#these guys are such suckers for gossip and keep saying some OUT OF POCKET SHIT!!!

[elmflowers]

two episodes into a p4g playthrough. what the fuck is up with the citizens of inaba. why do these people want to see a dead body so bad.

[beauregard-s]

Verdigris | Bill Denbrough

Pairing: Bill Denbrough x Reader (18 yo in this one)

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: language, mild hate-to-love trope and mentions of cheating and toxic relationship

A/n: ‘The one with Baseball Player!Bill and the song Verdigris by Gus Dapperton’

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He can’t stop watching you. 

At the bowling alley on a Friday night. Your arms crossed, a hidden smile on as one of your friends rolls the ball and misses the pins miserably. You probably had a night off, or else you’d be at the arcade trying to tame the thirteen-year-olds that keep fighting over the Pac-Man machine. 

Bill can’t stop staring and it’s annoying beyond belief.

“For fuck’s sake, Bill! Are you playing or not?”

He’s forced to drag his attention away from you under Richie’s hiss only to perceive how everybody is staring at him - except for Ben checking on his shoelaces after tripping on them at least twice already. The looks range from Richie’s pissed one, to Mike, Beverly, and Eddie’s confusion, and laying on Stan’s impassivity.

“I just puh-played two rounds ago, Richie, stop m-mah-messing the order,” he complains, yes, but stepping up and grabbing himself a ball is the same as calling his own bullshit.

His move is absent anyway, only hits three pins because he backs off as soon as the ball leaves his fingers, making room for Ben to go next. Standing more in the back so he can turn his head in your lane’s direction again, all the way across the alley.

Only in time to watch you striking for the second time that night.

Only in time to catch how your eyes automatically fly in his direction right after that.

It’s quick, just a few seconds before you turn away again like at school two - or three? - weeks before, when you shouted out loud in a hallway about how you were cheated on, a thing many girls would hide, never talk about and pray for it to never come up. But you didn’t. When Henry Bowers leaned by your locker and probably tried to slide in some smug explanation, you shut the metal door so loud people around turned their heads and others who didn’t hear it from the first time caught on what was happening as soon as you told him to go ‘get his dick wet with Anna Thompson from now on’.

That being said you stormed out, and your eyes met his because he was frozen in a trance not perceiving at first he was blocking your way.

He couldn’t call you a bully, but nor could he call you an angel. You were Bowers’ girlfriend for quite a while, never messed with him but was never smooth either. You always stood neutral about Bowers tormenting him, almost bored, he noticed. Maybe uncomfortable with the situation if he overthought on that?

Never mattered. Bill recognizes he doesn’t know much about you, never got interested in doing so. Never needed to. You are just y/n, Henry Bowers’ blessed girl - because, thinking about it, yes, someone must be somehow holy to endure that one. Y/n, who he thought that barely minded him but still locked eyes and seemed to flash him a very inconspicuous smile that brought him back to Earth and made him move aside to let you walk into your 6th period class.

Y/n that since then started to hover above him like a little bird of prey, keeping those secretly mischievous eyes on him whenever they shared the room. Driving him insanely curious to find out what all of this is about.

“I swear to God, Big Bill!” Richie cries out in frustration, clapping his hands together in a desperate try to get his attention, “it’s your turn again!”

***

“Homealone again?” Stan asks while buckling up on the driver's seat after leaving the alley almost forcefully when the place closed, Mike’s horn breaking the late-night silence as he leaves to take Ben and Bev home.

“Yeah, for the weekend.” Bill sighs, sinking into the seat and smirking. “Why? Wanna throw a p-party?”

Stan snorts in the dark, turning the keys for the headlights to break through the darkness ahead. “Not after the last one,” he starts the car and leaves while Bill recalls the last party they went to. The party where around 1 am everybody started gossiping about how someone entered a room without knocking and... 

“Y/n l/n, then?”

Bill moves uncomfortably. Of course, the party where everybody found out you were cheated on before you could do it yourself. Stan Uris really sees everything, knows everything, and perceives everything. And also have the gift of smoothly leading people into the point he wants to get to.

“I don’t think so,” Bill says. 

Stan swirls the steering wheel to the left into a quiet street, suffocating another laugh. “So you’re telling me you were not perving on her the whole night.”

“I wasn’t p-puh-p-perving!”

“No!” Stan’s laugh finally comes filled up with irony. “At the bowling alley, at school, whenever she shows up during practices and her great presence disturbs you to the point you miss the pitches… Since she broke up with Bowers, whenever she’s around your mind goes wasted”. Bill grimaces and he goes on. “And judging by tonight, she seems to be at the same place as you are.”

“She’s not at the same p-place as I am because I’m not at any p-place, Stan.” Bill sticks his arm out of the window into the cold breeze, feeling something boiling inside him. That annoyance again. “She’s been teasing me since she broke up with her dear b-boyfriend, it’s all.”

Stan slows down at a crossing, making a snap noise with his tongue. “How convenient, no?” Bill scowls, eyes off the road to look up at his slightly raised brows, and he goes on, “Bowers’ girl gets cheated on and then starts flirting with you, Bill Denbrough. The guy who had his lip split open by those fists more times than we could actually remember.”

“Tell me about it…” Bill’s voice barely comes out as he watches the stores slowly turning into houses with dark windows and faded front porches, trying to smother that burning feeling inside. 

“And you’re playing her game,” Stan adds calmly.

Bill snaps his neck towards the driver's seat again but Stan only shows that same impassivity from earlier, eyes solely on the road. “Don’t tell me you’re not, because you are. I saw it tonight. Besides it, we all know you’re that sucker for unbecoming stuff.”

Bill shakes his head, gnawing on his cheek in bitterness as the car stops in front of a two-floor house and Stan turns the keys, sending them into silence and darkness again, turning on his seat to face a skeptical Bill unclasping his seatbelt harshly.

“I am not. I wanna f-find out what game is she p-playing b-but I’m not playing it myself.”

“Okay,” Stan taps onto the wheel, grinning in his disbelief because he knows Bill well enough to know he may sound like he has his foot down when he’s in fact as unsteady as sand. “But she could put you in big shit trouble, you know?”

Bill gets out of the car, leaning into the window as soon as he closes the door, drawing a cockish grin. “Yeah b-but, again, I’m not playing her game, Stan.”

He assured himself that, even though his mind wanders towards you until he goes to sleep and even though you remain there when he wakes up Saturday morning. 

He’s not playing your game.

But you’ve been testing his limits, slowly getting under his skin somehow with so little effort. Catching his attention when he doesn’t want to give it to you. You’re guaranteed trouble and he hates how you leave him restless whenever you are out of his sight and trouble his mind whenever you are both sharing space.

But he’s not playing your game.

Yet he still finds himself waiting outside the arcade later at night, at a discreet distance with his hands tucked in his jacket’s pockets to keep them from freezing under the fall weather. Bill watches you leading the last kids outta the place, promising an upset little guy they’ll be open early the next day too and turning the sign hanging on the glass door as soon as they leave to warn everyone the place is finally closed. The sweet way you talked to the kid doesn’t match the troublemaker image he painted of you in his mind throughout the day.

He’s not playing the game, but he’s ending it before he goes insane. Being a chess piece is not on his plans. He doesn’t know where you’re going with all of that so he walks into the store, immediately catching your attention.

You’re checking and closing the cashier when the noise makes you look up from behind the counter only to find the surprisingly-not-so-popular pitcher of the Derry High School’s baseball team standing there in between the flashing machines. 

“Hey there, Denbrough,” you say softly, bringing your attention back to the dollar bills. “We’re closed.”

He taps his foot, trying to find the words to say what he wants to say because even though he planned talking to you the whole day, suddenly he feels lost and vulnerable under that nonchalant way of yours. 

“I know, I didn’t come to play.” Bill feels proud of how steady he sounds although he’s clenching his hidden fists. He has the slight impression you are not as confused as you seem when you eye him again. This time deeper. 

“How can I help you then?” 

He thought he had a solid plan, but he doesn’t at all. All he can think of is how did Bowers get you? A straight A’s girl with such sweet talk, pretty face, and bold demeanors. 

