#i do wish michael pulling the trigger was the way it always goes instead of only if you don’t make franklin

[one-pump-chump]

“the truth ain’t really what i’m interested in”

lines that are so. the writers woke up that day and wondered ‘what could franklin say that would hurt trevor the most. how do we really rub the salt in the wound?’ and by god did they deliver.

[nanasparadise]

What if the villain's of jojo had a Christmas song karaoke battle to get attention from their darling? Thank you!

“Christmas Karaoke” JJBA villains x gender-neutral reader (fluff, headcannons)

 Thank you so much for your suggestion, it’s such a fun idea!! I hope you like the result:3 Enjoy the upcoming Christmas days and stay safe! <3

Summary: It’s Christmas and darling decides to have a karaoke night with the JoJo villains (Part 1 to 5). Unbeknownst to you, they are desperately fighting for your attention through their performances.

TW: no real trigger warning, just some slight yandere behaviour.

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Dio (Part 1)

Dio from Phantom Blood is annoyed by the idea of singing in front of other people.

He eyes the other competitors deprecatingly, scrunching his nose in disgust.

But then his gaze falls on your form, watching at everyone with big eyes.

Why are you looking at any other person than him?

He can’t stand the thought that anyone else than him has your precious attention.

So the Brit pulls himself together and walks confidently to the karaoke machine.

Dio chooses a classic such as Jingle Bell Rock or Rocking around the Christmas Tree

The blond hopes to attract your gaze, staring at him lovingly and gifting him one of your dazzling smiles.

After his performance (which was mediocre at best, but he tries to tell himself that it was spectacular), you do approach Dio with a grin on your face and offer him a high-five for having been outside his comfort zone.

Dio has wished for a much more intimate touch (such as a peck on the cheek or a hug), but for now, he is appreciating your sweet and supportive gesture.

“Pff, I’m only singing since none of you can do it properly, naturally.”

“Dio, that was awesome! I’m so proud of you!” “Thank you Y/N, I couldn’t let any of these morons hurt your ears with their yelling.”

Dio (Part 3)

Now, Dio from Stardust Crusaders on the other hand is the star of the night.

He craves and loves all of the attention, but especially yours.

The vampire has no qualms to show off and smash more than one song.

After all, he has to show everyone that he’s superior and that’s why you will choose him.

The blond bellows Last Christmas (c’mon, he already looks like George Michael, he was born for this!) with all his being while doing a whole choreography.

His eyes keep searching yours, wanting all of your attention.

Your adorable cheers and little dancing only reinforce Dio as he goes all out.

After performing, he confidently walks to you.

He easily swoops your smaller form up and gives you a passionate kiss.

Afterwards, he grins at your surprised and flushed expression.

“Move out of the way! Now comes the real star of the show.” “Dio, you can’t just kiss me out of the blue in front of everyone!” “And why not? Don’t you think I deserve a little reward after my performance?”

Kars

Kars doesn’t sing. Like, at all. And when the other competitors taunt him for that, he simply threatens them.

He refuses to lower himself to these inferior creatures and their pathetic habits.

Instead, he looks at you: your beaming face and innocent happiness move the pillarman

He had never thought that he would catch feelings for a human, but here he is, bathing in your expression and wanting to gain your attention.

To him, you are perfect: something he has been striving for years.

That’s why he is engaging in this whole scenario which just seems ridiculous to him.

Even though Kars doesn’t sing, he still finds a way to grab your attention: the pillarman decides to sit next to you and ask you all about the human traditions of Christmas.

Now he couldn’t care less about human holidays, but hearing your eager words (which are better than any music could ever be) makes Kars all warm inside.

Finally, his perfect darling gives him all the attention he wants and needs (after all, he is a god).

“I don’t sing. If you ask me again, I’ll eat you.” “So, you humans kiss each other when you are standing under a mistletoe? What a foolish tradition. If I want to kiss you, I don’t need a plant over me, you can be sure of that.”

Yoshikage Kira

Karaoke night is for Kira absolutely horrible.

The man hates to stand out, no matter if it’s in a positive or negative way.

How is he supposed to sing in front of everyone? All eyes would be on him, disturbing his peace…

Though he does want the attention of one particular person.

Of course, he’s attracted to your hands (it was the first he noticed when he saw you), but Kira isn’t only fascinated by them: he loves your warm charisma and the way you are always there for him and listening, no matter how boring his day was.

Reminding himself about your adorable behaviour, he decides to sing, just for you.

His performance is quite shy and restrained, not wanting to stand out too much, which is why he chooses a laid-back Christmas song such as Driving Home for Christmas or Wonderful Christmas time.

But you still cheer him on, a smile plastered on your face, which makes Kira blush a bit (which he would never admit).

After his performance, the man goes to you, his face remaining stoic.

You look at him with astonishment, not believing that the Kira just performed!

As a reward, you hug him and give him words of encouragement.

Kira enjoys your attention and slightly leans into your touch, but not enough so that his apathetic façade would crumble.

“Guess I really have to sing in front of these people…”

“Wow Kira, I’d never expected you to perform!” “Well, even I am spontaneous from time to time.”

 Diavolo

Diavolo prefers to stay inside with no one around him (you being the only exception of course).

So being surrounded by all these people isn’t ideal to him, especially when he has to sing in front of them.

But luckily, the Italian exudes confidence out of every fibre of his body.

The man can’t stand that so many pair of eyes are competing for your attention. He should be the only one to lay his eyes on your form.

Which is why Diavolo takes a bold music choice such as Mistress Christmas: he wants to stand out, so that all of your attention and affection will be on him.

His performance is quite energetic and he has a pleasant voice, which you wouldn’t have guessed.

Your gaze is filled with admiration, making Diavolo smirking internally.

After the song you immediately go to him and compliment his talent.

Diavolo enjoys your reaction thoroughly, thinking he has finally showed everyone you like his company the most.

He gets a bit cocky as he claps your hands while talking to you.

 “Diavolo, I never knew you were this talented! You should sing more often.” “I can always sing to you, just maybe in a more private setting…”

“Huh? Why are you grabbing my hands?” “Isn’t it obvious?”

Bonus: Doppio

This sweetheart is so incredibly nervous!

Not only is he scared to do karaoke, but he has to do it in front of you!

The freckled man constantly blushes and is overtaking by his nervousness.

You flash him a reassuring grin across the room, which gives Doppio enough strength to overcome his fear.

No one has treated him with such innocent kindness as you had.

Doppio picks a sweet song such as Let it snow or Holly Jolly Christmas, wanting to pay you back with your kind nature.

During the performance, he constantly stutters and mixes up the words.

Eventually, he leaves the stage with his face being as red as a tomato.

You didn’t mind his rather poor performance, as you keep telling him that he did a fantastic job.

Doppio is overwhelmed by your kind-hearted words and blushes even more.

You like his adorable expression and decide to give the man a peck on the cheek.

The Italian is over the moon by your touch, eyes beaming with glee (and not noticing the dark stares of the other competitors which are comparable to daggers).

“Calm down Doppio! You can do this, the boss gave you permission, you can impress Y/N!”

“Doppio, you are so cute!” “Y-You really think so?”

 Now, after everyone has sung at least one song (except for Kars who still thinks karaoke is stupid), you are left with the decision to crown one winner. Nervously, you bite on your lip. How could you choose one? You genuinely enjoyed everyone’s performance. You don’t want to hurt the others feelings by saying one was better than the rest… You stand there thinking, all of the men staring at you expectantly. Some of them have already provoked tensions (notably Dio) by saying, they are obviously the best and therefore deserve your praise and attention alone. No matter how you decide, there will be a fight afterwards…

[fleetwoodmak99]

Primed for Sin (2/10)

SUMMARY: This is Arthur's point of view of meeting Elena and the effect it has on him. Arthur doesn't really know what he's gonna do but he doesn't know that she's the one.

WARNING: Delusions, masturbation, smut, stalking, smoking weed and mental illness (Borderline Personality Disorder and PBA)

Please kindly do not read this if these offends or triggers anyone. Im always here to listen if someone needs it.

Hey again. This is part 2 of idk how many parts to the Primed for Sin story. Like I said before idk where I'm gonna go with this but this chapter is gonna be more dark when it talk about stalking and mental illness. I decided to have Elena too have stuggles with mental illness as well because I felt it better represent what I'm going through with my own mental health. So I apologize if I offend anyone or if anyone feels misrepresented.

Primed for Sin Part 1

Arthur could feel his whole body ache as he sat on the couch in the apartment he shared with his mother. His legs bounced as he sat back on the couch. One of his hands coming up to his mouth to take a drag of a cigarette while the other one held the boys toy train. He could feel another one of his laughing fits hit once again.

He couldn't help the raging fits of laughter that escaped him as he felt the sharp pain of anxiety shocking his body. He remembers the events that had happen earlier that day.

He tried to think of something else, anything else but he couldn't stop himself from thinking of how beautiful that girl was when she had smiled at him earlier. How she smelled of peppermint, it reminded him of Christmas. Even though he never really was able to really celebrate it, something about the season always brought him comfort.

He felt his pain starting to ease as the laughter once again started to die down for what seemed to be the millionth time today. Ever since this morning he's been having laughing attacks left and right. He squeezed the toy train even harder. His thoughts beginning to roam again. He didn't know anything about that girl but he knew he needed to know more. No, craved to know more. There was nothing that would keep him from her. He already knew this, he just didn't know how far he would take himself for it.

He imagined that she would be the perfect good girl for him. She's already seemed to be a mother figure which delighted Arthur. Maybe one day she would be round with his child.

No. Stop it Arthur, he thought to himself. There will be plenty of time for that. For now, he wanted to know more about the boy she was with. Who was he to her? Her son? Has she been with another man? Is she a virgin?

The thoughts ran rapid through his head as he started to spiral. Nothing made him more upset than thinking about another man's hands on her. So he did what his thoughts told him to do. He gathered information on her. Anything he could find. The easiest way to do this was to follow the woman as she goes about her day. He knew it was wrong, the small voice in his head told him so but there there even larger voices telling him to go through.

After a few days of this, he was able to find out more about the sweet girl. Her name was Elena Wheeler. She worked at a comedy club, one that Arthur had gone to often. She did singing gigs on the side while she bartended for the most part. Arthur noticed she like to cover 50s songs as well as write some of her own songs. Arthur would find himself relax while enjoying her voice each night. She would work this job most days while the boy would go to a behavioral center for children.

The boy on the other hand wasn't her son but her younger brother, yet she was the one who had custody over him. This was most likely so he too wouldn't end up in the system.

This gave Arthur some relief as his virgin theory might be true. He'd watch the two of them interact with one another. Almost being jealous of the way they played together. He wish he had that with someone. He will, soon.

It was obvious that the boy had some major abandonment issues. He would cry every time she would kiss him goodbye. Only calming down hours later when he's starts watching a cartoon or until she returns. But Arthur could also tell that Elena had some issues of her own. She too would be antsy every time she was away from the child. Never allowing herself to rest until she knew she was ok.

