that through the good and bad, Alex is as important and essential to Michael as breathing is.

They’ve been witness to the past few months as they tried to convince themselves they needed to move on and failed spectacularly. They saw them argue and fight over jealousy, betrayal, and past hurts. They watched as they slowly became the friends they never got the chance to be before, watched as it was clearly starting to blossom into something beautiful like it was always meant to. And then they saw when it all fractured with Alex returning the ship piece he’d been holding on to the last few months.

He feels his jaw clench so hard he’s afraid his teeth will crack when he thinks about the ship piece and the last words they said to each other before Alex disappeared and he was thrown in this current nightmare.

Michael had known that Alex was sincerely apologetic and remorseful about keeping the piece from him, and to be fair he understood why he did. He often had thought of hiding anything that he could that would prevent Alex from going back to the Air Force each time he came to visit.

So all Michael could focus on was that when they were finally making progress and on the same page, Alex was willingly giving him the piece he needed, both of them fully aware it would mean he could leave the planet if he wanted.

But all Michael wanted was for Alex to tell him not to use it, to ask him to stay. And all Michael knew was that Alex didn’t feel he deserved to say those words. So they reverted to old habits and lashed out at each other, and then retreated to lick their wounds. And a few days later before anything was fixed, Michael got the call that turned his world upside down.

And now Alex is gone and Michael didn’t get to tell him that he doesn’t even care about the stupid ship. He stopped caring the second he kissed Alex at the reunion and felt at peace for the first time in 10 years. He’d throw it against the nearest wall and watch it shatter if it meant he got to see Alex face for even a second.

He didn’t even realize that Kyle had arrived or was in front of him until he was once again yanked out of his thoughts. Kyle gives him the option of a bandage or stitches, he says he would prefer that Michael get stitches. Michael chooses the bandage. There's no time for the stitches and Michael finds he’ll take any opportunity to contradict the doctor. He feels a voice in his head tell him he isn’t being fair. It sounds like Alex and that somehow just pisses him off even more. He doesn’t care right now that Kyle has been nothing but helpful and determined since the moment Alex was missing. The only thing Michael sees are either clues or obstacles and everything that doesn’t get them closer is just a hindrance to him.

He looks around the room to see everyone there talking to each other, there’s just too much noise and he needs to focus so he grabs some of the papers, intent to go to one of the many bunkers and get some actual work done. He vaguely hears something about a meeting about to take place and how he needs to stay put.

Screw that, he thinks. He doesn't have time for all of them getting together and admitting they still have no idea where Alex is. They don’t need a meeting for that and he’s tired of wasting time all so that everyone can check on him under false pretenses. He isn’t ok, he's willing to tell anyone that asks and he knows they already know. He doesn’t need an intervention. They can confront him all they like when Alex is back safe and sound, but for now if they aren’t going to be solely focused on bringing back his person, then he doesn’t have the time or patience to be in the same room as them.

He’s halfway to the door when his legs suddenly forget how to move. Isobel just walked through, and while she looks concerned and wrecked, his eyes are frozen on several feet below her face. On Alex’s beagle, Buffy.

Buffy, who everyone fell for hard the second Alex brought her home. They often argued and drew straws to see who got to take care of her when Alex needed a dog sitter. They insisted he brings her to every meeting and gathering they had and she loved every second of it, basked in the attention and belly scratches. Right now she’s in the company of loved ones, but Buffy is standing next to Isobel looking unsure and lost. And sad.

“She was only alone for a few hours at the most before Kyle came by and realized Alex was missing. She was locked in the bedroom but was completely unharmed. A couple of us have been trading off taking care of her. She’s ok Michael.” She pauses a beat, clearly unsure if she should continue. “She just misses him.”

Isobel’s words temporarily break through the ringing in his ears as he stares at Alex’s precious dog. He can hear Isobel’s tone, hear how she’s trying to make him feel better, to calm him down.

He’d been so consumed with his anger and determination over the past couple days he’d forgotten about Buffy. He looks down at her and sees her staring up at him. The look on her face isn’t what it usually is when she sees him and it’s just wrong. It’s all wrong.

The end of that leash should be in Alex's hand right now. Scratch that, she shouldn’t even be here. She’s supposed to be at the cabin, running around the front yard, picking up every other stick than the one Alex actually threw. She’s supposed to be laying in front of the fire, asleep and snoring while he and Alex spend more and more time together. She’s supposed to be rushing through the door the moment Alex opens it when he comes home, so excited to see him and greeting him with so much love and trust.

But she’s not doing any of those things. She’s not with Alex like she’s supposed to be. Alex is gone and she’s here and she looks like he feels and, and  

He hears a bone-chilling wail and before he can completely understand what happened, he finds that the sound came from him and that he’s suddenly on his knees on the floor.

He can’t breathe and he leans down on his hands to try to center himself. He immediately can tell it’s not working because he feels things around him starting to move and hears everyone trying to get his attention. He registers Isobel and Max kneeling in front of him but he can’t hear anything they’re saying. He feels like he’s underwater, he can’t breathe and everything is muffled. He feels the panic seizing at his chest, it’s like he’s being told all over again that Alex was missing. Only this time he can’t seem to hold on to the rage that kept him focused. All he can feel and think is despair. He loses time while he’s fighting to contain the chaos that is spilling out of him.

He hears a commotion but can’t pay it much mind while he’s busy trying to get his powers back in check. He needs his hands on a guitar, except he knows that isn’t enough. He needs Alex. He’s the only thing that has ever truly calmed him down and quieted his soul.

He knows everyone is wanting to help but afraid to make things worse, they know he hasn’t been reacting well to comforting or any kind of touches lately. So he’s completely caught off guard when he feels a slight nudge to his arm, followed by a lick to his face. He looks to the side to see Buffy sitting there, watching him with the most kind and knowing eyes. They remind him of her owner’s and he’s briefly transported to 10 years ago when he was offered a place to stay and he found a home. He gets lost in those caring eyes for a second and next thing he knows he’s hearing that same voice in his head from before, this time telling him to take a deep breath.

It takes him a second, but he finds he can finally do it. He starts counting to 5 with each inhale and exhale and when the fog starts to lift he sees that the room has stopped spinning and shaking. Literally and figuratively.

With his head clearing up, he finds he can’t help but be amused. Of course the only other thing that can calm him down would still be linked to Alex.

He sits back on his legs and tentatively reaches out and when Buffy welcomes the touch he strokes over her head and back with his left hand. He hasn’t allowed anyone to touch that hand since Max healed it. He’s kept it covered with a bandana because it didn’t feel or look right. But now he runs that hand along smooth fur and lets the feel of it ground him. He imagines Alex sitting in his cabin at nights doing the exact same thing, seeking comfort in this innocent and loving animal. He doesn’t care if it's crazy, it’s the first time since Alex has been taken that he feels that connection to him that always brings him a sense of peace. He opens his eyes and looks down at her and damn him if she doesn’t seem to know exactly what he’s thinking. He can’t help but smile.

“Thank you sweet girl. How about we work on getting him back ok? I think we can both agree this whole mess is starting to get old.”

She gives him a little yip and licks his hand and he chuckles at her through the tears.

It’s perfect timing really because next thing he knows, both of Alex’s brothers are walking through the door. He swears they both have a swift punch to the face, or in Flint’s case, throat coming for what they’ve put Alex and honestly Michael through. But right now they are actually useful and seem to genuinely want to help Alex. And he’ll take anything he can get at this point.

He can see by the looks on their faces as they talk to Kyle that they have good news for once and so Michael takes one last deep breath and realizes he’s still on the floor so he moves to stand up only to be greeted by two hands offering help. He looks up to see Max and Isobel, each offering a hand. He grips both and they pull him up. He feels such gratitude in that moment for them. They’ve been there for him every moment and step of the way these last couple days. Even when he lashed out and even though Alex is technically Isobel’s new best friend so she’s been sick with worry herself, they have focused entirely on him. Even now all he sees is concern and understanding in their eyes. He sees the compassion that he always wanted to see, and maybe was always there but buried beneath years of lies and secrets and bitterness between them. He doesn’t offer an apology now, he knows the look on his face is the best he can currently give. And they both seem to accept judging by the way they both give him a smile.

They lead him over to the couch and sit on either side, continuing to offer silent support.

With everyone else settled, Buffy climbs in his lap and settles in. She’s a comforting presence no matter how heated the conversation gets as they all realize that a confrontation is hours away. But he continues to hold on to her and stay focused. She’s counting on him and he won’t fail her. Or Alex.

[langdvnshepherd]

Outpost!Michael coming home from work early, and to his horror sees reader's clothes tossed around the apt leading to the bedroom where her loud moans are coming from. He immediately jumps to conclusions and begins to panic and thinks she's cheating on him. Only to hear his name being moaned as he's about to kick down the door . . .

Word Count: 1.5k

Creating the new world was a taxing job, meaning Michael making an appearance in his home before sundown was a rare sight. Not even that, really. Most nights, he barely makes it back to his home with enough time to shower, eat the cold leftovers from the fridge, and pass out next to his already sleeping lover. She understands, of course, knowing that the fruits of his labor will soon blossom and they will be able to live peacefully as the rulers of the new world that Michael built.

Today, however, Michael had had enough with the Cooperative. In fact, he was so fed up with the incessant rambling of his colleagues that he up and left in the middle of a meeting, tasking his poor assistant with the rest of his responsibilities for the day. He stopped by the Sanctuary’s garden on the way home with the idea that he’d treat himself and his lady waiting patiently for him at home to a colorful, fresh meal.

The tall paper bag that was filled to the brim with the finest produce the Sanctuary had to offer was balanced expertly in Michael’s arms as he unlocked his front door and teetered into the kitchen. He thought he was in the clear, that was until he almost tripped on his way towards the island. Peering over his shoulder, he looked down to see an unidentifiable black mass crumpled up on the floor.

His brows knit in confusion as he sat his groceries down and inspected the item he’d almost slipped on. When he unfurled the fabric from the hardwood, he realized what he was holding.

Her pants?

Only adding to his confusion, next to the bag of goods he’s laid on the granite tabletop was an empty wine bottle as well two empty glasses, remnants of the dark, maroon liquid pooling at the bottom of one of the glasses near the stem.

Michael calls out for his lover, because she was nowhere to be found in the kitchen or the living room. As he circled the area, his feet brushed against another wad of clothing, this time near the hallway that led to your shared bedroom.

Her shirt.

Well, it was Michael’s, but he’d given up ownership after she’d slept in it more times than he did. It was then that he’d heard the first sign of life in his house since he’d walked through the doors just minutes ago.

It was muffled, but it was undeniably her voice. Her moans. The noises she was making sent Michael into a panic. He was the only one that was allowed to hear those sounds, the only one to cause her to make them. As he rounded the corner to follow them, he realized where she was.

Their bedroom.

Light slipped through the cracks of the door, illuminating part of the hallway and shining a sliver of light on her lacy bralette that laid right outside of where the noise was coming from.

Michael’s vision began going in and out as he put the pieces together. The two wine glasses, her discarded clothes, her moans. How could he do this to her? It was just the other night when she’d sleepily told him how much she loved him, and that she couldn’t wait to spend the rest of her life with him in the new society that he created.

But the more important question to Michael at that moment was not why, it was who. Who was in there with her?

All he heard was white noise as he stomped loudly towards the closed bedroom door, ready to kick it down and incinerate the man that dare lay beside her in his bed with his lover. Just as he raised his fist to fling open the door, he heard her say something else.

“Michael.”

Her moans intensified, picking up in pitch and volume. They were even needier sounding than before, almost exactly like the noises she made when Michael made her grind her core against his thigh to get herself off rather than bouncing on his cock.

Rather than slamming the door open with force, his fingers danced along the cool, metal knob. He turned it slowly as to not startle her, but though with how loudly she was mewling, he had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Michael peered his head around the wood of the door, unsure of what in the absolute fuck he was about to interrupt.

An audible sigh of relief escaped Michael’s throat when the scene before him unraveled. His lover was in bed, yes. But she was not with another man.

She was alone.

Legs splayed out in the middle of the bed, her back resting against the headboard. Her eyes were screwed shut in concentration, one of her hands clutching tightly to the plump skin of one of her breasts. Sweat coated her skin as the wrist of her other hand rested on her pelvic bone and her fingers were rubbing furiously against her swollen, engorged clit, hopelessly chasing after a release that she knew wouldn’t come unless she had a little extra help.

“What’s this?” Michael pondered, his voice piercing the sounds of her moans.

It almost made him laugh aloud, to reflect on how worked up he’d been over the fact that she had potentially been cheating on him with another man in his own bed, only to find out that was just, in fact, masturbating. To the thought of him, no less.

Her eyes snapped open, but her expression that followed being startled by Michael was not one of fear or embarrassment. She chuckled when she was greeted by the tall blonde at such an odd hour. Her laughter was both full of the wine that she’d chugged just an hour prior and of relief that Michael had shown up at just the right time.

“Michael, you’re home,” she cheered breathlessly, her fingers still swirling around her heat, occasionally dropping down to slide into her core.

“Mhmm,” Michael hummed, feeling the adrenaline leave his body as he waltzed over to the edge of the bed where she lied.

“I’m not gonna lie, you had me worried for a minute. I thought you were in here with someone else.”

Her movements stopped abruptly, her brows furrowing together in disbelief of what Michael had just said to her.

