#though michael isn’t blonde but he’s got light hair so

[beeistrying]

why are all the bestest ships between a sad sarcastic dark haired person and a steadfast blonde with goals

#levi and erwin #eruri #wilmon #merthur #percy and anabeth #percabeth #patrochilles #hyyh yoonkook #eren and armin #in a friend way but still </3 #eren yeager #nico diangelo #solangelo #nick and charlie #heartstopper #tori and michael #though michael isn’t blonde but he’s got light hair so #and so so so many others #ymir x historia #victuuri #yuri on ice #HOW DID I FORGET #johnlock #john watson x sherlock holmes #helnik #pynch #trc #tma jmart #jonmartin #satosugu

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

SUPER BUMPY!

michael kaiser: the new formula one champion that’s taking the world by storm. he’s unreasonably picky, and he’s always finding faults with a team that can’t seem to ever keep up with him. so he takes matters into his own hands in seeing if his new car for the season will live up to his expectations, all with a little help from you.

gender neutral reader

content warning(s): formula one au, slightly suggestive content

Kaiser was a finicky man. He had the bite to back his bark, and no matter how horrible his personality on and off the track was, no one could hold a candle to his abilities as a racer. That was the only reason why his company tolerated him and spoiled him to this extent, because everyone knew that he was an irreplaceable talent.

He grabbed your hand, half-dragging-half-leading you through the dimly lit hallways of the Bastard Munchen headquarters. His grip on you was tight and firm, like he didn’t want to let you go, and you practically stumbled through the winding staircases and sterile hallways as he led you to the garages.

“They approved the new cars.” He grinned, his smirk radiating with the sickening ambition that catapulted him into the world’s spotlight as the young, undefeated champion of the Formula One world. “I really hope they added all the things I asked for. I have no use for a car that can’t keep up with me. Less so a team that can’t fulfill what I ask of them.”

You had half a mind to scold him but decided against it. Noa constantly chided Kaiser about being nice to his management team rather than acting like a tyrant bossing the mechanics and engineers about how “the car isn’t responsive enough” or how he specifically asked for certain tires rather than the ones they got for him.

He was clearly excited to see these new cars, and at least this time around, he had enough faith to try them out. He had stormed out mid-testing last season when he found out that the experimental cars then didn’t go as fast as he wanted them to be, and the poor engineers had to scramble against time to up the car’s limits in time for the race.

Kaiser threw open the door to the garage, and you flinched when he flicked the lights on. You blinked past the discomfort, your stunned eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness as he herded you towards the center of the garage.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” He breathed. He finally let you go, skipping over to the vehicle presented to you.

Just like what Kaiser said, the car really was gorgeous. A sleek black and red, emblematic of his team’s colors, welcomed you. Gold decals glimmered under the spotlight-esque lighting of the room, and the curves of the car screamed of a luxurious speed befitting that of the racetrack’s emperor. Ads for his sponsors were emblazoned on the sides, the colorful banners and letters only reminding you of how much global attention Kaiser held in the palm of his hand. Even though it was stationary and parked inside the garage, you could easily imagine it speeding down the racetrack.

And with Kaiser inside… Right now, he was dressed down in his casual clothes, but you couldn’t help but think about how stunning he’d look with the car: the prideful emperor, in that tight bodysuit uniform—matching black, red, and gold as the car—with his trademark blue rose tattoo peeking over the neckline, blond-blue hair cascading down his shoulders like the stunning opulence of royalty, holding his personalized helmet as if it were a treasure bestowed onto him. 

Kaiser looked like he couldn’t wait to take it out and push the car to its very limits. Your heart twisted at imagining your driver boyfriend in all of his racing bravado. Kaiser was adamant about taking you out to all of his races, but no matter how many times you saw him in his uniform, raring for the tracks, you always got all blushy and flustered at the thought of his well-toned silhouette itching to demolish his opponents.

“Wow…!” You clapped your hands. “I’m not too familiar with the specifics of the car, but it looks so pretty!”

“Finally that useless team of mine pulls off something good,” he laughed smugly. He turned back to you and motioned for you to come closer. “But a pretty car doesn’t mean shit if it doesn’t live up to my expectations.”

“You’ll get to take it out for test runs soon, right?” You tiptoed closer to him. His blue eyes sparkled with an almost sadistic glee as he traced the hood of the car with his fingertips. You looked up at him, offering a small smile as you took your place by his side. “They went all out with the design, so I’m sure they put in a lot of thought everywhere else. I know you complain a lot about how your team can’t keep up with you, but they really do the best they can for you.”

“A team that doesn’t live up to my standards means nothing to me,” Kaiser snorted and shook his head. “But that’s a conversation for later. I’ll tear them apart once I actually have a reason to. I’m here because I want to test this car in a different way.”

You tilted your head. You thought he had dragged you here to show off the car to you, to watch you gush over his newest steed and fawn over him with your praises. Well, even if that wasn’t entirely his intention, you were bound to do it eventually at some point, but now you were the slightest bit confused.

What did he bring you here for? It was far too early to actually take the car out on the track, and all that the two of you could do was admire it visually like this.

As if he could sense your surprise, Kaiser chuckled darkly and reached for you. You gasped when he pulled you into his chest, his arms easily ensnaring you and turning you to face him. 

“What are you making such a face for?” He leaned in, and your breath caught in the back of your throat when his lips ghosted over your cheeks. “I always have a plan. An emperor always keeps his subjects within check.”

You knew he was having fun watching you shudder in his hold. “Wh-What did you bring me here for then? I thought you only wanted to show me your new car…”

He pushed on your shoulders, and you cried out when he shoved you down onto the hood of the car. You landed unceremoniously onto the polished material with a loud squeak, your limbs immediately splaying out against the car. 

You whipped your head up at Kaiser, equal parts flabbergasted and irritated. “Hey, what are you-“

The car shifted with Kaiser’s weight when he got on top of you, his hands firmly planted down onto the hood of the car on either side of your head. One of his knees slid up your legs, leaving you stuck between his body and the car as you stared up at him. Your voice died out mid-sentence as your heart rate picked up dangerously, and Kaiser’s piercing azure eyes lowered into a seductive half-lidded gaze.

He grinned down at you, uncannily resembling a cat that had caught a helpless mouse in his paws. “Do you want to know what I brought you down here for? It’s to test the car’s endurance, darling.”

“Endurance…?” You didn’t dare raise your voice any louder than a whisper. Kaiser ducked down, and you froze as he exhaled against the curve of your neck, where your pulse thrummed rapidly inside of your throat.

“Mhm. You heard me.” His voice was taut, brimming with the same tense electricity that he reserved only for races. The same icy concentration that he only ever spoke with when he had honed in on something, the kind of cruel professionalism that had left countless second-rate champions broken in his wake. “Every race car gets a little scuffed up during races. They crash into the track’s borders, skid against the roads—hell, they even crash into other cars. I gotta make sure this beaut right here can handle everything I throw at it.”

You tried to squirm away to no avail, and the blond’s manic smirk only widened when he felt the car shifting under his palms. “What does that have to do with me?”

“It means-,” he dipped his head, and you spluttered over your words when his lips grazed over your jugular, “-I can be a little rough with you as an experiment to see if my new car can keep up.”

Oh my god.

You thought the wind was being knocked out of you when Kaiser snickered against your skin. He pressed a flurry of kisses to your neck, his tongue cheekily swirling suggestive circles against your sensitive body. You clenched your eyes shut and pushed at his toned chest, unsure if you wanted to pull him closer to you or to shove him away. Not that it really mattered when he had you right where he wanted, pinned underneath him while he kissed you over and over again.

“K-Kaiser, wait- we shouldn’t be doing this here-,” you gasped out, scrunching your face up. Hot shivers ravage your body, and the sounds of him kissing you repeatedly filled your ears. You hated how smooth your boyfriend could be at times, managing to turn you into a flustered goop underneath without any warning. He knew which buttons to press to get you to melt for him, and his kisses weren’t doing you any favors to think rationally. 

He licked at your skin, and a cold shudder ripped down your spine. “What, are you scared? That someone might see? C’mon, darling, it’s not like I haven’t kissed you in front of other people.”

“There’s that, but-,” your hand landed on the hood of the car, pressing against it slightly, “-this is just wrong! We shouldn’t be making out at work, let alone on top of a car that’s still in testing!”

“I can do as I want. You know that they can’t do anything to me.” Kaiser’s teeth latched onto your soft skin, and you yelped out. A stinging pain rushed to your head, prickling all over your neck. You could tell that he had bitten deep, fully with the intention of leaving a mark, and tears welled up in your eyes as your poor nerves recoiled at the pain. 

You also knew he bit you there on purpose. On the left side of your neck, right above your shoulder. The very same place that the tattoo on his neck was, the royal blue rose that struck fear and respect into the heart of every racer worth their salt in the Formula One world. Kaiser’s tongue licked over the bite marks fondly, and you could feel the vibrations of his haughty laugh spreading across your skin. 

“Perfect,” he purred proudly. You knew your boyfriend better than anybody else in the world, and if there was something he wanted, he sure as hell was going to get it. You laid there, all meek and trembling, your heart hammering in your chest in anticipation of what he was going to do next to you. Would it be crazy of you to say that this excited you in some sick and twisted way? Knowing that he could toy with you this easily and you’d eat it all up happily?

Your breathing threatened to give out on you when his tongue was replaced with his hand, his fingertips brushing over the prominent bite marks on your chest. He admired his handiwork, with the same kind of glee you knew he looked down at fallen opponents with. 

“That’ll turn blue once it heals,” Kaiser remarked. “Probably around the time I get to take the car out for its first actual drive. That way we’ll be matching, and everyone can see what I’ve done to you.”

Your stomach twisted with sick anticipation. Millions of eyes on you, the whole world watching to see what fledgling champion would think of this year’s new car. Everyone would be admiring him with bated breath to see how this season would kick off, and his mark on your neck would be there for everyone to know that he’s laid claim to you.

He leaned over again, looming over you as you pressed your back fully against the sleek hood of his racing car. 

“But this is just the beginning of the season, darling,” he whispered. “And I’m not sure if I’m quite done testing this car’s ‘endurance’ just yet. I promise I’ll make it worth your while, so bear with me.”

The hand around your neck tightened just a hair. “You wouldn’t mind if I got a little rougher, would you?”

x

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #michael kaiser #x reader #my writing #hi guys im back w my illness

[caramelcal]

his favorite club

warnings: swearing, arguing, talks of murder, gangs, use of weapons etc. don’t read if you are not comfortable with these! 

word count: 2.5k

a/n: HELLO!!!! WELCOME BACK TO THE NEXT LUKE/BAMBI POST!

thank you so much for all the love anons <3

requests: Anonymous asked:

Could you write a Luke x gang where him and the reader are fighting and maybe his arm goes up and she thinks he’s going to hit her but would never and it’s fluffy in the end?

Anonymous asked:

For the Luke x gang could you write something angsty like maybe he doesn’t come home on time like usual and y/n is really worried idk maybe goes to his place of business and it starts a big fight and the reader gets a bit scared of how mad he is? Idk you can take it in any direction.

Anonymous asked:

Loved the new Luke post. Was wondering if the next part could have some danger concerning the reader? Or maybe she sees the dangerous part of him and it scares her?

The only sound filling the apartment was the sounds of the small girl's shoes hitting off of the floor loudly, and the soft but irritating clicking of the clock that stood on the wall in front of her. It was 8:13 pm. Over an hour later than Luke had said he was going to be.

Bambi knew the dangers of the work that Luke lived in, but he had only ever been once late and even then, she had got a text explaining that he would be. Yet, this time, she never got a text, a call, nothing.

Radio silence.

Her stomach clenched up every time she thought about the possibilities of what could have happened to Luke. She wouldn't consider herself a pessimist, but she can't exactly say that she was expecting the best.

She was sure that if Luke didn't get home soon, the floor would have worn away from the amount of pacing she was doing right now. The clock continued to tick on, each movement from the small circular thing stuck on the wall bringing her more and more anxiety.

He should be home.

Maybe that's why she found herself in one of Luke's cars, somehow managing to sneak past the two members of Luke's gang that she had seen on the way down, and evading Jacob, Luke's personal driver.

In fact, Bambi hadn't driven a car since she moved in with Luke, always being driven around by either Jacob or Luke himself. It felt weird being behind a wheel again, but she didn't have time to dwell on it or soak up in the power she felt inkling into her chest before she was speeding out of the garage, onto the main highway of the city.

If Bambi was being honest, she probably broke about seven driving laws (if there were that many, probably, she thought) on the way to the club that Luke often found himself at. He never brought her there, and actually, forbid her from coming to altogether, but she knew he couldn't be too mad considering it was all about her concern about him.

From the moment she walked in, she felt out of place. Men in dark button-ups, cigarettes falling from their lips, women in minimal and sexy clothing, drinks all around. The red luminous lights of the bar being the only light provided. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for her tall boyfriend but it was really difficult.

A lot of the people in here were very tall, much taller than Bambi was, so trying to see over them was impossible. She was very out of place, alone, scared, and looked far too good to be in such a twisted club.

Somehow, she managed to make her way over to the bar, where she recognized a figure with his back turned towards her, making a cocktail. It was only seconds after when he turned around, dimpled face on display, he almost spilled the drink on him with how fast he stopped upon seeing her.

His eyes whipped around wildly around the club before walking over to her and whispering, "You shouldn't be here! Didn’t Luke forbid you from coming here? You need to leave!"

"Nice to see you too, Ash," Bambi couldn't help the sarcasm falling off of her lips before she asked, "Luke never got home. Is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine, he just got caught up with some paperwork and stuff, he should be back soon,"

"Paperwork?" She asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at the gang member.

"Well yeah, just updating a file on the drug run today just to say it went well," Ashton shrugged lightly, "he should be done soon."

Even though Ashton shrugged it off well, Bambi knew he was lying. She could feel it in her bones, in her gut, that he was lying and she was determined to find out the truth.