Arthur would watch her through the window of the complex building. One thing he did notice immediately was the constant hits from a bong. He was honestly surprised how much she could smoke. If she were drinking, he would actually be concerned for her. The girl was small and shouldn't take much to get a high yet there she was coughing up a storm from hitting it so much. Michael was in the other room watching his Thomas show. Arthur couldn't help but wonder why she did this so much. Maybe she was lonely too.

Arthur was able to keep track of her favorite things, what upset her, what made her happy. Everything and anything. He would notice her moods would change frequently. She would be happy one minute and crying the next especially when she was away from Michael. He could see her trying her best to hold it together for the little guy. He really did. His heart leaped just watching it. His heart leaped even more when he saw he watching the Murry Show being played most nights after putting Michael to bed. She's perfect.

Arthur started to understand her more when he was able to get his hands on some of her records. He won't say how but let's just say he has his ways aka breaking and entering. He was glad he did when he saw an entire file dedicated to her.

She had been diagnosed with Boderline personality disorder when she was 18. She herself had been in behavioral centers for having difficulty controlling her anger. She also lived in foster home for most of her childhood it seemed since both her parents abandoned her when she was around 4 years old. Even though her parents had started coming in and out of her life when she turned 18, she never really gained anything from it.

It saddened Arthur to see she had had to struggle so much but that just seems to be a common theme around here in Gotham.

_________________________________________

After a long day of clowning around at his extremely emotionally draining job. He had done his nightly routine of watching Murray and cooking for his mother. After what seemed like an eternity, his mother had finally drifted off into sleep. He felt himself finally relax and with this he let his mind wander.

He wanted to see her. Just see her face. That's all he needed. Even if it was through a window in the freezing cold in the ally way behind the building. Luckily she didn't live on a high floor. That was enough for him to take action.

Arthur quietly grabbed his coat and shoes as he slipped out the door and into the cold. He shivered as the coolness hit his body.

Finally making it to his usual spot for that last few days and set himself up, only looking up when he was finished. His eyes focused on Elenas apartment window. It was dark with the only light coming from the TV in one of the bedrooms. He figured she had put Michael to bed because he could see her all alone, he paused, in only a gray tank top and black panties.

His heart started to race and he could already feel his throat starting to react. The laughter was ready to pour out.

Maybe this isn't a good idea, he thought to himself as he started to reach down to grab his things.

Yet he still couldn't tear his eyes from what he was seeing. Her tangled in the covers with her short brown hair all messy from moving around. It certainly was a sight to see. His cock agreed as it immediately started becoming hard.

The small voice in his head told him to stop. He knew it was wrong to watch her but when her hand started to move up and down her bare leg he knew he couldn't turn away. It was like she knew he was there almost. Like she was putting on a show just for him.

He grew harder and harder the more he watched. Watching her eventually making her way down to her panties, slipping her hand just inside. It didn't take long for her face to start turning and her body to start squirming. It didn't take long before he became hard enough it started to hurt leaning against his pants. He wanted to relieve himself so bad. More importantly he wanted to relieve himself in her but knew that couldn't happen right now.

He couldn't take it anymore when she started to grab at the sheets of the bed. He pulled out his cock that was already leaking with precum. Arthur didn't get a lot of action so when he did he just couldn't contain himself.

Arthur placed his dick in his hand as he started to slowly pump himself. He tried to match the same movements as her, trying to think it was her hand instead. He imagined they would be gentle and soft. His were the total opposite.

He imagined her saying his name. Whispering as she cums or screaming it as he fucked her. He knew he wasn't gonna be able to last long with all these dirty thoughts roaming his head. To his delight she couldn't seem to either. Elenas back was arched as her hands started to tease her breasts underneath her tank top.

He was right as her body started to shake, her chest move up and down swiftly as she starts to come down from her high. This gave Arthur the silent ok for him to cum as well. And when this boy cums, he cums everywhere. He just can't hold himself back. Shamefully cumming in a nearby trashcan so no one would see.

He quickly cleaned himself up, looking up and down the ally to make sure no one is watching. He couldn't help the connection he felt with her. She was so sweet the first time they meet and she's perfect now weak against her mattress.

Ok its time to make a move.

[stayextrafrosty]

I am Your Future, I am Your Past: Chapter 7

A Roswell New Mexico soulmate AU

Note: This chapter is very Alex and Forlex heavy but I promise it’ll be worth it in the coming chapters

Read on AO3 // Chapter 1

Alex stared at the phone after the line went dead. He felt the sudden stab of pain in his chest. Something was clearly wrong, but he couldn’t just ditch out on Forrest. If there was something life threatening Michael would have said so.

“Everything alright,” Forrest asked? Alex looked at the black screen for another moment.

“Yea. Nothing I can’t figure out later.” He smiled. Forrest hesitated but then grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the doors of the building.

Alex had pointed out that with their combined knowledge from being in the military, an escape room might not be as hard as intended. Forrest insisted that was why they were going at it alone and not with another group. He had rolled his eyes and agreed. Never having done something like this before, he guessed it would be fun just by Forrest’s excitement alone.

“Alright. The rules are simple. You have one hour to make it out of the room. There is no reason to break anything as everything is accessible through clues. Make sure to check everything closely. Feel free to pick up props and move them around. Things such as wiring are marked off with tape, please don’t tamper with it. You will be entering the Area 51 bunker. You wake up after being knocked out in a cell with no windows. Good luck!” The guide led them down the hall and opened a door. She smiled as they stepped inside. She handed a walkie-talkie to Alex. “If you’re really stuck you can ask for a hint. But only three times.”

They stepped into the room, looking around at the walls that had been covered by what looked like the inside of a freight car. Various slogans were spray painted in big red and green letters. ‘We’re not alone!’ ‘They lied!’

Alex laughed at all of it. A mannequin dressed in a marine’s uniform stood motionless in the corner, wrists and legs bound to the wall by chains. He shuddered. If only they knew how real that situation could be. The door clicked shut behind them and the lock thunked closed ominously.

“I never quite understood why these things are horror themed,” Forrest said, looking around.

“Well, why else would someone be locked in a room?” He nodded in agreement.

“I suppose you’re right. Ok. I’ll check the bed, you look though that guys pockets,” Forrest instructed. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for, but he listened anyway.

Walking up to the marine, he noticed it was way bigger than he thought. Alex wasn’t even short but this thing towered over him. He looked around on the outside first, feeling for dog tags or pins. Not that there would be any. His first instinct would always be to identify a body in uniform.

“I found a magnet hidden in the pillowcase. What’d you get?” Forrest stepped up next to him as he located the chain for the tags. Alex pulled them out only instead of the tags, it was a key. The chain had been modified with a clasp to make getting it off easier.

“Any idea where this goes to,” he asked, looking at Forrest.

“You know, for an air force captain you really aren’t observant, are you?” Forrest laughed. There was no malice in his words. “There’s a locked box right here,” he said, grabbing Alex’s hand gently.

He felt stupid. Even if Forrest was just poking fun at him, he should have taken in his surroundings better. Just like he should have at his house. Just like he should have at the barn a week ago. He jumped when Forrest shook him.

“Alex? Are you ok? I said your name a couple times.” He looked anywhere but at Forrest.

“Sorry. Just spaced. Where’s the box?” He pushed past him and crouched down. The lock seemed old, but it could have just been decorated like that. None of this was real.

“Is this triggering something? You can talk to me about the PTSD you know.” He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He sighed.

“It’s not PTSD. My triggers are a bit more specific.” He looked over his shoulder and up at him. He gave a small smile. He should be trying to enjoy himself. “Thank you though. Now let’s figure this thing out.”

Alex popped the lock open, pulling out an old satellite phone and folded piece of paper. The phone had no batteries in it. Alex turned it over a couple times to look for writing but there was none. He handed it to Forrest before unfolding the piece of paper.

“555 444 4 44 8 7777 666 88 8,” he read out loud. It was so simple yet he couldn’t place what it was referencing. Maybe he was just overthinking it. He could break into heavily secured data bases in minutes but something designed for the general public was tripping him up? He stood to show the note to Forrest. He hardly glanced at it before realization spread over his face.

“You know, you get a little line in between your eyebrows when you’re thinking too hard,” he teased. He reached up, rubbing his thumb over the area on his forehead, forcing Alex to relax. “Think like a normal person instead of an elite hacker,” he suggested, handing the piece of paper back to him.

Alex took a breath and looked again. The sequence of numbers was familiar but not like it was recent. Like it was accessing years old knowledge he had tucked away, not knowing if it would ever be useful again.

“Here. Look,” Forrest said, handing him the phone again.

The numbers had corresponding letters. Years old memories of his first cell phone came rushing back. Hitting numbers one too many times and needing to go through the whole cycle again to get the letter you wanted. And yet everyone still managed to type out whole paragraphs in under a minute.

“I can’t believe I forgot that,” he said, starting to laugh. Taking a closer look, he corresponded the numbers to their proper letter. “L-I-G-H-T-S-O-U-T. Hit the switch.” Forrest smiled and nodded, stepping toward the door.

The room was dark for a moment, but then lines and lettering started to glow. A few UV lights lit the room. Handprints led the way to a spot in the corner behind the bed. They abruptly disappeared three feet from the other wall, hinting at a door. The two of them headed over and felt around for a latch or grip to open it. Nothing.

“Hey, look.” Forrest was pointing at a grouping of paint made to look like someone focused more attention on that spot. He held the magnet up and moved it around that spot. A latch clicked and the door popped open enough for them to grab the edge. Alex rolled his eyes at the trick, but he had to admit, he was having a good time. They stepped into the next room. It looked like a repurposed dentist office.

There was a large box off to the side and a chair with surgical supplies in the middle. There was also a pile of folders and files. The two of them shared a look and grinned.

“Alright. Seems easy enough,” Alex said, feeling more confident and comfortable than he had in a long time.

-

“Ok well we both checked that file cabinet and there was no key in there. I’m telling you, it’s rigged.” Alex laughed at Forrest’s frustration. They had gotten stuck in what they think was the last room.

“I told you to make sure you pulled the drawers all the way out,” he said, smiling.

Forrest shook his head and pulled his keys out of his pocket. Alex had teased him earlier when he showed up at his house in a normal SUV. The van was for ‘special operations.’

“Well, regardless of the outcome, I think we made a pretty good team.” Alex felt the heat rise to his face at no fault of the sun. He nodded in agreement and stepped up to the passenger side door.

“As an apology for being bossy once I figured out what was going on, I’ll buy you a drink,” Alex said, pulling the door open. Forrest grinned.

“Looking to spend more time with me? I’ll take that as a good sign. Planet 7?” Alex tried not to stumble over himself at the mention of the local gay bar. It wasn’t official but it was known to attract those from the community.