“You thought I was cheating on you?”

“Well, yeah,” Michael shrugged his shoulders.

“There was the wine, your clothes on the floor, your moaning. I was thoroughly prepared to murder whoever was in here with you.”

He placed his hand across her bare thigh that was still spread across the mattress and stroked it with his thumb lovingly. Words couldn’t describe the relief he felt knowing none of what he thought just moments ago had been true.

She leaned forward and placed her hand over the top of Michael’s that was rubbing circles on her leg.

“Michael, I would never-”

“I know,” he interrupted.

“And I’m sorry for thinking that you ever would. I just couldn’t make sense of everything I saw out there,” he motioned towards the door, where the empty wine glasses and remnants of your clothes lied.

His lover laughed again, recalling how she’d ended up in this position to begin with.

“The wine was for us. I was waiting for you, but I figured you wouldn’t be home for a while so I got a little carried away. Clearly.”

She gestured her hands downward, referring to her exposed, naked body that was glistening with sweat.

Michael smiled at the woman lying beside him, wondering how he’d managed to rope in someone as genuine and bewildering as her.

“Clearly,” he repeated her words, patting her once more on the thigh.

“Wine certainly does put you in the mood.”

“Which is exactly why I’m glad you’re home so early,” she perked up, crawling over to where Michael was sitting and straddling her bare core against the thick wool material of his dress slacks.

“Any why is that?” Michael asked, tenderly brushing the stray hairs that clung to her neck and forehead as she situated herself in his lap.

“My fingers don’t feel as good as yours,” she pouted.

“Think you can help me out?”

She bit her bottom lip coyly with her teeth and peered up at him with doe eyes that she knew could convince Michael to do anything she asked.

Michael placed his hands on her sides, nodding gently before speaking.

“Of course, princess. As long as you do something for me when we’re done.”

Michael’s lover looked up at him perplexingly.

“What is it?”

“Let me cook for you,” Michael laughed.

“That’s the whole reason why I came home so early in the first place.”

She joined in on his laughter, hiding her face in his neck as her cheeks heated up upon realizing how innocent the reason for his visit was.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Langdon.”

Michael pulled her in by the neck for an amorous kiss, then pulled back quickly to whisper in her ear.

“Then get back on the bed and show me that pretty little pussy of yours again.”

Guess he’d be having his dessert first.

[echo-bleu]

New Year

Title: New Year

Fandom: Roswell New Mexico

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1436

Characters: Alex Manes, Maria DeLuca, Rosa Ortecho

Summary: New Year's Eve at the Wild Pony is hard on Alex.

A/N: This is a little snippet of a fic that wanted to be written today. I had the first sentence, then it went wildly different from what I expected, but I like it like it is.

[PTSD flashback/panic attack, implied alcoholism]

Read on AO3

Coming to the Wild Pony's New Year's Eve party was a terrible idea, Alex decides as he squirms in his seat, nervously checking his watch. He's starting to wonder if the hand is frozen at twenty minutes to midnight. He doesn't even know why he caved in to his friends' relentless nagging. So they would leave him alone, probably. That plan failed spectacularly, since he's now stuck in a corner of the packed bar, watching Maria, Liz and Rosa dance and trying not to flinch every time someone comes within three feet of him.

He knows that Maria hoped tonight would be an opportunity to start repairing their damaged friendship. They've barely seen each other since she ended things with Michael, only days after they first hooked up, when the revelation that not only Michael was an alien but also that he helped cover up her best friend's murder proved to be too much for her.

Alex wants to forgive her. He wants to go back to their easy camaraderie, to support each other over drinks and talk about boy problems and Maria's mom's health and what Alex will do after his discharge. He doesn't want the pang in his chest every time he thinks of her and Michael, the tears he can only stop by snapping at her with a biting comment. They did nothing wrong, he tells himself. He and Michael were not together. Alex didn't tell Maria the full story. She didn't know.

“Alex,” a voice shakes him out of his thoughts, and he looks up. Maria just slid into the seat across from him, her cheeks red from dancing and drinking. Alex's hand tightens around his glass.

“Tired of dancing?” he asks with his best fake smile.

Maria clearly sees through his facade, but she plays along. “I want to dance with you,” she says.

“I don't dance anymore,” Alex says.

Not that he's danced a lot in his life. He went to prom without a date, since the whole school knew he was gay anyway. No boy offered to parade around with him. Then the military didn't offer many opportunities for dancing.

Maria's eyes flicker down to his legs. His left leg is moving quietly in rhythm with the music, but his right stays still, missing a working ankle to bounce.

“Come on. I'll go easy on you.”

Alex looks away, not letting their eyes meet. He hates himself for not being able to do something as simple as faking it. Why is it so hard tonight? He's a master at pretending he's fine. He smiled his way through his hospital stay and his rehab. He smiled his way through his abused childhood. He can do this.

“Okay,” he decides suddenly. He stands up so brutally that his chair screeches on the floor, but it's drowned out by the music. It's loud, too loud in here. Alex can't hear people approaching him. Sounds fade into each other and make his head pound. His leg aches.

Maria's small hand slips into his. Alex is briefly grateful for her not going over the top, or being too tentative. She's trying, and so is he. It's awkward and painful but they're doing their best.

She's apologized, several times, for not understanding, for breaking her promise. Alex doesn't know why it doesn't feel like enough.

Liz lightly bumps into him, as Alex starts moving his hips in rhythm with the music. His leg doesn't love it, but it's not too bad. It's a song he likes, even though the noise is hard to bear. Maria smiles, and Rosa high fives her.

They're happy together. Now Max has been resurrected, and Rosa has a new identity, the dust has settled and they have a moment of peace. Alex swallows.

They've all cheerfully abandoned the Caulfield files to him, leaving him to spend his nights watching footage of aliens being tortured−Alex can handle it, can't he? He's a soldier. He's seen worse. Hell, he's done worse.

He hasn't slept two hours in a row in months. When it's not nightmares, it's the pain. He keeps things close to heart, though. It's his own fault, he knows, for not telling anyone.

In a moment of clarity, Alex identifies the feeling that's been nagging him since that night he found Maria and Michael kissing. It's loneliness. Maria's betrayal hurt so much because she was the first person he ever told about Michael, and she treated his confession of love like a joke. Michael keeps throwing his father in his face like he's the only one who's ever been hurt by him. Kyle knows bribes, about the abuse, about Michael, but he doesn't ever ask more. No one knows about the homophobic jokes Alex smiles through at work, where he has to pretend to be someone he isn't. They don't know about the scars on his body that aren't from the war, and the ones that are. They don't know about the pain or the flashbacks or the fear that grips him sometimes. They don't know about the men who died under his command and the people who died by his hand, and how much they haunt him, every single day.

No one asks.

Feeling like he might choke, Alex steps away and escapes through the front door. Less than ten minutes to midnight, his watch tells him. He glimpses a cowboy hat, but it's not Michael. The alien siblings are here somewhere tonight, he knows, but he hasn't seen them.

He toys with the idea getting into his car and just driving home, but he resists the impulse and goes the opposite direction instead. Maria's red truck is parked at the end of the lot, closest to the bar's back door, so he lays down the back and sits on the edge, crossing his arms over his chest. He's cold.

In a minute, everyone else will be heading out to see the fireworks, starting at midnight. Alex has been dreading this moment most. He braces himself, trying to take deeper breaths. The music still resounds loudly, even with the doors of the bar closed against the cold.

“What's wrong?”

Alex looks up in time to see Rosa approach. He's missed her leaving the bar. She sits down beside him, one leg tucked under her.

“Nothing,” Alex says. They haven't talked a lot since she was resurrected. Alex still isn't used to that thought, that he now has ten years on her. They used to be good friends.

“Don't give me that. I may be dead, but I'm not ignorant. I can see you're struggling.”

Alex sighs, but he doesn't answer.

“I am too, you know. It's hard to watch so many people drinking. Liz and Maria have good intentions, but they don't think sometimes.”

Neither does Alex, apparently, because he's hadn't even noticed. “It's gotta be hard,” he says.

“You know what? I'm really glad you didn't just ask me if I was thinking of having a drink. I'm not, by the way. It doesn't mean it's not hard.”

“I know,” Alex murmurs. “It's hard to be around so many people. And so much noise.”

Rosa nods. “Yeah. Let's stick together, okay?”

“Um,” Alex agrees. On an impulse, he adds, “It's five to. Fireworks soon. Can you−”

Rosa shifts and grabs his hand. “I'll be here,” she says.

“Thank you,” Alex gives her a small smile. “I've missed you.”

“Oh, mijo,” Rosa murmurs. “It wasn't long ago for me, but I thought...when I first saw you in uniform, I thought you'd changed too much. I thought you weren't you anymore. You've all...everything's so different.”

For a moment, Alex sees his own loneliness reflected in Rosa's eyes. “I'm still me,” he murmurs. “Just more...jagged. Burnt.”

“Old,” Rosa laughs quietly.

“Yeah, old. And you're a baby.”

They keep holding hands as the countdown starts, and the parking lot fills with people shouting along. At zero, Rosa leans in to press a kiss to Alex's forehead, then she wraps her arms around him as he flinches hard at the first cracks of the fireworks. He loses himself for a moment, gunshots and cries echoing in his head, but he never stops feeling her embrace.

It gets easier, progressively. He opens his eyes again, and he only sees the parking lot, and Liz and Maria looking for them among the crowd.

“You with me?” Rosa asks.

Alex nods and swallows. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, mijo. Anytime.”

Alex lays his head on Rosa's shoulder. “Happy New Year,” he murmurs.

“2020,” Rosa whispers. “What a concept.”

Alex laughs.

-

I couldn't resist the Russian Doll reference! :D I hope you liked it, I would love to hear your thoughts.

[mercifuldeaths]

Nothing Hurts Like A Woman Can

Michael Langdon x Reader

Summary: You aren’t aware of Michael’s resurrection abilities. and when you find out, you decide some revenge may be in order. 

Notes: This has been something that’s been on my mind since December. I submitted it to @wroteclassicaly‘s kinkhour and was never the same. Some anons have submitted similar concepts since then and I hope I do all you proud. Thank you @langdonsinferno for making me finally write it. I’m not too happy with the outcome, to be honest, but I hope you enjoy. 

Warnings: *all consensual*// bloodplay, knifeplay, murder kink (is that a thing? idk), character death (and resurrection), choking, nsfw content. I’m saying consensual dub con, but it is explicitly stated that this is something both partners agree to.

Word Count: 5.6K

Thank you to @yourkingcodyfern for the beautiful gif.

Outpost Four was unlike any of the others, each designed with specific instructions and layouts, of course, but for some reason, the interior was somehow lighter than any of the others you had accompanied Michael to. Everything bathed in white with cathedral ceilings, somehow still placed safely underground, far from the blasts, was refreshing after the dark corridors of Outpost Two. From what Michael told you, Outpost Three was going to be similarly dark and eerie, so you took in the reflective marble that decorated the floors and walls.

It was more...innocent. Maybe that wasn’t the word, but it just felt like a vacation from Michael’s duties. This outpost was full of more military personnel, so he felt a bit safer having you roam free. Obviously, he was still overprotective. It seemed his piercing eyes were around every corner waiting and watching, almost like he knew something was coming.

The plan had been the same as it had been for the other outposts. Simply find those worthy of salvation and kill the spares. Typically you let Michael do the work, much preferring to sit back, maybe pull a few strings to cause some trouble just for fun. It never failed to make Michael laugh a little, the way you might hide all the forks and watch the servants scramble or accidentally misinform General Maddox of a nonexistent situation in the outpost he was supposed to be in charge of.

But it was a different energy lately-especially with Michael. You were kept on a tighter leash, your lover more wound up by the day. Something wasn’t quite right and you had asked Michael what had been going on, but he explained that things were falling into place as his interviews with the occupants were coming to a close. Nobody was chosen. There would be no survivors from Outpost Four.

The small thing that Michael intentionally didn’t mention was how that somehow the General was clued into the fact that he didn’t have a spot reserved at the Sanctuary. Keeping a closer eye on you was just a precautionary measure as Maddox wasn’t a threat to him, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from just ensuring your safety. He expected everything to go according to plan, as it usually did. For this group of survivors, Michael figured a hail of bullets would be the way for them to go. They were military after all, he was sure they would enjoy it as much as one can enjoy the thing that kills them.

Michael didn’t say much about the exact nature of his plan, he never did, but advised you to stay away from the library. So naturally, you headed down there immediately.

It should have been expected, really, with Michael being who he is and all, but still the sight of sticky red blood against the white of the marble still surprised you. He typically chose more subtle fashions for the occupants to depart whatever physical plane this was. He really was never one for getting his hands dirty.

So the splashes of blood painting the floors, walls, the furniture, everywhere was a bit of a surprise. The crimson was smeared from where the occupants clearly tried to scramble away from...not Michael, right? Guns were not his thing. Peering around the corner you remember seeing one of the issued guns that the outpost security once held, lying abandoned. You picked it up and felt it sit heavy in your palm, flicking the safety off just in case. Behind one of the massive doors leading into the corridor, you saw the trail of bodies leading to nonexistent freedoms. Following them probably wasn’t the wisest idea, but it was probably a good direction to find Michael. Maybe you really should have listened for once.