She shrugged lightly, "Well if it's just paperwork then he won't mind me being there."

With that, she stalked away from the bar in search of the backrooms, wasting no time for Ashton to catch up with her as she went on her way. She walked around the back hallways, looking for any indication of Luke's presence.

The rooms were silent. All but one.

"Please! I don't know anything! Stop!" It was a plead filled with both pain and desperation but it was quickly cut off with the sound of a swift but powerful hit.

Her pulse raced, legs shakily making their way towards the room, gently pushing the door open. It was silent, the door, cracking open so that the small girl could see.

Bambi felt sick.

She could see her boyfriend’s blond curls held up in a hair tie she had loaned him earlier this morning, bloody hand reaching up high as he punched the poor boy on the chair again.

“I’ll give you one more chance before I use something more than my hand,” He threatened gruffly, causing Bambi to flinch. Her breath was caught in her throat, eyes welling up in tears. She knew she shouldn’t have been so upset, she knew her boyfriend was a gang member, but something about seeing him doing this to someone with the same hands that caressed her and made her feel safe felt...wrong.

Suddenly, Ashton entered another door that entered into the room that Luke was in, alerting both Luke and Michael, who had been overlooking the situation. Only then did Bambi realize that Luke had picked up an object, it glinting in the light as he moved towards the door that Ashton had entered.

Luke was holding a knife.

A soft gasp escaped Bambi’s lips, thankfully not loud enough for Luke to hear. She didn’t want him near her, not right now anyway. She didn’t even want him to look at her.

“She’s here! You need to stop, Luke!” Bambi took that as her clear to get the hell out of there. If what Ashton said was true, about Luke being mad she was here, she didn’t want him to find her. Not anymore, anyway.

She didn’t want him to get anywhere near him. How could she possibly sleep at night knowing the man that slept beside her, that played with her hair, that made her feel safe, did that to people? What if he got so mad that he did that to her?

She was being irrational, but at that moment she couldn’t help it.

She shuffled backward, away from the door that led to the room Luke was in, choosing to swiftly get away from him now that she could.

Now, she wasn’t scared for Luke, she was scared of Luke.

“Hey kid, where are you goin'?” Calum asked as she crashed into his chest, making her stumble back lightly, mouth ajar.

She went to speak, to come up with some excuse but she didn’t have time. She couldn’t sit here and entertain Calum with a nice, little conversation when she was trying to evade her boyfriend.

That’s why she just turned, maneuvering around her, and started to run.

“Bambi!” The girl became rigid as she heard him shout, becoming increasingly aware that he had caught up to her, and was planning on talking to her. It was almost as if she was frozen in place, unable to move into the car and unable to move towards him, not that she wanted to. However, she could hear him come to a stop behind her, his voice softer as he spoke, trying not to gather any attention towards the couple, “Why are you here? I thought I told you that you weren’t allowed at the club?”

Her mouth ran dry, unable to respond. In fact, she acted as if she never heard him speak, afraid of what he would do if she pissed him off. Yet, her silence was probably the most angering thing to the tall blond boyfriend of hers, which became obvious when he spoke next.

“Bambi? Let me get you out of here, I’ll drive,” He went to grab the car keys out of her hand, but she had seen his shadow when he went to grab them, quickly jerking out of his grasp, turning around, and staring up at him.

She didn’t miss the slight shock in his eyes when she did so, or the irritancy that bubbled deep beneath. Her throat felt thick, clouded, but she quickly cleared it, voice forceful as she stared up at the gang member, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Bambi, what the hell are you talking about? Just let me drive and we can talk about this when we get home lets not cause a scene,” Luke was trying to reason with the girl, not cause a scene in front of his men, but Bambi was not having it. She wasn’t about to get into a car with him, shaking her head wildly, “Bambi.”

His tone was a warning, deep voice, cold tone. It was demanding but Bambi was not in the mood for Luke to boss her about, especially not right now.

“What? You don’t want people to realize that we’re fighting and that I’m your girlfriend, is that it?” The words were flying out of the girl’s mouth before she could stop them and Luke’s blue eyes glared down at her, his jaw ticking.

“Is this really what this is about?” Luke asked, referring to the argument they had gone through all of those weeks ago. Yet, that it isn’t. The problem was that Bambi saw something she wasn’t supposed to, that Luke had tried to shield her from as best as he could. Even if it meant that she wasn’t allowed near his favorite club.

“You nearly killed him, Luke.”

Her voice was painfully quiet, muttering in a way that makes it obvious she had to force the words out. Her fists are clenched at her sides, her eyes looking down to evade the scrutiny of his gaze.

“Bambi you don’t know what you saw-”

“You had a knife, Luke! I saw you punch him just look at your hands right now they’re-” She stopped briefly, glancing down at the man’s hands, the ones that gave her such tender, sweet love. The ones that made her feel safe, yet now? All she seen was all of the blood coating them, some dry some relatively fresh, “they’re covered in his blood.”

Luke flexed his hands slightly, feeling the blood coating them become ever so evident, “What else am I supposed to do? What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? I work in a fucking gang, you knew this.”

“I didn’t think-” The girl cut herself off, shaking her head as tears rose to her eyes, shielding her view.

“What the fuck do you think I do? Hand out fucking rainbow stickers and give them a nice hug? That’s not how this works, you know this,” His voice was harsh, and slowly rising to a loud level, and all Bambi wants is to go and hide away from him; to be by herself. She can’t handle this, not right now.

“How can you expect me to be ok with this?” The girl asked, “It’s sick! It’s twisted! You could have killed that guy!”

“Don’t suddenly go getting morals just because you saw a bit of fucking blood! We’re leaving. Now,” His voice is demanding, loud and borderline shouting, his hand coming down towards her rapidly to grab the car keys off of her but then he froze at the movement from the small girl in front of him.

She flinched.

Silence filled them both.

The tears that tracked down her face started to build in his eyes, his heart dropping to his feet when he saw the girl cower. It was barely for a second when she shielded her head, in the same place he had hit that guy barely five minutes before like he was going to hit her.

He spluttered with his mouth ajar. Bambi, his Bambi, the one he had worked so hard to protect, to love, to cherish, was scared of him. He just wanted to comfort her, to hold her close and let her know that everything was going to be okay. Yet, he couldn’t comfort her that he would battle all her fears when he was what she was scared of.

“Bambi...” It was a sad plead.

The girl never replied, tears becoming thicker as she shook her head. She was overcome with emotions. Afraid, sad, ashamed, angry; she wasn’t entirely sure what she was feeling at that moment.

“Bambi I’d never...”

The girl wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Never in his whole life had Luke felt so ashamed of himself. Ashamed that he would ever let a fragment of his girl believe he would ever harm her or put her in harm’s way.

He would do everything to make sure she was okay.

“I need to go,” The girl gingerly wiped her tears with her -Luke’s- jumper, the large sleeves rolled up but still covering her hands fully. She entered the car and Luke made no move to stop her, he didn’t care that she had taken one of his cars at that moment, he didn’t care that she had disobeyed his orders of coming to the club, he didn’t care about anything other than how he had wronged her.

Then, he was left by himself, in the middle of the club’s back parking lot, blood still coating his hands that even made him feel sick now. The cold night air nipped at his skin, yet again reminding him that he was void of her warmth. He was all alone.

He returned home all of twenty minutes later, a fresh pair of clothes on and hands bare of blood. The house was quiet but he knew that she was there, the bedroom door ever so slightly ajar, a faint light emitting from the room.

He leaned against the door frame, watching her with a sullen face as she packed. She was only packing a few outfits, not anything major as she sniffed lightly. She was still crying, Luke noticed, and it made his heart ache, “I’m leaving for Anna’s. I just need some time.”

Luke knew he was in no position to argue with the girl right now. She was fragile enough as it is, and even if Luke didn’t want her to leave, she needed space and he respected that.

She slung the overnight bag over her shoulder, hefting it up, “I’ve called an Uber. They’re waiting downstairs.”

Luke nodded as Bambi stopped in front of him, and almost hesitantly, he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead, “Stay safe, ok? I love you.”

The girl nodded her head, sending the boy a tight-lipped smile before leaving, leaving Luke alone once again. Yet, despite the heartbreak, he felt in that moment as she left, he knew this wasn’t the end. He’d manage to make it up to her, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t rest easy until he did.

#luke hemmings 5sos #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings gang #luke hemmings #gang!luke hemmings #gang!luke hemmings x reader #gang!sos #luke hemmings x oc #luke hemmings x you #luke hemmings x y/n #gang!luke hemmings x oc

[talkfastromance4]

stuck with u-- calum hood oneshot

a/n: hii! so this came outta left field but I went with it. based off of ariana grande’s song with justin bieber. very loosely edited, but yeah, I hope you like it :)

word count: 4,111

warnings: mentions of quarantine, a break up, sweet moments, male receiving oral, female receiving oral, spitting, unprotected sex, funny sexual moments

Masterlist

Feedback is always welcome and enjoy! :)

• • • •

She came over to return his box of things, giving herself a pep talk before she did. It’s a few days before their new album releases and two weeks before touring begins. They always had an expiration date, this she knew, but she hadn’t put into consideration how badly it would sting.

Like any normal couple, they had their ups and downs with minor arguments here and there, but their stubbornness was the same. Neither one of them wanting to give in first left them each brooding in their separate corners until the bell struck for another round of heated words then they’d stalk off to their respective corners again.

It was a cycle that kept cycling until her eyes filled with tears or the steam finally sizzled out from them both. In exchange of heated words were the remaining apologies, words of kindness, and a conclusion to whatever their fight had been about.

She’s at a stoplight, Halsey’s magical voice surrounds her in her car, and she glances to the box in the passenger seat. A small notebook lays on top that holds small poems or songs he wrote for her, about her. It was given to her on her birthday, but she couldn’t keep it now, not when their time is up. Next to the notebook is his green Empathy hoodie she stole awhile ago and on top of that is a small stuffed bear he won at a fair.

A car horn pulls her from her reverie, and she continues the familiar roads to his house. After dropping off his things and getting hers back from him, she was heading back home to spend time with her family so the back part of her car was full of duffel bags and her pillows.

She stares at his house, suddenly it seems so daunting as memories swim in her head. Countless nights of wandering through the front door after a night out or at Michael and Crystal’s for a small party. Mornings of coffee and breakfast created by him filled with whipped cream and syrupy kisses. Her eyes sting with tears and she shakes her head quickly. She promised herself she wouldn’t cry another tear over him.

She checks her phone to see a comforting message from Crystal of good luck and a safe drive home with many heart emojis.

“You can do this; you can do this. In and out and he’s behind you,” she mutters to herself then grabs his box of belongings.

Before she can ring the doorbell, he opens it and Duke is barking at his feet, jumping up on the glass trying to get to her, his fluffy tail wagging joyously at her return. Her heart falls, she’s going to miss Duke a lot. Calum opens the door.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice gruff and scratchy. She hopes he’s not starting to get sick; he needs to rest—

She stops herself short, it’s not her concern anymore.

“Hi,” she says quietly and enters the house. Her shoulder brushes his chest, they both tense and his aftershave invades her nose. The smell of him and him alone brings back more memories of cuddling by the fire, snuggling on the couch, walking up behind him while he’s making dinner and burying her face between his shoulder blades.

Duke continues to vie for her attention as she moves into the kitchen. The news is on with the volume down low, numbers and the word ‘China lockdown’ traveling across the bottom of the screen. She sets the box down on the counter with a thump then squats to her knees to give Duke a proper hello and goodbye.

“I’ll um, go get your stuff. Help yourself to something to drink.”

“I’m gonna miss your cuddles, Dukey,” she whispers to the old dog and kisses his nose. He licks her chin in return.

She stands and waits, not even bothering to get a drink because she doesn’t plan to stay long. Why does he want to prolong their goodbye? She leans against the counter waiting for Calum’s return and she realizes she’s in the same spot from months ago where she tried to prepare him dinner for once.

He was being exceptionally affectionate, lifting her arm so he could press his lips to her wrist then slowly down to her elbow—

“I think I have everything,” his voice startles her from the good memory. “I made sure you didn’t leave any of your books behind.”

“Thanks,” she gives him a grim smile taking the box from his hands. Their fingers brush, his heat always made her forever cold fingers warm. A shock ran through her fingertips.

The pair stare into their boxes respectively, shuffling through memories of their relationship.

“This isn’t mine,” Calum holds up the small notebook of songs and poems. “I gave this to you as a gift, Y/N.”

She stares at the book of words in his hand, words of love and light reserved for her only.

“I can’t keep it, Cal,” she whispers, eyes pooling with tears. She tries to blink them away and on instinct Calum moves forward. She backs up into the corner of the counter. “No, don’t. Please.”

“Y/N…”

“It’s hard enough, Cal, all right? I know our time was limited,” she crosses her arms over her chest, “but I’m still hurting and I’m probably going to hurt for a while longer.”

“You think I’m not hurting, too? This was—is the hardest breakup. I’m hurting, Y/N, I am.”

She risks a glance up at him to see the wounded look in his eyes. Calum shifts forward, his hands cradling her face gently in his palms, his forehead pressed to hers. She dares not to move, because once she touches him then it’s all over. There’s no way she could recover from that.

“Look at me,” his lips kiss her forehead, another stab at her heart. She shakes her head. “Baby—”

The news anchor’s voice interrupts their moment declaring the state of California has issued a lockdown effective immediately. No one is to leave their homes for any reason, no going to other houses, no contact with anyone. The world shut down and now they’re stuck together.

**

It’s awkward at first, moving her things from her car into his house. She decided to stay in the guest bedroom, no matter how badly she wanted to crawl into his bed and never leave. He was on the phone with the guys and management discussing what this means for their album release and tour well late into the night while she contacted her family.

She could do two weeks with her ex, nothing tricky about that, right?