“Actually, I was thinking The Wild Pony if that’s ok with you?” Forrest shrugged. Didn’t matter to him.

“You’re buying so I can’t complain.” Alex rolled his eyes and hopped in the car.

It’s not that he was opposed to Planet 7, he just wasn’t sure if he could properly hide from people if he knew them. The Wild Pony was a local’s bar. He knew the crowd and could avoid conversations if he needed to.

And maybe Michael will be there to see you with Forrest…

He shook the thought out of his head. Whatever Michael had wanted to say to him earlier, it had nothing to do with Forrest. That little pang of something earlier was just him feeling guilty about shrugging him off. But he had nothing to feel guilty about. He was free to spend his time with whoever he wanted.

The ride was mostly silence. Just enjoying each other’s company was enough. The radio played softly, occasionally fading out and back in. Alex glanced down at Forrest’s free hand on the arm rest between them. No one could see them in here. It would be ok to hold his hand.

He reached across slowly, first resting his hand next to his. They had only held hands briefly in the escape room. They were soft and steady. Gentle even.

He reached his pinky out, brushing against the side of Forrest’s hand. He saw his head turn slightly but he never looked away from the road completely. Alex moved his hand closer. Then he pulled away. But before he could worry that he had done something wrong, he was placing his hand back down, palm up. Encouraging Alex to take it, a gentle smile settled on his face. Alex couldn’t help but smile too as he wove their fingers together.

He ran his thumb over the back of his hand. The smooth skin was nice, but something felt like it was missing. He found himself wishing there were calluses. That his hand was a bit warmer.

Alex hardly noticed when they pulled into The Wild Pony parking lot. He jumped back into reality when Forrest released his hand to get out of the car. He cleared his throat and climbed out himself. He shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked. A brief moment of confusion crossed Forrest’s face but it was replaced with a smile.

They pushed through the doors and Alex immediately looked for Maria. He watched her as she took inventory of the bar before the Saturday night rush. The bar was still mostly empty.

“Go grab a booth, I’m just going to say hi to my friend,” he said. He nodded and headed in the opposite direction. Alex made his way through the tables to the bar. He knocked a couple times to grab her attention. She turned with a fake smile on her face, ready for whatever customer was going to be there. Once she recognized it was him, it changed into something softer. But something still seemed off.

“Well look who it is. The one who doesn’t return my calls when I think I have a lead,” she joked. Alex smiled at her.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy few days.” She nodded understandingly. To be honest, he just didn’t know what to say to her after Michael’s confession in the hospital. “Can you get me two of whatever the special on tap is?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Two?” Alex looked over his shoulder to find Forrest. He watched him, a sweet smile on his face. Didn’t even turn away when he was caught, making Alex blush. “He’s cute. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she joked, winking. He rolled his eyes and she pulled out two glasses filling them expertly.

“Did you and Michael find anything? He called me earlier today, but I was busy.” Her smile fell, looking more sad. His eyebrows drew together. What had they found that warranted a look like that?

“Well… we didn’t find anything. I left earlier than planned.” Alex reached for her hands as she wrung them together. What was she nervous for?

“What happened, Maria?” She took a breath and tried to paste on a happier face., like whatever she was about to say didn’t bother her.

“Michael and I… We won’t be working together for a bit.” Alex still didn’t understand. Did they have some sort of argument? Michael would probably come apologize to her before the day was out. She must have seen the confusion on her face. “Alex… we broke up.”

Anything he was going to say left his thoughts in a second. What could have possibly happened that would push them to that? They seemed so happy together. And Maria wasn’t one to give up something she loved so easily.

“What happened,” he finally asked? She shook her head and smiled.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you when you’re not in the middle of a date. Now go have fun.” She didn’t give him time to respond before moving to the other end of the bar to ask a day drinker if he wanted another round.

He grabbed the two drinks and headed back to where Forrest was sitting. He set the beer in front of him.

“Sorry about that.” He looked up from his phone, moving the glass closer to him.

“Don’t worry about it. Things looked pretty intense. Everything alright?” Alex wanted to tell him. But he also didn’t want him to get a bad impression of Michael when he didn’t have the full story.

“She and her boyfriend broke up. She wouldn’t really give me details but I’m sure she’ll tell me soon.” Forrest looked over to the bar. He frowned as he watched her.

“Wasn’t she dating Michael? Ran into her a couple times at the hospital.” Damnit. He remembered.

“Yea. But she made it sound like it was a mutual thing. I don’t think they’re on bad terms. I just wish I knew what happened,” he said, taking a sip from the glass.

“Well I’m sure she’ll tell you eventually.” He reached over to rest a hand on his arm comfortingly. He knew he shouldn’t speculate about what happened between them. But something in his chest told him it might have to do with the curse. And by extension, have to do with him.

-

Michael had paced most of the day since hanging up on Alex. He tried calling Maria, but she never picked up. He needed to do something. Waiting just wasn’t cutting it. He tried triggering more visions by reading that journal front to back.

He didn’t know who those two were. They started as friends and it grew to more. Thomas was forced to present himself as his sister and twin who was often ill. Samuel was a child of the servants. Thomas’ father was a grade-a bastard who needed to control everything. He threatened Samuel’s life more than once. Then it was the Manes family who was supposed to provide the sacrifice for the year. So, the two of them ran away.

“Sounds a lot like the original story,” is what Isabel had said. He was tempted to agree but the original was a princess and a slave. And even if there was the possibility of that being true, he wouldn’t be able to find out. The last entry was the night they ran.

He needed to figure out what Jesse Manes did with those original scrolls. Max refused to let him anywhere near the soldiers that had ambushed them. He said they hadn’t said a word about who they were working for. Michael knew in his gut it was that asshole.

A knock on the wall pulled him from his thoughts. Isabel looked at him sympathetically.

“You’re going to run a hole through the floor if you keep pacing. Instead of overthinking why not do something productive? Give Sanders some extra help at the junkyard. It’ll keep your mind busy.” She stepped toward him to rest a hand on his arm.

“I have to figure this out, Iz. This vision wasn’t like the shared dreams. It felt like a message. This could be what we need to break the curse. I don’t know how yet, but it’s got to be a clue.” He pulled away from her, picking up the journal again, thumbing through it mindlessly. She sighed and took the book from his hands gently.

“Look, I get it. Breaking this curse is the most important thing but you can’t do that if you burn yourself out. Let’s go.” She grabbed him, pulling him out of the study. He knew she was probably right, so he let her pull him along. “We’re going to go get a drink and then you’re going to clean up that bunker for whatever it was you were planning to do down there.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at her. He never told her his and Alex’s plan. Max must have spilled. Damn him. The less people knew what was going on the easier it would be.

“Fine. But let’s avoid The Wild Pony if you don’t mind.” Isabel snorted.

“Please. Even I’m not that cruel.”

-

He didn’t pay attention to the name of the bar they walked into. It was smaller than the Wild Pony, but Isabel had said it was still considered a local’s bar. At least there wouldn’t be any sort of alien hunting enthusiasts.

The colors all over the place made him feel out of place in this cowboy hat and stained jeans. Where in the world has Isabel dragged him? She sat them down in a booth then waved to the bartender and batted her eyelashes. Michael looked between the two of them.

“You know her,” he asked, surprised?

“We hooked up a few times. Let’s just say she was my, awakening?” Michael nodded in understanding. “She’s really cool and nice but it’s not serious.” Alex was his ‘awakening.’ But he seemed to be a lot harder to shake. There was never any ‘just hooking up’ with him.

The waitress came over holding two colorful drinks. Michael rolled his eyes but he could enjoy something like this. The blue and purple faded into each other. He shot Isabel a look.

“Where exactly are we?”

“You weren’t paying attention? Planet 7. The local LGBT bar.” He hummed in realization. That explained all the colors. He didn’t even want to know what the drink he held in his hand was called. Probably some pun on ‘bisexual.’

“Not that I don’t appreciate the change in scenery, but why here?” A mischievous grin settled on her face. “If you say it’s cause you wanna get laid, I’ll just leave now,” he joked. She rolled her eyes at him.

“While that might be nice, no. It’s not why we’re here.” He took a sip of his drink. Rum. It wasn’t his favorite type of liquor but the drink wasn’t half bad. It was certainly fruity.

“You just gunna sit there and watch me chug this or are you gunna tell me why?” She looked around before leaning close.

“Forrest is a regular here. I figured it you wanted more information on the guy…” Michael groaned. He loved his cousin really, but sometimes she was not the brightest. People don’t normally go around talking about other people to strangers.

“Look Iz, I’d rather not think about him at all.”

“I know Max told you to consider bringing him in on the curse secret. Or at least part of it. You should know who the guy is.” He ran a hand though his hair. She was right, but what could he get from these people that he couldn’t get from a quick google search or from Max?

“I can see you doubting my methods but trust me, you can get interesting stuff from the people in town.” He sighed. Might as well let her do her thing. She was the socialite of the family. He waved his hand, signaling to the rest of the bar.

“Well then where do you suggest we start?” An evil grin settled on her face. What was she--?

“Hey Blair, I have a question!” The bartender from earlier returned to the table. Isabel rested her chin on one hand and played with the straw in her glass with the other. “Have you seen Forrest around recently? My cousin here is kinda into him,” she said sweetly. Michael just about choked on his own drink.

“Iz—”

“He was last here a few days ago. Seemed a bit distracted. At least your cousin has good taste. Even though I don’t like guys, he’s always nice to look at. Really sweet too.” She looked over her shoulder at a group and continued, “James might be able to give you more info. They dated for a while, but it didn’t work out. They’re still friends from what I can tell.”

Michael glared at Isabel. She thanked Blair before casually taking a sip from her drink. So what if Forrest was good looking? Even by lesbian standards. Sure Michael wasn’t blind. Maybe he was always focused on Alex that he never thought about it before.

“People here love romance. Everyone’s always trying to set people up. Just for the drama of it all,” she said, laughing at the look on his face.

“So, why’d you throw me under the bus? Why not just make up a person?” He shook his head at her giddy expression.

“Because then it looks like we’re fishing for information.”

“Ok, but we are,” he pointed out.

“But they don’t have to know that. Let’s go.” She suddenly stood, grabbing his arm again. There really was no stopping her if she was determined. “James!” Isabel called as they walked up to the table. The guy that turned was on the muscular side, probably played some kind of sport.

“What can I do for you,” he asked, smiling?

“Blair said you used to date Forrest Long?” Everything about this screamed ‘bad idea’ to Michael. They shouldn’t be prying into his life like this.

“Yes, but why?” He raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. Isabel looped her arm through his, pulling him forward.

“My cousin here has a bit of a crush. He’s kinda shy and every time I try to encourage him, he just gets nervous,” she said, stealing his hat that he was trying to hide behind. The blush on his face was definitely noticeable. He hoped this wasn’t what she did to people who had real crushes.