Your steps on the marble echoed no matter how softly you placed your feet due to the nature of the arched ceilings that once made things feel so open, but now made you feel exposed and like an easy target. Maybe this was Michael’s doing. But maybe it wasn’t.

Stopping, you heard steps continue to echo- a quick staccato beat against the polished surface. Because of the layout, you couldn’t tell which direction they were coming in but it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway, the person was practically running.

Michael had to do a double take when he finally reached the hall he knew you to be loitering in, still on edge and ready to crack a skull with the snap of his fingers. Likewise, you had to stop yourself from taking aim on him, but you’d recognize that long silhouette in tailored black anywhere. Sighing in relief you started towards each other but Michael looked less than pleased. That wasn’t a surprise, really.

Before he could say anything there was another gunshot that ricocheted across the hall that drew both your attention to Maddox with his pistol aimed at Michael. He may have missed the first shot but the second one…

Your scream was louder than the sound of the shot, even amplified in the large, open space. Michael’s long hair spread out around his face as he hit the floor looking like a halo even as the blood seeped from the wound that now decorated his temple. A kill shot. Maybe you would have even appreciated his aim had it been anyone but Michael.

His eyes were still open but evidently lacking life, the bright blue almost looking like a dull grey without their usual spark. You tried not to look, you really did. But the blood just kept going, spreading out across the floor and meeting your knees where you kneeled next to him, hands instinctively trying to cover the wound.

You were sure you were sobbing, but everything was clouded-feeling completely unreal, even as your hands were stained with Michael’s blood, pieces of his skull chipped away from where the bullet made contact. You could only guess the other stuff to be brain matter. The air was practically sucked from your lungs. He was dead.

Maddox laughed, you could still hear that even though you didn’t want to. His gun was still trained on you but at some point, you must have done the same to him as you were staring down the barrel towards him. Slowly standing, you were sure to not look at Michael’s form crumpled at your feet. There would be time to grieve. All the time in the world, now that any world you planned was gone with a singular bullet to the head.

‘Seeing red’ was the saying, but you didn’t believe it until it was happening. Your hands were already covered, red and sticky and still warm so why shouldn’t your mind be drenched in the same? Everything came back in sharp contrast when the general’s body was slumped against one of the many doors that lined the hallway, now a far distance from where Michael lay. Maddox was dead along with all of the other inhabitants and the fact that Michael was included made your stomach drop and chest tighten.

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn already knowing the sight that would greet you. Him, sprawled out looking somehow angelic despite you knowing he was probably in Hell that very moment. Or...maybe not. What even happens to the Antichrist after they die?

After a few strangled breaths, looking at the general's body, which was strangely soothing. Probably because a small piece of you felt that at least you avenged him, in some small way. He was obviously laying there, you knew it. But looking back, less adrenaline running in your veins, made it more real. An eternity without Michael.

Your sobs drowned out the sound of shoes clicking against the bloodstained floor, clearly walking towards you. The tap to your shoulder couldn’t be missed, however. Neither could Michael’s cocky smirk when you finally turned to see him standing there- alive and more smug than ever.

--

All of that tucked in the back of your mind, Michael did a sweep of the outpost to be sure there were no survivors while you made your way back to the bedroom, reluctant to leave his side, but also deciding to listen this time.

The bedroom you shared during your stay there was much the same as the rest of the architecture. It was somehow made to be airy even though it sat underground, the white marble reflecting the candlelight and making it look like a holy place. It vaguely reminded you of this cathedral you visited on that vacation to Italy years ago. A sort of gradient effect, really. Where the floors and lower parts were bright and the further up the arched ceilings went the darker they got until in some of the rooms you couldn’t see it. It wasn’t like architecture was a passion of yours or anything, but for some reason, this one outpost fascinated you.

You almost didn’t hear Michael enter, nearly scaring you for the second time in a few minutes. You watched how his shoes left bloodied footprints behind him. Red bottoms, indeed.

He sighed relief when he saw you perfected the end of your bed, still covered in a mixture of his blood and Maddox’s.

“Now I’ll answer any questions you might have about--”

“Yeah, you fucking will.”

He stared at you obviously a little confused as to why you were mad, but he could make a pretty good guess. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened but it was the first time he knew you witnessed it. It was accidental when he learned that he could resurrect like Jesus himself, just a bit faster much to Michael’s delight. An intense ritual had gone a bit too far and he felt the life flow out of him with the viscous blood gushing from the slices on his arms. To his surprise, he awoke with most of his blood replaced and very much circulating if his throbbing pulse was anything to go by. It was good to know, he supposed but never planned on it happening again.

Of course, it did.

“I know you’re probably surprised, but-”

“Yeah, I am.” He eyed you willing you to shut up. He hated being spoken over but it wasn’t like you could help it with the mix of shock, fear, and relief flooding your senses. All underlined by steely anger. A small tilt of his head told you to shut up, though. And you were ready to listen if only to get some answers.

“I can’t exactly die. As far as I know,” he said, voice lilting. His shoulder shrugged as he slipped out of his velvet jacket, now stained with his blood. “I mean, at least from blood loss. And now headshots.” He couldn’t keep a smirk from painting his lips. “Who knows, maybe Range Rovers are my only weakness.” He absentmindedly tried to rub out one of the dark patches on the jacket, thumb rubbing over the soft texture.

When you didn’t respond he looked up, eyes wide. “That’s it. That’s all I know about it,” he said a bit defensively. Giving up on the dinner jacket, he tossed it over onto the chaise lounge poised in the corner.

Looking a bit weary, the tension and stress getting to him, he quickly stripped out of his blood-soaked clothes and left them abandoned on the floor. “I’ll shower later,” he mumbled, face pressing into the mattress he lay on. The blood on his skin, still not dry, rubbed off onto the stark white comforter with every small movement.

“So you really can’t die?” you asked, needing just a bit more confirmation before you let your mind wander any further into the spiral you already felt it heading down. It was something about the red staining the white...Michael’s body already laying in the middle of it. The undercurrent of rage you couldn’t suppress still tinting your vision the crimson color you’d grown so fond of.  

“Not that I know of,” he said offhandedly.

“Good,” you noted. You knew you were being short with him and that would only make him more frustrated with you but god you loved Michael when he was a little agitated.

He still lay in the pile of blood surrounding him on the bed looking as if he had no desire to move, arms folded over his eyes to block out any light. Michael didn’t want to admit it, but dying was a bit of a process. And coming back even harder. It left him a bit tired and dare he think...weak. He was just looking forward to sleeping one more night in the now abandoned outpost before heading back to the sanctuary to regroup with his Cooperative consultants.

Feeling the bed move when you climbed in beside him wasn’t a surprise as he was sure that it would take some coaxing to get him into the shower. It was a surprise, however, when instead of you curling up next to him he felt you straddle his hips, your thighs easily settling over him.

He peeled his arms away from his eyes to see you looking down at him from your position above, hair framing your face. “What are you doing?” His eyebrows knit together. It was precious when he pretended to not know what was going on. He was obviously pretending because his hands easily found themselves resting on your hips, already pulling you closer to put some friction on his half hard cock.

“You already know. Don’t be stupid, Michael.” Your hips moved of their own accord to grind against him.

With a roll of his eyes, you knew he had given up the act. That and how he grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you down to his lips and crashing yours together. He pressed your bodies together and you could feel some of the blood that painted his chest transfer onto yours, the heat between you.

There was no pretense of gentile actions. Michael, although exhausted from his resurrection, was still a man, after all. He couldn’t help but grab wherever he could, your hip, ass, breast, anywhere he could touch while you continued nipping on his bottom lip. He knew his fingertips would leave bruises but the simplicity of feeling his pulse again was almost invigorating. He couldn’t help himself.

You felt Michael start to roll his hips up into the heat of your cunt, already wet and throbbing for him. It was so rare that he let you take just a bit of control, or initiative, rather. But when his hand reached down to either rub into your clit or to align himself with your entrance you would never know. Before he could make a proper move, your hand wrapped around his wrist and pinned it to the bed next to his head.

Pulling away from placing messy, open mouthed kisses to his neck, you saw him looking at you with wide eyes. “What?”

He offered a small shake of his head. Nothing’s the matter.

You couldn’t help but smirk as you managed to thread his cock through your folds and continued to circle your clit against him. Michael let out a low moan as you moved.The hand that wasn’t pinned down tried to reach for you again but you were faster to lightly wrap a hand around the column of his throat. No pressure, but a warning nonetheless.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his words dripping with smugness.

“I’m finally doing whatever I want,” you said matching his tone. “Now that I know there are no repercussions.”

Michael quirked an eyebrow but actually moved both his hands to reach above his head, wrists crossed, making it all that much easier for you to hold down. “Who said that there won’t be repercussions?” he challenged, but applying the slightest about of pressure to his throat seemed to get him to stop trying to mouth off.

“You’re in no position to talk, Michael.” A grind of your hips reminded him that he was, in fact, not in position to be talking back. You both knew it wouldn’t stop him.

“My mouth seems to be very free to use at the moment,” he sneered, knowing he was getting under your skin.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My cunt on your face?” Your free hand grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to look directly at you, nearly hovering over him. “I’m really fucking mad, Michael,” you nearly spit out at him, lips centimeters from his.

The quirk of his brow wasn’t missed as he took a moment to remember what exactly had transpired. A laugh echoed through the marble room, cold and hard. It was a laugh you had heard hundreds of times-always directed at others. It was Michael’s pity laugh.

Your back straightened, hands pulling from Michael’s body and just sat on him, your palms rubbing your own thighs just to keep your hands busy. Sobering up from the lust that clouded you gave you a moment to think while a pit settled in your belly. Humiliation.

“Ohh…..you were scared? You thought you lost me…” his lilting tone continued in his mockery of you. “My sweet, Y/N. you should know better than that.” This time his now freed hand snaked up to cradle your now flushed cheek. “I’m much more resilient than you think.”

Turning away from Michael’s touch, burning you even further into a pit of embarrassment, the bedside table caught your eye. Why, you would never know. But it did. Something about the shiny handle reminded you of exactly what was inside it. Laid in a narrow, velvet lined case was the knife Michael used for his rituals.

You glanced back at Michael, his face still one of pity and felt yourself swallow whatever sort of humiliation you were feeling. He was not going to make you feel like that-no. Not when you could feel your blood boiling against your skin, your breath coming faster.

“Oh!” he let out when you slapped his hand away from your face. “Well you’ve got some bite, don’t you?”

“I’m not just angry, I’m furious,” you deadpanned, eyes still glued to the drawer. Close enough for you to reach into…

Michael’s hands gripped your hips suddenly, hard enough that they were already bruising. He slid himself up, coating his cock in your arousal, between your folds. The obscene moan that fell from his lips rivaled the pitying laugh that reverberated moments ago. But you didn’t forget.

He continued to pull you down by your hips, creating friction on himself while teasing you and coaxing more wetness from you.

“Well what are you gonna do about it?” His lips parted and were taking in deep breaths while his eyes fluttered shut.

You allowed him to keep his hands on your hips, now more trailing to your ass. It wasn’t the fact that you couldn’t wait to wake up bruised and marked from him, a small reminder of this night. It wasn’t the fact that Michael knew your body almost better than you did and dragged his cock against your slit so expertly you were already almost cumming--it wasn’t that. It was because...it kept him busy while you extended a hand to wrap around his throat again. This time you gave a delicate squeeze and saw a glint of something in his eyes. It couldn’t be fear. He had nothing to fear, right?

“What am I gonna do about it?” you quoted back to him. “I’m going to use you however I damn well want to.”

Michael scoffed and you saw red. You grabbed his cock and sunk yourself onto him in one swift movement managing to hide the slight discomfort from being split so wide so fast but not hiding the small gasp at feeling him stretch you. If Michael’s choked sigh was anything to go by, you took him by surprise. Good. That wasn’t the only surprise in store.

Immediately, he started thrusting up into you. Hips snapping with practiced ease at the pace he knew you hated. You liked to tease and be teased. So did Michael. The fact that you two usually started a bit slower wasn’t a surprise. But he was needy, desperate. You could tell in his flushed chest and strangled moans.

“Stop it,” you bit out. To your surprise, he did with narrowed eyes. “You don’t get to move.”

“I don’t get to move? What the hell has gotten into--”

He couldn’t finish his sentence with the speed at which you managed to reach into the drawer, open the box, and hold the knife up. He watched the shining blade with wide eyes. You couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips when the smug look on his face was promptly replaced with one of hesitation.

He took what was supposed to be a steadying breath but came out more nervous then he had expected.

“Why so nervous, Michael?” Your voice raised an octave while false innocence slipped in. You couldn’t help but circle your hips on him, his cock still buried deep. His choked groan only made you satisfied. “I thought you could survive anything. Then why are you so scared?” you growled in his ear.

Something took over him and he turned back to face you with a challenge in his eyes. “You’re absolutely right. I have no reason to be scared of you.” The pity colored his voice again but he was quickly shut up with a quick knick of the knife against his throat, just below his ear.

Michael gasped and looked to you. You couldn’t pay attention to that though, the way that the red seeped out of the small cut and onto the white linen under him was mesmerizing. You needed more.

“You’ll really be okay?” You asked just to make sure. A smile grew on Michael’s lips and he gave a small nod. By the way his dick twitched inside you you knew he was on the same page.