She was wrong. The first week was rough, they bounced around each other like meteorites trying not to collide. When he’d walk around the house shirtless she had to force herself not to stare. More memories and the ache to run her fingers over his tattoos was too strong. They ate in separate rooms and tried to remain separate as much as possible.

She watched the live he did with the band for their album release, listening along with them and crying at songs she knew Calum wrote. Small nods to their relationship tugged at her heart.

The second week things were looking up because she would be leaving soon. The smell of him would linger on all of her clothes a lot longer now, but she needed to get out. She needed to get over him and that’s hard to do when you’re stuck under the same roof.

Plans had changed yet again, and she’d be with him a lot longer. Tour has been cancelled and in the process of being rescheduled as much as it can be. Calum has been stressed; she feels it radiating off him one morning while he’s sat at the kitchen table. His coffee cup is still full, his shoulders hunched to his neck from stress.

Without thinking, she moves behind him and rubs at his shoulders. He jumps at her touch but then relaxes into her touch, letting her remove the stress that she can from his muscles.

“D’you want to talk about it?” she asks softly.

“Not really,” he shakes his head then sighs. “There is something I’d like to talk about though…”

“Yeah?” her thumbs rub up his neck into his hairline, his blond hairline that he re-dyed for the wildflower music video that never got filmed.

“Can we talk about us?” he asks. Her hands still their motions in his hair.

“What about us?”

He spins around, her hands falling from his warm skin. He takes her hand in his, fingers linked together like so many times before, his brown eyes captivating her. He swallows harshly.

“We’ve got all this time on our hands, might as well cancel all our plans we had and spend it together,” he says.

“Even if it’s just you and me?” she strokes his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

“I can’t fight it anymore,” he shakes his head. “I thought it was hard before but it’s even harder now with you here. I don’t want to let you go.”

“So…what does this mean exactly?”

“It’s just you and me,” he rises to his feet taking her other hand in his. “It means whatever we want it to.”

“Let’s have a date night, a new start,” she offers.

“That sounds good,” he smiles.

At around six o’clock, they meet in the kitchen wearing comfy clothes. Something they both agreed on to make the night even easier and more comfortable. She had on one of his shirts with shorts and socks that went up to her knees. He had on basketball shorts and a blue t-shirt; he remembers how she likes him in blue.

They were making dinner together, homemade pasta with sauce to match. A bottle of wine was opened, and their glasses were filled with the sweet nectar.

“Remember when we got poured out at the festival with Mike and Crys?” she laughs while stirring the sauce.

“We were so muddy,” he joins in her laughter. “Your hair was sopping but you looked adorable all muddy.”

“You wouldn’t join me in the puddle,” she nudges him.

“Because I didn’t want to get sick and guess who was in bed for four days with a cold?”

“Yeah but you took care of me,” she grins.

Calum takes her hand that doesn’t have the spoon in her hand and lifts it to his lips. With his eyes trained on hers, he kisses her fingers, kisses the center of her palm, then her wrist.

“I’d do it again, you know,” he murmurs on her skin. Goosebumps rise on her neck and all the way down her body. “Take care of you.”

Their eyes lock and the mood changes, the sauce bubbles as they lean in closer, closer, and closer still until—

The timer on the oven buzzes signifying it’s ready for the garlic bread. Calum sighs, gives her wrist one more kiss then returns to his task at hand. She’s left flustered and warm while she stirs the sauce then adds the noodles into the boiling water.

During dinner they had another glass of wine and joked about more memories together, dreams they wanted to do with one another. Unlike the first week she was there, their chairs were pushed as close as they could be at the table. Their plates were empty, and his arm was on the back of her chair.

“We should just rent a small camper and travel along the coast,” he says rubbing her neck with his thumb.

“Maybe we can afterwards,” she chuckles wiping off pasta sauce from his cheek. “When we can leave the house again.”

“Good point. So, since this is a first date, now it’s time to dance.”

She quirks an eyebrow up. “Dance? I’m in a t-shirt and knee-high socks.”

“Perfect dancing outfit come on. Up you get, little lady,” he tickles her neck as he rises from his chair. She giggles at his touch then is pulled from her own chair by his hand.

“There isn’t any music,” she laughs falling into his chest.

“Oh shit, hang on. Hey Alexa, play the Y/N playlist,” he says.

“Playing Y/N playlist on Spotify,” Alexa responds, and Ariana’s voice fills the house.

“You have a playlist for me?”

“Of course,” he grins then dips her down. She squeals from the sudden rush to her head as she’s tipped backwards, but Calum would never let her fall.

He pulls her back up, both of them giggling as they dance in the kitchen. Her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, it’s getting longer and shaggier by the day. His curls are coming back, and she’s been itching to play with the soft twists.

“I’ve missed you,” he confesses.

“I missed you, too,” she whispers. Their eyes meet just as Justin Bieber’s voice croons in the speakers.

“My plan when you came over was to try and get back together, you know. Even before all of this happened, I was going to ask if you’d wait for me to come back from tour. I wasn’t going to let my stubbornness push away the best person that’s happened to me.”

“Cal…”

She cups his cheek the same time he leans down and presses his lips to hers. An electric surge courses through them as their kiss deepens. He grips her waist then lowers his hands to her ass giving her a hefty squeeze. She gasps at the contact and he slips his tongue in her mouth. Calum spins her around, lifting her up so she’s seated on the counter.

Her legs wrap around his waist, accordingly, pulling him as close to her as possible. The song changes to Lover of Mine just as his hands creep under her shirt. His fingers skim her skin, thumbs brushing over her soft nipples that turn hard upon his touch. He groans, giving her breasts a firm squeeze before lifting the shirt from her body.

Their eyes lock, lips red from their kiss. She traces his lower lip and he’s quick to duck his head down to suck on her neck. She gasps when his hand cups her sex, his thumb rubbing her core through the fabric while his mouth descends to her breasts. She bites her lip, but a small moan escapes her as he sucks on her nipple, his thumb moving in tantric circles.

“Calum…Cal…please…” she begs in a whisper, her fingers tightening in his hair.

Getting her message loud and clear, he lifts her in his arms, lips assaulting hers as he makes his way to his bedroom. He kicks the door shut so Duke doesn’t interrupt then drops her to the bed. She giggles and he laughs along with her yanking his shirt off. She removes her shorts and panties the same time he drops his shorts to the floor.

She’s quick to grasp him in her palm, stroking towards herself, looking up at him. He touches her cheek affectionately; it’s been so long since they’ve had each other this way.

“Love the way you look at me like that,” he mumbles, his thumb rubbing under her eye.

A smile flickers on her lips before she suctions them around his tip. Calum’s eyes close sequentially but he forces them open so he can watch her, another love of his. Her tongue swirls and rolls the only way she knows how to do before taking him further in her mouth.

Calum groans at the warmth of her mouth, he brings his other hand to her cheek, watching her eyes close as she concentrates. Flashes of her like this flood his mind, from their first time, to the time they snuck away at Ashton’s house because he was wearing that suit she loved him in so much she had to have him right then.

When he reaches the back of her throat, he snaps back to the present and moans from the sensation. She takes him that deep again and he holds her face tighter.

“Up, up, up, up,” he orders pulling her off him. As much as he loved getting head from her, he loves returning the favor more. “Lie back, baby, legs up.”

She licks her lips, swiping her thumb over leftover spit which is insanely hot and pushes herself to the center of the bed. He follows her hungrily, pushing her ankles up and to the side so she’s open and pliant for him, only for him.

He keeps his eyes on her as he kisses her thighs, nibbling his teeth every now and then with his thumbs rubbing her ankles softly. She situates the pillows behind her head so she can have a better angle to watch him. She loves to watch as much as he does.

“Ready?” he asks, and she giggles, nodding quickly.

He flashes her a wink before closing his mouth on her clit. She moans on contact while he sucks then transitions to flicking his tongue at the nub, teasing the tip of his tongue in her hole sporadically. He loves pleasuring her with his mouth, he can feel her moans on his tongue as she drips for him. Her hands fly to his hair guiding his mouth to where she needs, and Calum lets her use him.

He pulls away a fraction so he can gather his saliva then spits it on her core, watching it dribble to her entrance before he slurps it back up with her arousal. Her moans are sinful at the action, her hips moving with his motions, moans getting louder and louder until she gasps out his name in one breath. Her legs go rigid in his hold as her orgasm crashes into her.

“That’s my fucking girl,” he grunts, swiping his tongue up and down, up and down until her body relaxes. He looks up already meeting her gaze, chest heaving from the bliss. “Ready for me?”

“Always,” she nods.

They move quickly, situating themselves in the right way. He holds her ankles until he’s hovering above her, then lets go so he can grab hold of his shaft then slaps it against her pussy in a teasing manner. She moans at the contact, her legs falling open wider. Calum rubs her temple with his thumb nearest her head as he nudges himself between her folds.

Her mouth opens like it always does when he inserts himself the first time, he slips right in and they moan together at being connected once more. He rests his other hand on his bed, and she lets out a squeak.

“Ouch! On my hair, move, move, move!”

He lifts his hand spewing out ‘sorry, sorry!’ quickly as she readjusts herself. They’re giggling and he bends down to kiss her, she wraps her arms around his neck. She shifts her hips slightly underneath him in a rocking motion, but he wants more of her lips.

“If I’m going to do all the work, I should have been on top,” she teases jutting her hips up once more.

“Yeah? You want to be sassy right now?” he hums pressing himself into her more, she lets out a choked moan.

“You going to fuck me right now?” she hums in the same tone, smirking against him.

Calum growls then pulls himself out of her only to plunge with force right back in. She screams out his name as he starts a rapid rhythm, hips snapping against hers, the bed shifting with his movements. Her head tilts back as her back arches so she can take him even deeper.

Calum sucks onto her breast, fucking into her swiftly, her wetness has him moving faster and faster until—

“FUCK!” he groans when he slips out of her entirely and thrusts into her thigh. She’s laughing above him, and he curses lowly to himself again. He glances up to see her giggling behind her hand. “Think it’s funny, huh?”

“Am I that wet?” she laughs poking his nose. “That’s your fault you know.”

“I take that as a win, baby,” he sighs teasing her hole once more with his cock. He grins up at her. “No one makes you as wet as I do.”

“Hmm, you’re not wrong,” she smiles then wiggles beneath him.

“You want more?” he teases pressing his tip in slowly, she bites her lip.

“Please,” she whines.

“You have to keep your legs still, so I don’t slip out again,” he breathes then pushes in once more.

He finds his rhythm from before, her body arching the way he loves but he feels her legs shift. He growls then pushes them up to her chest, he plants his knees to the mattress, her ass cheeks resting on his thighs.

“What’d I say?” he pants, and her eyes roll at his tone and the angle he has her body in. he jack hammers into her, his balls slapping her thighs.

She squeezes the pillows next to her head until her knuckles are white, her cries of pleasure are music to his ears as he feels her clench around him. Sweat builds on his brow and his chest and he’s damned to have her orgasm as many times as he can. Her eyes close as her second orgasm hits, she’s pulsing around him in such a good way it makes him ache.

When it’s over, he releases her legs so he can pound into her with his waist. He holds her to his body, face buried in her neck so he can leave marks on her skin. She’s coming once more, chanting his name in his ear and he groans at the sound. She kisses his ear, teeth grazing his lobe as a new orgasm rolls into the next.

Feeling his own release approaching, he shifts again. This time he moves backwards pulling her with him so they’re in a sitting position. He wraps her legs around his waist, her body is heavy against his from the tumultuous pleasure he’s giving her. Calum’s arms snake around her back, it’s sticky with her own sweat and he licks into her mouth the same time he starts thrusting again. Her ankles lock behind his back, she hides her face in his neck at the new angle.

“Look at me, baby, please,” he begs tugging at the hair by her neck. He holds her in place, their eyes meeting, her mouth falling open with their thrusts.

His movements slow to a more tenacious speed, still full of passion but with a layer of love and adoration. Calum moves his hand from her waist so he can anchor himself to the bed, thrusting his hips quicker. She helps as much as she can, her body is nearly spent but she wants to feel him cum inside her, hear his moans and see the bliss in his eyes.

“Come for me, Cal,” she pants, “come for me, baby…”

His hips jerk and he releases his orgasm inside her, his hips move lethargically, milking his climax for as long as he can but their eyes stay locked. When he’s finished, they both let out a long sigh, knocking their foreheads together. Their breath is hot on each other’s faces, sweat beads roll onto each other’s skin, a mixture of him and her.

They stay in the position, legs crisscrossed, arms wrapped around one another, heartbeats slowing from a rapid pace to syncing together. After a few more moments, they disentangle, and Calum has to help her walk to the bathroom. She can already feel the soreness in her lips, but she’s missed the pleasured ache.

They brush their teeth, she uses the toilet, then crawl into bed together. She’s already passed out as soon as her head hits the pillow and Calum draws designs along her back until he falls asleep as well.

The next morning, they wake later than intended but give light kisses in the morning sun.

“I love you, you know,” he tells her caressing her face. His eyes litter over the small marks on her neck and breasts he gave her.

“I love you, too.”

“Are you all right being stuck with me?” he grins pulling her leg over his hip.

“Lock the door and throw out the key,” she grins capturing his lips between hers.

“It’s just you and me.” He moves to roll on top of her, but she pushes on his chest lightly so she’s on top.

“I’m stuck with you,” she whispers, kissing him as she grinds herself on top of him.

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#calum hood oneshot #calum hood smut #calum hood angst #calum writing #calum hood writing #calum smut #calum 5sos writing #calum 5sos #5sos writing #calum angst #calum fluff

[doc-pickles]

all's well that ends well to end up with you

After a weekend conference Jo finds herself in an unfamiliar and unexpected situation with an all too familiar face from her past.

“How was the conference?”

As Link approaches Jo she can’t help but jump in surprise, he’d snuck up on her as she stood outside of one of her patients' rooms editing their chart. She had been gone for the weekend at a medical conference in New York and hadn’t seen Link since coming home.