James chuckled and shook his head before taking a sip of his drink. He turned towards them fully for the first time, a knowing grin on his face.

“That guy has always been popular. He’s really great. Thoughtful, caring, always tips more than twenty percent. He’s supportive and crazy smart. He can take a dumb idea and turn it into the best. Probably one of the best relationships I ever had.” He seemed to be smiling at the memories. Michael shoved his hands in his pockets, pretending to be nervous.

“If it was so great, why’d you break up? If you don’t mind me asking…” James shrugged and shook his head.

“There were too many secrets. The nature of his job just made it hard for him to tell me anything. It just ended up getting in the way of our trust in each other. We’re still friends and I wish him the best.”

“But doesn’t he work for the police? In a place like Roswell how many secrets could there be,” he asked? He laughed a bit.

“The police stuff he does wasn’t the problem. It was the other stuff for the military. But let me make something clear. If you’re really into him, go for it. He’s a great guy. And maybe things have changed. Now I can’t tell you everything about him. That takes the fun out if it.” Isabel let out a small giggle and thanked him. Then she was pulling Michael away and back to their little booth.

She plopped the hat back on his head then crossed her arms, just smirking at him. He would admit that knowing he still did work for the military was helpful. But what exactly was his title? He was a weapons specialist for the police but what else?

“Fine. I’ll admit that some of it was useful. But we still need a google search and whatever information Max can get,” he pointed out, fixing his hat.

“Fine, just dismiss my perfectly executed plan,” she huffed. Michael laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Yea about that… Never do it again,” he said. The grin returned quickly.

“No promises,” she said, winking.

-

Alex lost track of time again. He and Forrest had sat and talked through the dinner rush, the weekend drinkers and the bar had started to wind down. Everything was just so easy.

“You did what? How did you get away with that? My second in command would have had my ass for sneaking out,” Forrest exclaimed.

“I told you. I became best friends with my second in command. She covered for me a lot when I wanted to meet up with a guy. Now it was only when we had time off, but she was pretty awesome.” Forrest laughed and shook his head.

“Wish I could meet her. She still in the service?” The smile fell from Alex’s face. He didn’t even know if she was still on this planet.

Staring into the amber of his beer, his thoughts drifted. He doubts she died. An angel can’t just die, right? Forrest noticed his shift in mood. He reached across the table to take his hand, rubbing his thumb over it comfortingly.

“She’s uh… missing,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry. That can be worse than just being gone.” Alex nodded slowly. He squeezed his hand. “Hope makes everything harder. But we need it just to survive.” A tear slipped down Alex’s cheek. He wiped it away quickly.

Forrest gave him a gentle smile and stood, still holding his hand. He moved to stand in front of him. The raised table and seats made them about the same height this way. He looked around the bar then stepped closer.

Forrest pressed a quick gentle kiss to his cheek. His eyes flicked around the bar, panic settling in this gut. No one seemed to be watching but he couldn’t shake the feeling there was.

Alex wanted to kiss him. To accept the comfort he was offering. But every part of his body screamed to run. To not associate with him until it was safe. He didn’t want him to get hurt. What if his father found out? What if…

“Hey. It’s ok,” he said gently. His smile was sad but understanding. “I’ll drive you home.” Alex nodded and pulled out his wallet, tossing a few twenties down. It was probably too much but he didn’t think about it.

He followed Forrest without a word. Even the car ride was mostly silent. What was he supposed to say now? Maybe he should apologize for the way he reacted? Thank him for the thought anyway?

They pulled into his driveway and he shut the car off. They sat there for a moment. Alex picked at his nails. He took a deep breath.

“Forrest, I—"

“You don’t owe me an explanation. I get it. But if you ever want to get out of that closet, you let me know. I’ll walk you to the door.” He smiled and hoped out of the car. Alex knew he shouldn’t let his father or other past experiences get in the way of this.

What happened with Michael was different. He still felt awful about it, but he couldn’t let that hold him back forever. Thinking of Michael made his chest ache. He knew he needed to find him. The dream had told him so. But was he ready to be found?

He shook his head and jumped out of the car. Hurrying to catch up to Forrest. The motion sensor lights clicked on.

“I had a really nice time today,” he said, pulling a key out of his pocket.

“Likewise. I hope we get the chance to do it again.” Forrest smiled and leaned against a pillar. Alex smiled back, pushing the door open. “I’ll see you around, Alex.” He turned and started back to his car.

“Forrest, wait!” He stopped and turned. An eyebrow raised.

Before he could second guess himself, Alex took his face in his hands and pressed his mouth to his. Forrest ran his hands over his arms, pulling him closer. It felt good, like he didn’t have to worry about anything. But a little voice in the back of his head kept him from lingering too long.

He pulled away slowly, breathing heavy. A small smile sat on Forrest’s face, as though he expected nothing less from him.

“I like you. Just give me a little time,” Alex murmured.

“I’ve got nothing but time. I just hope it doesn’t take too long.” Alex chuckled and released him. He watched as he pulled away, flashing his brights in a final goodbye.

The dull ache settled in his chest. He ignored it only until he made it to his bedroom. It slowly become impossible to ignore. Something wasn’t right. Michael was calling for him.

[ofdeathstouch]

𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣-𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔞: 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔵𝔢𝔠𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔤

SUMMARY: Charlie goes to collect Tracy’s soul, but instead she comes face-to-face with Tracy’s killer. This is a missing scene from MAGE MURDERS. TRIGGERS: Death Mentions, Violence, Physical Assault MENTIONS: @ofdivinerage​, @ofhxllblazer​

It was late when she felt it. The reaper tingle. It was the sort of feeling that notified her when one of her charges was dead, only, she hadn’t been expecting it tonight. She closed her eyes, letting the veil take her to the location of the body. When she opened them again, she was standing inside Flanagan’s Pub. The first thing she noticed was the twisted and mutilated body of a young woman dressed like a magician. Her heart lurched for a moment. It looked like Zatanna. Charlie took a step forward and the features on the woman’s gaunt face became clearer. “Tracy...” Charlie breathed. The young woman was an apprentice of sorts to Zatanna. The way her body was positioned made it clear this crime scene was intended to be a message for Michael.

Charlie was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard someone strike a match behind her. She turned to see Aamon. He was leaning back casually in his chair. Blood stained his clothes and his hands and the smell of booze and cigarette smoke lingered in the air around him. This wasn’t the first time she’d collected the soul of someone Aamon had killed, but this was by far the most violent and personal display of rage that she’d seen from the demon prince. 

“Charlie,” he spoke first breaking the tension in the air. He knew that a reaper would come to collect the soul, that was why he’d stuck around. It was just...unfortunate the reaper had to be Charlie. He liked her. She was a friend of Belphegor’s but less annoying than Cupid. He could at least deal with Charlie in small doses whereas he couldn’t deal with Cupid in any dose. The man that killed Charlie when she was human, Will, resided in Aamon’s kingdom. He remembered that he enjoyed torturing him personally. “Care for a drink, love?” he asked, placing his cigarette in his mouth and holding up a bottle of half drunken scotch he’d swiped from the bar.

“Aamon,” her voice came out hushed and urgent as she took a step toward him. “What--” she was trying to find the words and the courage to speak. “What did you do?” she asked, her shaking hands gesturing to the body of the deceased girl. It looked like she’d been tortured before her death both mentally and physically. He’d made this a slow process for the poor girl. Charlie normally didn’t judge Aamon when she came to collect the souls he left in his wake, but she couldn’t look away this time. The intimate nature of this kill was extreme even for him. 

“Aamon, you have to go,” she replied as she took the bottle from him. She ignored the look of annoyance that he gave her and continued forward. “Michael will kill you. You need to go back to hell. You’ll be safe there.” She didn’t care much for keeping Aamon safe per say. Consequences to his actions were completely foreign to him. He always got away with these little bouts of rage that resulted in someone’s death but Charlie did care about humanity. She knew the scene before her had the potential to cause a full on celestial war. Aamon was better off exiled to hell where Michael couldn’t get to him than he was waiting it out here for his brother to punish him. “Come on,” she held out her hand to him. “We can go down there together. I can take Tracy to her final destination when I return.”

“Let him come,” he replied as he blew smoke in her direction. He’d done this for a reason. Michael walked around the city as if he was untouchable. Sure, there was some truth to that, but those around him? The connections he was making, the family he was building...Aamon wanted to make sure Michael knew they would never be safe. He wanted Michael to know what his siblings felt every time they saw Heaven’s Little Watch Dog on Earth. He wanted to instill in Michael the same fear the Archangel had instilled in them during the war. And if Aamon died in the process then what of it? He was living on borrowed time anyway. The blow that Belgirel took had always been meant for Aamon.

Charlie observed him for a moment. If there was one thing she knew well it was death. She knew the ambivalence and the devil may care attitude well. It was the way a dead man carried himself. He wanted to die. “That’s the coward’s way out and you know it,” she replied before she even knew what possessed her to say something like that. “Suicide by smiting. Is that really how you want your story to end?” she asked. And that was her mistake. She’d gotten comfortable with the Demon Princes. She started to care; tried to understand them. 

In a split second, Aamon’s face twisted from calm ambivalence to distrust, disgust, and pure rage. He sprung from his seat, grabbing Charlie by the waist and pushing her forward until she was stuck between him and the grimy pub wall. “Getting brave, aren’t we?” he breathed into her ear. “Maybe I’m not the only one with a death wish. Do not mistake me for Belphegor. I am not your charity case, I am your superior in every way. Do you understand me?” he asked as his cold blue eyes met hers. “Nod your head now. Do. You. Understand. Me.?” he repeated coldly. A wolfish grin formed on his lips as she nodded yes. “Good,” he began, not at all easing his grip on her. For her part she didn’t fight back, instead she looked paralyzed with fear. “This is what’s going to happen. I’m going back to my apartment to clean myself up. In the mean time, you’re going to take the lovely Ms. Tracy here to my kingdom in hell. All you need to do is take her to the gates. Alastair will know what to do with her from there. Again,” he replied, bringing one hand to her throat. “Nod if you understand me.”

“Aamon I--” she began but his hand closed off her airwaves. She couldn’t take Tracy to hell; her soul was bound for the kingdoms of heaven but Aamon wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” he began, he maintained a steady hand around her throat as his free hand went to grasp her wrist. “I don’t care where she’s meant to go. That changes tonight. I’m not done with her. You will take her to my kingdom and you will give her over to Alastair. Naturally,” he squeezed her wrist tightly, pushing his power into her and watching the flesh around her hand go necrotic. “You will tell no one. Not Lucifer, not Belphegor, and definitely not Azrael. I would really hate to have to send Will back to kill you all over again,” he replied nonchalantly. He pushed a little further watching her wince in pain as her body began to die again. “Do you understand?” He smiled as she nodded her head this time without debate. “Good,” he replied as he released his grip on her wrist and throat. He heard a rustle behind the bartop and grinned to himself. He figured it was Tracy’s ghost trying to make some noise and maybe even get away from the shop. She wouldn’t get far. “Looks like you better get to work, love,” he replied as he took a step back from the reaper. He figured he made his point clear enough to her. Aamon gave her one final once over before disappearing in a flutter of wings. 