With a sigh, you started riding him. Working yourself along his thick cock and throwing your head back with the feeling of him stretching you. Michael snapped his hips into you, thrusting deeper as he pulled you down to meet him face to face. He liked to hold you there but not kiss or touch. It was a power play on his end-a reminder that even though he’s letting you play out a fantasy that he was the one in control. Always.

“Stay still,” you whispered, forcing your lips to brush against his. He didn’t stop his now relentless pace and you were left almost at his mercy as he gripped your hips, forcing you along his shaft. He was using you. You knew it. And usually you wouldn’t mind as he typically didn’t chase his own pleasure without thoroughly reciprocating. But tonight was different. The energy was electric and you knew what you were after. “I said to stop moving.”

Michael smirked, the smug bastard. He managed to roll you over onto your back so he was on top, more in control than ever, more selfish than ever. His thrusts slowed enough for him to watch your hips buck up, chasing him- needing him to fill you again. “Michael…” you mewled, almost losing your composure and energy. Literally belly up and offering yourself to him.

But it was his “It’s incredible how easily you give in,” said in a drawl that made your cunt tighten around him that made you almost snap. You managed to stay quiet for just another moment as he slowed the pace even further. The sounds of your bodies against each other ceased as he dragged himself out of you almost painfully slow.

You hid a moan with a small hum of satisfaction and felt a weight in your hand. The blade was still resting in your palm. Michael, too enraptured in his own pleasure and the way you looked laid out in front of him like a delicacy, didn’t notice the sharp gleam. He did notice, however, the sharp pain that radiated from his side.

“Ugh!” he yelped as hit hips unintentionally thrust deeper into you from his reflex. This time you couldn’t hold back the debauched moan that tore from you, feeling him push deeper, open you wider, split you open. “What was that?” he hissed. His hand pulled away from the wound red and bloodied.

Taking your moment, you managed to flip him over again so you straddled him, cock still sheathed. “You’re weak, Michael.” His lack of response, as well as his acceptance of your maneuvering, told you enough. “Blood loss? Or just dying in general?”

Michael still didn’t respond. His mouth dry, he nervously licked his lips as he watched you balance the knife between delicate fingers. It was a small one, designed to cut deep and offlet the most blood, the most sacred offering to his father. Michael’s blood, tainted with sin, was sacred. Wasting a drop would be sacrilege. Perhaps that’s why his father made it possible for him to uptake it again, should any be spilled.

His mind wandered considering the implications of his shed blood as you placed kisses against his collar bone, open mouthed and warm against his smooth skin. Behind your lips trailed the blade. It didn’t hurt the way it did when he performed a ritual, he mused. It felt good. But then again maybe it was just the fact that he was still buried to the hilt in your dripping cunt. With that realization he couldn’t help but give a small upward snap of the hips, hoping-no, praying- for some friction against your walls that he could already feel fluttering against him.

“You’re gonna cum for me already? Poor thing, we’ve just started.” Michael’s lofty voice pulled you from leaving the small map of curves along his torso, arms, traveling up to his neck. From the shallow nicks, dark blood flowed. It almost looked black all beaded against his skin, seeping from the puckered slice and flowing red over his pale body. You couldn’t help but run a hand over them, painting him further.

“You’re right. We have only just started,” you stated and pulled a deeper cut along his chest just under his left pec. Michael choked out a strangled sigh. “Oh you liked that?”

His mouth was still cotton dry- but he managed to gasp out, “Keep going. Even if I pass out, keep going.” You nodded and were more than happy to accept his order.

Trailing the knife further, you placed a matching mark on the other side- deeper this time. He jumped a bit causing his cock to hit your cervix just a little too hard. You both hissed. In retaliation, you ground yourself onto him before starting up a slow pace. Michael’s mouth fell open as he rocked his hips up into you.

“No, no. Don’t move,” you managed to murmur. Your fingers slipped over the cuts you left on him. The map of lines was blurring together for form a bastardized pentagram over his torso. “So pretty…” You ran your fingers through the drips to cover your hands in the smeared blood.

You continued to work yourself along the shaft of his cock, riding him slow, teasing. Losing his patience, his hands flew to your hips to press you hard against him, needing you to be full of him.

“I said not to move,” you nearly shouted as you started to feel the rage rise again. Michael didn’t listen, his eyes shut and he reveled in the feeling-your wetness smearing over his cock as he drew you against it again and again, the stinging of the cuts that had already started to heal, the still wet blood-warm against his skin.

Michael was starting to look utterly debauched below you. Shaking, gasping, painted in red-but his skin was starting to look a little pale. Maybe from blood loss, twice over now, or maybe it was because he had just risen from the dead. You quickly pushed the thought out of your mind and watched the way his blonde hair had started to tangle under your hands  and how pretty his eyes look practically rolling into the back of his head.

“Mmmmm,” he whined as you dragged the blade again, this time over his clavicle. You continued your steady motions on him. Your cunt tightening around him as his cock twitched with desperation. You knew he was close….just needed to be pushed over the edge.

Abandoning the knife just off the side of his head, you laid yourself flush against him, changing the angle. Believing he was free from your spoken constraints, his hands found themselves wherever they could gain purchase. One pressed to your lower back to push you even further onto his throbbing cock causing you to whine.

It was almost animalistic. With Michael’s thrusts meeting you, still not yet used to the sensation of him filling you-making you feel as if you were split open every time, your hands went to tug on his hair, just a little. His mouth fell open and you swallowed the moan that came from him, wanting even that in you.

“Michael…” you hummed and felt your fingers wrap around the engraved handle of his knife.

“Yeah?” he gasped out. You ignored the yelp that he let out when you bit down on his collarbone, sucking as if to release the marrow.

“I asked you not to move.”

“What?”

The blade met his torso, hard. A full stab between the ribs and Michael was spilling into you, painting your insides with his seed. You continued to ride him, allowing him the pleasure of his high while still chasing yours.

The red of his blood was dark as it pooled and spread over the white linens below the two of you. Thick and viscous, it stuck to you as you continued to fuck him through his orgasm.

Michaels vision went blurry, but you were a sight to see. He felt his cum dripping out of your tight heat and back into his cock. He couldn’t be positive it was cum, though, as he knew his warm blood was seeping out of the long lines of cuts that decorated him. The lightheadedness from resurrecting was unlike any other. That in conjunction with more blood loss, he was weak. He knew it. And as much as he hated it, he loved it.

He felt another point of pressure, stabbing pain-deeper than when he did rituals. He wasn’t sure if he came again, but it felt like it. It wasn’t even painful anymore, just a feeling, the sensation of his life rushing out of him. You taking it from him. No-him giving it to you. Because as weak as he was, Michael knew he was the fucking antichrist and could take anyone down with the snap of his fingers- no matter how exhausted he was. But he handed this power to you, allowed you to defeat him. Temporarily at least.

“Come on,” he breathed out. “Come on my cock like the scared little girl you are.”

It was no secret that you were close. Michael could read you like a book and your sloppy movements, still taking him to the hilt each time, were losing rhythm. That and your ragged symphony of gasps and moans were indication enough.

Michael was holding on by a thread, wanting, needing, to feel you cum on him. Needing that tightness as you milked his cock, needy and grabbing onto him, needing to swallow one final whine from your lips, needing one last grasp at control. He needed to know that he did that-he made you cum for him.

His head continued swimming as he whiteknuckled onto consciousness just to feel you tip over the edge. With one more piercing sensation , this time right above his heart, he knew he wouldn’t last. The world faded with you hovering above him.

He couldn’t feel his body. Nerve endings starved of oxygen, muscles sore and empty. He did hear “You don’t deserve to feel me cum,” before a high, strung out whine as he completely blacked out.

--

You looked over to him where he lay, still sprawled on the bed. He was back and you could tell from the flush that decorated his chest and cheeks that his blood flow was probably back to normal. The sheets that were soaking and stained red just minutes before were back to being a crisp white. Every drop found itself back in Michael’s veins and being put to good use. His tired eyes open just wide enough to see you standing next to the bed where you were working on washing some of the drying blood off of you with a cloth.

“Can’t die, right?” you drawled as he continued to watch you from the corner of his eye.

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Didn’t die just now. Bloodloss...passed out.”

“You’re just mad because I fought back. So condescending, Langdon,” you said but kept a playful tone. Michael gave a half smile at the use of his surname.

“I let you do all that.” He placed his hands behind his head and lay as a picture of relaxed confidence. Seemed like his ego came back even faster than his heartbeat did. Maybe he never lost it.

Your eyebrow arched in response and you smirked. “Sure, Michael.”

The only reason you let him and his ego win was because it just meant you’d get to do a better job. Michael was already thinking of the next time if the way his gaze lingered over the blood that still streaked your body was anything to go by...and red really was his color.

Tags: @ccodyfern @langdonsinferno @starwlkers @langdonsdemon @michael-langdon-appreciation @babypinkstyles94 @i-will-die-for-jim-mason @langdonsrapture @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @langdonalien @katiekitty261 @lovelykhaleesiii @aveiangdon @sojournmichael @sojournx @jim-mason2@americanhorrorstudies @antichristwrites @wroteclassicaly @lvngdvns @1-800-bitchcraft @nana15774 @missantichrist @venusxxlangdon @gold-dragon-slayer @cocosfern @mega-combusken @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @and-shes-not-even-pretty

[zukofenty]

FWU

➜ Summary: The one where Katara (is sure) she's in love with the campus drug dealer. 

“Sokka, I swear! He’s not a drug dealer...he’s just an unlicensed pharmacist!” 

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, humor, DrugDealer!Zuko

➜ Words: 2.5k 

➜ Warnings: I will fight Katara for DrugDealer!Zuko 😩

AO3 

“We got the goods!” Katara squeals, throwing down flour, sugar, chocolate chips, and a sack of marijuana. 

Suki picks it up, sniffing the plastic bag. “This shit is loud and clear.” Her smile is dangerously devious. “Thanks, Zuko! This is going to be the best 4/20 ever!” Suki immediately begins to grab the proffered ingredients, shuffling them to the kitchen. She’s already taking some of the buds and putting them on a tray to prep in the oven. “Who knew fingering a drug dealer’s asshole would come in handy?” 

  Zuko immediately turns beet red. “Why do you keep telling people that happened?” Katara slaps Suki upside the head. 

  “Because I like seeing the two of you squirm, sue me!” Suki admits, shrugging her shoulders and dodging Toph’s slap to her ass. 

  Katara collapses on her futon, positively spent after spending the day helping Zuko drop off sacks for his clients, while buying all the ingredients they needed for baking edibles to celebrate the holiday.

  // 

  “Zuko, what the fuck are you doing!” Katara screams, almost losing grip of the wheel. 

  “How about you make sure your fucking Prius doesn’t eat shit?” Zuko screeches, coming back to his seat after sticking his entire body out the hybrid car. 

  Katara smacks her forehead. The pain where she hit is almost as bad as the frustration she feels. “This is the exact fucking reason I never get Chipotle with you!” She sees the car that was formerly beside her pulled over at the side of the freeway, the driver clearly angry with how hard he was pounding the pavement with his fist. His entire body is covered in Zuko’s half chicken half barbacoa burrito bowl. 

  “I’m not going to lie, that was impressive. The NFL’s vag must be positively pulsating,” Katara deadpans, rubbing at her temples to relieve the pressure from forming. Sokka always said her road rage was the worst he’s ever seen, but alas her shouting and occasionally flipping people off could never compare to Zuko’s hotheadedness. Her gut feeling about grabbing an extra bowl paid off, much to her dismay. This was not a rare occurrence. “How did you manage to throw your entire bowl through the crack of his window?” 

  “Well, the NFL can go eat a dick!” Zuko says, wiping his hands on a Chipotle napkin before taking a sip from his water cup filled to the brim with their lemonade. “And the shit dick had it coming.” He did, Zuko swears. It’s completely his fault for not only playing Michael Buble as loud as his Honda Accord was capable of, but also refusing to use his turn signal, and then screaming “fuck you, pussy hoe!” when Katara honked at him. That bitch. 

  “Right. Anyways, I’m recalling a conversation we had I think...yes! Two days ago. You’re still thinking about going to therapy, right? You’re moving on from your designated therapy toad?” 

  Zuko fully turns to face Katara. He accidentally bumps his head on the roof, and proceeds to smack it. “First of all, what makes you say that? Second of all, you know Frank has a name!” 

  “Not your anger issues, of course.” She doesn’t miss his eye roll. “Also, when you gave me your phone so I could text your uncle that you were going to pick him up, I went through your Youtube search history. Because I care. You deserve better than boxed hair dye tutorials, Zuko. I know you can do better.” At the red light, she grabs Zuko’s shoulder in an almost caring manner. He slaps her tiny hand away. 

  //

  Zuko was certain he was spending this 4/20 positively baked , so while he waited for everyone to wash their hands so they could whip up his favorite Vegan Chocolate Chip Cookies edibles (with a gooey marshmallow middle), he took out his grinder from his hoodie’s pocket. 

  He grabs at the Sailor Moon bong he bought Katara for the one month anniversary of the time she saved him from being beaten to death by a group of frat brothers. She didn’t nearly like using marijuana as much her friends did, insisting on her maintaining her brain and lung health. She’d never admit to enjoying the cannabliss that came with huffing and puffing out some Mary Jane, but Zuko knows her sleepy smile after taking a hit lets her sleep just the slightest bit better. 