“You can help me by stopping m-messing around.” There goes his steadiness through the window, every single drop of it when your lips give him a lopsided smile, closing the cashier and pulling a bunch of keys out of a drawer.

“And what do you mean by messing around?” you walk around the counter and passing by him because even though Bill Denbrough is standing in front of you straight out of a dream in his stupid letterman jacket, a robbery wouldn’t be welcome and you gotta lock the doors and close the curtains. That blocks all the light from the outside, sending both of you into a gloom only lightened by the neon lights around. 

“I mean all the flirting you’re doing.” His voice deepens a tone. “ I want you to stop it.”

He looks adorably anxious, of course. All fidgety when he’s trying to confront you that way but flinching when you turn on your heels to face him, his hands still in his pockets for what? Hide his nervous manners?

Not that you’re that secure yourself with your sped up heart. You wish you had pockets too so you could hide how you poke a cuticle on your thumb.

“I’m not flirting with you,” you say simply. “I know you’d like that, but-“

“You wish, l/n” he hisses and you know you’ve hit a weak spot. Also not that you didn’t know said weak spot exists.

“I know what you’re doing, and I’m not getting in trouble for it.” Bill steps closer, letting his sweaty hands finally fall to his sides. 

“Again, I’m not the one messing around” You see his jaw clench, and go on leaning back against the Donkey Kong machine. “You are.”

Bill snorts and the way he runs his fingers through his auburn hair messing it in frustration makes things to you. Yes, Bill Denbrough in his lettermen jacket is stupid… stupidly hot, even if you hate admitting that.

“I’m n-not-“

“Are you sure?” You defy him, resting your hands on the machine and accidentally hitting the joystick. “So you’re telling me you’ve not been leering me around, casually hanging out with your friends by my locker or… Following my ex-boyfriend around to make sure he’s not coming close to me, Bill?”

Touché. 

You never called him ‘Bill’ before, but thought it would match the soft-turn your voice takes and the little ‘got you’ move you just made. Bill thinks it raises a level. He said he didn’t come to play, but it feels like he did and now he’s losing because you know something you shouldn’t. 

You know last Tuesday he followed Patrick Hockstetter’s car because he saw them harassing you when you were walking home after school. He watched when they pulled over by the sidewalk, Bowers leaning out through the window and saying something that made you argue with him for a while before you kept walking and they drove out. Bill should’ve turned right and drive home, but he turned left and followed them instead, made sure they went home and not after you. 

“I was just trying to m-muh-make sure you were safe,” he reasons but inside he’s recognizing his failure.

Maybe you’ll call him a creeper for that? No, you just bat your eyelashes.

“You really have an unforgiving hero complex.”

“I don’t have a hero complex.”

He does. And maybe an unforgiving crush too because he realizes you’re not the one hovering here. He is. He always thought he never paid attention to you but he did all the time in the deep of his head, dreary by the fact that you ended up with someone like that disgusting jerk.

“A hero complex and a huge neglect towards yourself, apparently” you bicker, the changes in his mind showing briefly in his expression.

“Okay, I m-may be the one m-messing around but you don’t seem like you’re trying to run from it.”

The others have already warned Bill about that, his lack of fear and his broken anti dumbness filter, mainly Beverly, but there he is again. Making dangerous, uncalculated moves, totally improvising his next step to avoid a checkmate from you.

He’s kinda angry, maybe embarrassed, eyes locked on your as he comes closer. You don’t answer because he got a point. From the moment you noticed Bill paying more attention to you after you were publicly free from Henry, you never intended on cutting him off. You fed the fire and now, with his eyes so deep in yours and the smell of his cologne all around you, you let him taste a bit of power to decrease that embarrassment of his. 

“Are you trying to imply that I want you too?” You whisper, no need to talk louder with his chest an inch from yours like that. 

He likes how beautiful you look like that, face shining in verdigris tones flashing from the next machine, the way it turns you into neon pink and back to the blueish-green. He likes how daring you look even if he’s towering over you, inches taller, little knowing how you’re putting on a fight to keep yourself solid and your thoughts in place. Without much success when he leans in and brushes his chapped lips along your soft ones.

“Again, you wish, l/n.”

The previous moves were yours but in a turn, you’re the one getting the final checkmate when you give in and pull him into a kiss. A greedy and heated kiss that showed how you’ve been craving each other. Bill presses against you as he’s trying to challenge the laws of physics, his tongue licking into your mouth as your hands clutch on his thick jacket, feeling his broad shoulders underneath. His hands cup your face, his thumbs gently tracing up your cheekbones in contrast to how roughly his lips take yours, only for a moment before his arms embrace your waist and he smugly slides a large hand into your jeans’ pockets.

He swore himself he wouldn’t play your game, but he feels like he did and just lost it when he leaves your lips and trails the tip of his nose down your neck, feeling how you softly quiver in his arms, breathing in your perfume. Pulling away before everything goes to waste.

“As I said, totally n-not running away from me,” he mutters, leaving you. 

You shake your head slowly, a mazy little smile glued on your lips. “Screw you, Denbrough…” But the words drip out like honey to him as he walks backwards towards the door. 

Bill turns the keys still in the lock behind his back, flashing a cocky grin at you as he pushes the door open. He feels defeated, you do too but somehow none of you regret what just happened in the empty arcade. He can see you don't by the way you look at him as he leaves. It’s not just one of those glances anymore.

He feels defeated, but maybe it will be worth it.

“S-see you later, y/n.”

[naerysthelonesome]

Time spent together

Part 6:

The narrator returns

Apollo and Lit are very, very close to Artemis’ place now. Apollo looks splotchy and nervous. I don’t like it. Clashes too much with his outfit. Lit, on the other hand looks cool and calm. That’s weird. Probably a façade.

Apollo finally makes a turn, and pulls into a driveway in this really nice neighborhood. I’d consider living here, if I could… live, you know? He parks the car and just sits there, like an idiot. I’m sure Lit notices because he punches Apollo lightly in the arm, and steps out. Apollo follows soon after, and Lit moves to the backseat to get his bag, but the former flaps at his arms in impatience. Boi does he not look the epitome of grace today.

Lit shoots him a look, and shoulders his bag anyway.

They both make their way to the front door of the pretty, baby blue house. It looks quaint, and cozy, and not really someplace I’d imagine Apollo’s cool sister Artemis living, but maybe she’s into the whole cottagecore thing. I wouldn’t know. I’m supposed to keep focused on Apollo and Lit.

Speaking of, Apollo is trying to look collected and nonchalant as he knocks on the door, but it’s (incredibly) clear that he isn’t. Lit inches just a little bit closer, trying to offer his support, but of course Apollo doesn’t notice. At least not at first. Then Lit’s hand brushes against his own, and, I kid you not, his eyes spark. His breath hitches in his chest, and he goes completely still. Simp.

The door bangs open to reveal a silver woman. No seriously, she’s silvery all over. Her hair and eyebrows have been dyed a most mesmerizing silvery-white, her skin glows in places (silver highlighter methinks), and all the delicate silver jewelry over the lacy, dark green tank top and gray shorts makes her look ethereal and fairylike. DAMN she is really taking the Artemis thing seriously.

“Big brother!”

“We’re twins, and you’re unoriginal”, Apollo says resignedly. Like he’s had this exact conversation before. He probably has. Artemis simply smiles.

“Aw don’t be like that!”

She turns toward Lit, who’s been standing there awkwardly, and offers him her hand. Palm facing down, snowy white fingers curled, like she expects him to kiss it.

Lit looks like he’s visibly restraining himself from turning to Apollo in bewilderment.

“Aren’t you going to take my hand?” Artemis asks, with a fake pout.

Lit reaches out and takes it, completely unsure of what to do next. He just holds it like it’s an unwanted bug someone’s placed in his hand.

“Must all your dates be so rude, Apollo?” Artemis questions, with a huff.

“Must you always act like a twat that doesn’t know what century it is, Artemis?” he replies, turning to Lit. “She’s just playing with you”.