Charlie choked out a sob and gripped at her decaying wrist the moment he disappeared. Gods. It hurt. It was like a permanent cold had invaded her body and gripped at her heart. She hadn’t wanted to give him the satisfaction of watching her cry, but now that she was alone she let the tears flow freely. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, she was suffocating. She needed to get out of here. Charlie pushed the backdoor to the pub open and stepped out. She braced herself against the back of the building as her body shuttered and shook with sobs. She was so overwhelmed and in pain she hadn’t even noticed the bloke in the corner who’d been taking a leak. 

John Constantine quickly zipped up his trousers as he heard the back door to Flanagan's Pub slam open. He’d fully expected Roger, the owner of the Pub, to appear and have a go at him for being so blitzed and taking a leak behind his bar, but he was surprised to see it was a young woman instead. She didn’t look like the type that frequented this kind of establishment. John could hear her crying. They sounded like sobs of both fear and pain. He cautiously approached her and held up his hands to show her that he was unarmed. “You all right there, love?” he asked, keeping his tone gentle and even. 

Charlie looked up as a voice spoke to her. For a moment she froze, fearing that it was Aamon again, but as she examined the man she recognized him as John Constantine. He was one of her wards. He was sweet but constantly in trouble. He had some dangerous habits that she knew would lead to his death sooner rather than later. Charlie straightened up and wiped tears from her face. She nodded when he asked her if she was alright, but she didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure she could form words. John nodded in kind but he could see she was far from all right. “Did someone hurt you?” he asked, giving her the once over. She was favoring her hand like she was in pain. “An old boyfriend? Is he still here?” he asked, looking around. He was ready to fight someone. Didn’t matter who. They’d laid hands on this poor girl and he was going to return the favor to them in kind. 

“He’s gone,” she managed to breathed out. She could see the disappointment in John’s face and it made her smile softly. He was sweet but reckless. A fight against Aamon wasn’t one that he could win, but she knew that even if John knew who’d hurt her he wouldn’t have backed down. “I’m okay,” she promised, keeping her injured hand out of view. “Thank you for stopping to check in on me.”

John nodded but he didn’t want to leave the girl. Not until he knew she was truly safe. So, he did what he could to stall for some time until he was sure the threat had truly passed. John pulled out a pack of smokes from his tench and offered a cigarette to her. The young woman obliged and he lit it for her. Charlie normally didn’t smoke, but she felt today might be an occasion for it. She inhaled deeply and let the smoke fill her lungs. They stayed silent as they shared a smoke, John always looking around her to make sure whoever had harmed her truly wasn’t coming back. When she was done, she extinguished the butt of the cigarette into the smoke tray beside her and turned to look at John. “Thank you, really. I’m okay now,” she promised him.

John nodded as he extinguished his own cigarette. “Anytime, love. If he comes back...” John manifested his card and held it out to her. “You give me a call, alright?” She took the card from him and nodded. “I will,” she lied as she placed the card in her pocket. She had no intention of dragging John into this. She opened the back door to the pub just a crack, signaling him that it was time for her to go. John nodded and gently patted her shoulder as he made his way down the alley. “Hey John,” she called out to him when he was a ways away from her. “You should really cut back on the cigarettes,” she replied. She allowed half of her face to go skull-like. It was the way most people expected reapers to look. “Smoking kills,” she warned good naturally as her face returned to normal. And with that, she left Constantine gaping as she disappeared into the pub, allowing the door to shut firmly behind her. 

“Tracy,” Charlie called out as she reached the main atrium of the pub. “I’m sorry for what happened to you and I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m not taking you to hell,” she promised as she grabbed a clean dish rag from behind the counter and wrapped it around her injured wrist. Maybe Aamon was right. Maybe she did have a death wish. The smart thing to do would be to just listen to him and take Tracy to hell, but she wasn’t going to let him win. This time, Aamon would face the consequences of his actions. Charlie did the one thing that always brought her comfort when she was scared. She closed her eyes and she prayed to Azrael. It only took a moment for her to hear the flutter of their wings as their energy filled the room. Relief flooded over her as she opened her eyes. “Something’s happened, Boss. We need to talk.”

[seeaddywrite]

i’m struggling to reconcile the max i love with the one i saw on screen today; this is my attempt at fixing the end of the episode. it’s a lot melodramatic, but so is max, & i genuinely believe that once he calms down, he’s going to be pretty upset with himself for pulling that gun. if you have a different opinion, that’s fine, but please remember i don’t entertain character hate. & now that i’ve got that out of my system, i’m moving onto Malex.

1X12 Coda

     For a moment, Max is a tower of rage, of anger that burns so brightly he’s consumed by it, his soul turned to black ash, like a sheet of paper tossed carelessly in the fire. The man -- alien -- in the next room used and abused his sister. He murdered fourteen people, some of them with Isobel’s innocent hands, and he’s been playing them for fools for years. But it’s more than that; Max trusted Noah with the most precious person in his life. He gave her away at their wedding, for Christ’s sake, and he handed Isobel right to the entity responsible for making all their lives a living hell for ten fucking years. And Michael wants to save him? Wants to show him mercy? 

       But like all intense fires, the rage in Max burns out quickly as he looks across the room at Michael. Logic returns before emotion, and he considers pitting telekinesis against bullets and knows he’d lose -- and then, the horror strikes, turning his fingers numb. The gun drops to the floor with a thud that echoes in Max’s bones, and he swallows convulsively in an attempt not to be sick. He’d just had a gun cocked at his brother’s head. And there’s no one in his head controlling his actions. There’s no excuse. Michael is one of three people in this fucking world that Max would die or kill to protect, and instead of remembering that in a moment of incandescent rage, he’d held a weapon on him. 

      There’s no coming back from that, Max knows. There’s no apology, no penance that can possibly make up for what he’s just done, or rebuild any of the tentative trust that had just been beginning to grow between them again. He backs away from Michael in a nervous skitter, half hoping that the other man will hit him again, or knock him out to make him stop reliving those long, red-tinted moments, but he just stands and strides into the other room, presumably to give Noah the antidote. Max doesn’t try to stop him. 

      When he can move again, he slumps down on the floor and puts his head between his knees, breath ragged. He’d been a shaking trigger finger away from killing his brother. Right now, Max would be happier if he never moved again. Maybe that would make up for the way he’d raised his voice to Liz, or the fact that he’d been so ready to let another living creature die, scared and alone, in his guest bedroom. Maybe, if he could just will himself out of existence, it would start some sort of reparation to Michael for what he’d just done. 

     Michael reappears in the doorway without Noah. “He’s asleep,” he says tersely, and Max just nods, feeling like an imposter in his own home. He waits for Michael to say something, to toss accusations around or just storm out -- but the other man just goes to the cabinet where Max keeps the good liquor and pulls out the first bottle his hand touches. He takes a long, deep swig, and comes closer again, kicking the Max’s gun and sending it skittering across the tile before sliding down the wall to sit next to Max. 

     Max’s eyes slide closed. He wants to apologize, and the words are there, on the tip of his tongue -- but he swallows them down, reminding himself harshly that it’s pointless. 

     “You weren’t going to shoot me.” Michael’s words are certain, though his voice is hoarse, and Max’s eyelids flicker open. He stares at Michael like his expression is a particularly confusing passage in a Tolstoy novel, and, in all fairness, to Max, Michael’s words are far harder to understand. 

     “You don’t know that,” Max responds, and his voice is as wrecked as he feels. “I don’t know that.” He’d like to think that there was never any danger, that Michael was as safe with him as he always was, but -- well, Max isn’t the sort of man that pulls a gun for no reason, and he’s spent the day with Noah, letting him twist and manipulate his thoughts, and who knows what Max would do to feel that high from killing, again? Max didn’t even fucking realize that’s what he’d been craving, lately, so how could he say he was never a danger to Michael? 

       “I know you,” Michael answers, and he shoves his shoulder into Max’s, none too gently. “And I need you to stop fucking broadcasting all of that shame and guilt and shit into my head right now, Max, because I can’t fucking take it, okay? I can’t. Not today.” 

       Max forces himself to lift his head and reach out to Michael mentally -- he doesn’t dare try to touch him. The other man’s mind is loud and chaotic, pain and guilt and horror and desperation all roiling around in his head, and Max reels backward, his own head aching from that simple brush of consciousnesses. He takes a moment to parse through the burst of information he’d gotten, and Michael uses the time to down half of the bottle of expensive whiskey in less than sixty seconds. 

       There are no words that adequately convey the depth of Max’s shame when he realizes the reason behind Michael’s desperation to save Noah’s life. He shrinks in on himself, trying to shield the all-encompassing guilt and horror that threatens to eat him alive so that he doesn’t swamp Michael or Isobel with it. They’ve both been through more than enough, today. More than they should have ever had to face, if he’d done his job correctly. As a self-appointed protector of his siblings, Max knows he’s fired -- and God, he deserves so much worse. 

       “You should take him to your bunker,” Max says, after several long minutes. He’s not going to say anything about Michael’s mother, or the horrifying things he’d witnessed while they shared thoughts for that instant, because Michael doesn’t want to talk about it at all -- and certainly not with Max. He spares a second to hope that Alex Manes is as good of a man as Michael believes, and will show up to help when Michael’s ready. “I can’t guarantee I won’t --” he trails off, and inhales shakily. “You deserve your answers, Michael. You deserve ...” Max trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence. “You deserve a hell of a lot better than what you’ve got. Take him. I hope he has what you’re looking for.” 

      Noah is a serial killer, and Max allows himself to worry for a moment about what might happen if he escapes from Michael with his powers back -- but he trusts his brother to do the right thing, one way or another. And Michael doesn’t like to see others hurt anymore than Max does. Besides, the latter has already proven he can’t be trusted with this. It’s far better for Michael to take over, and remove the temptation from Max’s home. 

    Michael stands, but he’s still looking down at Max, his gaze shadowed and shoulders bowed under the weight of his grief. “I’ve got Isobel, Alex, and you on this damn planet, Max,” he says, and suddenly, the same pain that his brother feels is pushing against Max, too. He accepts it gladly, sharing that deep, abiding ache of grief and isolation with one of the two other people who could ever understand and using it as restitution for the wrongs he’s cultivated today. “I’m pissed as hell at you, but we’re not done. You get me?” 

    Slowly, Max nods, feeling a thousand years old. His body aches and his lids droop with exhaustion that’s only half his, or maybe only a third -- it’s hard to tell like this, with his consciousness suspended between Michael’s and Isobel’s as it is. 