  Especially now that she’s working nonstop to pay off her tuition this semester. While Sokka was efficiently loaded, his record label was going through a rough patch after a scandal with one of their artists. Apparently, having viral toe sucking videos reflected badly on you as a person, and a number of investors pulled out after the news broke. Sokka was dipping into emergency savings, about to sell the Bugatti, but Katara insisted on taking on a few part time jobs. It breaks Zuko’s heart when he’s the first one to come home to her apartment, even after doing his runs for the night. She’s always blearly, insisting on taking a “quick nap” before she takes off her makeup. He likes feeling useful, when she instantly falls asleep and he’s the one using Micellar Water and a cotton pad to rub off her stubborn mascara of the day. 

  “I will literally curb stomp the Dean for you,” Zuko tells her, the fire behind his words that makes Katara doubt it was a passing joke. 

  “Zuko. No.” 

  He remembers being woken up in the middle of the night, Katara whispering into her phone. He invested in the Sailor Moon pipe after he found out she could only sleep a few hours, before being woken up abruptly from the stress weighing on her mind (her dark circles betrayed her).  “I started seeing someone,” Katara mutters, checking over her shoulder to see if Zuko was still sound asleep. She started wincing at the palpable silence that followed. 

  “As in dating or hallucinations?” Sokka questions, much too loud for her taste. 

  She sighs. “Don’t get like this! He’s a good guy, I promise. His name’s Zuko.” She hears shuffling on the other side of the line, after the prominent thunk of the phone dropping. “Why does that name sound so familiar? And so colonizer-like…” His voice is filled with suspicion, and she could almost see the cogs in his brain whirring to life. Before she could utter another word, her brother abruptly yelps. “Isn’t he the drug dealer who got beat up on campus?” 

  Katara sucks in a breath. “How do you know about that?” 

  “I read the Campus Crime Alert emails the school sends out, idiot! For such an expensive school, you would think they would have better security and less laptop snatchings. By the way, we need to buy you a laptop lock. You still have that self defense knife I sent you?” Sokka angrily whispers in the phone, mocking Katara’s quiet tone. 

  “Yes, dad !” She hears his irate protests as she flips her body to face Zuko. He looks a few years younger when he sleeps, breathing even and face forgetting the patented scowl. His bare chest and sweatpants hanging low on his hips were enticing. His hair was almost perfectly positioned, the strands messy and unruly but just screamed Zuko . The dangly cross earring doing too much to her heart. Down girl, down! Katara tells her pussy. “Sokka, I swear! He’s not a drug dealer...he’s just an unlicensed pharmacist!” 

  “I have the email right here! Right here! And tell me what about ‘student being violently attacked due to drug related incidents ’ doesn’t scream drug dealer getting beat up for drug dealing !” Katara bites down on her tongue, whether to hold back a laugh or scream she wasn’t completely sure. 

  Suki takes a hit from her Hello Kitty dab pen, a white, bedazzled one that Zuko had gotten her. Toph and Katara also had matching Hello Kitty dab pens, in green and blue respectively. She thinks Zuko has one in red, too. She added a second layer of soy lecithin to the weed infused mixture, before popping it in the oven again for another 30 mins. 

  In the meantime, Katara was preparing the ingredients for the cookies. Zuko’s laying on the ground, narrowly missing the futon, eyes glazed over. He hasn’t moved in the past twenty minutes. “Katara, that isn’t the hand mixer, that’s your vibrator .” Suko gently chastises, moving the device from her lax hands. Katara always complained her hands were numb when she was high, and once dropped a mug from their balcony after they packed a bowl together for the first time. Suki is still bitter. It was her favorite Gudetama mug. 

  After freezing the mixture for two hours, Suki, Toph, and Zuko were hard at work, mixing ingredients, and preparing to get fucked up. A few people have stopped by the apartment to exchange plastic bags for cash. 

  “Are you turning Katara’s apartment into a dispensary? ” Toph is absolutely incredulous. 

  “That’s a loaded question with an answer very much open to interpretation…” Zuko ducks the house slipper Toph propels to his face.  

  Katara has a dumb smile on her face, wide and threatening to split her head open. She’s an avid texter when she’s baked.  

 **

Katara: What are you doing right now? Come over! Zuko’s got apology weed for you <3

  Jet: I’m at McDonald’s!! Kinda of high lol 

  Katara: Ooo you got the munchies? 

  Jet: Nah 

  Katara: how come? 

  Jet: I smoke meth lmaoooo

**

  “Who are you texting?” Zuko asks, plopping next to her spot on the floor. She’s sprawled out, hair every which way and tangling into already unruly knots he’s going to have to detangle in the morning for her. Because Katara’s a lightweight, and suffers from weed hangovers regularly. Zuko’s already recovered from his many hits at the Moon Stick pipe. 

  “Did you know Jet smokes meth?” 

  Zuko rolls his eyes, curling up and trapping Katara with his outstretched embrace. “I really thought he would like my I’m sorry weed.” 

  “Me too.” He kisses the pout off of her.  

  Katara steadily crawls up (Zuko doesn’t miss her sleep shorts riding up) and tries her best to help Toph mix the marshmallow and Cinnamon Toast crunch mixture being heated up in their big pot they stole from Katara’s neighbor. 

  When Katara grabs the hand mixer to try assisting the cookie batter, Zuko knew he had to intervene lest something explodes. She smiles when he surrounds her with his body, the warm weight of his chest against her back and his hand wrapping around hers on the mixing device. 

  He loves her, he’s sure. Even while they roll the cookies together she tries to be funny (when she clearly knows she isn’t) and throws the dough at him, and it lands in his hair. He’s sure she peed herself with how hard she was laughing and scrambling to find the bathroom when her eyes could barely open. 

  Zuko shuts down his phone when the sweet scent of the pastries flood his nostrils. Even if 4/20 is like his version of Christmas, he’s determined to spend it with his girl. “I think my pussy just gave out. That shit looks dank ,” Katara squeals, shaking Toph by the shoulders to emphasize her point. 

  “Thanks for the visual,” Toph says, looking devious and wholly prepared to get stoned. 

  //

  “I could beat his ass if I needed to,” Katara loudly whispers in Suki’s ear. At this point, they were all laying down on the floor, the familiar tingle of an impending high at the forefront of their minds. 

  “Katara, you’re staring at a poster of 11 year old Frankie Muniz.” Suki shakes the girl off her. “Why do you always say that about any guy you see, sober or not?” 

  Zuko’s the most sober of them all, but based on the fact he killed a few joints on his own, he thinks he’s about to die. Toph’s on the balcony, weary of the smoke detector. She comes back in after repeatedly coughing, pounding at her chest to lessen the pain. She promptly lays on the floor with the rest of them, stupidly smiling. 

  Zuko sits, leaning on the futon for support. He pulls Katara into his lap, and she’s pliant, immediately melting in his hold. Hands coming out to wrap around his neck. “Check your school portal,” he says into her ear. She laughs at the sensation. 

  “Why?” She’s breathless, when he rubs comforting circles into her back. Zuko finds her phone, thrown carelessly on the futon, before gingerly handing it to her. After she types in the login information, she gasps, the sound reverberating through the room. Zuko blushes, and rubs the back of his neck gingerly. 

  “Happy 4/20, baby,” he presses a sweet kiss to her hair, wiping away the pricks of tears appearing at her eyes. 

  “ You’re lying !” She couldn’t believe her eyes, and thinks she’s a little dizzy from how many times she zooms in and out of the tuition financial statement. “You’re fucking lying!” The bill, formerly with a nauseating number of zeros was now only $0.00. “How?” she splutters, even spitting in her haste. 

  “Toph knew your portal login, so I just kind of...paid it off?” He’s doing the thing where he’s rubbing at his neck and looking shy, and so so positively adorable . The sheepish look he gives her makes it known that she was screwed . So absolutely in love. “I want you to not worry about it. Save the money from your job for something else.” The kiss she slams against his lips nearly knocks his breath away. 

  //

  “So what’s your plan, after paying all this off?” Zuko remembered Toph asking, after she entered Katara's password. 

  “After this, she’s catching all this ball juice. Going to suck her eggs out her ovaries like it’s boba. I’ll even use the straw and everything,” Zuko says, entering the pin of his debit card. 

  “You know what. She should have let you die that night.” 

  //

  “Who knew there would be perks to dating a drug dealer?” Toph teases.  “Girls be so single and then boom ! Baby shower pictures with some drug dealer in a Burberry shirt and Nike Air Maxes.”

  Suki groans. “Toph, I swear. You are a hindrance to society.” 

  “Well, you’re a cunt!” 

  She shoves the smaller girl. She gets up to face Katara, still staring at her phone in shock. Her hair is a bird’s nest after growing two sizes two large and painfully matted.  “You know, we thought we were bad friends for letting you date a drug dealer with mommy and daddy issues. We just sat there and prayed that our ‘we’re so happy for you guys!’ was convincing. But, I kind of like him.” 

  “Thanks for the support,” Zuko grumbles. 

  “Anytime!” The two say, perfectly synchronized.

  “Like MJ doctor, they killing me,” Zuko sighs, dropping his head in the crook of her neck, defeated. Katara’s heart nearly bursts because he’s so cute . A big bad drug dealer, but she still was squeezing at his cheeks like they were mochi, and he was dumbly smiling back. 

  “Why do you always quote Nicki Minaj lyrics when you’re high?” She thinks she can’t feel her face, the excessive smiling numbing her features. 

  He’s bombed, stomach growling from getting the munchies and devouring an entire box of Suki’s Wheat Thins cereal and he thinks he feels his heart about to explode. Whether it’s Katara’s sweet, sweet smile, or her body pressing to his, he’s not sure. She’s soft and perfect and everything he could have asked for. He’s sure he’s in love, the type of love that was dangerous and stupid and promised to consume him whole. Yet, he’s all but offered his heart on a silver platter to Katara. Her presence in his life was a constant he was willing to fight to keep. 

  “I love you,” he mumbles against her lips.

  “I know.” She stares into his eyes, before grabbing his hand. “I love you more.” 

  “Impossible.” 

  She pokes his chest in protest. 

  “Say it again, please?” Zuko begs, voice whiny. Her kiss was an adequate confirmation of the sentiment.  

[pastelwitchling]

The prompt is courtesy of @stagnantnostalgia90.

Okkk so could you write something with Alex being in a dangerous situation, it’s some time after the finale and he hasn’t spoken to Michael after the Maria situation. Alex being trapped, maybe wounded and despite thinking it’s stupid he tries to reach out to Michael through his mind hoping Michael would sense that he’s in danger (there’s no cell reception) and would come for him. Of course Michael senses something is wrong and finds him.

***

               Alex felt like he was underwater. His body weighed down heavily, and aside from his own deep breathing and a faint alarm in the background, he couldn’t hear anything. He felt something warm trickling down his forehead, and as he reached to touch it, realized his hands and sleeves were covered in blood. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck, and Alex soon realized that the reason he’d been struggling to breathe was the abnormally high humidity.

               Alex attempted to sit up and nearly fell back down, a stabbing pain in his right leg. He clenched his jaw, taking in his surroundings. He was in the Project Shepherd bunker, though this one was destroyed, a red light flashing, somehow making everything darker. The computers lay on the floor, their screens cracked, some cut in half completely. The keyboards were burned away, files and glass and what looked like blood covered the table and floor.

               The alarm grew louder and louder until it blared in Alex’s head just as his eyes caught a pair of legs behind the table. Alex approached the body slowly, an inexplicable hesitance in his step, a dread building in his chest, as if trying to remind him of something urgent, begging him to stay away.

               Air Force, Alex thought, recognizing the uniform. When he caught sight of the face, he froze. There he was, soaked in a puddle of his own blood, his father lying with his dead eyes open and staring into space.

               Alex’s fingers trembled and he whispered, “Dad…”

               CRASH! Alex heard from the outside, and his head snapped to the door, his hand going to the gun which he usually kept on his belt, but he quickly realized his weapon had been taken from him. Alex kept his eyes on his father as he moved back, his memory of the past twenty-four hours flashing at the forefront of his mind. His father and Flint surprising him in a parking lot, kidnapping him, tying him to a chair with a promise that he wasn’t actually going to hurt Alex, but that Alex was meant to serve as bait for an alien monster.

               “You are the only person who’s touched part of that ship,” his father’s voice echoed in his head. “It’ll be drawn to you, but your brother and I will get to it before it touches you. Understand, son? I will not let it harm you.”

               Alex’s jaw clenched, his fists trembling, his eyes burning, though he wouldn’t shed a tear. “Damn it, Manes,” he whispered, “you psychotic son of a bitch.”

               CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

               Panic rose in Alex’s chest as he fumbled for his father’s gun, wondering where Flint was. He looked around, terrified he would find his brother’s dead body limp against a wall or thrown into a corner, but he found no trace of Flint anywhere. As he cocked the gun, he was unable to help but glance at his father, an ache in his chest at the sight.

               “Dad,” he breathed just before the big door was suddenly torn of its hinges and flung to the inside of the bunker, crashing loudly against the wall.

               Alex aimed his weapon, trying not to stumble at the severe pain shooting throughout his entire body from his leg, but when his brother walked through the front door, seemingly unharmed, he lowered his defenses.

               “Flint?”