“It was good,” Jo doesn’t look away from the computer in front of her, typing as she speaks to Link. “Robbins is pretty amazing, I’m kinda bummed I never got to work under her as an OB. But I learned a lot and I had fun.”

Her phone dings next to her and before she can grab it Link is reading the screen with interest, “Who’s Michael and why does he want to know how your morning is going?”

Jo snatches her phone up, putting it into her pocket as she closes out of the computer. She turns and begins to walk away from Link, “I met him at the conference.”

“Does he live nearby?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Atticus Lincoln!”

Whipping her head around Jo isn’t shocked to see the smug grin on Link’s face. He shrugs, walking past her towards the elevators as he continues his thoughts, “I’m just saying, you’re a single mom of a three-year-old who had a whole entire weekend to herself. I assume you went to a bar, got wasted, and slept with the first eligible doctor you laid eyes on.” “Wow you really do not know me at all,” Jo follows Link into the elevator, pressing the level one button. “He’s a doctor that I happened to connect with in New York. We’ve been texting, not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m your best friend and you’re not gonna tell me about the first man you’ve slept with since…”

“Don’t try to calculate, it’ll hurt your brain.”

While she’s always more than happy that she has her college friend back in her life Jo often finds herself annoyed at his antics, the same way she assumes siblings get tired of each other. She assumes that Link does these things to get a rise out of her but she always has the suspicion that his love for life and childlike excitement has something to do with it as well.

“Well I’m glad you had a good weekend,” the doors of the elevator slide open, and Jo and Link step out. “Still on for dinner tomorrow?”

Jo nods as she begins to walk down the hallway away from Link, “Yes and I promise I won’t burn it this week.” Link’s laugh echoes down the hallway as Jo turns the corner towards the hospital daycare. She’d flown in early in the morning and gone straight to work meaning she hadn’t seen Luna for three days. She was more than ready to scoop her daughter up and go home to watch movies on the couch.

“Mama!”

The excited voice of her daughter snaps Jo out of her thoughts, a grin overtaking her face as she runs towards her. She opens her arms just quick enough to catch Luna as she barrels forward into her chest. Even though she was just gone for the weekend Jo couldn’t help but savor the feeling of her daughter's arms wrapped around her.

“Oh my little star, I missed you so much,” Jo pulls back and presses a kiss to Luna’s forehead. “Did you have fun with Auntie Mer?”

“Yes she did, she was a perfect angel,” Jo turns her attention to Meredith who’s standing in front of her with Ellis hoisted on her hip. “I came to check on this one, she’s got a bit of a cough so sorry if Luna catches it.”

Jo shakes her head, squeezing her daughter tighter, “It’s okay, Luna is a warrior. Thank you so much again for watching her.”

“Jo you’ve watched my kids more times than I can count, don’t worry about it,” Meredith brushes off Jo’s thanks with a grin. “So did you have fun? Adult fun?”

“What is with you and Link? I go to an MFM conference and you guys think my whole weekend was a sexscapade,” Jo rolls her eyes, grabbing Luna’s backpack and hoisting the three-year-old onto her hip. “Not that it matters but I did have fun.”

Meredith shouts her goodbyes as Jo and Luna walk out of the daycare. While she’d be hesitant to admit it out loud Jo did enjoy having a weekend to herself. She’d caught up with Arizona and Callie and even had a chance to sleep in for once. The handsome man that she’d connected with was a nice bonus as well.

As if on queue Jo’s phone dings as she climbs into the driver’s seat of her Audi, a smile lighting up her face as she reads the text.

Hope you girls are having a good night, can’t stop thinking about you.

A blush spreads across her cheeks and Jo can’t help the swarm of butterflies that well up in her stomach. While one weekend wasn’t enough to judge a whole future she was excited to see where things took her.

+

True to Meredith’s word both Luna and Jo caught the cough and cold that Ellis had. While Luna had recovered quickly Jo couldn’t seem to shake the brain fog and fatigue plaguing her. She trudged through her work weeks, adopting the same bedtime as Luna and pushing off everyone’s questioning and concerned gazes until she couldn’t anymore. After three days straight of waking up exhausted, fatigued, and throwing up Jo surrendered and called Meredith to come and get Luna. If she could barely manage to get herself out of bed how was she supposed to take care of a rambunctious toddler as well? While she waited for Meredith to arrive Jo laid in bed, phone pressed to her ear.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself. What’s up?”

“I don’t think Luna and I will be able to make it this weekend.”

“Are you guys okay? You sound terrible.”

“Gee how romantic of you, you really know how to woo a girl.”

“Jo…”

“I’m fine just… pregnant.”

There’s a long pause, an unavoidable silence encompassing both ends of the phone. Jo knows this is the last thing he was expecting, it was the last thing she was expecting, but it’s where they found themselves.

“What’d you say?” “I’m pregnant. I took a test yesterday. Well, I took seven but still.”

Jo can hear him suck in a breath on the other side and she can’t help but wish she was telling him in person, standing across from him as he launches forward and wraps his arms around her in that pleasant rush of shock and excitement.

“From New York? It’s…” “Definitely yours. There’s not really any other contenders.”

“Holy sh-”

“I know, not exactly the kind of news you were expecting,” Jo pauses, toying with a loose thread on her comforter. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, we’ll work it out. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I want to stay on and talk but I have surgery. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Of course. Talk to you soon.”

Jo hangs the phone up, falling back onto her pillows with a sigh. She had never pictured herself in this situation but here she was; a single mom to a toddler pregnant by a guy she had seen over one weekend who lived states away. The thought alone hurt her, but she knew that she could get through it.

“Was that mystery man from the conference?”

Jo nearly jumps at the sight of Meredith standing in the doorway of her bedroom. She looks down to Luna who’s sleeping soundly beside her before answering, “Yeah that was him.”

“You didn’t seem very happy to talk to him,” Meredith seats herself at the end of Jo’s bed, raising her eyebrows with a questioning look. “Trouble in paradise?”

“More like trouble in everyday life,” Jo rolls her eyes, looking up at Meredith. “Thanks for taking Luna, I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Meredith pauses, eyeing Jo warily for a moment. “Are you sure you’re not contagious?”

“I told you I have food poisoning,” Jo groans as she slips further under the covers. She wasn’t in the mood for Meredith‘s questioning today. “I’ll call if I’m not okay.”

The answer placates Meredith for now and Jo wakes Luna and sends her with her friend. She stays in bed for a few more minutes before the urge to throw up overwhelms her. After she spends half an hour hunched over the toilet she finally feels good enough to crawl back into bed, falling asleep before thoughts about her unexpected pregnancy overwhelm her brain.

Despite falling asleep quickly Jo finds that she’s restless. When her stomach finally feels settled she drags herself to the kitchen, eating plain toast before jumping in the shower. By midday, Jo feels better, save for her lingering exhaustion. Meredith texts to inform her that Ellis and Luna have suckered her into a sleepover and that she’ll bring Luna home the next afternoon. With not much else to do Jo settles on the couch with a movie.

She doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep until there’s a banging on her front door. The bright light shining through the windows alerts Jo to the fact that she slept through the night and Meredith is bringing Luna home. She jogs to the door, her apology to Meredith failing on her lips as she realizes it’s not her friend in front of her.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well you called and sounded terrible and we were supposed to meet up this weekend anyway so…”

“So you hopped on the first plane to Seattle?”

“I hope that’s okay.”

”Of course! You know I missed you, I'm just shocked.”

The rest of Jo's statement is cut short as Luna barrels down the hallway and crashes into her legs. It only takes a few seconds for Jo to realize just how screwed she is before Meredith‘s voice echoes down the hallway.

“Alex?”

The blonde doesn’t wait for a response, instead wrapping her arms around the man standing in Jo's doorway. As she pulls away from Alex Meredith looks between him and Jo before letting out a gasp.

“Oh my go-“

Jo doesn’t hear the rest of Meredith's sentence as she shakes Luna off of her leg and bolts down the hall. She barely makes it to the bathroom, the little bit of popcorn and toast she managed to eat yesterday reappearing in the toilet bowl before her. She can hear Luna calling down the hall for her, Meredith distracting her quickly. As her body heaves forward again, Jo feels a warm hand on her back and another pulling her hair back.

“I’ve only been in town for an hour and I’m having a blast,” Alex chuckles as Jo swats at him blindly. “Sorry about the throwing up.”

“I blame you for this.”

“And I blame Arizona.”

When she’s done throwing up, Jo sits back and takes a long look at Alex. Although she had seen him only a few weeks earlier she can’t help but take him in all over again. The crooked smile she’s become so accustomed to still graces his face and his presence calms her nerves more than she thought it would.

“I can’t believe you flew all the way out here.”

“You were going to fly out to Kansas with Luna, I figured the least I could do right now was help you out for the weekend,” Alex brushes the hair back from Jo’s forehead and she can’t help but lean into him. “How are you doing? I mean throwing up aside obviously?”

“Tired. And I can’t remember anything,” Jo doesn’t have a better answer for Alex, her train of thought being interrupted by Luna babbling outside the door anyways. “I should get her.”

“I can get her if you want,” Alex stands quickly, extending his hand to Jo. “I mean if it's okay with you that is. I’m just trying to help out, I can take her for a bit and you can nap.”

Jo nods in thanks, bypassing Meredith in the hallway and immediately curling up in bed. She can hear Alex and Meredith whispering but can’t quite make out their words. Luna is babbling and she can tell that Alex is responding to whatever the toddler is saying to him. As Jo drifts off to sleep once again she can’t help but feel like the future might not be as dim as she had first thought.

When she wakes up a few hours later Jo is greeted by the sight of Alex coming into her room. She pats the spot next to her on the bed and curls into Alex’s side as he settles in, his arms wrapping around her shoulder. The warmth that spreads through her as he presses a kiss to her forehead is warm and comforting, something she’d craved for far too long.

“Thank you for helping with Luna, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” there’s a momentary pause before Alex speaks again and despite not being able to see his face Jo knows he’s grinning. “We’re having a baby. Can you believe that?”

“I would say no but the constant nausea and throwing up make it hard to forget,” Jo threads her fingers through Alex’s as she rests his hand on her still flat abdomen. “We’re having a baby.”

The moment is bittersweet, the excitement of the tiny new life overshadowing the reminder that they could have already had this had Alex not left. Jo chooses to overlook that as she lets herself finally feel the excitement that’s been bubbling under the surface since she had seen the positive test two days before, “The first time I sleep with you in three years and you knock me up. I think you just missed me.”

“I did. I have every day since we said goodbye outside the airport.”

Alex’s candor makes Jo’s breath hitch. As she turns to meet his eyes she knows he’s telling the truth, but she still finds herself craving the reminder that this is real and not a dream.

“I want us to be a family, that’s what I’ve always wanted with you, Jo. I know we didn’t count on Eli and Alexis or Luna. And we definitely didn’t count on this little one,” a smile spreads across Alex’s face as he squeezes their intertwined hands still resting on her stomach. Jo can’t help the tears that well in her eyes at the small gesture. “But I can’t picture a future without all of them. Or you, I definitely don’t want a future without you, Jo. I told you in New York that leaving was my biggest mistake and I meant that. I don’t want to be a dad without you by my side, I don’t want anything if you’re not by my side. I can do it, I can live my life, but I don’t want to unless you’re there too. I love you, Jo.”

Jo can’t stop the tears that are tracking down her face. She knows she’s worrying Alex with her emotional display but her raging hormones make the task of stopping the tears near impossible. Instead, she reaches up and kisses him squarely, letting her lips linger a bit longer than she normally would. When she pulls away Alex’s eyes are still closed and he’s wearing a blissed-out expression.

“I love you too,” Jo savors the words as they fall off of her lips, not having said them in this context since the last voicemail she had left for Alex before she had read his letter. “I love you and our family so much.”

There’s nothing else for them to say, the couple enjoying the silence that surrounds them as Jo leans up to kiss Alex again and they get lost in each other. It’s an easy feat, their emotions and feelings towards each other guiding their actions as they once again fall into bed with each other. Jo knows that they have more to discuss but for now she’s content to get lost in Alex all over again.

#jolex #alex karev #jo wilson #jo karev #greys anatomy #jo x alex #jolex fanfic #greys anatomy fanfic #nina writes

[keravnous]

- agent 14/agent steve haines; american money

It's a Thursday and it's raining. The raindrops are heavy and loud on impact, running down his windshield like tears. He's on his way to the set and he prays that it'll clear up soon.

"This show will kill you", Warren sits on his bed, sheets lazily draped over his legs. Steve can see where his pubic hair begins and his mouth waters. Warren takes a long drag from his cigarette, blows the smoke into the air.

"It fucking won't, nothing can", Steve's leaning against the door frame, coffee in hand.

"Fuck yes, it can. And it will, lurking around at Forum Drive all day and for what? Two minutes of frightening pictures that will make Karens all over LS go buck wild."

"Who's Karen?"

"Forget about it. Let me suck your dick, Haines, c'mere."

As he arrives near the recreational center and pulls into one of the lots it has indeed stopped raining. The streets are still wet but the sun's coming out again and the air is already mushy with the reblooming heat. There's a lanky man with a dog and he's yelling into his phone - the man that is, not the dog.

He knows who the guy is, even though he most likely doesn't know him, probably he doesn't even know that Steve exists. He's an associate of Franklin Clinton and the Bureau keeps a close eye on him, due to the nature of Clinton being so close with Townley and Philips.

Steve watches Lamar, leaning against the hood of his car, the remaining rain wetting his thigh through the denim.

"Man Frank, you just ain't around no more, homie. That's all I'm saying. Yeah - Yeah, sure whatever, dog - Yeah, fuck yourself too, homie."

He hangs up and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. The dog looks at him. "Man, you get the fool more than I do, Chop. Wassup with him, can you tell me? He always been that fool, but something ain't right there."

Steve knows what ain't right there. Franklin must've picked up by now, or maybe Townley told him, what they were up to that one afternoon at the warehouse. And for what he knows about Clinton and what the intel tells him, the young man probably isn't much of a big fan of government-approved interrogation techniques.