Artemis laughs, and walks away. It’s a normal laugh, no tinkling wind chimes, or tumbling rivers. I don’t even know if that’s humanly possible. Stephanie must have been on something.

“Something tells me it’s best if I play along”, Lit says, following Apollo through the door.

“Definitely. Oh, and leave your shoes here.”

Two of the girls Artemis lives with are insanely pretty. (But then, all humans look insanely pretty to me… oh to have a physical form). And they look like polar opposites. The bigger one is wearing a flowy summer dress that perfectly complements her wheatish skin, her pink and brown hair in a neatly curled high pony, winged eyeliner on point. The other one has her orange-red hair hanging about her face, some of it still fixed in the messiest messy bun I’ve ever seen. She stays seated on the sofa, in her dull grey sweats, and simply turns to wave at the boys when they walk in, eyes still on the tv.

“Hi! I’m Arson”, says they pink-haired one, “And that’s Claire. She’s normally the active one, but it’s shark week so she’ll just lie there like that all day, useless”. She (they?) swiftly catches they pillow that’s been chucked at them, and grins. “Oh and Thalia’ll be out in a sec”.

“Your name’s Arson?” Lit asks, politely trying not to sound shocked or confused.

“Heh yeah. Of all the non-binary names someone like me could have picked, right?” They say, with a short laugh. “It was a close call between this, and Twig.”

“Her pronouns are she and they, btw”, Apollo says walking up from where he’d been talking to his sister, to envelop Arson in a hug, “Hey Ari!”

“Ah jeez. The hugging still isn’t over?” A raven haired girl says, walking into the now slightly crowded living room. “Well I’m Thalia. Do no touch me”. That last part was spit at Apollo. Her tone is menacing, but her little smirk shows otherwise.

“Hey Thalia”, Apollo says, reaching over to pat the red-head, Claire, on the shoulder, and ruffle her already ruffled hair. Please somebody comb it already!

“This is Lit, Apollo’s newest fling”, Artemis says, gesturing to the boy who looks like he can’t decide whether he wants to live here, or run away. He gives the room a shy smile. (Aww)

“Great! Now that we all know each other,” Get out of Pridelands? Sorry sorry. Just couldn’t miss out the opportunity to quote Lion King: Simba’s Pride. Artemis simply continues on with something about lunch and rotisserie chicken.

It’s been quite an uneventful couple hours, but oh, how could that possibly last? In a room full of people, half with names with mythological roots, and the one named after a crime? There’s bound to be some drama. No, calm down, there isn’t going to be a fire. Unless it’s Lit’s heart flaming for Apollo, or vice versa. ANYWAY I’m going way off script.

“So Lit, how’d you guys meet?” Claire asks around a mouthful of veggies, feet nestled comfortably on Arson’s lap. I’m starting to think they might be more than friends, but what do I know?

“Oh we had to do a project together. Obviously, we’d seen each other around before then, but yeah… that’s the first time we really interacted”, Lit answered, awkwardly trailing off at end, as if he thought he’d said to much. Seriously Lit? That was barely anything.

“And how long ago was that?” Arson asked.

“Uh-”

“About a month ago”, Apollo supplied, lacing his fingers through Lit’s, their hands clearly visible from the sofa they were seated on.

Lit’s adam’s apple bobbed, and he shifted slightly in his seat, but managed to keep calm, even lifting their conjoined hands into his lap.

“Huh. How long have you guys been together, then?” Thalia asked, staring to look interested.

“A couple weeks.” Apollo’s voice was calm, at startling odds with the red of his face.

“Oh?” Artemis said finally, her eyes moving from their linked hands, to Apollo’s face. “You move awfully fast brother.”

“Well, we both wanted it”, Lit tried to cut in. The sudden tension between the twins is so thick, even oblivious Lit notices.

Artemis ignores him and continues, “Don’t you remember what happened last time you moved this quickly?”

“Artemis, please”, Apollo says, starting to sound irritated, “You wanted me to stop fucking around, and I did. You seem to have a problem with everything I do.”

“Oh is that why you’re dating him? Because of me?” Oh shit… we’re getting awfully close to the truth now, huh?

“No. No, of course not”, Apollo lies quietly. Lit manages to discreetly untangle their fingers and pull away, looking a little hurt. “I like Lit”. So not all lies then? If only Lit knew that, then he’d stop looking like a kicked puppy.

“Just make sure he isn’t another Daphne”, Artemis says, a challenging look in her eyes.

“That was a mistake and you know it! When are you going to stop bringing it up?” Apollo spits angrily, before he gets up and walks out the front door.

Lit sits there in shock for a second, before deciding that an angry Apollo was easier to deal with that a room full of upset and curious people, and follows behind him. Damnit! I wanted to stay behind and listen to the gossip. Would you mind terribly if I did that?

Yea, I suppose you would.

Lit is leaning against the wall of the house, hands in his pockets, while Apollo leans over the porch railing, and stares at his car.

“So who’s Daphne?”

Apollo sighs in defeat, before saying, “My ex. One of my only two exes”. Then he turns around before almost hastily adding, “Exes being people I’ve actually dated, that is. Not just people I’ve slept with”.

“Of course. Of course you still care about your reputation as a fuckboy”, Lit says, sounding disappointed more than anything else. Look, I’m a sucker for drama, but what the hell is this?! I don’t like this.

“What? No”. Apollo sounds... scared? “No I’m just trying to be as clear as possible.”

Lit doesn’t say anything.

“Besides, why are you even mad? It’s not like we’re actually dating”.

“No.” Lit whispers, “We’re not”.

“Hey”, Apollo pleads, “I can’t handle you being mad at me too, Lit. I’m sorry you got dragged into this shit”.

Lit waves the apology away. “Why is Artemis so mad about Daphne?” If I were even a little less intuitive, I would’ve missed the hopeful tone of that question.

“Oh. Um- Daphne was one of Artemis’ best friends. That’s how we got close in the first place. Sometime last year, we started seeing each other, and eventually became official. We’d moved really quickly, and honestly didn’t have much in common except Artemis” And divinely good looks, if Apollo’s many flings are anything to go by. “But everything went great, nonetheless. Better than great, even. I started to think I loved her. Until it didn’t. Around the three month mark, things started to go sour. We’d disagree about pretty much everything, and we’d fight and argue all the time. Then it started to get monotonous and boring and we were just going through the motions. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I broke up with her, and…” That’s the one place he hesitates. “Left. I just left for college, and Artemis had to deal with Daphne, who apparently took it hard. I didn’t speak to her at all until just a few months ago.

We’re okay now, by the way. She says that I’m a better friend that boyfriend, and I can’t say I disagree. Lucky for you that we’re just faking it, right?” I notice the slight hitch in his voice, but Lit apparently doesn’t. He lets out a dry chuckle. “Artemis, on the other hand, is still obviously pissed. I don’t blame her. She said that Daphne only dated me at all because I seduced her. At first, I thought that was ridiculous, but if all the hoes on campus are anything to go by, it seems that was entirely possible”, he finishes bitterly. Well... that was quite a speech.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or exasperated by your unwavering level of self-confidence”, Lit says tiredly, after a brief pause. “Well that wasn’t as bad as I expected”.

“Yea, Artemis has been known to overreact”.

“I think her reaction was warranted”. Lit himself looks surprised at having defended Artemis.

“Maybe it was”, Apollo amends, eager to get back on Lit’s good side, I suppose. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

“I’m not mad at you, no” comes the curt reply, suggesting that he is still mad at something. This whole situation, probably. This trip was supposed to be romantic for God’s sake!

“Good, because we have a little party to attend this evening”.

[captainsassmanes]

I am a sucker for (well written) angst. I can't stop thinking of Alex finding out all the nice domestic things Michael is doing with Maria. Or god forbid.... If Michael actually brings up his fight with Maria to Alex to rant or get some kind of advice... i'll flip tables

Took your energy and twisted it into this guy!

The cabin was dark but Michael figured he’d take a chance. It wasn’t too late and he’d been dying to tell Alex about the breakthrough he made with the ship. He’d stopped by Alex’s house and got no answer after pounding on the door for a bit so he thought he’d take a drive.