               But it was as if Flint couldn’t hear him, his eyes staring straight ahead. “Flint,” he tried, taking a step closer to his brother, and his eyes narrowed. Flint, Alex now saw, was not completely unharmed. The veins across his neck, face, and hands were black, leading all the way up the sleeves of his uniform.

               “Hey,” he said softly, cursing the tremble in his voice, halting in his steps, “can you hear me?”

               Flint slowly turned his entire body to Alex, tilting his head. Alex thought his brother might speak, reach out to him, anything to indicate that he needed help, but his expression remained numb, and before Alex realized what he was doing, Flint had pulled out the gun from his belt and started shooting at Alex.

               Alex jumped to duck behind the big table at the center of the room, careful to keep any limbs from poking out as a million thoughts raced through his head. His father was dead, Flint was clearly possessed, and no one knew where they were.

               Alex took a deep breath, pushing those other thoughts aside. If he didn’t focus, he was never going to make it out of here. He forced himself to exhale slowly. One thing at a time. He checked his gun and cursed; one bullet left. He considered the exits, and tightened his hold on the gun. There was only one door, and the whatever-it-was possessing Flint was guarding it. He looked around, looking for any other way out of the room, and his eyes fell on a small door in the opposing wall. The storage room.

               Alex tried not to panic as he considered that the only door out of the bunker would lead to his entrapment. As he expected, Flint’s gun eventually clicked emptily, and he took his chance, raising his weapon, but as he pointed it at Flint, he hesitated.

               It was weak, his family may have called it, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but remember long ago, before their dad had discovered that Alex was gay, when Flint had kept him safe from bullies at school, when he had let him play with his toy planes when he couldn’t stop crying, when he kept Alex distracted during their parents’ fights. And he couldn’t pull the trigger.

               His brother’s body was free of wounds, and Alex guessed his father had had the same hesitance. He glanced at his father, and knew that if he wasn’t going to shoot, he had no choice but to make an escape.

He thought of running to the door, roughly shoving his way past Flint who seemed to be without a weapon now, but just as he stood, Flint wretched one of the iron rails out of the ground, and held it up as easily as he would a baseball bat. Alex’s eyes widened as Flint approached him, and, not knowing what else to do, ran into the storage room.

The space was very small, and Alex, unable to lock the door, kept his back against it. He held the gun tightly with both hands, and gasped as the door behind him shook suddenly, as if Flint had thrown himself against it.

It’s no use, Alex thought. He knew he wouldn’t use the gun, he couldn’t be the one to kill Flint, even if it meant his own death. The door shook violently again, and Alex dropped the gun, his hands against the wood.

Guerin, he thought, as he always did when he knew he was about to die. Except this time, Alex couldn’t see a way out.

“Guerin,” he breathed, Michael’s name the only thing he could say, and Flint slammed into the door behind him again. It was stupid, to hope that Michael would suddenly show up, but if only for the last time, Alex wanted to see him one last time. He just wanted to see him.

*

“Drive faster,” Michael said, tapping his fingers nervously on his leg, his eyes narrowed at the distance in the road, half-expecting to see smoke rising or anything to explain this dread in his chest.

“I’m driving as fast as I can,” Kyle said. “I swear, Guerin, if you pulled me out of my rounds just so you could bother Alex –”

“I’m not trying to bother Alex, I’m trying to help Alex,” Michael said, then muttered, “Something’s wrong.”

“How would you possibly know that?”

“Just – I feel it,” he said, not caring that he sounded agitated. “Like a psychic link or something.”

“You mean like the one you have with other aliens?” Kyle frowned, shaking his head. “Guerin, that’s not possible, Alex isn’t one of you.”

“Would you just drive, Valenti?!” he snapped. “I hope I’m wrong, okay? I hope whatever this is, it’s got nothing to do with Alex, but I’ve had this weird heavy feeling in my chest since last night, and until I see him, I just know it’s not gonna go away.”

Kyle was silent a moment, then, “Maybe you just miss him.” When Michael looked to Kyle, he saw his eyes focused straight ahead, his fists tightening ever so slightly on the steering wheel. “And maybe this whole panic thing is an excuse to see him because you know that unless I take you to the bunker, unless I walk in first, he won’t let you near him.”

Michael clenched his jaw, his hands tightening to fists as the dread grew. He huffed. “If you really thought that, you wouldn’t be helping me.”

“Well,” Kyle said, “maybe I think Alex needs to see you just as much as you need to see him.”

Michael frowned. “What does that mean? Hasn’t he been okay?”

“Okay,” Kyle scoffed, shaking his head. “What do you think?”

Michael rubbed his chest at the ache that was only growing, every beat of his heart echoing Alex’s name, begging him to see Alex, touch Alex, hear Alex’s voice. And yet, part of Michael was relieved to know that Alex had been no less miserable about the distance and tension between them these past few months. The other part was flooded with guilt for being relieved.

“You better not make me regret showing you where the bunker is,” Kyle said. “I swear, Guerin, if you do anything to him –”

“I love him,” Michael growled in a way that told Kyle that was the only defense he needed. “Just because you guys have your secret clubhouse, it doesn’t mean you’re closer to him than I am.”

“We share a lot more than a clubhouse, Guerin,” Kyle said with a finality in his tone, but Michael wasn’t having it.

He was about to demand that Kyle explain what he meant when he got a sudden, head-splitting migraine, and he hunched over, gasping.

“Guerin,” he could hear Alex’s whisper, begging Michael to be with him. The ache spread to his entire body in an instant, and he felt a pain and fear he’d never felt before, every fiber in his being calling out to Alex.

It lasted only a second, but Michael still felt the tremble of it in his bones as he snapped back to reality, panting heavily. The car had stopped, Kyle’s hand was on his back, calling his name.

Michael shoved his arm aside and said, “We have to get to Alex, now.” Kyle asked what had happened while Michael’s hands were already on the dashboard. “I’m about to see how fast this thing can really go. Hold on to something.”

               Before Kyle could say anything, Michael channeled every bit of his powers into the car, forcing the tires to turn faster than they ever had. He heard Kyle yell a surprised, “Whoa!” as the car suddenly zoomed along the road, fast enough that the windows began to fracture, the car itself whistling as it raced against the wind, Michael and Kyle both pushed back into their seats, though Michael was sure to keep contact with the dashboard.

               The bunker was in view barely fifteen seconds later, and Michael slowed the car down. Before it had even stopped, Michael noticed Kyle’s face had fallen and before he could ask what was wrong, Kyle slowly said, “Where’s the door?”

               Michael frowned and followed his gaze to find that the door, which he assumed led into the bunker, had vanished, the doorway coated in rust. Michael narrowed his eyes, and his heart fell into his stomach. That wasn’t rust.

               “Blood,” Kyle whispered, and Michael opened his door, jumping out and falling into a run, calling Alex’s name. He’d barely made it two steps inside when he saw Jesse Manes, lying dead on the floor. His eyes widened as they looked up and caught Alex, held up against the wall by his neck, having not registered Michael even entering. The figure looked familiar, a picture Alex had shown him on a computer at some point, but Michael couldn’t seem to register more than the man’s hand around Alex’s neck, strangling him. His Alex.

               “Who,” he panted as he moved closer, “the hell… do you think you are?”

               The man turned to face him, and Michael stopped. He stared, his eyes wide. “Oh… you’re an alien.” His eyes went to the airman. “And you’re hurting him. Let him go before I tear you to pieces.”

               “No,” Alex choked, trying desperately to pry the man’s hands off his neck. “Don’t… kill… him.”

               “What? Alex –”

               “Alex!” Kyle appeared behind him, staring at the man, shocked. “Flint? What’re you doing?!”

               Michael raised a hand at Flint, trying to focus his energy on breaking his arm instead of blowing him up. Michael’s arm shook as he put everything he had into it, but this alien was strong.

               “Valenti,” Michael said through grit teeth, beads of sweat already forming on his temples, “who is this guy?”

               Kyle was slowly walking alongside Michael, his eyes on Alex. “He’s one of Alex’s brothers. Something’s wrong with him.”

               Michael’s eyes widened. “His brother?”

               Right then, the alien released Alex, and he fell to the floor, coughing violently, his right leg spasming. There was a dark bruise under his eye, his wrists were bleeding, his lip was cut, blood was streaming down the side of his face, and his neck was covered in deep purple bruising. And Michael saw red.

               He clenched his jaw as Kyle hurried to Alex’s side, the alien’s eyes on him now. Michael narrowed his eyes as he imagined Flint’s organs all compressing inside him, not enough to kill him, though it should’ve caused serious pain, and the alien abruptly stopped halfway to Michael. Flint looked confused for a moment, as if he knew there was something wrong but couldn’t put his finger on it, and he shook it off, continuing his path to the cowboy.

               Michael frowned. “What the hell?” and dodged the alien as it leapt for him. He crouched beside Alex and Kyle, using his powers to roughly throw Flint out the bunker. “I don’t get it,” he said, “even if he’s using that guy –”

               “—Flint –”

               “—as a vessel, he should still be able to feel pain. I attacked his body from the inside, he didn’t even flinch!”

               Kyle frowned. “If hurting the organs isn’t affecting him, it must mean that…” he trailed off, and their eyes widened as they all looked to each other.

               The alien reappeared at the door wearing Flint’s face, and Michael could see it. The black veins were frightening, but the dark circles under Flint’s eyes, his pupils several shades too light, his lips almost white.

               Michael swallowed. “He’s already dead.”

               Alex shook his head, looking like he was about to cry. “No…”

               Michael stared at him, at the way his head hung, miserable and pained… and he stood. “Alright, you bastard,” he growled, his hands clenched to fists at his sides. “Now you’re really gonna pay.”

               The alien barely managed to take one step before it was shoved roughly against the wall by an invisible force. Michael stepped closer, his hand outstretched towards the monster, imagining the devastated and broken expression on Alex’s face as he used every bit of power he had to breaking every bone in the monster’s body.

               As his powers grew stronger and stronger, Michael said, “Alex, close your eyes.” He looked over his shoulder to see that Alex had not done what he was told, but was instead staring directly at Michael, as if afraid that if he looked away, he really would fall apart.

               Michael held his gaze as he hesitated, then sharply turned his fist and Alex winced as the sound of Flint’s neck breaking echoed throughout the entire room.

               *

               Michael felt like he’d been standing here for hours, watching Alex stare blankly ahead at the white walls of the hospital room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, despite Kyle’s insistence that he lie down.

               “Injured lung, a few broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and some serious nerve damage in your leg,” Kyle had said, his voice soft, his touch gentle and friendly as it always was around Alex, and for a short minute, Michael couldn’t find it in him to hate Valenti, not when Alex looked so numb. “That means rest, Manes. I don’t care how tough you are, you’re not leaving this room for a couple of weeks. Better get comfortable.”

               But Alex, of course, did not think rest was necessary. He’d sat up before Kyle had even left the room, and slipped his own jacket back on. And since then, he’d just stared at nothing, tugging on the hems of his sleeves.

               “How’s your leg?” Michael asked for what had to have been the tenth time, hoping that this time, Alex would hear him.

               “Fine,” Alex said, barely moving his lips.

               Michael swallowed and stood straight, gesturing to Alex’s jacket. “Would you maybe wanna wash that?”

               He shook his head slightly, and Michael hesitated before coming closer. “I felt you, Alex. Out there.” Alex said nothing, and Michael exhaled a nervous breath before he closed the distance between them, his hand brushing against Alex’s arm. “I knew you needed me, and it’s like… it’s like I couldn’t breathe until I saw you.”

               Alex didn’t react, didn’t speak, didn’t even look up. Michael swallowed and sat down beside him.

               “Look… I know you’re hurting right now, but…”

               “Can we not?” he looked to Michael, his eyes red and shining. “I just…” he shook his head, “I-I don’t know how to…” He closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands for a moment before he brought them down, exhaling a deep, shaky breath as he whispered, “My father and brother are dead, so can we just not?”

               “Alex, they were monsters. You’re better off –”

               “Guerin,” he croaked. “My father… and my brother… are dead.” A tear fell down his cheek, his fists shaking on his lap. “Okay?”

               Michael stared, and after a moment’s pause, nodded silently. He covered Alex’s hand with his own, his hold tight. Alex didn’t cry again, his muscles stiff under Michael’s touch, though his thumb stretched out enough to hold onto Michael’s finger. Michael looked at Alex to see his brows furrowed, though his eyes said nothing, and he wished that he would feel more than that, that their psychic link would allow Michael to feel rage, fear, grief, confusion – anything but nothing. But that was what he felt. Nothing.

***

This took so many changes, you have no idea. I was erasing and deleting and adding and fixing all day. I’m so sorry if it wasn’t what you were hoping for, but it was the best I could come up with that seemed realistic to me and true to the characters, so I hope it’s not a disappointment, at the very least! Or underwhelming. That would be horrible.

But here I am, at the end of this week, and I’ve finished all five prompts! Thank you so much to everyone who’s submitted (I honestly didn’t think anyone would)! I promise, I’m usually a much faster writer, this has just been one of my busiest weeks ever, but at least I finished within the week, so... yay!

J’vous aime mes amis et merci pour tout ❤

[argylemikewheeler]

hurricane thundercloud (byeler)

inspired by Kettering by The Antlers: tw for mentions of abuse and homophobia (thanks to the anon who sent in this song and inadvertently inspired this)

It happened when they were twenty. Mike thought they were in the clear, thought they had escaped every bad dream of their childhood. They weren’t passing through Hawkins, despite doing so in between semesters. Their houses were still caged, even if their four walls didn’t scale quite as high as the ones they’d built around themselves.