And he probably also won't like what Steve has next in stock. Warren was a little careless the last time around, tongue loosend by sweet kisses and a hand around his dick, when he spoke about a securicar delivering important IAA files soon. It won't hurt 14 but it would definitely aid Steve an awful lot, so he decided to send the boys on the road again, maybe on Tuesday.

The production team's van rolls up next to him and they swarm around him like a stock of bees buzzes around their queen and then there's sound and light checks being run and a woman applies powder to his face. Lamar Davis has not moved a single step. Their eyes meet.

"What are you idiots doing here?", he hollers. Steve wonders if he could be of use.

"We're shooting a show", he replies, while the attach a little microphone to his collar, "The Underbelly of Paradise, you surely have already seen an episode or two."

"You're that Haines-guy then?", something in Lamar's voice makes his skin crawl, his files told Steve that he too is a gangster after all, killing and robbing are some of Davis' favourites. The look he shoots him isn't much friendlier.

"In the flesh", Steve dusts of the sleeves of his polo shirt.

"Yeah, aight. Fuck you then, man. C'mon Chop, we best be leavin', homie. Imma take you back to Frank's crib", oh, there is something in Lamar's voice that Steve definitely doesn't like at all but he just smiles politely at the man, until he's around the corner and out of sight. Steve's smile drops.

"Can we hurry this up a little, people? I don't got all day!" The bees start buzzing again.

_

The raid on the Humane goes by easier than expected. They are in Warren's living room, as the news inform about the incident. Steve is just pouring himself another glass of wine and Warren looks at him.

He knows, that the other one knows. It's a cover story the IAA will buy, but not Warren. Pain shoots through his legs as he slowly makes his way towards the sofa.

Warren mouths a few words at him. Be careful. Steve nods and leans over, places a soft kiss on his shoulder.

"Learned from the best", he whispers and Warren jerks.

"What?", there's panic in his voice.

"The Rashkovsky Job? The breakout and then his research goes missing?"

Warren blinks at him in disbelief.

"So, did he let you know if he likes it in South America?"

They laugh and Steve feels light, his fingertips tingle with it.

_

Steve's on his balcony. There's a saxophonist a few meters down the road, playing some Sinatra pieces and the music wraps itself around him like a blanket. The musician's interpretation reaks of melancholy and reminds Steve of the golden days of Vinewood cinema, noir films and cigarette smoke. Musicians playing at street corners isn't something foreign in a city where everyone has dreams of being the next big national superstar, but Steve usually hates him with his guts. This one's different. It touches him and he finds himself enjoying the dark, warm tunes that float through the cool air. It will be autumn soon and Steve's glad that the heat will be gone.

Warren watches him from the inside, leaning against the kitchen counter, lips curled in a smile.

_

Steve has always hated Michael's bloated and ugly, fat face and now he even gets to point a gun at it. It feels like his birthday and christmas fall on the same day.

"They know or they think they know that I'm the one that was behind the incident."

They stare each other into the ground, guns raised. Steve's ready to fire, has been from the minute Townley walked onto the plaza for the first time.

"Put the weapons down, boys. Fun time's over!", Steve wants to sigh. This is not happening. And then they are suddendly surrounded by their own man Sanchez has sent and then fucking Merryweather's there, too. This is not fucking happening. And so he does the only thing he's always been good at.

"We all know you Agency boys are balls deep in a plot to drive up your fundings by any means necessary", he shouldn't have said that. Warren trusted him with that info, even showed him the intel. He sees something moving behind Agent ULP's eyes, it's fear. He's got him.

Suddendly there's a loud pop and then pain shooting through his left leg. "Same goddamn leg", he blurts out as hell starts to break loose around him. Sanchez blood sprays the concrete in a bright red as the bullet pierces his skull. Steve wishes it would've been Michael instead.

He runs until he can't take the pain no more, then cowers on the ground, slowly robbing behind cover, as Dave and Michael pick up the gun fight. He's bleeding heavily, red liquid rushing out of the wound and drenching his cargos. It seems like the bullet is stuck and maybe has wounded some arteries. He figures that he probably hasn't that much time left. He strips himself out of his shirt and wraps it around his leg, adding pressure on his thigh, just above the bullet wound.

He thinks about Warren. Oh dear God, don't let me die today.

_

"What did you do?", it's Warren, he's sitting at Steve's kitchen table.

"Did you let yourself in, pretty boy?"

"What happend?", he sounds furious now, gets up and his eyes bore into Steve's. He's dizzy with it, with what Warren's gaze tells him, let's him know without saying a word.

"Nothing, it's nothing."

"You got shot!"

"Yeah, the same leg."

"That's - you're-"

Steve wraps his arms around him and presses him close and Warren releases a surprised noise. "I'm still here", he says and it's more for and to himself, than for Warren but the other doesn't seem to care, burying his face in Steve's neck.

The world's a little brighter and warmer and Steve doesn't feel that threatend anymore. He has to make a phone call, but that can wait a few more minutes.

_

He has a team on the way to the plant, it will be alright. They'll be gone for good, just another casualty. He sighs, takes a deep breath and throws the script on the seat across from him.

"Are the cameras rolling? Yes? How do I look, the chin's sharp?"

Warren looks at him, eyes still a little hazy from his last orgasm and Steve turns his head and looks at him. He's so pretty and Steve's heart misses a beat.

"I-", his voice breaks and Warren blinks.

"Yeah?"

"I hate you."

Warren laughs. It's deep and dripping with amusement, running down Steve's body like hot honey. He rolls himself over, on top of Warren, who's still laughing deep in his chest, burying a hand in Steve's blond hair.

"No. No, you don't."

They look at each other and their gazes turn soft. "Sometimes I do", Steve's voice is quiet, honesty seeping through his words, "But sometimes I-, I would burn the world down to protect you."

Warren's hand caresses his neck. "My life would be so very boring without you, Haines. It nearly makes me forget that I just really want to skin you alive, sometimes."

It's not really an I love you - I love you too, but it's as close as they can get without hurting their egos. The kiss is soft and sweet and a promise.

"Hi, I'm Steve Haines. I've tracked down killers, attacked incompetence and taken down terrorist cells, and tonight -"

The gunshot rips through the night and the camera man throws himself back, lands unpleasently on his back.

"My god! The guy! What's-his-name! Fuck, shit, they shot him!", he stares down at the dead man, blood rushing out of the bullet wound in the back of his head. The impact had torn some skin and skull apart and there's a nasty opening, his brain leaks out of it. The camera man vomits out of the gondola as sirens erupt in the night.

_

Warren has his feet up on the coffee table, mindlessly zapping through the programs. It's all shallow and boring and he hopes that Steve will be home soon. Home.

His stomach does a funny little flip and Warren smiles to himself, wraps the blanket around him tighter. It smells of him, his perfume. He closes his eyes and he can practically feel Steve's hand creeping around his neck, resting on his shoulder, heavy and warm. It's always like that, when he comes in on Warren sitting on the sofa. He will lean down and place a feather light kiss on the back of his head, maybe rest his nose there for a moment, taking the other man's scent in for a few seconds, before getting up again and ranting about Norton or another colleague. A fuzzy warmth spreads in his stomach and Warren sighs. A sudden noise interrupts his daydreaming and he lazily opens an eye at the TV. It's a Weazle Broadcast.

"We interrupt our nightly program for an important message. We just recieved notice that FIB Special Agent Steve Haines has been shot on duty at the Del Pierro Pier. Agent Haines died a hero, doing what he loved, which was presenting a TV show. He helped combine the chaos of anti-terrorism and the mindlessness of network television into one highly successful career. Mr. Haines, who was not married, leaves behind his mother."

The world goes silent.

_

He's not moving. Has not in hours, maybe it's even a full day at this point. He has not eaten, has not showered, has not moved at all.

Warren feels like a dead man. The thought makes a bitter laugh splutter over his lips and then has him break out in tears immediately after.

It's a scary thought that people continue to live their lives, acknowledging that an agent passed away last night but they are now out and about, at their jobs, maybe seeing friends or family. A lover, even. They are busy living their life's while Warren's just dissolved in a matter of seconds.

It's a scary thought being ripped off of something so dear so abruptly, it's scary how it ripped a hole it Warren's chest that is now filled with a black, emotionless but equally painful void that nags, tears and claws at him.

It's a scary thought that he's alone again.

His body, his throat gives in and he's rolling on his side, screaming and tearing at the blanket, fingers grabbing at the fabric, as his knuckles turn white. He's screaming and screaming and screaming until his throat is sore and his eyes burn and the only noises that leave his mouth are little pathetic whines of exhaustion and the gasping for air. The pain in his chest takes his breath away, chokes him and makes him want to curl up, bore a knife into it, twist and turn it until it goes away. He feels like vomiting.

_

It's Sunday. It's been a little over 30 hours. Warren is tired, but everytime he tries to close his eyes he sees him, hears his laughter ring in his ears. It hurts. It hurts so much, he has hardly any words left to describe the agony he is going through.

His head hurts too, so does his throat and his stomach, with the constant throwing up and the lack of hydration. But he can't bring himself to get up, to grab a glass of water and drown some pain killers and go to bed. His legs are heavy and he just doesn't have the energy.

Warren feels like dying but he's also so painfully alive.

_

He's wide awake. He'll need to find a solution for how he's going to be able to go to work tomorrow.

But for now he's wrapping himself in Steve's blanket, the one he sleeps in when he's been over, inhaling the fading scent.

_

"Agent 14?"

His eyes are red, bloodshot and his fingers are trembling, seconds away from shaking. He had powder this morning to just make it somehow and it's slowly wearing off. He hasn't been on coke since college and it sent him on a murder high, blood pumping like a race horse only to now let him dive head-first into a killer hole.

It's been three days since Steve left his life both, quiet and eardrum-tearing loudly, and it feels like a nightmare, eternal and burning hot. He's empty inside but there's also just so much pain, it feels like he's breaking into pieces. His stomach clenches and his heartbeat is heavy, vibrates thickly in his chest and he just wants to die, too.

"Mrs. Rackham", his voice is rough, it doesn't bother to hide that Warren had been crying and screaming his lungs out every night since Steve's brain had been splattered onto the ferris wheel.

"I need to talk to you."

This is about Avon and Clifford, he's sure. His hand shakes and coffee spills on his desk. He curses under his breath and reaches for a tissue but Mrs. Rackham grabs his hand with force. They look at each other. Warren blinks.

"You are not in a good condition. I don't need explanations or lies, 14. I want to offer you my sincere condolences on your loss, Mister Jones. "

Warren takes a deep breath but he can't keep his eyes from tearing up.

"Take the week off, Agent", as he's not moving, shocked and dumbfounded, she starts to pick his jacket up, "Go now, I'll cover you up."

He gets on his feet, knees weak and body shaking, takes his jacket from her hands.

"Thank you, Phoenicia", he means it.

She looks at him. "I'm sorry", and she means it, too, "The IAA could've done some-"

"Don't."

She nods sharply and then looks at him once more, eyes piercing.

"I lost my husband in service as well, Iraq in 2004."

And then they're hugging, Warren is burrying his face into her neck and wailing like a little child.

_

It's a weird feeling and it fucks with his head as his gaze falls on the door of his apartment. He could've sworn that he heard the key turning the lock. He stares and stares and stares and it feels like his brain is readying for Steve to come through the door anytime.

He doesn't.

_

It's midnight and he had five more moments like the door-lock one earlier. He feels like he may go insane.

Warren fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and opens up Eyefind, types his thoughts into the searchbar.

At the end of his research he's left with two possibilities: it's either a stage of grief (denial they call it - dying's more fitting, Warren thinks) or the sideeffects of the coke slowly wearing off.

_

It's raining. It's like the heavens above are pissing down on him. Warren's crying while the rain relentlessly pounds on his umbrella.

He's standing a few meters away from the funeral party. Steve's mother bails her eyes out and he would like to go over to her and wrap her im his arms but he would just be a stranger to her.

There's a saxophonist in front of the cementry. He's playing Sinatra's Summer Wind, sounding sad but warm nonetheless. Steve's family probably thinks of that as a weird coincidence but Warren has spent two full nights finding the man again, who has played down at Steve's street corner all those months ago. It was difficult and time consuming, but not impossible.

There's a new wave of tears making their way out of Warren's eyes and he has to clasp a hand on his mouth to stop the painful noises from making their way into the soft air of spring. He feels like he's breaking apart, torn into two pieces.

He cries and cries and cries until the funeral party is long gone any the sun sets. The saxophonist is still playing.

_

When Warren comes home the sun's gone for some while and it's dark out. There's a light burning in his kitchen. For a moment, just a split second, it feels like Steve will swing around the corner. But he doesn't.

He walks into the kitchen to find a bouquet of white lillies sitting on the countertop. He checks the card attached to them.

Sorry about your loss.

He doesn't recognize the handwriting, it looks like it could've been written by someone who's older than Warren, male maybe, but his last Hand Writing and Letter Indentification Course was two years ago. He figures his cleaner, a nice elderly lady, had put them there. He thinks about her seeing the bouquet on the door step and carefully carrying them inside, placing them in the only vase Warren has at home. It makes him both sad and glad, glad that at least she's still around.

_

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.

14 would've liked to ask Robert Frost if he was just stupid or naive or both.

_

Two days later he's so angry at the world that he grabs the vase and throws it across the room, where it collides with the wall and breaks in a thousand little pieces.

_

The anger keeps on coming, rage that boils hot and white in his stomach, makes him lash out at colleagues and scream his lungs out, throwing things and fits like it's nothing.

He finds himself beating into walls and furniture until his knuckles bleed.

Mrs. Rackham puts him onto another break, Temporarily Suspended Until Further Notice the record reads.

_

Warren's awake, restless but exhausted, again. It's three in the morning. His head hurts, his bones hurts, his whole body feels heavy.

"I should've stopped you from going", he whispers into the night and his mind conjurs up Steve's voice, consoling him.