Their friendship had started growing into something he really valued lately. Everything was going shockingly well. His relationship was in a great place, he was making progress for Max, drinking less and stepping up for everyone in his life. 

He was proud of himself.

Shutting the truck door, he jogged up the steps and knocked on the door, a cute little rhythm that mimicked his mood. Michael knew Alex had been having a couple of rough days. That asshole, Forrest, had gone as quickly as he’d come and left Alex confused and hurt, although Michael could tell he was trying to hide it as best he could.

Michael wasn’t fooled.

He knocked on the door again, knuckles stinging from the unfinished wood.

“Alex? You okay? Open up.”

He waited a minute before knocking again. Michael felt a pang of anxiety as Alex kept him waiting. It was too early for him to be asleep. Maybe something happened?

As he prepped to use his powers to open the door, a light flicked on and he heard Buffy’s muffled paws trotting across the floor.

The relieved smile on Michael’s face fell when Alex opened the door.

His hair was a matted mess, dirty and uncombed. He looked thinner, like he’d lost a bit of his bulk, and his clothes hung just this side of too big. The usually radiant skin of his face was pale with dark circles framing his bloodshot eyes. How long had it been since they’d seen each other?

“Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

Alex nodded, gulping before licking his dry, cracked lips. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think so. What’s wrong?”

Alex refused to meet his eye. “I’m fine. What do you need?”

Michael’s heart pounded, blood rushing in his ears.

He cleared his throat and said, “uh, I made progress today. I was able to push a penny about 20 minutes back through the ship.”

Alex nodded, still looking at a spot over Michael’s shoulder. “That’s good.”

Michael stood with his mouth hanging open. He’d literally just told Alex he’d figured out basic time travel and that was the response.

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on?”

With a sigh, Alex rubbed his hand across his face and shook his head. “Nothing but, um, can we do this another day? I’m just really tired.”

Putting the pieces together, Michael made a quiet, “ah.” sound. “This is about Forrest, right?”

Alex finally caught his eye then, brows furrowed and head tilted to the side. “Look, Alex, he was shit, alright? If he didn’t want to be with you then it’s his loss. I never really thought…hey!”

Alex had moved back and started to shut the door in Michael’s face, his features schooled into a fury Michael hadn’t seen before. “What the hell, Alex?”

“Fuck off, Michael.”

“No way! I’m just trying to be your friend here.”

“I don’t want your friendship!”

His voice echoed in the woods, bouncing from tree to tree, reaching through the needles of the pines, into the darkness.

Michael felt his eyes fill with tears. “I don’t understand.”

Alex huffed, a sad smile painted on his lips as he shook his head at the floor. “Yeah, Forrest breaking up with me sucked. Just another person who didn’t want me.”

Michael took a breath to protest but wasn’t fast enough.

“But my heart wasn’t in it. It was temporary for me. A relationship to wait in.”

“To wait in?” Michael’s voice was too loud in the quiet that floated between them. Alex nodded and said nothing for a minute, gathering his thoughts. Buffy made an appearance then, sitting silently next to Alex and nudging his knee with her nose.

“I’ve been waiting for you like the idiot I am.”

Michael was stunned.

“I know you told me it was over but I kept thinking we had a chance. I’d help you, we’d be friends, I’d get your trust back and then we could try again.”

Michael swallowed. “I don’t really know -”

“But you’re in love with Maria.”

Michael’s eyes widened. He’d said it to her only a night or two before and meant it, but there was something about hearing those words come from Alex that didn’t sit right.

Alex sniffed and looked away, quickly rubbing his face. “You were supposed to like her. Care about her. Sleep with her. Be kind to her. Be happy with her. But not fall in love with her.”

Michael brought his hand to his face when he realized he was crying, too. He’d been so confident when he’d been with Maria that night, at peace. It was beautiful. But Alex -

“Bye, Michael.”

“Wait,” he pushed his weight into the door to keep it open, desperate not to let the conversation end there. “How do you know that?”

Alex scoffed. “That’s your concern, Guerin? Who the gossip is?”

Michael bit his lip and dropped his arm. He didn’t know why that was what he chose to say.

“Liz. She’s team Maria and Michael all the way. Couldn’t wait to share that the happy couple took the next step in their relationship.”

Michael dug his hands into his pockets, emotions pulling him off balance. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Michael, look at me.”

He took a deep breath before looking up into those sad, dark eyes.

“I’ve done everything I can for you. Good luck with your experiments and I genuinely hope you can figure it out, for all of your sake. But I don’t want to see you anymore. I’m done.”

Panic gripped at Michael’s throat as he reached out and connected with Alex’s arm. “No. No, what? You gonna just disappear? We’ll still see each other. I, I don’t know, we can figure something out, okay? You can’t just lock me out, Alex!”

He pulled his arm out of Michael’s grasp and stepped back, hand back on the door. “I’m done tying my happiness to you, Michael.”

Michael stepped back with the weight of that.

“I fucking died when you told me you liked Maria. But I was still naive enough to hope.”

He whispered, “if you can fall in love with someone else while I’m standing right here, I know we’ll never make it back to each other.”

Alex shut the door and locked it, the dim light in the kitchen going dark seconds later.

Michael couldn’t move. His hand flew to his chest and squeezed the fabric of his shirt. He’d been out of control before, relished in the chaos he could survive, but this was different.

What the fuck was happening?

[chillmichelle]

Bad Nights

Shawn and Y/N are best friends in love with each other, so why does he keep being with other girls?

Word count: 4.8K

Angst & Fluff

-

November, 2012

“Don’t worry, Y/N, i’ll be fine.” Shawn has a little too much gel in his hair as he places his headphones in his ears, one after the other. There are small pimples scattering across his forehead, and his braces make his words seem a little slurred, but he confidently (Although Y/N can tell he’s nervous enough to practically shit his pants) stands in front of the movie theater, waiting for Jess to show up.

“Well, I guess if you say so…” She trails off, still feeling uneasy about leaving her best friend there. Shawn had liked Jess since the sixth grade, and now he finally had a shot at actually dating her. He’d been so excited, the date being the only thing he’d talked about for the past few days. Y/N had helped him choose what outfit to wear, what movie to see, and shown him the basic principles of getting her to like him.

Drowning in his father’s cologne, Shawn stands at his tall height in front of the local movie theatre, eyes occasionally shifting to the automatic wristwatch on his right wrist. He nervously tilts back and forth on the pads of his feet, seeing that as the minutes roll by his mind fills with more possible reasons why she isn’t there.

Y/N, who he assumes trudged off a while ago, stands at the corner of the movie theatre, staring at her unknowing best friend who teeters more and more. Y/N counts the minutes as they tick by, and with every person who walks into the theatre (some of them apologetically staring at the cold, defeated boy out front) his expression deepens, frown drooping more and more.

The movie’s started at that point, Jess is 30 minutes past when he was supposed to meet her. He runs the dialogue Y/N’s been feeding him through his head.

“You look beautiful.”

“Don’t worry, i’ll pay.”

“I’m glad you came out tonight.”

His heart is shattered, the one girl he’s had his hopes up for since the 6th grade had finally given him a chance, and then when his hopes had gone up, she’d abandoned him and stood him up. Shawn takes a seat on the bench in front of the movie theatre, not caring if anyone sees him as he bows his head.

Y/N takes this as her chance, she walks out from where she’s been silently watching him from afar and walks to where he sits sadly on the bench. Shawn, who wants nothing more than to sit there and disappear, think’s she’s just another person walking by. But then he hears the footsteps stop right in front of him, and spots the snow boots he gifted her for her 14th birthday on her feet, and his head lifts to meet her eyes.

“Hey Curly, don’t sit here looking like a debby downer when there’s whole spiderman movie going on inside.” Y/N pulls her cold hand out of her pocket, using it to grab his fist as she tugs on it for him to stand up. He looks defeated, eyes swollen, and Y/N can tell he’s properly heartbroken from being stood up.