Mike got the call while he was washing dishes one evening. He was still in his pajamas and had soap bubbles climbing up his hand as he reached for the phone. It rested between his ear and his shoulder as he ran soap and sponge against his mother’s best crystal, watching the sunset red wine spill over his hands. It was a regular Thursday night in May. It was just their third night home from college.

The news shattered Mike like one of the fragile glasses he was cleaning. He felt himself become an echo of the world around him before stumbling into the kitchen counter, grappling for stability. The voice was familiar-- Jonathan, he thinks. He can’t remember correctly, even when he’s older. Who ever it was, they were seeking out Mike only. They spoke calmly. It was only a three sentence conversation, but it felt like it went on for an hour without a breath.

Get to Hawkins General as quickly as you can. Will’s here-- he’s in the hospital. He’s really fucked up.

At first, the phrase didn’t make any sense to Mike: really fucked up. It wasn’t anything he associated with Will. His William had been a bit wild before, drinking a bit when the Party was home for Christmas, but he was fine. He drank water the next day and laid around Mike’s house with him and he was fine. It was the most sincerely pained smile Will had ever offered Mike, eyes squinting and blanket around his shoulders. What did this Will look like? He definitely wasn’t smiling.

And he wouldn’t for a very long time. But Mike didn’t know that. He had no way to. He barely saw this coming, phone ringing and breaking his calm evening into a million pieces.

Mike dropped the phone and sponge with a shuttering gasp. He backed away from the sink, like there was something crawling out of it rather than crawling through his mind. Something dark and heavy. Something Will had said in passing the night before:

I’m gonna tell him, Michael. I really am.

He always said it, as a playful always-hypothetical threat to his father. Will would throw his relationship with Mike in his father’s face like a firecracker. Beautiful to all but the man seeing only the harmful individual sparks. But Will really did it this time. He lit the fuse and... maybe forgot to back away fast enough.

Mike barely remembered how he got to the hospital. He could have run for all he knew; he was sweating enough. Or was that tight, dry feeling on his face tear-tracks instead? It was immaterial. The only question Mike wanted an answer to was: "Where is Will? William Byers?”

It took Mike two hours to get into Will's room. He wasn't calm enough for them to let him in. In addition, he kept calling Will his boyfriend and it took that long to find a nurse who didn't turn their nose up at him. Mike kept thinking he should keep the truth to himself, but how would that not be just as terrible as whatever happened to Will?

Whatever happened. Mike didn't have to kid himself. He knew what happened. He could point the finger confidently and without remorse: Fuck Lonnie Byers. Mike wants to channel every hot tear and frustrated spat he had with the nurses to the karma of Lonnie, but Mike thinks it’s too kind to even appear to even think that much about him.

When Mike steps into the hospital room, it’s empty except for the bed. There’s someone on the bed, arms by his sides and resting over the blanket. His face is bruised and his cheek has a few stitches. It’s Will, Mike knows it is, but he doesn’t look like his William.

Mike had expected Will to look small, maybe frail and withering, but there was no overlooking the heavy, powerful contrast of his dark bruises against the white sheets. It’s the most confrontational Will’s ever looked. 

Well, maybe second. Mike wasn’t there when he spoke to Lonnie.

“Will?” Mike says. His footsteps clatter against the tile floor. He stops and waits for Will. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes crack open and find Mike. “Will. Where’s everyone? What happened?”

“Talking to Hopper.” Will’s voice is rougher than the last time Mike heard it. So much had changed.

Mike still hasn’t moved. He’s standing in the middle of the floor, hands by his sides. He talks in between beeps from Will’s machines. “What... What did you do?”

“I do?” Mike hates how it sounds coming from someone else. It’s not what he meant. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“That’s not...” Mike steps closer. Nothing crumbles and Will doesn’t move further away. Will inhales slowly. He knows what question is actually coming; they just both don’t want to ask it. “I just want to know what happened.”

Will’s response is a hiccup-- a lurching sob. His hand reaches out for Mike’s and it’s the fastest thing in the room. Mike scrambles, not sure how to cradle something with a large needle taped to it. It makes all the warmth Mike tries to press into Will’s hand-- all the love he likes to think he keeps cupped in his hand and transfers over to his Will-- feel like it’s spoiled. It feels stale and frozen in the cold hospital air. Mike reaches with his other hand for another blanket to put on Will’s legs. He doesn’t even ask.

"I shouldn’t have told him.”

“Will--”

"She had just gone to work. I should have waited. I should have waited. Michael, I’m sorry.” Will is still upset, bordering on hysterical. In a matter of seconds-- or had it been longer? Mike isn’t even sure he’s awake. His shirt is still wet from washing dishes but that feels like it was a week ago. Mike squeezes Will’s hand and tries to give solace to Will’s crumpling and shredded composure. He isn’t so sure it works.

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Mike says, moving his thumb over the top of Will’s hand. You aren’t the one in the wrong.”

“I-I really threw it in his face, Michael. I was so terrible.” Will insists and Mike knows that Will isn’t going to believe anyone other than himself. So he stands in silence and listens. “He saw that card you gave me... the one you sent me after my terrible finals week... I had been reading it to try and cheer myself up and-- God, I’m so stupid-- I left it on the table. Just out in the open. And he saw it. He asked who my sour sweet pea was... I could have said anyone. I should have just lied. .. I should have just lied.”

Mike knows lying is easier, but it’s the most painful option. They’d been slowly asking the other to numb every part of themselves, if only to feel less pain doing the same routine of lies. Will was the only one brave enough to tell Mike no, he wanted to feel again. Mike hates that the pain is now tangible and horrifically worse. All the numbing had done the opposite effect: all his pain was magnified.

“Hearing your name made his face twist up into this... this grimace. I should have known then... His chest just started heaving like he was going to pass out. And then he just-- He got really mad. Michael, he got so mad... I’d never... so mad.”

Will doesn’t speak on it much further. He doesn’t explain what was done to him. Mike can see it with his own eyes clearly. Mike can practically watch the argument from the colors changing in Will’s bruises. They’re deep and blotchy. They’re an announcement of hate neither had ever seen before.

Mike hushes Will and tries to sit next to him in bed. There isn’t much room and Will won’t stop shaking. Instead, Mike pulls up a chair up from the edge of the room. He hates standing away from Will for even a second. The distance makes Mike feel like he’s allowing the violence to exist unopposed. He sits down and lets Will know that it’s not.

“You didn’t deserve this, Will.”

“It sure feels like I do.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Will. You’re not guilty of--”

“I hit him too.” Will says. He acts like his words could do the same hurt to Mike. “I shouldn’t have. But I-I did. I was so mad and... I got so scared.” He chokes out his words and Mike isn’t sure how to help Will cough them up. “I thought... I thought maybe, while everyone was out and I was all alone... Lonnie was just going to let me die. Right there, sprawled on the carpet.”

“You’re okay though. You’re okay, Will. You’re here and so is your mom and your brother-- and Hop. I can call any of the Party if you need. You’re okay. You’re--”

“I love you, Michael,” Will says with a quivering voice. “But this hurts too much. All of it.”

Mike doesn’t try and convince Will it doesn’t. “I know, baby, I’m sorry. Do you just want to hurt right now?” 

“Yeah. I think so. I’m not ready to stop being mad yet. Part of me... Part of me wishes Mom hadn’t forgotten her keys. I wasn’t finished yet.”

“I know.” Mike doesn’t, but he says it anyway.

Mike rests his head on the mattress, just by Will’s hand and tries not to cry. It isn’t his turn to hurt, his turn to feel hopeless or insulted. Will’s taking on more than enough for them both, and Mike’s only job is to try and lift it. He listens to Will’s quiet sobs as if they’re complete words. He nods and hushes the ones that sound particularly coherent and painful.

There isn’t much else Mike can think to do. He thought-- in some hidden nightmare he only just realizes-- it’d be him in that hospital bed, leaving Will to pick up all the pieces. But now that the roles are reversed, it’s disorienting to learn there aren’t any pieces to clean up. There’s nothing whole enough to even scrape together. But at least, in some strange way, there’s nothing broken. Not on Will, not between them. Will lay there like he hadn’t lost a single thing. There were only ghosts of pride in his heart-- at least for now-- but he acted like they were ghouls, ready for their next haunting.

He was right. It wasn’t over, not yet.

ao3

[dillion-langdon]

I Fell out of Heaven to be with You in Hell Part 2

Sub!Michael x Reader

Summary: Reader experiences traumatic flashbacks of Michael’s past when they are intimate, so they consult his Ms. Mead. Little bits of humour in the beginning. The sex starts closer to the middle if you just wanna skip to that part. lol

First part can be found here.

Warnings: sub!Michael x Reader, young!Michael, fem!reader, smut, fingering, sexual intercourse, mention of post traumatic stress, mention of disassociation, talk of Christianity and demons, dirty talk, sexual tension, humour, fluff.

Word count: 4K. 

Side note: I based the sex part off of my own personal experiences with boyfriends(two that is) I was in love with. Even the post traumatic stress part. My first boyfriend had an episode in the middle of us doing it and it really sucked... Anyways! *sigh* Can you tell I’ve been single for far too long? Cause I can lmao *I need help*

________________________________________________________

One late night, in your room, you and Michael were in a pretty heavy make out session, when all of a sudden you were seeing flashes of a little blonde boy inside of your head. He was holding a bloodied, mangled cat and he was crying.  An older lady, you assumed who was Constance, was scolding him but you couldn’t make out what she was saying. As if on cue, Michael abruptly pulled away, eyes wide with fear and shoulders tensed.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry! I didn’t know that was inside of me.”

You gaped. This never really happened before, you seeing intimate, hidden memories of his past. Memories he chose to bury deep. Memories he had long forgotten. You remember him telling you once, how his childhood was a blur, how it was too painful for him to deal with and how he somehow forced himself to forget most of it. This broke your heart. You loved Michael so much and couldn’t bare to imagine him in that much pain where he basically had to disassociate with it.

“Baby, it’s okay,” you soothed. You caressed the side of his face and lovingly took his hand into yours. It easily engulfed yours and you gave it a reassuring, affectionate squeeze. His shoulders relaxed.

“Why is this happening to me, (Y/N)?”

You paused. Ever since you two became sexually involved—which was months after you guys started dating, you would see instances of him when he was younger. They happened abrupt enough where you could only see flashes of his face and that was it. Never like this. This is was a full on scene and this was the first time you saw someone else, and Constance above all.

“Mmm, maybe it’s because—you know, that we’re intimate now?” You wondered out loud.

“But I don’t wanna remember those things,” he weakly spoke. His eyes started to water and his bottom lip quivered. Your heart sank. You scooted closer to him and wrapped both of your arms tightly around Michael, right away he buried his head into the crook of your neck and started to lightly sob. His body shaking against yours. You could feel his pain. It was too overwhelming. All you could do was to hold him close and tight. And you never wanted to let go. You absolutely hated seeing this beautiful young man of yours being rendered into a hopeless, broken little boy.

“Please make it stop,” his voice was muffled by your neck and it hitched as he sobbed harder. You felt so utterly helpless. He was in ruin.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Michael,” you kissed the top of his head and started to gently rock him back and forth. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay?” You felt his long arms hug you harder, as if he was holding onto you for dear life.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he was still sobbing into your neck, his tears soaking your sweater. You had to figure this out, whatever it took.

The next morning, the both of you sat nervously at Miriam’s kitchen table. Despite breakfast being his favourite, strawberry French toast, Michael didn’t touch his food. He coyishly played with his fork, knowing that he had to talk about something embarrassing with the one person he considered the closest thing to a mother.

Miriam sat down across the table and quizzically looked from you to Michael, who was clearly not scarfing his food down like usual. “What’s the matter? You love French toast, more than my first husband did.”

You apprehensively put your arms on the table and started playing with your fingers, not knowing where to start.

“Uh, we sort of have a problem...” you spoke hesitantly.

Miriam’s eyes bulged and she exclaimed, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“What! No!” You and Michael both shouted in unison, quick to defend the obvious. You turned to Michael and he looked scared shitless. His face was pink. Clearly his dear Ms. Mead must of found out about the two of you having sex.

“Oh, dear Dark Lord!” she rolled her eyes and sighed heavily with relief, hand on chest in exasperation. “I know there’s supposed to be a backup, but that’s not for years, not until after you won the witches—”

“We keep seeing flashes of my past,” Michael cut her off. You could see him shifting in his seat, not wanting to say exactly how and when these flashes occurred. You took notice and cleared your throat.

“When we… er, are together-together,” you did air quotes, not wanting to say the dirty word in front of her. After all, she was your close friend and you were technically banging her adopted son. “We end up seeing memories of his childhood, the ones he forgot about...” You darted your eyes back down to your hands, closely examining the dark nail polish that was chipped.

Miriam was quiet. This made you nervous so you quickly looked up and she was deep in thought. She suddenly stood and walked around the table to her altar. You could hear books and trinkets being shuffled around until you heard what sounded like a heavy thud and something hefty being pulled out from underneath a heavier object. You turned and saw her holding a large, threadbare book that was titled in Latin. You only spoke English so you had no idea in hell what she was reading. She flipped through a few pages until she came across something that made her go, “Aha!”