    “That won’t ever happen again,” he promises, in a low, gravelly voice. “I’m so goddamn so-” 

    “Don’t.” Michael cuts him off. “I don’t want to hear it. I just want to --” he trails off, clearly uncertain of what he wants or needs, just as Max is. 

    And as much as he wants to offer his support, as much as he wants to try to comfort his brother, Max knows that’s not in the cards right now, and maybe never again. “Isobel’s at Liz’s,” he whispers, exhaling through his mouth. Isobel is soft where Max is unyielding, and fierce where he is lax. She’s always been Michael’s staunchest defender, an unwavering presence in his life, offering support and affection whenever he needs it, just as she’s always done for Max. But Michael’s the one who needs her tonight, and even though she’s as torn up as he is, Max thinks the two of them will be good for each other. Even if it leaves him alone when that’s the last thing he wants - but wanting and deserving are two different things, and Max knows what needs to happen.

    Michael nods once, understanding glittering momentarily in his eyes, and turns to leave without another word. He doesn’t say anything more until he goes to get Noah, and then, it’s just the barest hesitation on Max’s front porch as he carries the unconscious man out, fireman style. He doesn’t even glance back as he says, “I’ll send Liz over here,” and moves on, disappearing into the darkness to wherever his truck is parked. 

    Max’s eyes close again, and he doesn’t open them until Liz is there, wrapping him in warmth he wishes he could drown in. 

[fanfic-scribbles]

Home Away From Home

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: You’re not sure who is stealing your clothes but you would like it to stop. Please and thank you.

Prompt: Written for @gabriel-monthly-challenge’s November dialogue prompt: “Hey, I’ve been looking for that! But…why is it here?” [And so tagging mods: @archangelgabriellives, @ttttrickster, @archangel-with-a-shotgun, @warlockwriter, @archangelsanonymous, and @revwinchester.]

Quick facts: Romance – Gabriel/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff; ‘Sugar’ as term of endearment; angel nesting

Words: 1784

A/N: I think over the years I have read through every nesting fic I have found. I have a lot of weirdly specific tropes I really enjoy and this is one of them. Logically yeah angels probably aren’t like birds and their wings probably don’t have feathers and blah blah I don’t really care, I’m just gonna wrap myself up in this conceit like a cozy blanket. Pure self-indulgence, my friends; I am aaaaaall about it. I hope you can enjoy it too, ‘cause this is pretty much what it says on the tin. As for where this takes place in the canon timeline, it would probably be after an alternate S13 ending with no Michael!Dean and the AU!Hunters are settling in elsewhere. Because I am Lazy.

    You have a problem.

You, specifically. As in: only you. No one else has this problem. Not that it’s life-threatening or anything; it’s just…

Your clothes keep going missing.

Nothing that makes it really gross, thankfully, but things that do make it personal, and absolutely nothing that can be explained by a hungry dryer. All your socks are fine. All your favorite shirts, however– the ones that have survived enough hunts to become well-worn– have vanished. That one magical jacket you could wear comfortably in the spring but which also kept you warm in the winter– gone without a trace.

You’re officially fed up when your absolute favorite shirt, the one that’s ridiculously comfortable and the most flattering thing you have ever owned, goes missing.

“I swear I’ve never heard of a creature that eats clothes. You can look it up yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“I will. Also– stop laughing at me.”

Sam, chuckling, shakes his head but goes back to wiping down his gun. Jack, who’s sitting nearby and carefully polishing a knife, stops and frowns. “Could it be a…” He looks uncertainly from you to Sam. “…A ghost?”

“There are no ghosts here, Jack.” Sam smiles at him reassuringly. “This place is warded against just about everything.”

“Besides, I checked.”

Sam gives you a Look. “You checked? For a ghost?”

“I had to do something!” You put down your gun and rag. Any more polishing and you’ll probably put a new hole in it. “This isn’t natural.”

Sam scoffs. “Sometimes the simplest explanation is the correct one.”

“I thought of that, which is why I didn’t say anything for weeks,” you say. “But the whole point of a prank is to get a reaction and nobody has even alluded to it. So no, nobody took them as a joke.”

Sam’s face scrunches. “Okay. That is weird.”

“Right?” Puh-lease; living in the same space as Gabriel and Dean, how could you not first assume it was a joke?

“How would stealing your clothes be a joke?” Jack asks

“Who even knows with this crew,” you say. You can’t help but frown at the bittersweet recollection. “Dean and Gabriel used to love to play jokes. Especially Gabriel.”

There’s a bit of silence (and mental cursing of asshole demons on your part) until Sam clears his throat. “How is Gabriel? I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

More than that; it’s been at least a week since he left. “He took off to do something with Cas. I’m sure they’ll be home soon.”

Sam frowns again. “Cas is with Dean. They met up yesterday and went to check out a possible werewolf thing.”

There’s a bit of panic in you at that– Gabriel is gone and alone– but you shove it down. If that’s the case then it’s only been a day, and Gabriel needs his autonomy. No matter how much you wish you could roll him in a bunch of blankets and keep him close. “Well, he must be fine or Cas would have said something.”

“Right.” Sam clears his throat and goes back to cleaning his weapons. “Now that his grace is back in working order he’s probably just…spreading his wings.”

“Yeah! Yeah.” You throw yourself into that idea. That he hasn’t taken off. Or worse. “He’s used to a different standard. It’s probably weird for him to live underground.”

“Yes.”

“Exactly.”

Jack looks very confused but when your eyes glance over him he nods quickly in solidarity. You smile. Cas and Sam may be the Dads Prime, but the way he’s taken to Gabriel is cute. Well, sometimes family is three jaded hunters and two Heaven-averse angels.

“I think I’m going to go see if I can spruce up his room,” you say and start picking up your things. “Maybe if I clean it up, make it smell nice, put a picture or something…maybe it can feel more like a home.” And less like a cell, you think but don’t add.

Sam looks like he wants to say something, but he just smiles awkwardly and says, “Good luck.”

  Apparently you don’t need it. You thought Sam’s well wishes were warranted– whenever you’ve seen glimpses of Gabriel’s room it’s always looked like utter chaos. Standing in it now with cleaning supplies and some knick-knacks, it’s actually…nice. Chaos maybe, but controlled chaos. The bed in the room is not the original one, but it’s also not opulent enough to hold your attention.

What does catch your eye is the giant pile of fabric on the floor that, from your little glimpses, you had assumed to be a mess of discarded laundry. It’s not. The shape of it is purposeful; sort of square, sort of rounded, and formed by a ton of blankets as well as clothi–

“Hey, I’ve been looking for that!” You fall to your knees on the soft pile and grab your favorite jacket. “But…why is it here?”

And that’s not the only thing stashed in the pile. You find all of your missing shirts, a tan trench coat that looks exactly like what Cas wears day in and day out, and a few other shirts that you can trace back to Jack, Sam, and even Dean.

“Seriously, what the fuck?” But you’re not angry so much as confused. Okay, a little annoyed, but still mostly confused and trying not to judge. If Gabriel was trying to pull a joke, it would’ve come to fruition by now. So why does he have your stuff, and why does it look like he intends to keep it?

“Gabriel,” you say evenly. “When you have a minute, come back to the bunker. We need to talk.”

You ball up the trash bag, dust a little, and light some candles to make the place smell a little less like an underground hideaway. On the dresser, you place a photo of Sam, Dean, Jack, and Cas that you took. Then you sit on the foot of the bed, facing the blanket pile, and wait.

“Please tell me nobody triggered another apocaly–” Gabriel, now next to you, stops so suddenly there might as well be a record scratch. The fact that there isn’t one is telling. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Um, you said I could ‘come by anytime,’” you say, finger-quotes and all. “‘Mi casa es su casa’ and everything. You even amended it to ‘mi habitación.’ Remember?”

“Oh.” Gabriel deflates and looks back and forth between you and the pile. “I really don’t want to have this conversation. Can we not have this conversation?”

You shrug. “I can’t stop you if you’d rather leave, but you should know that if we don’t have this conversation then I am always going to be wondering why you’re sleeping with one of Dean’s shirts.”

Gabriel grimaces. A confirmation if ever you’ve seen one. “So you do sleep in it!” You look from the floor to the bed. The bed which feels very nice. “Why are you sleeping in a pile of clothes instead of your bed?”

Gabriel looks offended. “It’s not just a pile of clothes.”

“Sorry; pile of clothes and blankets.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s a nest.”

You look down at the…nest. You’re sure you don’t know exactly what that means to him, but you can guess at it. “Oh. Is it an…angel thing?”

“Yes,” he says sourly, head ducked down so you can’t see his face. “In heaven you twine grace with your siblings. On earth you have to…adjust. Slightly.”

You take a moment to pick that apart. Siblings; being close. “It’s about family then?” you ask. He nods. He’s lifted his head again but he looks so miserable, you try to make a joke. “Does that make me your favorite then?”

He snaps his head up and looks quizzical. Yeah, a joke at your expense almost always does the trick. You gesture at the sub-collection of your closet. “You have more of my stuff than anyone else.”

Gabriel actually smiles a little at that. “You’ve always been my favorite.”

“Really?” You clamp your hands on your mouth– that was embarrassingly eager. But Gabriel doesn’t seem to care. He’s staring at you, expression calculatingly inscrutable. And yet…

You clear your throat. “So…those are my favorite clothes. What are the chances of me getting them back?”

Gabriel smiles mischievously and folds his arms up to tap his finger to his lip, like he’s thinking very hard about it. You should be worried by that, but it’s such a rare sight these days you’re too happy about it to worry about what’s going to come out of his mouth next. “I’ll think about giving them back.” Gabriel is suddenly lying in the nest like he’s waiting for you to paint him like one of your French girls. He pats the space next to him. “If you help break in the rest of it.”

It’s not quite how you fantasized about him inviting you into bed (which is impressive, considering all the various scenarios you’ve cooked up), but hell, you’ll take it. To offset how you scramble in so enthusiastically you might as well have “Pathetic” tattooed on your forehead, you joke, “Is this a scent thing? Should I roll around?”

“It’s really more of a ‘presence’ thing,” he says as you lie next to him. “But I wouldn’t mind it.”

“What if I roll onto you?”

He stares at you. You cringe. Shit. Touch is, well, a touchy subject ever since Asshole-modeus. “Sorry, I…I guess I shouldn’t say that.”

“Not unless you mean it.”

Hope surges in you. He looks serious, and you try to match it. “What if I do?”

He studies you, like he’s not sure if you're serious. And here you thought you were always pathetically obvious. “Really?” he asks, frowning in a way that makes you want to kiss those creases right off his face. How could he ever doubt?

“I always have been. Just…” You shrug. “What does a hunter, some random human, have to offer someone who dates demigods and can create perfection whole cloth–”

He kisses you. Firmly, and he doesn’t let up until he steals the breath right out of you. When he pulls back you’re left panting but your eyes trail to wet lips curling into a smirk. “Sugar,” he drawls. “I may not like my dad that much but even I have to admit…” His fingers trail up your temple and down behind your ear. “When it comes to workmanship, he’s second to none.”