“Just because the night doesn’t turn out like you want it to, doesn’t mean it’s a shitty night. When I first met you, you were putting gum in my hair.” She tells him, ruffling his improperly gelled hair and tousling the messy waves.

Shawn smiles a little but, lips just barely perking upwards, but Y/N is happy nonetheless, and she pulls his hand, which has now unraveled from his fist, and leads the way into the movie theatre.

-

“Shawn if you don’t fucking get your flat ass back here right now, I swear to god I will rip every curly strand off of your head!”

Y/N climbs over the mess of sheets on her bed, stubby legs trying to run after him as he dips out into the hallway of her home. Her phone is gripped tightly in his hand and he laughs as he merely jogs, long legs still giving him the ability to be far ahead of her.

“You’ve been on this phone since I got here!” He says, sprinting down the wooden stairs to her home. As he makes his way into the kitchen, he hears little feet pad down the stairs behind him.

“That’s because it’s important!” She yells back, finally having caught up to him. They circle around the counter, Shawn turning on her phone and quickly entering in her password. She takes his distraction to quickly run towards him, hands reaching out to snatch the phone out of her hands. He immediately raises his arm up, his height giving him the advantage as Y/N stands on her tippy toes and tries to retrieve her precious device.

“Wow, who’s Grant?” Shawn asks, eyebrows going up and down as he scrolls through the conversation on her phone. Y/N’s cheeks immediately flush, knowing that their conversations weren’t necessarily the friendliest. She jumps up to grab her phone, and fails once more.

Shawn’s eyebrows stay furrowed as he reads through the messages. His heart tightens up a bit, stomach weirdly flipping inside of him as he reads the displays of affection exchanged between them. Playing it off subtly, he clears his throat and laughs, tickling her sides before handing the phone back to her.

He should be used to it by now, but he isn’t.

Shawn had been standing by Y/N for the past fifteen year of their lives. They’d been closer than any of their other friends, having more inside jokes and spending more time with each other than anyone else in their group had. Y/N remembered the time he suckered her into the school choir, despite her tone deaf voice, and laughed with him time to time about how the choir teacher made her stand in the corner of the stage and play the triangle so that her voice wouldn’t throw off the whole performance.

Growing up, it seemed as if they were inseparable. People always thought they were dating, and when they would both deny the accusations (which people never believed), the suspicion grew even more. After all, Shawn and Y/N were both attached by the hip all the time.

But when Shawn left for tour at 15, things changed a bit every time he came back home.

He was never really in Pickering for long, and neither was she anymore, now that she’d gone off to college. When he would visit every few months ( if it were up to him it would be more often), she’d hear different stories about him from other people, ones that she didn’t want to believe were true, but ones that she knew were.

Y/N wouldn’t necessarily say that she was in love with Shawn.

Of course, she loved him as a friend. She loved the little dimples that he had during his chubby phase in elementary school, and she loved the way that his eyes changed shades depending on his moods. She always knew how to read him, and when Shawn went missing for hours on end after getting into a fight with his family, she always knew to find him behind the sketchy Gas station in front of their old elementary school, a handful of quarters in his pocket as he stress chews packs of gum and writes song lyrics into his mind.

So why did she feel that way every time she heard another story of him coming back from tour, to hook up with another girl who wouldn’t have dared to be with him if he wasn’t who he was? Why did her stomach feel uneasy whenever an advertisement for a gossip magazine, with him hugging a supermodel who was dressed in his clothing, bother her so much?

Why did she coincidentally get drunk every time he stood her up when he came back home?

She wasn’t exactly sure. She loved him, but she didn’t want to be in love with him. She was well aware that there wasn’t any way that he felt the same way as she did.

So she drowned herself in other boys, ones that just happened to also have hazel eyes and a head of curly hair. Ones that happened to also enjoy John Mayer, and ones that also just happened to play guitar.

She wasn’t the proudest she could be at her choices, ut what choice did she have, really? He was a celebrity, no matter how much he felt like her best friend from home.

Tucking her phone back into the waistband of her sweats, Y/N shoots Shawn a glare, flipping him off before she turns around to grab a cookie from the small carton she’d purchased. The carton was almost empty, and she sighed knowing that she’d eventually have to go back to the grocery store.

“So, tell me about this Grant guy?” Shawn asks, leaning his elbows onto the kitchen counter and placing his chin in the palm of his hand as he awaits her answer like a giddy school girl. Y/N scoffs, tucking a cookie into her mouth before speaking with her mouth full.

“There’s really nothing to say. It’s just a fling, I don’t really want a relationship right now.” She shortly answers. Unless it’s with you, she thinks to herself, but mentally slaps herself in the face. Shawn nods, trying to hide the feeling of hurt flinch at him from her words.

I don’t really want a relationship right now.

Shawn was sure that he was in love with Y/N.

It had taken him a while to admit it to himself, but he had been in town one night, visiting their hometown and strolling through the streets of his neighborhood, and he had seen a small basketball hoop on the side of the walls of one of the homes.

He immediately thought back to their childhood. When Shawn was 9, his parents had gotten him a portable basketball goal for their large driveway. After a day of practicing (missing all of the shots) basketball one day, with Y/N cheering him on jokingly from the sidelines, he’d fallen and scraped his knee on the asphalt. Instead of going inside and giving him a proper bandaid, Y/N had taken a scrunchie off of her wrist, and placed it on top of the wound on Shawn’s knee.

He still had the scrunchie lying around somewhere in his bedroom.

There was a party going on that night, and Shawn remembered seeing various childhood friends getting drunk at the party that was a short 10 minute walk away from where he was. Then he recalled seeing the video of Y/N, drunkenly singing along to a song from the early 2000’s, her arms pulling someone’s neck closer to hers.

And it had bothered him.

A lot.

Shawn had noticed from then on the feeling he would get whenever she would mention anyone else. He tried to fight his feeling, tried to find love in other girls, tried to save his friendship by stopping his feelings for his best friend. But after a while he noticed how all the girls he’d be attracted to, would have traces of her with them.

That girl at the bar looks pretty, he would think.

Shit, she looks like Y/N.

Shawn knew that one of these days, he was bound to say at least something to her. That’s why he would sometimes cancel his plans with her, he was so afraid of slipping up and letting her know that he loved her in some way. And as much as he did love her, he knew that having any of her was better than having none of her at all.

So he swallowed her words about not wanting a relationship, mentally cursed out whoever this Grant guy was in his head, and stole a few of her cookies, stress eating his way through his problems.

-

Y/N’s sitting next to Shawn in the passenger seat of his jeep, her legs are dangling due to how high the seats are, and she watches the way his arms flex as he rolls the steering wheel with his wrists on the surface.

“Remember the monkey bars at that place?” Shawn points to the abandoned preschool, vines forming over the worn out concrete structures. It was where Shawn and Y/N had both met, growing up on the crappy equipment together.

“I’m pretty sure our entire grade got the flu from those bars.” Y/N laughs, remembering the time her and Shawn both got sick. She swears that it was him who sniffled first, but he always assured her it was her who gave it to him.

Their reminiscing is cut short when Shawn’s phone suddenly buzzes a number of times all at once. Multiple texts hit his phone and Y/N, without thinking, reaches down to grab it from where it’s connected to the aux.

“I’ll check it”

She expects to see a text from his mum, or his sister, maybe his friends about hanging out now that he’s back in town for the winter, but instead she’s met with an array of text messages from various other girls.

She sees some of the texts have attachments sent with them, vulgar words pressing at the conversations that he was apparently having. Y/N’s stomach feels a bit sick from the flirty nature of all of the messages, and she quietly puts his phone back down onto the console before closing her mouth and waiting for the tears welling at her eyes to dry away.

“Y/N, they’re just-”

“It’s none of my business, Shawn.” Her heart pokes against the frame of her ribcage, the small piece of hope that she had that maybe, just maybe he could like her back being shredded as she stares out through the foggy, iced up window of his car.

-

Shawn stands on her front porch, a small bundle of daisies in his hand as he nervously paces back and forth. His footsteps are quiet on the hardwood of her patio, and he presses on in his head what to say to her.

He hadn’t been this nervous since his first performance.