"No, really. I should have been more persistent. If you just would've stayed with me that night."

Steve answers him again, but it sounds washed out in Warren's ear.

Oh, please don't let me forget his voice.

_

He's not moving again. Hasn't done so in two days.

Mrs. Rackham continues to call him, but he won't pick up. He can't handle her, can't handle her sorrow and her advices. He doesn't want to hear it. She would probably also bug him about not showing up for work again and that's just something he really doesn't want to hear right now.

It's phone rings again and he picks it up to throw it against the wall with all the force he can possibly muster, so it would just shut up, but it's not Phoenicia calling this time. It's Lester.

"14? This is Crest." He doesn't sound good. Warren doesn't know what to say.

"I am, ehrm, calling to see how you're doing?" Odd. He can't bring himself to say anything back. "You know I, err, saw you didn't clock in to work for a few days? Are you doing, ehrm, well?"

"Yeah", it sounds as broken as he feels. There's an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, maybe even for a full minute. He hears Lester's inhaler.

"I, well I err heard about Haines."

It should send him into a rage, a fit, maybe even crying manically but there's just nothing. Just the casual numbness that hangs above him like thick clouds these days.

"Yeah, a shame, isn't it?"

There's coughing, then deep breaths being taken. "You're not doing too well, Crest?"

"Can we meet up, 14? I", another cough, "I know a place."

_

The sun's out and it burns in Warren's eyes, on his skin, even though he's wearing both, a jacket and sunglasses. Crest sits across from him at the table, not touching his iced coffee. So isn't Warren, he is neither thirsty nor hungry.

They are at a bean machine on Vinewood Boulevard. It's one of the stores Steve used to buy his coffee at. There should be stining pain at the thought but there's just sadness, blackness wandering through Warren's mind.

"You don't look too good", Crest says.

"You neither", Warren says and to mask the shaking of his voice he takes a sip from the coffee. It tastes like nothing, like liquid paper.

"I don't feel to good either. But you also don't, so what's the matter, 14."

Warren just shrugs. Lester looks at him, a steady and stern gaze, as if he's looking for answers in Warren's eyes, in his fucking soul.

"What are we doing here?"

"Just looking after a, err, friend."

"We're not friends, Crest."

"Associates then, maybe?", the look on his face is a little sad, offended. Warren can't bring himself to care.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Any lead, yet?"

Warren lifts his eyebrows in suprise. "A lead?"

"Yeah, you know", Crest clears his throat and leans in a little, "Who did it, you know."

Maybe Warren's mind is playing tricks on him again, but Crest looks a little concerned.

"No, none. Nothing."

Crest nods and leans back. Lester doesn't offer his help, so Warren decides that he then won't ask for it. Still confused and mouth already opened he wants to know why, as Lester's lungs throw a fit, his body cramping and being thrown forward and then back again by his dry coughs. Warren's up on his feet in a matter of seconds, his heartbeat picking up a fast rate he hasn't feeled in weeks, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He grabs Lester by his shoulders and holds him up, while he coughs coughs coughs. At the end of it there's blood on his chin.

"You're not planing on dying as well, are you?"

The look Lester shoots him, slumped in his chair with other guests on the terrace staring at them in shock, makes Warren's skin crawl.

_

He hasn't been at an attorney's office ever. It's a weird experience.

The people are nice and calm and so is Mister Allan, who has Steve's testament laying in front of him.

"So, Mister Jones, shall we get started then?"

Warren nods. It still confuses him. He wonders what Steve's mother thought, when she heard that she won't inherit everything. Warren doesn't want money, money won't replace anything.

He must've said that out loud, because Allan chuckles.

"Mister Haines hasn't left you money. No need to worry, Mister Jones."

He leaves the office with a black box tucked safely under his arm. He doesn't open it, not in the office, not on the way out in the elevator, not at home. He tucks it away in his closet, deep down where he keeps a ski puffer, that he never wears anyways.

_

He finds himself talking to Steve, or what his mind conjurs up of his memories, more often. It helps him, or so he hopes.

He misses him and the soliloquy is a good substitute, at least for now.

_

They are at a clinic just above the hills and behind the Vinewood sign, far away from the city, the air is dry and crisp nonetheless. Lester sits in a wicker chair, wrapped in a blanket and stares at the fountain in the middle the perfectly trimmed meadow. Warren sits next to him, craving a cigarette, but not lighting one. He'll have to wait a couple more minutes, until the nurse will bring Lester back into the clinic.

"Thank you for stopping by", Crest means it.

"Am I the only one?"

"No, oh no. There's, ehrm, Franklin's coming over too, once or twice a week."

He looks better, rested. Warren doesn't know who Franklin is, but he nods politely anyways.

"That's nice."

"Yeah, he's a good kid." A crook then.

"Are they treating you well up here?"

"It's fine, I- argh, fuck it. The dinner's horrible but the doctor's are good enough. Won't make a difference anyways."

"That's what they're saying then?", Warren looks into the setting sun. From up here Los Santos seems peaceful, quiet, a big, glorious and shining city. It's a hell hole full of shit, Warren knows that now, but he can't leave. Not yet.

"Yeah. No. They don't say it, but they mean it. It's in their eyes." Lester takes a sip of his water.

"Don't say that, Crest."

Lester looks at him. He doesn't say it, but the look on his face says it all. You've been through enough, I won't tell you that I'm dying soon.

"Yeah, well, it was nice seeing you. Getting better and such", Warren gets up, the wicker creaking, his phone in hand and sunglasses back on. They look at each other for a long, quiet moment and then Warren nods, turns around to leave. A surprisingly strong hand grabs his arm.

"I have a project, it's happening right now, Warren."

He stops in his tracks. From somewhere behind the fountain laughter sweeps up the hill. There's an old lady on the meadow with their grandchildren and they're playing ball. She has a bandage around her head.

"A project?", Warren doesn't turn around.

"Yeah, I'd like you to take over. You need something to do."

"I still have a job, Crest."

"That reminds you of him." It's like a kick into his guts and there's sudden rage boiling inside of him, but there's also something else. A certain calmness, that wraps itself around his shoulders like a white blanket. T feels a lot like clarity.

"That it does, yeah."

"I'll have Paige bring you the details."

"Sure. Good night, Crest."

He walks over the little path out of bark mulch, that is overgrown by trees, back to his car. He feels oddly content.

_

See, life does goes on. It's a weird thought that strikes him out of nowhere. He's afraid of forgetting everything that was, since forgetting always seemed easy. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week but who knows what will be in a year? Maybe he'll catch himself sooner or later, not thinking about Steve for a few weeks, months, years.

He's afraid of that, sincerely so.

_

The air in the bunker is cold and damp. Some of his people are moving out the old equipment. He doesn't know Crest's newest associate, it's most likely no one from the Hertz/Clifford-Incident.

I'm sorry I called him a buffoon, if I had only known back then.

He thinks of Phoenicia's concerned face and suddendly he finds himself smiling.

"Oh, he was a buffoon, you weren't wrong, Ma'am", he says to himself and hears a quiet chuckle errupting from his chest. There's sadness floading him, but it's warm and sweet and feels like an old friend.

There's no time for tears as the door of the bunker suddendly beeps loudly, informing him of a visitor arriving.

_

"So, you're getting along, then?", Crest sounds better. Warren lets go a breath, he doesn't even know he held in the first place.

"Yeah. They are quiet, but I appreciate the effort they are putting into it."

"I told you, they're are reliable."

"So you did."

There's a long pause, silence.

"Listen, Crest. I gotta go, speak to you soon."

As he hangs up, he's confronted with his lie, standing alone in his quiet living room.

_

The next time Lester invites him over, he says yes. He lives in a bigger, cleaner house now and Warren can only guess, that he was indeed involved in the robbery at the Casino his team is trying to solve right now. He'll offer them a false trace. Maybe they'll pick that one up.

"Georgina's not home, you just missed her", Lester wobbles down the stairs to the living room, crutch in hand.

"Who?"

"Georgina, he lives with her", Warren looks up, from where he is securing Lester's arm with his own hand and looks into the face of a young man. He looks younger than himself and wears expensive street style clothing.

"Who are you?"

"That's Franklin, Warren. Franklin, that's the friend I've been telling you about."

"Pleasure", Warren's voice still on the edge, while the man's handshake is firm.

"You lost your man, dog? Lest been telling me."

"I did, eight months ago."

There's something moving behind Franklin's face but he's quick to cover it up. Warren wonders: what and why.

"Shame man, I'm sorry to hear that, homie. My girl left me, too."

"He didn't leave me. He died."

Franklin looks at Lester, confused and a little reproachful, too. Then, it seems to click, as Franklin looks at him again. He now looks a little terrified, actually.

"Franklin was just leaving anways, weren't you?", Crest sits down in a beige armchair. Warren notices that he has new glasses.

"Yeah, shit. I mean of course, I was on my way out. Nice meeting you man, I hope you're, you know, doing better soon. See you around."

"Thank you", Warren recieves an awkward pat on his shoulder and then Franklin's steps distance themselves, until the front door falls shut.

_

He didn't leave me. He died.

His own words echo in his skull but they don't throw him into a manic tantrum, he's not crying, not screaming. He's oddly calm.

Is this how it feels, when one comes to terms with something, he wonders. Maybe, it is.

He died.

That he did and it must've been fucking ugly. Blood and soupy brain everywhere. Warren wishes he could've held him during these moments, when the body is slowling shutting down, when something mysterious, unknown happens to the human consciousness.

He died.

And Warren had missed him every single day since then. He leans himself against the closed bedroom door of his apartment and then makes his way to his closet.

The box is still where he has left it.

He died. He died. He died.

"I miss you, Steve", he whispers into the silence of his flat and then he smiles, it's small and sad, and he sinks onto the ground, box clutched in his hands, "Fuck, I wish you were still here."

There's silence but Warren likes to think that something of Steve's mind, his soul is still left on this earth, stayed with him. It's a nice thought, even if it's unrealistic. It's still consoling.

Steve's gone for good, but just because his body doesn't walk the dirty streets of LS anymore doesn't mean that he left Warren's life completely - he still existed, left his footprints behind. And Warren's ready, willing even, to take carefully aligned pictures of them and hang them on his wall. He's ready to look at them every day that may come and maybe he'll stop crying at some point. Or maybe he won't. He'll be fine.

It's an odd feeling. His life still feels empty, incomplete since Steve passed and so does Warren. He feels empty, shallow and sad, but it will pass and he will take the time. It doesn't mean forgetting him, quite the contrary maybe.

He flips the lid, puts it aside carefully with a quiet thump on the carpet below. He takes a look inside and bursts out laughing.

_

"Did he leave you something?", he hasn't seen her in years, since college. She used to be his flat mate.

"Yeah", he smiles to himself.

"What is it?", she looks moved and Warren would love to tell her, but he can't. He really can't. Not all of it, anyways.

"A letter."

"A letter?"

"Yeah, a fucking love letter."

"Warren! Don't say that! It's very heartwarming!"

It's been a year. He still misses him. "He wasn't the type for it, that's all."

He thinks of the envelope he keeps in his safe. It's a document, FIB header and logo, completely official.

Reference: Counter Espionage, Crimes Against National Safety, A Report By Steve Haines to be handed to Misses Phoenicia Rackham In Relation "To Agent 14", Mister Warren Jones

"Oh, was he not, you know, a little a romantic?"

"No, it must've taken a lot for him to write a love letter." It was really sweet and it went well with the attempt to put Warren in a High Security Penitentiary.

"Really?", she looks a little concerned, but she doesn't get Steve, their relationship as it was, like Warren does.

He looks up from his coffee cup and lights a cigarette. He hasn't had a smoke in a long time but at least he stopped with the cocaine.

"Yeah. Sometimes", there's a smile tugging at his lips, "Sometimes I think he would've rather seen me locked away."

#i'm sorry but i had to #my writing #steve/14 tag #steve haines/agent 14 #agent steve haines #agent 14 #gta v #gta online

[theviolencedistrict-archived]

what do i do with a love that won't sit still? written to: stray italian greyhound characters: mich/ael shell/ey (pre-distortion) & isaac campos (self-insert) words: 1,784 notes: How could he do that so easily? Michael was always the one in his place... walking on eggshells for other people who didn't truly care if he made it across the trap or cracked every shell trying. How was it so natural for Isaac to view him as his equal? As a human being?

Michael couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a date.

He figured it was during high school, and he recalled only one or two occasions where something akin to a date ever happened. With some other peon in the social caste of desks and period bells, desperate for positive attention as he was, and yet... They were always far more eager for his company than he was of theirs. It was never quite right. They were a lot like him in many ways, but they never clicked in a way beyond friendly classmates - not even really friends. He had few he considered that close, and though he realized it was fault of his own insecurities and doubts, it made him feel... guilt. Loneliness. He spent far too much time in those moments wondering if this was how life would be for him, or if he was born in a very wrong place, time, way, something -

"This is amazing!"

The blonde man blinked himself back to reality, as if waking suddenly from a dream. He saw sun rays on the backsplash of his cooking station, just above the oven. What had he been thinking about? He didn't know anymore. How could he? That special voice he could pick out in a crowd of a thousand people piped up behind him, and all he could do was smile and turn to face it, pulling mitts onto his large hands. His gaze met dull greenish eyes wide with enjoyment, a short man with a precious face and a soft sweater, sitting at his tiny kitchen table. It was lucky, he mused, that it was built specifically for two. What he failed to notice was that his smile was a real one. Not the tight-lipped, shy grin he gave to everyone he passed by at work, or to the archivist despite her never returning one. When Michael smiled around this boy, he showed all his teeth - the gap in his two fronts, the few slightly crooked on the bottom, and the snaggleteeth canines on both edges of his top lip.

He was so very sad about the state of those teeth, once. Not here. Not with him.