You duck to hide your ridiculous smile. “Um…” You clear your throat. “This nest is actually really comfortable.”

“It is now,” he says and pulls you in.

[lonelyandgone]

Disclaimer 1 - This is totally ooey gooey cheese.  If you don’t like cheesy fics, do yourself a favor and not read it.  Disclaimer 2 - I wrote it super fast so it may not only be ooey gooey cheese but full of errors.  Read at your own risk.  

Ironic – A Joe and Taylor Drabble

 She can remember their first discussion about this.  Fifteen years old.  Sitting against the pastel painted bed in her room.  Abi had been picking at the hole in the knee of her jeans, rambling on about how much she hated Algebra but that she couldn’t hate it too much because Ben Henson was sitting diagonal and two seats up from her.   She had been writing a song that could really be a poem or maybe a story, she wasn’t positively sure at that point in time.  And when Abi had realized her lack of attention, she had grabbed the notepad from her hand and flung it across the room.  

“Let’s plan our weddings,” Abi had said enthusiastically, her red hair bouncing in waves like it was trying to match, or at least keep up with, her energy.    

Her heart had leapt a bit at the idea because, well the idea of everlasting love made her starry-eyed and planning the wedding she knew she would eventually have made her whole body shiver with excitement.  But showing Abi that wasn’t something she really wanted to do, not after her best friend had warned her to stop living in a fairytale just the day before when she had been whimsically forecasting her future romance with Chad Michael Murray.

So instead of outwardly showing the immense amount of glee coursing through her body, she had looked at her increduously.  “I’m not getting married,” she had stated, choosing to err on the side of ridiculous rather than be honest, the 15 year old in her wildly shining through.  

“C’mon,” Abi had virtually yelled before providing her best belly laugh and throwing her head back dramatically against the bed, “Taylor I’m in love with love Swift isn’t getting married?  What planet do you think I’m from?”

It was then that she wished she hadn’t had her head in the clouds so much before when spewing about boys and crushes to her best friend.   Because as much as she was going to deny Abi’s words, she knew it wouldn’t work.  It didn’t stop her from trying though.  Not in the slightest.

She had raised her chin up high, now completely determined to make her friend see some form of fake truth in the utter nonsense she was saying.  “I’m not.  I’m going to be a successful and completely independent woman who doesn’t need some man hanging off of me.  What good are they for anyway?”

Abi’s laughter had only intensified tenfold then.  “Obviously good enough for you to write songs about and pine over every single day,” Abi had howled, placing her hand on her stomach as she continued to bellow.

“Well that’s the only thing they are good for,” she contended, locking in her jaw and focusing her eyes like lasers on Abi, “and don’t act like you don’t pine too.  You were pining for Ben Henson five minutes ago.”

“Whatever,” Abi had giggled as she swatted at her arm, then turning to push herself off of the floor in the direction of the notepad she had just flung away.  “Well if you’re gonna continue to lie . . . . we can just plan mine.”

She had tried to ignore her for the first ten minutes, closing her eyes and folding her arms across her chest in some weird act of teenage friend defiance.   She had refused comment when Abi asked if she preferred sleeveless or capped sleeves and when she asked if the best time for a wedding would be summer or fall.  It was when Abi had started talking about wedding music, and specifically her question of the traditional wedding march versus Pachelbel’s Canon, that she finally caved and joined in.

They had spent the next two hours talking about catering and decorations, dress length and first dances, wedding cakes and throwing of garters.  They imagined the looks on their future spouse’s faces as they walked down the aisle and how their dads would cry during the father daughter dance. They made promises to be each other’s maid or maiden of honor, regardless of far away from each other they lived then along with another promise that they would be each other’s first call once the big question got popped.  

No detail had been missed by the time they fell back against the bed, both with notepads in hand, both gloriously living out their future weddings in their imaginations.  

And now, twelve years later, one of those plans is coming to fruition.  

She can feel the pull in her cheeks as she runs her finger along the edge of her wine glass, a day full of smiles and jubilation to blame.  The thought alone causing her to smile even more.  

Her best friend, her ride or die, her person was now Matt’s wife.  She had taken those wishes and dreams of a daydreaming teenager and tweaked and edited them to turn them into the utter elegance and magnificence of this day.

It had been flawless and perfect and impeccable.  It had been beautiful, romantic and touching.  It had been everything that it should have been.  Everything that Abi deserved.  

It had been years and years in the making and she knows there is no way she could have ever written a better day for her nor would she ever even try.  This was Abi’s vision and she considers herself lucky to simply have been part of it.

She’s sipping the last bit of Chardonnay from her glass when Abi slides into the seat beside of her, laying her head on her shoulder the way she’s done thousands of times through the years. The way she’s certain she will do thousands more through their remaining years.  

“I’m married Tay,” her friend says, pulling her smile higher and her heart warmer, “I’m not even sure if I believe it yet.”

“You’ll believe it in a couple hours when Matt makes you call him husband over and over again in bed and then tells you to go and get him a beer afterward.”  They share a laugh as Abi raises her head.

She nods emphatically. “Probably.  But it’s still feels so strange.  Absolutely amazingly right but so strange.”

Taylor winks, giggling, “That’s because you and Matt are weird.  Obviously perfect for each other but weird.”

Abi tilts her head to the side, raising her eyes to let Taylor know she is right.  “We gotta stop talking like each other.  There are times I feel like we are the same person.”

“Matt would disagree with that,” she laughs, dipping her head to the new groom dancing on the floor.

With a wink, Abi adds, “Oh darling Joe Alwyn would disagree with that too.  Because he’s not going to give a second glance to me but you . . . . . he’s got plenty of glances for you.”

Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head, completely aware of the validity of her friend’s words but also completely aware that she won’t admit them.  “Whatever,” she says, prompting a loud howl from her friend.  

They watch the party going on around them for a few seconds, Abi making a remark about how Matt’s friend is dancing like Patrick Dempsey in Can’t Buy Me Love and Taylor waving the waiter over for glasses of wine.  

“Thank you for being here,” Abi says after her second sip, her eyes moving to Taylor, “for doing everything you’ve done for this wedding.  And for me.  That you’ve always done for me.  I don’t know what I’d do without you, Taylor.”

She can feel her cheeks pulling once again, her smile becoming even more permanent on her face. “Well you’ll never have to worry about that.  I’ve already told you that my weird heart loves your weird heart so you aren’t going to be able to get rid of me easily.  You’re my sister from another mister.”

“That’s so bad, Taylor,” Abi cackles, “I remember us having that airbrushed on a t-shirt when we were fifteen.”

Taylor nods her head, “Yes we did.  And it was bad.  We sure did some strange stuff at that age.”  

Abi’s eyes twinkle, a light triggering in her mind.  “Awww let’s not forget the wedding extravaganza,” she bellows and Taylor nods again.

“Oh I haven’t.  I was just thinking about it earlier.”

“Want to know something funny,” Abi snickers, “My mom found my list a couple months ago, complete with heart stickers and glitter ink, and she scanned and emailed it to me.  I laughed so much reading through it but the scary part is that I must have subconsciously remembered those plans while I was working on this wedding because there was a pretty good bit that matched up.”

Taylor laughs for a few seconds, watching the joy spread so evidently across her friends face.  “You want to know another secret,” she whispers, leaning into Abi, “I still have mine too.”

Abi’s mouth falls open, her eyes wide, “Well you best be digging that thing out because I’m fairly certain you’re gonna be needing it soon.”

She shakes her head softly, lowering her chin as a gentle laugh escapes her lips.  “I hope,” is all she says, glancing at her friend once more before she pulls her gaze away.

Abi’s head tilts against hers again and this time she slips her hand into Taylors, holding it.  “I know so, Tay.  Trust me.  I see it all over your face.  I see it all over his.  It’s time.”

She doesn’t say anymore, neither of them does.  They don’t have to.  This is the bond they share.  One unlike any bond she shares with anyone else.  And this is the first time Abi has ever said those words to her so she knows how much she means them.  

She also knows how absolutely true they are, at least where she is concerned.

Because settling down with Joe Alwyn is the plan she holds close to her heart, somewhat scared to whisper it aloud in fear that it won’t come true, but knowing in reality how much she trusts that it will.

Abi gets up when Matt arrives at the table a few minutes later, a wide smile on his face and his hand held out to her.  She squeezes Taylor’s hand before she goes, leaning down to whisper one parting statement before her groom slips her away.  “Remember that you promised to call me first.” Taylor laughs, her mind instantly going back to their pact at 15.  

She gives her speech a half hour later, toasts her best friend and the man she’s entrusted with taking care of her, and then slips out of the reception behind a veil in an attempt to keep the focus on the bride and not on herself.  

She thinks of Joe the entire trip back to Nashville, wondering what he’s doing, how his filming is going and if he misses her a fraction of as much as she misses him. She thinks about seeing him next, about how she feels when she’s with him, about how he makes her feel when she’s with him.

About how madly in love with him she is.  

Her apartment is dark and quiet when she arrives there and her heels make a loud thud when she kicks them across the room.  She’s laughing at the noise and pulling her earrings off when she sees him.  His long frame leaning against the wall, his lips spread in the most perfect smile she’s ever seen.  

“Joe,” she whispers, her surprise cascading down in her voice.    

He’s wearing a suit and tie, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a small box in the other.  It doesn’t hit her at first but when it does she freezes.  “Are you going to propose to me,” she squeaks out after a few seconds, her voice sounding as rushed as the heartbeat in her chest.  

He smiles, his brilliant blues gleaming, and then pushes himself off of the wall, taking one step toward her before he tosses the flowers on a table and then opens the box, slipping its contents out and into his hand without her seeing it.  “Do you want me to propose to you,” he asks, his eyebrows raised, his gaze fully on her.

“Yes,” she says instantly, “I mean if you want to,” she adds with a nervous laugh.  

Taking a few more steps toward her, he falls to one knee on the floor.  “Well then let’s do this then, shall we?”  He reaches for her hand, pulling it to his heart when he looks up to her.  “What do you say Taylor, can I keep you forever?”

He pulls her hand back then, holding it in front of him as he carefully slides the ring from his finger to hers, the diamonds catching in the light and making them sparkle.  

“Oh my god,” she whispers slowly through glazed eyes, springing them quickly back to him.  

“Is that a yes,” he laughs, his eyebrows raised once more.  

“Yes,” she exclaims, her word echoing through the house, bouncing off of walls and ringing in her ears over and over again.  It’s the most beautiful word she’s ever said, she thinks.  

Her arms are around him within seconds, her body clinging to his as he lifts to his feet and slides his arms around her waist, molding her even closer to him.  “You’re here and you’re doing this,” she says into his lips.