He finally gathers his thoughts together, hands lifting up in a loose fist to knock at her door, but before his knuckles can reach the door, the door swings open and in a panic, Shawn throws the daisies over the bush next to the porch.

“Shawn?” Y/N’s eyes are wide. She has a cute little blush to her cheeks, and Shawn wants nothing more than to lean forward and shower he soft skin in kisses. He refrains, though, and clears his throat as he replies.

Why was he so fucking nervous?

“Hey.” His voice cracks as he speaks, he feels embarrassed at the action, but is relieved when Y/N lets out a snort, laughing at his mistake.

“What are you doing here?” She asks him, fingers tapping against the back of her phone as she awaits an answer.

“Thought maybe you’d want to go to the movies or something?” He suggests. His eyebrows raise and he gives her a soft look, and she’s reminded of how he looked back in secondary school.

“I’d love to Shawn, but I can’t. I have plans tonight, maybe tomorrow?” His heart drops a little, but he keeps his composure. Before he can reply, a pair of headlights flashes it’s way behind the two of them, and Shawn snaps his neck backwards to see a sports car pulling into her driveway.

The door to the expensive looking car opens, and a tall boy (not as tall as Shawn, but still tall) steps out of the vehicle. He has a bundle of daisies in his hand, and Shawn immediately curses himself for panicking and throwing them behind the bush.

“Y/N? You ready to go?” His voice is deep, hair perfectly done in a messy neat kind of way and Shawn hates it because he looks like a good guy. A guy who could give her a good time, without having any phony articles written about him or fans hating on his girl. Y/N lets out a little smile, a dreamy one that Shawn would admire if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t the one causing it.

“Yeah! Get back in the car Grant, it’s chilly outside.”

Y/N looks up at Shawn, her eyebrows raising a bit, “I’ll see you, Shawn.”

“Yeah, t-tomorrow?” He stutters out and she merely nods before walking towards Grant’s car. He waits for her, opening the door of the car before closing it behind her, and pulling out the driveway. Shawn stays standing on her porch, daisies scattered across her lawn as his chest aches a little bit at watching her leave.

-

“Heard Shawn had quite the night with that instagram model who goes to Western.” Y/N munches on some complementary pretzels as Brian speaks loudly to his friends across from her. Shawn’s excused himself to go to the restroom, and right as he leaves the boys continue talking about his crazy adventures as a celebrity.

Her heart aches just a little bit, and to relieve the tension, she fills the rest of her body with beer and floury chips. Her mind is a bit gone and she refrains from any sort of conversation in fear of giving herself away.

“Gotta give the man some credit, he has good game.” Im laughs as he reaches forward to steal a pretzel from the bowl held in Y/N’s lap. She slaps his hand away and stuff two more down her lips.

“Can I get a fucking pretzel?” Ian playfully questions. Y/N shakes her head, mouth too full to give a response. When she swallows a bit later, she opens her mouth to speak again.

“Why do you all always insist on talking about Shawn’s love life instead of getting one of your own?” She digs, a bit pissed off at them. She knows it’s not at all their fault, but she can’t help her emotions getting the best of her.

“Jesus Y/N, what’s got you so worked up?” Brian spits back at her, actually sounding a bit defensive. Y/N reaches for another pretzel, but faces disappointment when she realizes the bowl is empty.

The truth is that Brian was right. She had no right to be upset, at all in fact. She wondered to herself. If she hadn’t gone out with Grant, and if she’d instead gone to a movie with Shawn, would he have not slept with someone else that night?

Y/N knows she shouldn’t be talking. But last night she had begrudgingly ended things with Grant. He was a nice guy, and she knew of it for sure, but he wasn’t Shawn. She was planning on spending more time with him, maybe seeing what they could be to see if she felt anything more than friendship towards him.

And then he’d slept with someone else.

Did that mean that he didn’t like her at all? Did it, perhaps, mean that she’d given up Grant for no real reason? She wanted to believe that she had made the right choice in ending things with him. After all, she knew she had all of these feelings for Shawn that she was unsure of.

But was she trying for nothing?

“Did you finally realize you’re head over heels in love with Shawn?” She hears Ian say, and she’s immediately snapped back into reality.

“What?” She quickly asks, head snapping over to look at Ian. He has a relaxed expression on his face, the alcohol clearly having taken the edge off of him as he leans against the booth with his body slouching off of it.

“Well you’re in love with him.” He tells her, expression scrunching up after he says it, “Aren’t you?”

Y/N gulps, she didn’t want anyone else to know, especially Shawns friends. But on another hand, they were also her friends.

The part that conflicts her the most is the fact that she doesn’t even know how she feels. Was she in love with Shawn? Maybe. She was definitely bothered by the idea of him being with someone who wasn’t her. He knew her better than most people did, and he’d always at east made an effort to talk to her whenever he was home.

But he was Shawn.

He travelled the world every other month, probably getting with tons of other pretty girls in the process. He wouldn’t have time for her, and he wouldn’t like her after all of the other amazing girls he had the ability to be with. Y/N knew there was no way her feelings were reciprocated.

So she blames the beer when she nods lightly, eyes staring down at the bar table as she accepts the fact that there’s no way he’d ever want someone like her, no matter how much she misses him when he’s not home.

“Pretty fucking obvious.” Brian remarks and she turns to glare at him, throwing a crumpled up wrapper from a plastic straw at his face before huffing and leaning down to take another sip of her beer.

“Just drop it, i’m sure that he wouldn’t want me anyways.” She grumbles, head ducking down uncomfortably. The boys shrug, and they change the subject to some recent hockey match their school had. Y/N debates leaving, and she boredly fiddles with the napkins on the table before she feels a quick tug on her hood.

“Can I have a word with you?” Shawn stands behind her, jaw clenched, and he looks a little bit angry from what she can see. Her head hurts a bit from processing the words, and she’s aware that he probably heard her entire conversation with the boys.

When she doesn’t respond, he grabs her hand and pulls her out of the booth, walking her to the counter of the bar where the bartender stands with a cleaning rag and an empty glass in his hand.

The stand silently, both obviously overwhelmed by the plethora of information. She stares at the prefilled bowls of pretzels behind the bar, and feels like asking for one. Instead, she lowers her head and remembers where she is: Standing in front of Shawn, having just admitted that she’s in love with him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice sounds strained, as if he’s trying to keep it quiet. Y/N doesn’t want to be in front of him, especially when he seems irritated and angry, but she swallows her fear and responds.

“Just, didn’t want to ruin our friendship, I guess.” She quietly responds, tucking her bottom lip into her teeth. The room feels suffocating and her arms begin to sweat.

“Y/N, you should’ve told me.” He sternly says, “You have no idea what this means.” His eyes close and he shakes his head, stoic expression on his face. He smells like cologne and Y/N wants to tuck her face into his neck and just hug him. She then remembers that she might’ve just ruined their entire friendship, and her imagination shuts off.

“It’s embarrassing.” She truthfully admits. It’s embarrassing to her, yes, because she knows there’s no way someone as successful and amazing as him could ever love her back. She knows she’s stupid for loving him, and it kills her that he seems angry at her feelings. She knows just how much she’s going to be devastated because she’s in love with him, and all he sees is red.

“It’s embarrassing to be in love with me?” His expression hardens even more, if it’s possible and Y/N nods her head.

“Y/N, i’ve been in love with you for-” He takes a deep breath, “The longest fucking time.”

Y/N doesn’t know how to feel. Her shoulders feel empty, mood lifting, and she knows she’s no longer sad. But now she feels a surge of hurt rush over her.

He was in love with her, but he still messed around with all of those girls?

Grant was the first boy Y/N had ever given a chance since Shawn had left for tour, since they were both 15. Y/N never got further than an awkward kiss with Grant, mostly because it felt wrong to do so when she knew she had feelings for someone else.

And here he was, a hundred models literally in his contact list as he tries to tell her he’s been in love with her all this time.

“You were in love with me?” She asks Shawn, her voice raising a bit as she no longer feels sad, “You were in love with me.” She repeats to herself, eyes darting into midair as she processes his words.