"Really, do you like it?" Michael's voice nearly cracked like a nervous teenager as he admired his companion sipping away at the contents of his patterned glass, "It's summer beer! Or, well, fruit beer - it's, ehm, lemonade and beer, fruit jellies, watermelon and pineapple and mint - with the other fruit there as embellishments - I-I felt you might be the kind of person who likes tropical flavors. Is it true, in America, lemonade isn't fizzy?" He rambled on, bright blue eyes bouncing from sight to sight, until he found himself calm enough to land upon that face once more... hanging on his every word.

"Mmmm... I never thought I'd like beer... You're very gifted, Michael," The dark haired boy spoke softly, "And of course lemonade isn't fizzy...! Once I find out who created lemonade first, we'll see who's in the right here." He giggled, and Michael felt his heart jumped as he gripped the oven handle behind him. There was nobody like Isaac. Nobody in the entire world.

"Well...! That's only refreshments, ahahah - I-I'm buzzing to see how you'll like the main course," He replied, taking internal note of the way his nervous stutters began to dissipate, and turned once more to let the hot air burst from behind the steaming door, "Hmm, which is better, though? In your American opinion, since you've had both?"

"Hm. I have always been a sucker for carbonated drinks..." Isaac answered honestly, pulling a high-pitched giggle from Michael. Isaac was sweet and carbonated, himself - the way he filled the tall man with tickling bubbles and smiles you just can't deny. With the heat wafting up into his face, the lanky man thought with a light blush that he wouldn't mind a long drink of that boy. Instead of dwelling on that, he allowed it to dissipate like the smoke, lips pursed in an embarrassed pout he hoped Isaac would mistake for focus. With this, he carried the full baking dish to the counter near the kitchen table, waving his mitted hands to help cool the food, though not quite well.

"Is that it? What is it? Can I see?" Isaac was chattery like a child, something Michael had never seen in him outside of their personal time together. It was precious, and it dawned on him that this was probably a side of the small man that only he got to witness. Batting his long lashes, the tall blonde hummed a familiar tune and playfully ignored the attempted peeks by the object of his affections. He professionally sprinkled honey over the main affair of lunch he had prepared for the two. Flipping it perfectly onto a large, kitschy plate, the smoke slowed and slimmed, leaving a trail of sweet scents on its way to the table.

"They are honey bread rolls," Michael began, smiling gently as the black haired guest stared in delight, "Rather simple, but a favorite of mine. It's... comforting. Like childhood... A-ah, ehm, it's, ah, hand-kneaded and baked with honey and sesame seeds. I-I made sure to find a gluten free flour for you, and it still turned out rather fluffy!" The unusual budding of pride germinated in his chest as he finished speaking. The way the other man's eyes glistened as he admired Michael's own home cooking, the genuine smile he wore... Nobody had ever made Michael feel like he did something right - like he was someone special, worth a damn - until Isaac.

"That's amazing! They smell so good! I can't believe you made this from scratch! We can just rip pieces off," The man's tiny hands reached for a corner piece of bite sized, browned bread, softer than sponge, and tore it from it's flimsy connection to the others, "Like this? Is that okay?" Isaac gazed up at the much loftier male with expectancy, as if asking for permission. How could he do that so easily? Michael was always the one in his place... walking on eggshells for other people who didn't truly care if he made it across the trap or cracked every shell trying. How was it so natural for Isaac to view him as his equal? As a human being?

He always did. Without fail.

"That's... Y-y-yes. That's just perfect." Michael uttered out, all effeminate and breaking, unable to will the red tinting his cheeks away. Taking his seat across from Isaac then, he took a piece of his own, happily taking questions from the man and falling into a conversation about cooking - as easy as pie. It was as if they had known one another since they were in cradles. From day one, their chance encounter and quick reunion, that bond weaved between them in the snap of a finger, the blink of an eye. Michael was so, so very grateful. They spoke, and they laughed, and the blonde's cheeks tingled each time his crush dipped a piece of his bread in his homemade cream. His bread, his cream. Those which he had crafted with his own two hands, the same shaky and nail-bitten hands which struggled with boxes and tea and everything in between at the Institute. Now... calmed. Warm.

It took both men by surprise when the sun began to set, the earlier yellowy white rays of sunlight now a dreamlike orange through the windows. The time for fun and games was winding down, and shortly, Michael would have to bid Isaac farewell until they next met - at work, most likely, in a day or two. The honey rolls were long since eaten, drinks finished, hearts full. The older of the two had begun to fiddle with the seams of his shirt, or the stitches of pockets in his pants, timid feelings creeping their way back into his ribcage. In truth, he knew fully - he didn't want to say goodbye.

"Thank you for everything, today. You didn't have to go out of your way for me, a-and it was all delicious. We have to do this again soon, okay?" Isaac smiled from below Michael, standing just outside the door to his flat. A slender hand reached to scratch at the back of his neck sheepishly, face full of starry feelings and most likely glowing. He nodded, chuckles escaping him.

"Y-yeah, of course! You're - you're always welcome back here, you know...!" Came Michael's response, grinning at the man he towered over. A small giggle came from the boy in the sweater, clutching the strap to his backpack. Then, the very same boy made a gesture that Michael didn't quite process at first. He beckoned him with his four little fingers, causing blue eyes to blink, but then obey. How could he not? Undone blonde curls fell over his shoulders and framed his face as he bent his knees and leaned over close to Isaac. Not close enough, clearly, as those same little hands grasped his shirt gently and pulled him down. Michael's mind swam, overcome with dizziness and confusion and rainbows.

This was definitely, definitely, not what he saw coming when he brushed his teeth and pulled on his trousers this morning.

Soft, sultry lips pressed momentarily to the corner of Michael's mouth. It wasn't quite a kiss, if anything at all, and yet his heart drummed maniacally through his entire body. Time stopped, and surely the whole earth did, as well. His face burned fiercely, and when Isaac released him at last, he got a front seat to watching the man lick his own lips.

"Sorry... You had a little bit of whipped cream there," Came Isaac's snicker and the flutter of his washed out green eyes, "I'll see you at work, okay?" He bit his lower lip and walked backwards in his worn down sneakers, watching his host tremble ever so slightly with his mouth ajar, before waving and making his quick exit towards the stairwell.

"T... T... T-t-text when you get h-home safe...!" Was the last thing that broke free from Michael Shelley's tightened throat, receiving a simple sound of understanding in the distance, sounding with echoes of footsteps down the stairs.

The poor man was going to lose his mind. Especially with the sleep he was not going to get that night. Swallowing hard, fingers upon the spot where his beloved's lips had been, he backed into his home and shut the door with a gentle click.

Michael couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a date. However, he was sure the only dates he'd want to be on for the rest of his life were with Isaac Campos.

#this is not my best work but i wanted to try and write something fluffy! #my writing #f/o: michael #s/i: isaac #self ship #selfship #self shipper #selfshipper #self shipping #selfshipping #f/o #fictional other #selfinsert #self insert #s/i #oc x canon #canon x oc #comfort character #gay selfship #trans selfship #ok to rb

[infernwetrust]

The Devil In Me [Michael Langdon x Fem Reader] Part 2

PART 1 HERE

MASTER LIST

Plot: What if we took the Antichrist, Michael Langdon and turned him into founder and leader of one of the largest cartel’s in California? And what’s even better, is that you’re by his side through it all.

Summary: You awake to family man, Michael and preparations for a trip to Miami take place. Duncan comes to a rude awakening. 

Warnings: domestic violence, drug use, swearing, threats, fluff, angst, mentions of loss of life, child loss, emotional, this is like kind of dark y’all.

WC: 4.0k

A/N: This was not suppose to take this long to write. It was a little emotionally taxing for me, so I had to space out when I was writing it because I would literally get stuck in a dark place. Thank you for reading! -Juno

The smell of pancakes and warm syrup hit your nose first upon fluttering your eyes open. Usually you were greeted by the warmth of your husband who either lay near by or cuddled you. But it appears that he isn't in bed this morning. He did, however, leave the curtains open just a little bit to let some sunlight in. Just enough for you to be able to see around the room. Grabbing your phone off the side table you checked the time which read, 8:30AM. You groaned, knowing that today was packed to the brim with various activities. Travel being one of them.

When Michael offered to take you and the kids with him, Duncan, and Jim to Miami, how could you say no? It was a business trip, of course, but nonetheless you were still grateful to be going. Duncan had just sealed the deal on a brand new warehouse, perfect for operations and expanding their network. Located in the heat of downtown Miami, they blended in well. And what was their front for it all? A nightclub.

You slowly pulled the covers off of you, yawning as you got up, stretching your arms over your head. You smiled as you stared down at the floor, remembering the events that took place after you and Michael's shower the previous night. It wasn't long before he had you out of your night gown for round 2. You picked it and your pair of panties off the floor, throwing them back on and making your way to the bathroom. Hickeys and bite marks covered your chest as you turned the sink on, splashing water on your face before washing it all together. You quickly brushed over your teeth, knocking your morning breath out. You knew you would return shortly after you ate to brush them again anyways.

Throwing on your favorite pair of house shoes you made your way down the stairs and immediately into the kitchen. The sight in front of you made your heart swell. On the table were 3 plates, stacked with pancakes, bacon, and eggs. In a nearby bowl, fruit. Two glasses, for you and him of course, filled to the brim with orange juice. But that's not what made your heart swell. Michael, for the most part, always waited for you before he started eating.

Michael sat at the dining table, hair messy, shirtless, and in gray sweat pants. Sat up in his lap was Junior, the back of his head firmly planted into Michael's chest. In Junior's hand was a piece of pancake that he simply just shoved into his mouth, his eyes glued to whatever Michael had put on his phone for the boy to watch. With him distracted, Michael had his attention on little Malcolm who sat in his high chair, which he had moved closer to him. You watched as Michael fed him his favorite flavored yogurt to which the boy smiled in returned after his father took the spoon from his mouth.

You cursed yourself for forgetting your phone in the bedroom and you wish you could capture this exact moment forever. But there would always be opportunity for more. Michael is nothing shy of a family man and you know he always enjoys his boys being near by, even on the days where he's just fed up with it all. Feeling a pair of eyes lingering on him, Michael turned his head to look, a smile on his face when he made eye contact with you.

"Hi mama." Malcolm said, also noticing your presence, briefly taking his attention away from Michael's phone to look at you, his face a mess.

"Hi mommy's messy baby." you replied, walking over to give him a kiss on his forehead, followed by 3 quick kisses against Michael's lips. "And hello to you too."

"Why, hello." Michael responded. "So nice of you to join us."

"And miss out on your pancakes? No way, sir."

Michael didn't cook often, but when he did, he made it count. You wondered where he picked up his cooking skill. And then you saw him one day, in the kitchen, following the personal chef around. That day he had even wore his own little apron.

"Hey." Michael said to his personal chef, who stuck by his side since the beginning, Dawn. He stood at the kitchen counter with her, tall and proud. His blonde hair covered by a chef hat.

"Yes, Michael dear." she responded, pausing what she was doing to look at him.

"Don't tell Y/N, okay?" he asked her. "I want it to come as surprise when I do actually cook."

"Of course. I'll even teach you how to make some of her favorites."

He smiled at her again before the two resumed what they doing. You could snap a picture right now, you thought to yourself. How his brothers would LOVE to see Michael's EXTRA soft side, but you stood put, the widest smile and deepest blush on your face as you watched your then, fiancé, learn how to cook for you.

You walked over to Malcolm's high chair, grabbing his also messy face and lightly squeezing his cheeks together before sticking your tongue out at him. He giggled, attempting to wrap his tiny hand around your wrist.

"Don't worry, mommy didn't forget about you." you said. "Finally letting your dad feed you, huh?"

"I know, huh?" Michael huffed out. "No fighting before hand either."

"He's sweet when wants to be." You joined Michael at the table, sliding your hand across his back as you did so.

"Daddy, I'm done." Junior said, looking up at his father.

"That's my boy." Michael praised, kissing the top of his head. Junior almost never finished his food, so when he did, it was worthy of praise. "Go play the living room for a bit,'I'll grab you to come brush your teeth in a minute, okay?"

"Kay." the boy replied as he hopped off Michael's lap and ran into the living room, excited to get his hands on one of his toys.

"No mess either please, baby!" you yelled, hoping he would hear you. Michael smirked because as you said that, the both of you heard the toy box dump out. "Shit..."

"Bold of you to assume that he wasn't going to do that." Michael mocked.

"You hush and tell me what the plans are for today." You earned a small chuckle from him as he laid his hand over your knee, quickly glancing at Malcolm who had now took the matters of eating yogurt into his own hands, literally. All over his hair, face, and hands, yogurt. Michael pouted at the sight even though it was cute.

"Daddy was so hoping that he wouldn't have to give you a bath before we left." Michael sighed. "But silly daddy for looking away for 2 minutes, huh?" Michael reached his hand out to tickle the yogurt covered child.

"You still have so much to learn." you said. "Rule 1. Never take your eyes off the baby in the high chair."

"That is so not rule 1, Y/N."

You and Michael talked for what seemed like hours while the two of you ate breakfast. He started by letting you know why everyone was going to Miami. It was so fascinating to you how he was always so well informed. He told you everything, down to the exact number in income this would generate both from the nightclub sales and the narcotics sale. Jim wanted to set up a marijuana plant down there, but Duncan had convinced him that the best place to grow for right now was right here in California. He even showed you the floor layout of the both the nightclub and the underground warehouse on his phone.

Along the minor details were where everyone was going to be staying, how everyone was going to be transported around Miami, fun things to do when there was free time, and some really popular places to dine.

"Ready to give Malcolm a bath?" Michael questioned as he took the last drink of his orange juice.

"Um." You began. "That was your job."

"Just seeing if you were paying attention." he grinned, getting up to clear the table. You watched as he throughly rinsed the dishes off before putting them in the dishwasher. Most of the time you or one of the housekeepers kept up with the home duties, but Michael knew when he needed to step in and he did, every so often, just like today. Despite his extremely busy schedule, he gave you your break because you always took care of him through and through.