“Yes.  I’m here and I’m doing this.  And you, my love, are definitely going to be my wife.”

He’s pulling at her dress now, his hand feeling like fire as he slowly unzips the back and tugs at the fabric there.  And when his lips find her neck, she struggles to find any ounce of clarity, any ounce of thought that isn’t drunk on the sensations he is eliciting.  

She’s naked, her legs wrapped around his torso as he carries her toward the bedroom when a coherent thought finally forces itself into her head, jabbing there repeatedly in an attempt to bring her back to her senses.  

“Wait,” she says as he bites at her earlobe.  He doesn’t stop and she’s just about lost in him when she says the word again.

This time, he sits her down carefully, his gaze grazing over her.  “Is something wrong,” he asks with concern.

“No,” she laughs, “no. Everything is perfect.”  She kisses him and he slides his hands around her waist to try to wrap her back in but she laughs again, pushing him back lightly. “One second baby.  There’s something I have to do and then after, I promise you get me all night . . . and then forever.”

He groans through his laugh when she pulls away and she turns around just long enough to blow him a kiss before bounding quickly out of the bedroom.  She grabs her phone and returns to the bedroom, allowing him to pull her naked body back to him on the bed, her legs straddled over him.  She clutches the phone to her ear when he goes to work with his mouth again.

Abi answers breathlessly on the eighth ring, no doubt enjoying her night as a newlywed.  Taylor laughs when she hears her.  

“As promised.  First call.”  Joe’s mouth finds her neck again as her words get spouted out.  

It’s all she says before she turns the phone off and tosses it on the floor.  Her attention now fully on the man she knew from day one that she would keep forever.

When she wakes up the next morning, she finds 17 new text messages from her best friend, ranging from I can’t believe you interrupted my wedding night sex with a smiley face to I totally knew it! to I’m so giddy with happiness and Matt thinks it’s because of him.

She glances back at Joe’s sleeping figure as she reads the last one.  She’s never in her life felt her heart this full, her life this complete, everything so amazingly perfect.  

Leaning in, she kisses his temple before she slips into a robe and out of the room.  

She looks for it then. In desk drawers and bookcases, finally finding it tucked inside a yearbook from her Freshman year of high school.

She smiles when she unfolds it and then raises her phone to snap a picture, sending it to Abi.  

Her eyes scan over the words written at the top of the torn and tattered paper in her hands. “Taylor’s dream wedding,” she whispers to herself, laughing.  And then she notices something written in the bottom right corner.  

It’s a heart just beside of the initials JA

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.  Jeremy Austin had been her crush when she wrote that list at 15.  She hadn’t even remembered that until this very moment.  Jeremy Austin.  

JA, she smiles.

A text arrives seconds later.  Thirteen hearts followed by Abi’s message.  OMG JA!

She rubs her thumb across the scribbles she made years before.  “JA,” she whispers to herself, “how perfect.”

How absolutely ironically perfect.  

Her Joe Alwyn.  Her real JA.  Yeah, she’ll keep him forever, she smiles.  

[kingsofchaos]

If you wanted to i'd love to see Gav using his charm and wiles to get the others lads out of trouble somehow, maybe flirting them out of some kind of mess or something?

Michael and Jeremy have been dealingwith a particularly unpleasant crew, forced into a fake civility every coupleof weeks when they go together to collect shipments or demand payments. It’sthe sort of thing Gavin would normally be involved with, at least in the earlydays of establishing a relationship, but no one really wants him near this oneat all; the crew in question is incredibly unstable, more mercenaries in anever-shifting arrangement than anything like the close-knit loyalty of theFAHC, and their leader is absolutely the worst of them. Some smarmy bastardwith a stupid name neither Jeremy nor Michael deign to remember – Taylor orTristen or Troy – he’s always intentionally rude, stopping just shy of openlymocking the Fake’s with an arrogance that even his own people seem to despise.Itwould be so much easier to just kill him and move on but no matter how muchMichael and Jeremy argue Geoff won’t have it. Something about relations, how forall Toby(?) is an asshole he’s got enough power, a nasty enough crew, that it’ssmarter to just wait them out for now, get whatever they can out of them beforeit all goes south. Which is easy enough to say when Geoff’s got very little todo with them, but nonetheless Michael and Jeremy suck it up, go to everydealing with clenched teeth and itchy trigger fingers, and life goes on.After one such meeting, maybe threemonths after this unwilling relationship began, Michael and Jeremy drive out tomeet Gavin for drinks, Jeremy tuning out as Michael rants the whole way to thebar because all he wants is a beer or twelve, wanted to just go to their normaldive but Gavin had insisted on coming out to this fancy yuppie shithole. It’s stillfull of crooks but mostly the rich, stuck-up variety instead of honest thugs, thekind of place that likely only stocks pretentious brews, but Gavin offered topay so here they were.Gavin’s already there when they arrive,leaning carelessly against the bar, all fake flirty smiles and inviting anglesas he holds court, surrounded by half a dozen admirers - though two inparticular seem to be jockeying for his attention. Thing One had just turned togrowl something at Thing Two when Gavin notices his Lads coming through thedoor, lazy showman grin brightening into something more genuine as he shakesoff his fans and flounces over. The group is less than pleased, more than onethrowing absolutely filthy looks that have Michael sneering nastily back whileJeremy not-so-innocently flexes beside him, neither making any effort to hidetheir weapons and quickly sending the one idiot who tried to follow into a hastyretreat. Gavin just laughs, grabs a tray of beers before towing his boys backtowards a booth.That should really be that, except apparentlyGavin’s not quite finished with whatever game he’s playing. It’s clear his focusis still on Thing’s One and Two rather than the conversation happening aroundhim; he asks all the right questions, hums sympathetically in all the rightplaces, but nothing gives away Gavin’s drifting interests quite as much as thepalpable feeling of having his undivided attention.  Michael asks, Gavin ignores him in favour of throwingan all too familiar smile towards the bar, and Jeremy groans, thunking his headagainst the table and wishing he’d just gone home.It’s not genuine interest, there’snothing honest in the way Gavin’s eyes narrow, nothing sweet in the sharpnessof his grin, which is just as well really because Gavin certainly knows how topick them. Thing One is gorgeous in a poisonous kind of way, tight blackclothes and blood red lips only accentuated by the wicked looking scar curvingacross her cheek. Thing Two isn’t quite so put together but is no lessimposing, big and blonde and definitely armed.They both tracked Gavin’s movementacross the room like starving dogs, sneering and snapping at one another asthey turn back to their place at the bar where they’d obviously been sittingtogether before Gavin stuck his big nose between them. Jeremy and Michael tosseach other a glance, long suffering but confident; it wouldn’t be pretty butpresuming it was two on two they could take them. That’s the grim reality ofdrinking with Gavin when he’s in one of these moods; there’s no saying there willbe a fight, but you’ve always got to be ready for the moment he tires ofcivilised society and pushes someone into violence just because he can.And Gavin is definitely in a mood, openlyplaying the two against each other every time he passes on his way to the bar;brushing against one, flashing her a secret little smile, only to make eyes atthe other on his way back, the man half rising from his stool as Gavin laughsand trots back to the booth. When Thing One ducks into the bathroom Gavinsteals her seat, leans right into Two’s space and orders them each three shotsbefore slinking off again. When Thing Two walks off to answer his phone Gavin’sback to buy One a drink, something straight and dark and far more impressivethan his own neon cocktail.So goes the rest of the hour; it’s blindinglyobvious by now, at least to anyone on the outside, that Gavin is drivingheadfirst into one hell of a fight with no sign of hitting the breaks. Hisadmirers are getting steadily drunker, louder and nastier with one another asthey try to compete, and Gavin just keeps throwing fuel on the fire.It finally comes to a head when, on yetanother bar run, Gavin brushes past them both and zeroes in on a third man who’d just arrived, abandoningcoy touches and heated looks for his thickest accent and most charming smile. Thethree at the bar clearly knew one another, the Things had been friendly enough whengreeting the third, but the longer Gavin stands there chattering away thecooler their interactions become, shoulders growing stiff and tight as fistsclench and voices rise.Seemingly oblivious Gavin keeps stirringthe pot, whispering something to one, winking at another, brushing off someone’sreaching hand only to skate fingers down the other’s arm, until eventually hetosses his head and stalks off in a huff, triumphant little smirk sneakingacross his face as an all-out fight breaks out behind him.Michael, who’d been growing snippier andsnippier all night, is fed up with pandering to Gavin’s nonsense when he andJeremy actually had to work today. He gets himself going on tirade about justwanting to drink and forget the assholes Geoff has them dealing with, not watchGavin flutter his eyes at idiots and destroy their friendships for his own sickamusement. Jeremy tries to agree wholeheartedly but Gavin interrupts him withan exaggerated pout that quickly bubbles into laughter as he croons back, asinfuriating as ever, aw Bois, don’t I alwaysdo right by you?Timing as spot on as always Michael doesn’teven get to snap a reply before an almighty crash has the three of themspinning around just in time to see Mystery Man #3 tripping over the flooredbar stool, turning just far enough in their direction to reveal himself as noneother than Todd (Tommy? Theo?). He’s reaching into his jacket in a way that hashalf the bar twitching towards their own holsters but its already over, Thing Twograbbing at his arms while Thing One ducks in from behind, rapid jerky motionof her arm unmistakable as she makes good use of a knife.There’s shouting now, people moving inevery direction as even the bartenders pull out weapons but Michael and Jeremyjust turn back to Gavin, eerily synchronized in their surprise, and Gavinsmiles. Climbs to his feet and buttons his jacket as casual as you please, all C’mon lads it’s getting a bit too loud inhere innit? Like the bane of their last few months isn’t bleeding out onthe floor, like Jeremy isn’t still open mouthed in shock, like Michael isn’t chokingback laughter all vicious and brilliant, adoring affection so familiar on his grinningface.Tomorrow Geoff will get a phone call.Will hear that Travis was taken out in some kind of scuffle, died slow andbloody in a bar just outside the city. He’ll hear that it was an inside job,some escalation of a drunken argument between Travis’ people, that their wholecrew is in uproar and already splintering apart, not much of a threat to anyonebesides each other. Geoff will know that despite their desire Michael andJeremy couldn’t have had anything to do with it, death witnessed by far toomany to be a frame-up, will know that even Gavin, who’d been sniffing aroundthe deal ever since his precious Lads started complaining, can’t possibly haveforced Travis’ crewmates to kill him. And yet, tomorrowGeoff will glare at the three flopped all over his couch, faux surprise at thenews doing nothing to hide the way they’re as unapologetically self-satisfiedas overgrown cats, and will know with the absolute surety of any harried parentthat somehow, in some way, this mess was absolutely their fault.For now, though, three friends spill laughingout of the bar, hopped up on petty vengeance and unmatched camaraderie, on thesweet victory of their chosen reality; the night is young, the city is theirs,and the Lad’s remain untouchable.