“Well then why did you talk to all those other girls?” She questions, wanting to clear things up before she’s sure that they have a solid chance. She sees Shawn gulp, a habit he has when he’s intimidated and her heart drops a bit because she knows he hasn’t changed.

“Shawn, you know how shitty I felt every time I would hear you got with another girl?” She bites at the skin of her lip, nibbling on the chapped skin, “You even cancelled on me sometimes just to hookup with other girls.”

Her lips curve downward. Shawn chokes, he thought that her reciprocating his feelings meant they would actually have a chance at being together, but he’d neglected all of his mistakes in his mental image of them together.

“That was-” He clears his throat, “A mistake.”

Y/N scoffs, “A mistake you made up until last night.”

Shawn knows it’s not supposed to be like this, they were supposed to be happy when they found out they loved each other. He’d been imagining this moment for months, yet now that it was here, it was so different. All because of his stupid decisions.

“Shawn  just found out I love you.” She tells him, sadness lacing her voice, “But i’m just not sure if you love me back.”

Shawn wants to step forward, and lock his lips against hers. He wants to tell her he loves the way she sometimes snorts when she laughs, or how her hair tangles in the morning, or how he knows every single detail about her from the day her parents separated, to how she likes her eggs. He wants to show her the photo album on his phone of candid pictures he took, just admiring her. Wants to run his fingers down her skin like he’d always dreamt of doing.

“Of course I love you.” He defends himself harshly, “I’ve always loved you. It’s always been you!” He tries to tell her. She shakes her head, not believing any of her words, but why should she? He hadn’t given her a single reason to make her believe he was serious about her. He sometimes declines her calls on tour, and he’d slept with another girl just the night before.

“Shawn, give me your phone.” She asks him. He furrows his eyebrows, not knowing what she’s trying to do.

“What?”

“Give me your phone.” She tells him more urgently. He grabs the device out of his back pocket, handing it over to her quickly, and she taps in the password before pressing on the messages icon.

Scrolling through the texts and contacts, Y/N feels her heart sink deeper and deeper. Now she was definitely sure that there was no way he loved her. He had the audacity to exchange these - these words with all of these other girls just moments before he had told her he loved her, and how was she supposed to believe him?

Shawn feels disappointed in himself, because his careless actions may have just costed him the one thing he’s wanted. The one thing that money, or fame, or acclaim can’t buy him. Her.

She clicks his phone off, half heartedly paying it onto the wooden bar counter before shamefully looking down at her shoes. Shawn doesn’t know how to fix things, or if she’ll ever want to be with him.

“I love you, Shawn.” She tells him, and Shawn’s heart skips a few beats at her words alone, “I’m just not sure if you’re ready to love me.”

And when she walks past him, coat clutched to her chest as she stumbles out of the cozy bar, shawn can’t help but smile a bit to himself as he remembers that the night may not be shitty, just because it didn’t turn out like he hoped it would.

[aeranethwrites]

To all the new followers and people who liked/read my superbat drabble: You are awesome <3

Anyway, have a continuation? I’m a sucker for reactions

“Clark Joseph Kent, I cannot believe you bothered to show up to work!!”

“Um. H-Hi, Lois.”

“Gah!! I could just-!” While Lois pantomimed strangling the soul right out of his body, Clark adjusted his glasses and tried to not listen too much to the whispering.

Who was he kidding, he was both ‘curious and obscenely nosy’, as Bruce liked to put it.

“Braver than he looks, if that’s real-”

“Actually sleeping with Batman, holy shit-”

“How did Batman pick that up? I’m surprised Clark didn’t faint at the sight of the Bat.”

“-cannot believe we spent all these years one cubicle from each other, and you have the audacity to keep something like this from me- hello? Clark?!” Lois snapped her fingers impatiently, and Clark blinked several times.

“Sorry. Spaced out.” Lois pinched the bridge of her nose. She breathed very slowly.

“Smallville,” she growled. “You have one- just one- chance to tell me that this was a hoax. That Jimmy saw something completely fake, that some other weirdo in a bat costume was hanging out on the rooftop, and you gave him the friendliest hug on this side of the Atlantic.” The whole floor was quiet, everyone holding their breaths. While also trying very hard to pretend they weren’t listening.

Clark sighed very quietly. “It’s my fault,” he admitted. Lois sucked in a breath- “If I was going to kiss my boyfriend, I probably shouldn’t have done it on a building full of photographers.” Her jaw hung slack, and the whispers exploded back in. Then Lois snapped out of it and began shaking him back and forth, spluttering incoherently.

“Enough!!” The floor quieted. “Kent!” Perry snapped. “Office! Now!”

“Yes, sir,” Clark said meekly, gingerly squirming out of Lois’ hold. She sputtered quietly as he shuffled into the open door, eyes still huge.

Perry walked stiffly to his desk, indicating Clark sit. Clark sat, watching him pace for a few moments. After a long while, he turned around, eyes sharp.

“I almost told Jimmy to hell with that picture,” he finally said. “If that kid wasn’t so damned positive that he was the real thing. If it were anyone else, Kent- anyone, I would have thrown them out on their asses.” Clark winced.

“I wouldn’t do something like that.”

“That’s just the thing. I know you wouldn’t. You never have before, and if you were about to start, it damn well wouldn’t be with Batman. He may not do PR, but he’s still the kind of person that gets the message across.” Clark nodded absently. He really was. “Still, all exclusives aside…” The editor sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “Seriously, kid? Batman?” Clark shrugged awkwardly. “How long has this been going on?”

“... Some years, now.”

“How the hell did that happen?” I met a man in Taiwanese prison, then followed him across Asia and fell in love. Clark coughed, adjusting his glasses.

“Through Superman.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s… a long story. Essentially, through Superman.” Perry eyeballed him for a long moment, then harrumphed.

“I guess asking for an interview is too much.”

“Batman wants his privacy, and I won’t break that.”

“Uh-huh. I don’t suppose you talked with him about this mess.”

“We did.” Clark grimaced. “I think he’s more upset with himself for not noticing Jimmy sooner. But he doesn’t want me to retract anything.” Perry raised an eyebrow. Clark sighed. “He… knows my career is important to me. He respects that. Said if nothing else, exposing him as a gay superhero will be beneficial.”

“I didn’t think he cared about that sort of thing.”

“He cares a lot more than you’d think, sir. Believe me, if you knew him, you’d wonder what he ever saw in me.” Perry scoffed, leaning against his desk.

“No, I wouldn’t.” He shook his head to himself. “You’re not allowed anywhere near this story. Neither is Lois, for that matter.”

“She’s going to strangle you.”

“Probably. It’s too late to take back either way.”

“I understand. Batman does, too.”

“Good. Go find Jimmy when you can escape the mob. He’s probably still hiding in a closet and having a crisis. Like you do sometimes, only more dramatic.” Clark snorted very quietly.

“I’ll find him.”

“And- Clark,” Perry called, before Clark could go out the door. “... Be careful, kid.”

“I’m always careful.” Perry’s expression bordered scathing.

“No, you’re not.” Clark could only shrug sheepishly. He went out the door anyway. “... Batman,” Clark heard him mutter to himself. “The goddamned Batman.”

Lois peered at him over the top of their shared cubicle wall as he returned to his desk. He sighed. “Neither of us is allowed near the story,” he recited.

“What?!”

“Sorry, Lois.”

“If I could just get five minutes alone with-”

“Lois.” Clark frowned. “Please respect his privacy. He’s not a story, he’s someone that’s important to me.”

“Clark-”

“Please,” Clark repeated, softening his voice. “As a friend.” The reporter faltered, visibly wavering. Clark almost felt bad, but there was very little else that would throw Lois Lane off the scent of a good story.

“... The second you break it off, he’s mine,” Lois finally growled.

“We’re not going to break it off.”

“Oh? Long-term, then?”

“Lois.”

“Fine, fine.” Lois waved him off. “Fine.” She still didn’t leave. “... So is your boyfriend a good kisser? Just out of friendly curiosity.”

Clark sighed.