Michael grabbed your hand under the table and squeezed hard, you gave him a reassuring look, hoping his Ms. Mead found the answer.

After she was reading, she explained how is father wanted him to remember his past. How it would fuel his powers and make him stronger, and the only way this were to happen was by being with you. When she said that you blushed. You knew Michael was special, but you? What’s so special about you?

She continued on about some Christian mumbo-jumbo that you had trouble following, but what you could get out of it, was that somehow you were the incarnation of Lilith or Awan or one of those demonesses; you were put here on Earth to shepherd Michael, the Antichrist towards full reign and terror of the Apocalypse.

You were stunned into silence. Michael was still holding your hand, albeit they were sweaty, he still held on tight. With the book still in hand, Miriam made her way back around the table and took a seat. Her head turned from you to Michael, then back to you, awaiting a response. She slapped her hands down on the table, startling you both.

“Well, I think that solves that there kiddos.”

Still nothing. Just shock.

Miriam heaved her chest, “C’mon, it’s not like I didn’t know what was going on!” Your cheeks flushed harder. “It was bound to happen, I just wasn’t sure when.” She laughed and you could feel Michael’s horror.

His mouth fell open, and shaking his head, he quickly said, “It’s not like that,” he suddenly stood up and you were forcefully yanked out of your seat as Michael still had a Terminator grip on your hand and you awkwardly stood up, trying to find your balance. “We love each other.” That last bit came out louder than he intended and his voice cracked mid-sentence.

You and Michael loved each other. You just never told anyone.

Miriam’s whole face beamed with joy at those words and before you could react she was hugging you both, her one hand in Michael’s hair as she playfully ruffled it. This was literally the most awkward sex conversation you ever had. You normally pride yourself on being comfortable with your promiscuity and sharing details with others, but this, this was weird and uncomfortable.

As soon as Miriam let go of the overly enthusiastic embrace, she grabbed her coffee mug and left the room, humming to herself. You and Michael—with his now messy hair, just stood there, gaping at each other. What the hell just happened?

It wasn’t until later that Miriam mentioned to you over coffee, how she found a condom pack in Michael’s jeans one day when she was doing laundry and how it made her smile. You spat out your coffee.

What the fuck.

You had to gently put it to her how yes, you two are close friends but discussing you and Michael’s sex life was off the table. She just laughed at this and said, it’s not like she bore him when he was a child. You had to sigh and just remind yourself to be, very, very vague about these things around her. The last thing you wanted was to picture Miriam standing in the corner of the room as you and Michael went at it. The thought of this made you shudder in horror. Why did you guys have to go to her? Why couldn’t you just pick one of the other Cardinals at the Church for advice? Ugh.

Unfortunately, this whole incident put sex off the table for a few days.

A few nights have passed and Michael was over watching Netflix with you. He was laying on the couch with his head in your lap and his hand conveniently resting on your thigh. You guys were watching The Omen 3, Michael had insisted on it. He was eager to devour every bit of pop culture that detained any reference to the Antichrist. You thought this was so adorable. He also insisted you do the same, after all, you were put on this earth to solely serve him. This gave you all sorts of warm fuzzies.

He was the Dark Prince and you were his companion. His partner in crime, as cheesy as it sounds.

And your dark prince was being mischievous. As he was slowly rubbing his hand on your thigh, it was gradually getting closer, and closer to in between your legs. You had no intention of stopping him, as this little abstinence period had you craving him more than ever. A dull ache had grown down there and you could feel your panties getting damp.

His pace was torturous so you moved his hand with yours up into the spot where you desperately wanted to be touched. With his head still facing the TV, he smiled.

“You’re such a little shit,” you teased and this only caused his smile to broaden.

You slightly parted your legs to make room for his large hand and he eagerly stroked you, lightly grazing the fabric of your underwear with his fingers. You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, stifling a moan. You swore you could just cum right then and there just by his simplest touch.

Michael continued to gently caress your heat, feeling it get hotter and more moist with each delicate stroke. He was reveling in this. Your eyes scanned his body and you could see a thick bulge form in his black jeans. You ran your fingers through his hair and tugged. He was so good to you.

He suddenly stopped and you pouted. His head turned up towards you and with a breathy voice he said, “Take off your panties.”

While still sitting down, you hitched up your skirt and slide them off in one fluid motion, not wanting to waste any time. Michael sat up and just as they were off, he scooted himself next to you and his hand was back on your thigh. His soft, cushiony lips crashed into yours and it was like the first time all over again.

The same zap of electricity washed over your body, and you could literally feel the chemicals inside of your head crashing in waves. It was ethereal.

You pulled away slightly, your parted lips grazing his as the heat radiated between you. Catching each other’s breath in your own, you hovered your lips over his, taking him in. You let a hand rest on his upper arm, feeling how long and lean it was, how the veins seemed to protrude. It never ceased to amaze you just how hot Michael was.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Michael breathed. This sent shivers down your spine. He always made sure to never let you forget just how beautiful and hot he thought you were.

You moaned at those words and sank your lips into his in a passionate exchange. His hand roughly squeezed your thigh, marveling at your softness. He started to stroke your leg, inching closer to that certain spot. All of a sudden you could feel his fingers slide delicately in between your folds, revering in your hot wetness. You let out a long moan into his mouth. Michael was always so eager to please you. When the two of you first started having sex, he was so eager it was almost aggressive. You had to stop and chide him, telling him to slow down and how his eagerness was hurting you. You had to teach him, which was expected since you were his first (and by the sounds of it, his last), how to pleasure you properly. He was a fast learner . His eyes would go big and hungry like, earnestly drinking up every ounce of criticism you offered.

Now he was such a good boy to you, you didn’t even have to tell him. Also mind you, he started to develop his telepathy around this time so he was obviously using that to his advantage. You didn’t mind this, since it served you well. You’ve had a number of sexual partners in the past, but they all paled in comparison to Michael.

Michael was phenomenal in bed and partly because you were madly in love with each other. You knew that being in love always amplified sex to a whole new level. You’ve been in love a couple of times, but never like this. Michael was your twin flame. He was your person.

The kissing started to become more wet and sloppy, and fast as he quickened the pace down below with his fingers. He was fondling your clit and you could feel your arousal heightening. Not wanting to climax so soon, you put your hand over his to stop him and pulled your face away.

His mouth was still parted, his lips slick with saliva, red and swollen with lust. He slowly opened his eyes and they were so dilated they almost looked black. Without saying a word to each other, you both went upstairs. You took his hand and guided him to your room. All the lights were off except for a string of pink Halloween lights that strung above your bed. You laid your hand on his chest and softly pushed him onto the mattress. He moved to where he was sitting with his back against the headboard. He knew too well that this was your favourite position.

You suddenly straddled his lap, lowering yourself onto his still clothed erection. A pulse of energy shot between your legs and up into your core. You aggressively moaned and you could feel his whole body shudder with pleasure. Michael wrapped his strong arms around your waist and up around your shoulders, greedily burrowing his face into your chest. You gently rocked your hips and you could feel him sigh with ecstasy into you.

Arching your back, you pressed yourself deeper into him, letting his hard length stroke you through his jeans. His breathing hitched. The friction was making you so wet, you could feel the fabric of his pants become soaked with your juices. Michael gently lifted your sweater above your head and removed it, leaving you only in a thin t-shirt. He nipped at your breasts through the fabric and the tender area around your nipples, eliciting a cry of pleasure from you. Your hands found his hair and you affectionately pulled on his curls, letting him know how good of a job he was doing. He softly growled, you were all his and he wanted nothing more than to be suffocated by you.

In between nibbles he would look up towards you for approval and you would reward him with a deep, lustful kiss, your hips still humping him with an intoxicating pace. You could feel his member start to twitch. You stopped and removed the last upper article of clothing, exposing your tender breasts to him. He aggressively cupped them with his mouth, obscenely moaning with hunger for you.

The only sounds in the room was of the bed squeaking and two of you panting heavily, with the occasional sound of a wet, sloppy kiss.

You sunk your lips into Michael’s when all of a sudden you saw a flash of red, then you saw a beautiful, older lady—sprawled lifelessly on a couch, with a scotch glass loosely in her hand and a cigarette in the other. Then you saw what looked like Michael, but he was dressed much differently, he wore khakis and a colourful striped shirt. He was holding the older lady and crying for her to come back, how he was sorry. Constance?

You stopped and opened your eyes. Michael’s eyes were still closed and tears were spilling down. He didn’t open them and with such vigor that you never experienced with him before, he pulled you in closely. He kissed you with such tenderness it made your head start swimming again with chemicals. You felt this pain but you also felt this enormous gratitude he had for you. Even though he was suppose to be the antichrist, the amount of incredible warmth and love that was radiating out of him was absolutely divine.

Michael never kissed you like this before. No one ever kissed you like this before. It was on such a different level, the gulf between you and reality was palpable. You felt like your whole being was levitating into the heavens and Michael was right there with you. Or more like hell, if you may.

“Thank you,” he whimpered into your lips, his voice sounded different. It was needy and wounded and grateful all at the same time. You could feel his body shaking with emotion. Despite all of this, neither of you wanted to stop. You and Michael were too far gone and wrapped up in the moment.

Still having your legs around Michael, he shifted your bodies where he was laying on top of you in the missionary position. Your second favourite position.

In between heated kisses, Michael removed his shirt. You slid a hand down his smooth chest, across his abdomen and onto his now soaking wet jeans. Despite the emotional turmoil, he was still rock hard. You squeezed the shaft of his member through his pants and his jaw slackened as a loud moan erupted from him. He buried his face into the side of your neck and started softly gnawing on your skin, leaving the faintest of bruises. He nipped and kissed his way up to your ear, where he nibbled the earlobe. You squirmed under him. He knew all of your weak spots down to a T. You could loudly hear his heady breath in your ear and it only made you want him more. You couldn’t take it.

“I want you inside of me, Michael,” you exhaled. With that he gave you a long, profound kiss before he slid off his jeans and boxer briefs. His erection sprung out and was drenched in a combination of your wetness and his pre-ejaculate. He dug into his jeans and pulled out a condom. Without breaking eye contact with you, he slipped it on. He lined himself up at your sultry, swollen entrance, gently pressing into your opening just the way you like it. Your head fell back onto the bed, mouth opening and closing. Michael cradled your head in his arm and pressed his forehead into yours. While looking deep into yours, his eyes bore those same holes as they did when you first met him, down right into your soul. His hips bucked forward and he slid into you, filling you right up with a burst of sensation.

“Michael!” You loudly gasped, no matter how many times he entered you, you were always taken aback by the severe amount of pleasure and how he seemed to fill you up just perfectly. As if you were made for each other. Two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together.

With unwavering eye contact, he slowly pumped himself into you, making sure to feel every inch of your innermost walls. He began to pant and whine with each thrust. Your hands wrapped around his smooth, soft back. You could feel how his body temperature was rising. Sweat slicked his hairline and a bead of moisture fell onto your face. You opened your mouth, letting yourself taste him. The taste and smell of his pheromones inebriating you.

The tip of him hit your cervix and you yelped with delight, your fingernails digging into his porcelain skin. You dragged them down his back, making sure to leave scratches. Michael arched his back and obscenely groaned. He loved it when you marked him, it always gave him loving reminders how he belonged to you.

Michael pressed his mouth into the side of your face and panted, his voice hitched with ecstasy, “Can I go faster, baby?” You nodded and as he quickened his pace, you let your hands slide down to his ass and you clutched his cheeks, wanting to feel his hips buck in and out of you with each push.

Your bodies were entangled with each other in perfect harmony. Each breath, each kiss, each stroke of his penis sent you closer over the edge. Now all you could hear were the wet, pounding sounds of your bodies, laboured breathing, and the smell of each other’s sweat. His moans turned into blissful whines as he was nearing his climax. There was not a sweeter sound in the world.

“You’re such good boy, Michael. I want you to cum for me,” you exhaled. Your voice heavy with lust.

Just as you spoke those words, your whole body tensed and your vision blurred, you were seeing stars. Your whole body was on fire and you could feel this thunderous wave of energy course through your being. You tightly wrapped your legs around Michael and squeezed your inner, spongy walls around him. Feeling this enormous amount of energy being released from your core and into Michael, your orgasm was so intense, not a sound was to be heard, despite having your mouth wide opened. All you could do was hold onto Michael and ride out this high with the man you love.

Right as he felt you clench around his length, Michael’s jaw slackened and his lips parted further, making a perfect O. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and you could feel the vibration of his groans inside of your body. Both your bodies tensed with rapid concessions of pleasure.

“(Y/N),” he whined as the last wave of his orgasm washed over him. He went limp in your arms and rested his face on your chest. Both of you panting and trying to catch your breath. You could feel his heartbeat race a mile a minute through his chest, like gears of a clock. You ran his hands through his soaking wet curls and kissed his damp forehead.

“That was incredible!” Michael gasped after he finally caught his breath. His arms were loosely wrapped around you and he just basked in the glory that was you.

After several silent minutes of lying in a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and crumpled sheets, the two of you properly got under the covers for the night. Michael was worn out and had his back to you, already fast asleep and snoring softly. Usually he never got this tired after sex, but considering the traumatic recollection of the night, him crashing out completely was a given. You snuggled up to him, wrapping an arm tenderly over his waist. You kissed his shoulder.

With a smile you said, “Goodnight, my antichrist.”