Bruce was the center of attention the moment he stepped foot on the Watchtower. He expected it, but it didn’t make it any less irritating.

The main hall immediately went quiet as he walked through. Mostly because Flash had switched off the main monitor so quickly along with the conversation dying off. He ignored it, along with the stares that followed him. Everyone was gathered around the blank screen, watching him intensely.

“... Hey, Bats!” Flash attempted. “Hey! Buddy. Pal. W-What’s happening?”

“Probably crime,” Batman replied flatly. “Where’s my monitor view?”

“Oh, that’s- that’s a bit on the fritz. There’s, uh, some weird connection that keeps popping up, best to not mess with it-” Bruce pulled a remote from his pocket and switched it back on. The show continued playing.

“-right here in Smallville, where Clark Kent was raised. How did you two know each other, Miss Suzanne?”

“Oh, you know, we’ve been best friends throughout our childhoods. That’s just how small towns are, though, you know? He’s basically my brother.”

“You dumped milk in his lap in sixth grade and called him a stupid dork.”

“Shut up, Pete!”

“Annnd back to you, Jeff!”

“The Daily Planet reporter that’s been sweeping the headlines as a topic himself, Clark Kent, has so far declined comment on his relationship with the world-famous hero Batman-” Another click and the monitor switched back to his crime watch. Bruce rolled his eyes as he went up the walkway to his station. He settled in to get some actual work done.

The League followed him to the computer.

“Sooo… on the topic,” Lantern began. “Is it true?”

“Yes.” Bruce frowned at the screen. “There’s definitely crime happening.”

“... No, Batman. We mean-”

“We mean,” Hawkgirl cut in, “that we are only curious if this ‘Clark Kent’ is spreading false rumors in an attempt to damage your public image.” Batman paused. He’d been planning on ignoring them, but the question rankled.

“And just how would me having a boyfriend damage my public image?” he challenged, bristling.

“Whoa, whoa, that’s definitely not what she meant,” Flash insisted hastily. “Not what she meant at all. Look, we just know Kent is close to Superman, and he does a lot of coverage for the Justice League. She was just asking if he might be going rogue on us.”

“What else would I mean?” Hawkgirl muttered. Green Lantern raised an eyebrow. “... Oh.”

“... No,” Brucefinally grumbled, turning away his glare. “He’s not going ‘rogue’ on us.”

“So he’s not lying?” Wonder Woman confirmed. Bruce had the feeling of being tricked, though he couldn’t say why.

“... He’s not lying.”

“Oh-ho, Bats!” Flash cheered, clapping his shoulder. “Good on you! Rooftop makeout and everything!”

“Congratulations,” J’onn offered. “He seems very nice.”

“He’s pretty cute,” Hawkgirl acknowledged. “In a dorky way. I wouldn’t have guessed that was your type.”

“So how long have you been dating?” Flash asked eagerly, leaning into his space. “Is he dating Batman, or does he know your secret identity?? How’d you guys meet? Did Superman hook you up? Wait, does Superman know about you two? I mean, I guess he knows now, but did he before?” Bruce sighed harshly.

“All of you have better things to do.”

“Yeah, but we wanna talk about you and your cute boyfriend!”

“I have a question, too,” Lantern added. “If you two were a secret, why’d you end up making out on top of the Daily Planet? You know, the building full of reporters with cameras on hand?”

“Oh, let him live a little,” Hawkgirl scoffed. “Some people like showing off.”

“Yeah, sure, but not Batman.”

“What not Batman?” Kal wondered, entering the hall. Batman felt somewhat vengeful as Lantern turned around.

“We were just asking the Bat about his voyeurism.” Kal choked for a moment.

“Excuse me??”

“What else do you call him making out with his boyfriend on a building of reporters?” Hawkgirl returned.

“W-Well, that- I mean-”

“It’s your fault,” Bruce informed him. There was a moment of silence as everyone stared between them. Kal’s mouth moved silently for a moment.

“M-Me? What did I do?”

“Suddenly he’s upset about some Watchtower gossip you shared with him. Something about supervillains constantly flirting with me and other women.” Wonder Woman’s face twitched violently. Kal coughed awkwardly as Flash and Lantern looked busy studying anything else.

“Well, I just- You know how often we talk-”

“You know he’s sensitive.”

“Yes,” Kal ground out, groaning. “Yes, I- do.”

“He took risks he wouldn’t normally and we got caught.”

“And you’re mad at me for it, I get it.”

“I’m not mad, Superman,” Bruce replied patiently. “I don’t blame either of you. You’re a weak man for gossip and he’s prone to bouts of jealousy. Do you really blame him?” Kal rolled his eyes to the heavens while Flash muffled a snort.

“No, Batman,” he intoned. “I don’t blame him. You’re a wonderful man and anyone would be lucky to have you. How can he stand not having you to himself twenty-four hours a day?” Bruce waved him off, returning to his work.

“That’ll do.”

“So you’re done?”

“For today.”

“For the month.” Bruce hmmed.

“The week.”

“Fine.”

“Then I’m going back to work.”

“So am I.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” There was a long silence. Kal cleared his throat, then finally left. Bruce shook his head to himself as the League quietly dispersed. Flash lingered, leaning against the console.

“... You two really are close, aren’t you?”

“We’ve known each other too long,” Bruce replied. Flash chuckled.

“I guess he really did introduce you two, then? How long ago was that, anyway?”

“Why do all of you care so much about me having a relationship?” Bruce frowned at him, baffled.

“Well, it’s- I don’t know. You’re just… You’re always such a hardass. John was in the Marines and even he thinks you’re over the top.” The speedster shrugged. “It’s just nice knowing you’re human, I guess. You never seemed to notice anyone or show how much you care about things. It’s nice to know there’s a soft, squishy heart under all those layers of darkness.”

“He’s the squishy one,” Bruce denied immediately. “He’s composed of eighty-seven percent sunlight and rainbows.” Flash grinned hugely.

“Awww. And you love him just like that, don’t you?” Bruce muttered some Kryptonian swears under his breath. He hoped Kal was enjoying himself.

“... I like my privacy,” he finally said, when Flash still wouldn’t go away. “And it’s for his safety. Along with his family’s.”

“Yeah, but everyone knows he’s Superman’s BFF.”

“People like the Joker didn’t have a reason to care about that before.”

“... Point. Hey, so did Superman introduce you? Can I at least get the footnotes on that story?” Bruce held back a sigh. Still, of the rest of the League, Flash was… least suspicious. Just overly friendly. (He seemed to attract the type.)

“Superman didn’t introduce us,” he admitted at length. “We met before him.”

“Whoa- seriously??”

“It was a long time ago, we were still teenagers.” He shook his head to himself. “We had a habit of getting into trouble together, diving headfirst into mysteries. He wanted to take on the world through writing, I wanted to take on Gotham with my fists. We were together long before Superman came into the picture.”

“... You’ve known Superman for a long time,” Flash finally said. “Wow. You don’t have to answer, but have you ever considered getting married?”

“You ever consider not gossiping about the number of people that want to get into my pants?” Bruce retorted. Flash coughed awkwardly, but didn’t retreat. Bruce sighed his troubles to himself, but leaned back in his chair. He pulled off his left glove to give a lazy wave with it, flashing gold in front of the speedster.

Flash choked. Bruce slipped his glove back on. So he’d been feeling a little sentimental that morning, was all.

“Tell Wonder Woman that no, we’re not breaking it off anytime soon,” he said. “Even so, she really isn’t my type.” With that, he returned to work. He could feel Flash staring.

“... So how did you guys meet Supes, anyway?”

“It’s a long story,” Bruce answered pointedly. Flash got the hint at least, holding up his hands. He left with that, probably to gossip more.

Bruce’s handheld buzzed a moment after, and he glanced down.

Fine. You’re not sleeping on the couch tonight.

“I love you, too,” Bruce muttered in Kryptonian, rolling his eyes. He still sighed softly after a long moment, absently rubbing at the hidden ring. So, maybe it wasn’t so bad, letting the world know that Clark Kent belonged to him.

They’d deal with the consequences together.