"Thinking about cutting my hair when we get to Miami, yeah?"

"Michael, who do you know in Miami that can cut your hair?"

"I don't know, but Duncan does."

"How short are you thinking about cutting it?"

"Something along the lines of Duncan, but just a little longer."

"Ooo you know that's-,"

"One of your favorites. Yes my love, I do know." He turned around to face you, leaning against the counter, giving you a wink.

"And the blonde just tops it off. God, I love you."

"I love you too." Michael laughed. "Fortunate to be the only blonde out of triplets, huh?"

///

The both of them laid there, her head against his chest, sweat making their bodies glisten as the moon light shined through the window of her bedroom. This isn't the first time Duncan has hooked up with Michael's head bartender, Elizabeth. In fact, it quickly became a regular thing, the two of them finding peace within one another through a common pain. Loss. If he was stupid enough, he would actually think he was falling in love with her. Was he? He knew he really liked her and that he enjoyed her company, whether it be platonic or sexual. But it wasn't love was it? Her fingers ran circles around his chest as it rose and fell gently.

Elizabeth was just a few inches shorter than Duncan, light brown eyes, a smile that could kill, and a body that Duncan absolutely adored. Usually for Duncan, his one night stands, stayed one night stands. But with her it was different. He liked the chase. And when he finally did fuck her, he ruined her. But his trips to the bar when she worked became regular and soon enough they began talking. And of course their relationship remained private.

"I could lay here with you forever." Duncan said, breaking the silence.

"Then why don't you?" she questioned.

"You know why, Liz." Duncan sighed.

"Duncan, anyone with eyes can see how unhappy you are." She lifted up a little bit, propping her head up in her hand before resting her other one back on Duncan's chest. "She's done nothing but drain you."

"I know."

"Then if you know why don't you just leave her?"

"It's not that simple."

Truth is, she reminded him so much of, Thomas, Tommy for short. When Duncan had lost his 3 year old son, Tommy, a year after Michael stumbled across Bryce, his entire world fell apart. She was the only living memorabilia that he had left of his precious Tommy. How could he leave that behind? No matter how toxic she was, he couldn't pull himself away and that was the only reason.

He had long fallen out of love with Tommy's mother way before they lost him. But for his son, he stayed with her and put up with all the shit she put him and their son through. And then all it took was one careless mistake and he was gone. And it's been 3 years. No he's not over it. No he hasn't forgiven her for leaving their son unattended. No he doesn't know how to move on, not yet.

When Duncan stumbled into his luxurious penthouse that he shared with, Samantha, he felt uneasy. He took his shoes off at the door, gently setting them down. He walked, slowly, to the master bedroom where the door was just cracked open slightly. And now he had his reason.

The exact same guy she told him not to worry about, was the exact same guy who laid in his bed, curled up against his, well, could he even say girlfriend? He took a deep breath, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. What could he even say? What could he even do? And then he just snapped. He walked in, grabbing the guy by his throat and taking his pistol out of his waist band, pressing it between his eyes.

"Woah man! What the fuck?!" he yelped, startling Samantha awake.

"You have 10 seconds to get your shit up off this floor and get the fuck out of my house before I blow your brains out." Duncan said through a clenched jaw.

"Duncan wa-," Samantha began to say but he cut her off.

"Shut up, bitch."

The guy wasted no time picking his clothes up off the floor and scurrying out of the room, Duncan pointing his gun at him the entire time. Duncan slammed the bedroom door shut behind him, scratching his head with his gun before throwing his hand back down to his side.

"Please don't kill me." Samantha begged on the brink of tears. Duncan chuckled, walking over to her quickly causing her to scream.

"Shut up." he grabbed her by her throat, slamming her down on the bed.

"Dunc, please... I'm sorry."

"I'm gonna talk now. And you're gonna listen. And when I'm done, you're gonna pack all of your shit and you're gonna leave. And if you don't, I'll kill you."

///

Michael took it upon himself to go get Duncan. He was suppose to come over early to meet with him and Jim to go over some analytics before leaving for Miami in evening, but as Michael continued to talk to Jim and continued looking at the time, Duncan still wasn't here. He had tried calling and texting, but he had no success. He had you and Jim try as well, but no success. He was worried now, so he made the 10 minute drive to his brother's apartment.

It was a mutual agreement to have spare keys for everyone's residency, but only for emergencies. Michael unlocked the door to his brother's place, quickly noticing where he left his shoes. So he was home and that was reassuring, but, Duncan never left his shoes by the door. Michael did the same, however, leaving his shoes by the door so he could tread lightly. He could hear a faint noise coming from Duncan's bedroom that only intensified the closer he got. That faint noise was now replaced clearly by arguing, but it sounded one sided. It was just Duncan that was yelling, but underneath all that yelling he heard a softer voice, crying.

Michael inhaled deeply, gently putting his hand on the doorknob. Every second that he stood there, slowly turning the knob as to not make a single sound, felt like a minute. He pushed the door open as far as he could, but Duncan in his new heightened rage, noticed. Still holding Sam down by her throat, he pointed his gun at the door.

"Woah woah woah." Michael said calmly, putting his hands up for Duncan to see. "It's just me."

"Do we not knock now anymore?" Duncan questioned, his eyes red and stained with tears as he looked his brother in his face.

"You weren't answering any of our phone calls and we got worried. I just came to check on you. Can you stop pointing that thing at me? I'm your brother, man. Just put down all together. I'm sure this is something that can be talked over."

"You first." Duncan replied, squinting his eyes.

"Dunc, you have go to be-,"

"I said you first!"

"Okay. Okay." Michael said, reaching behind him to pull his gun out, which he clearly showed to Duncan, finger off the trigger. He squatted down slowly, putting it on the floor, before kicking it to the side.

"Talked over?" Duncan mocked. "Her being the reason behind Tommy's death is something that can just be talked over?! Me coming home to another man in my bed is something that can just be talked over?!"

Michael knew the history behind Duncan and Samantha. Everyone did and while they tried their hardest to convince him to call it quits, Duncan never listened. He was too afraid to let go. Michael knew one day that his brother would snap underneath all his bottled up stress, but he didn't think it would of been this long and unexpectedly. Today out of all days.

"Okay." Duncan continued, tightening his grip on her neck as she just laid there, speechless, the tears pouring out of her eyes as she held onto to Duncan's arm. "So we talk out and then what? She gets to move on right? And be happy because it doesn't look like any of the shit we've gone through has affected her any. In and out of my life for 7 years, Michael. I'm 28 now."

"D-,"

"In and out of Tommy's life for 3 years he was alive. I basically was a single dad, but I kept letting this bitch come back because I loved her and when has ole Duncan ever loved a woman, huh? I should just kill her." Duncan turned his attention back to her, putting the gun back against her forehead.

"Duncan, I know you're still hurting over Tommy. Fuck, man. We all are, but what is killing her going to fix? It's not going to bring Tommy back. It's not going to take away the pain you're feeling. Duncan, you lost a child."

"It'll be justice for, Tommy."

"How do you know that this is what Tommy wanted? You don't. Listen to me, please."

"She doesn't get to walk away again." He cocked his gun, pressing it to her forehead again. Duncan, caught up in his own rage didn't even realize that Michael had stepped closer to him and he was still coming. "Why do you deserve to live? You took away someone else's life, so it's only fair right?"

"Duncan I didn't mean for Tommy to be killed!" she yelled through her tears.

"Bullshit!" he yelled back, when Michael grabbed him, wrapping his arm around his neck, before roughly pulling him away, causing him to drop the gun, which Michael swiftly kicked towards himself, picking it up and pointing it at Samantha, arm still locked around Duncan.

"You need to leave, now." Michael said, Duncan fighting to get out of his tight hold. "Get your clothes on, take your personals and just, leave. We'll send everything to your brother when we get back from our trip. If you ever show your face near or around Duncan or anyone he's close to again, I'll make sure they can't find your body, deal?" She nodded, quickly trying to get herself together, stumbling around as she tried to catch her breath. Michael waited until she was completely gone before releasing Duncan, who immediately turned around, shoving Michael back.

"Fuck you." he spat through his tears he finally let fully fall. "Why do you always get to save the day, huh?" Duncan shoved Michael again and he kept shoving him. When Michael got tired, he pushed Duncan's hands away, pulling his brother in for a tight hug instead.

"I can't say I fully understand how you're feeling, Dunc. But I can say that I get it." Michael said in the hug. "And I'm here for you. We all are." Duncan softened just a little bit, allowing for him to return the hug to Michael.

"I-," Duncan began to say, but he choked on his own words.

"You don't have to say anything. Just go get cleaned up and ready to go, okay? I'll probably be in your kitchen. Jim says you have really good snacks." Duncan pulled back to look Michael in his eyes again and he couldn't help but chuckle just a little bit.

"Yeah, okay." was all he said as he turned around to walk into his bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he took one look at himself in the mirror. His face scratched from where Sam had grabbed him when he first choked her. His eyes red stained from his tears. He sighed, opening the medicine cabinet, retrieving a small vial with a white powdery substance in it. He put a some on the back of his hand before snorting it up his nose. He exhaled loudly, letting the tears fall again as he put it back up, coming face to face with himself again.

Great. His nose was bleeding. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. He was going to reach for a towel, when he came face to face with the tattoo that took up his entire left side. He paid 4,000 dollars for the whole thing. It was a very detailed sketch of his favorite moment with Tommy. He shocked him every time how realistic it looks, but Jim always hooked his brothers up with the best because he knew they would do the same for him. It's Duncan and Tommy, both squatted down. Duncan has his arms wrapped around the boy as he's holding a model toy fire truck. In the background was a very detailed Christmas tree as it was Tommy's birthday on the 25th of December. In beautiful scripted font below it says:

Thomas 2016-2019

And a little hand print that matches, Tommy's to complete it. He gripped both sides of the sink, staring into his own eyes once again as he cried, but he couldn't help but laugh too because of how stupid he was.

"I'm so sorry, Tommy." he said. "I'm so so so sorry. And I'll keep saying it because I know I will never be sorry enough. I miss you so much."

///

The car ride was silent between Duncan and Michael as they drove back to Michael's home. Michael let him get his usual morning coffee. And when Michael stopped at the store because Jim wanted another pack of cigarettes, he got Duncan his favorite pack too. It was rare that Duncan ever smoked, though, but Michael knew he needed it. He even let him smoke one in the car, sunroof and windows cracked. He didn't even bother to try to hide his dilated pupils from his coke intoxication, the only thing that was keeping him grounded. His head rested against the window and he stared blankly, but his mind was far from blank.

When they got back, Michael helped Duncan move his bags over to the car they would be using to go to the airport. Duncan trailed behind Michael as they walked around to the back, where Jim sat in one of outdoor sofas, typing away on his business computer. All it took was one glance over and Jim could see that Duncan had been crying.

Duncan sat down next to Jim, taking out another cigarette from his box and lighting it. Michael tossed Jim his own box to which Jim smiled and nodded before turning his attention back to his other, clearly distraught, sibling. Jim threw his arm around Duncan's shoulder, pulling him closer to him, resting his temple against Duncan's. He wasn't going to question him. He knew that he would be told when Duncan was ready. But considering Duncan's state at home, he already kind of had an idea.

"We're gonna have a kick ass 3 weeks, okay?" Jim said. "The 3 of us. Like it's always been. Palm trees and beach babes. And I know whatever has got you so upset, sucks, but we're right behind you. I'm sure you know that."

And then Duncan began letting the tears fall once again as Jim tried to console him. He use to be the head strong one of the pack before he let Sam into his life. And now he was stuck and confused, searching for answers and searching for reasons why. He exhaled his cigarette slowly before tossing it into the ashtray.

"Let's just go over these analytics, yeah?" Duncan croaked out. "Business is business boys."

"That's my boy." Jim said, patting and squeezing his shoulder.

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid @9layerdevilfoodcake  @xavierplympton @guiltyfiend @theneverendinghunger

#cody fern #american horror story #cody fern imagine #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #ahs #michael langdon imagine #jim mason #duncan shepherd #tribes of palos verdes #michael langdon x reader #house of cards

[delta-roseblr]

Lol, all the new info about the solangelo and delix kids made me want to have a fic just about them. So I was wondering if that would be possible? xD

Hello, Anon!

I know it has been forever since you sent this prompt, but it wasn't forgotten!

I hope this is worth the wait

_____________________________________________________

The Kids

· Because Solangelo and Delix both set down in California, Solangelo in New Rome and Delix stays in Northern California; they see each other a lot, as do their kids.

· The fact that Michael and Lee (Nico and Will's twins) and Mason (Felix and Dean's son) are a little more than a year apart just added to their drive to get together as a family. The kids could entertain each other, and they always got along well. The twins were challenging to entertain when they were little, so this is a big deal.

· Will and Dean always figured the three of them would always get along because, well, that was how they were, but Nico and Felix had their doubts. They figured that as the three got older and if (when) the twins started showing their demigod powers that they would drift.

· Nico and Felix turned out to be completely wrong, and the three just got closer as they got older.

· You would think, since Mason is the oldest of the three, he would take on the leadership role in the group, but that isn't how it works out. Mason is a pretty even-keeled kid. He definitely got Dean's tendency to want to put his head down and do his work. He can and does take the leadership role during team things like sports but not when the twins are involved.

· The twins are a damn handful from the moment they are born, and they never really change. Both of them are outgoing in their own ways. Lee is more competitive and will jump at the opportunity to take on a challenge, while Michael is more social- he can (and will) start a conversation with pretty much anyone he meets. The two are also a perfect storm of trouble because Michael will come up with an idea like they should buy fake ids and sneak into a club, and Lee will view it as a challenge, so he wants to do it, and they will absolutely find a way to talk Mason into joining them. Mason definitely tries his hardest to keep them out of trouble and manages to be at least somewhat successful sixty-five percent of the time.

· The twins love showing up at Mason's mortal school events, so even though they do not go there, most of Mason's classmates recognize them. They are also pretty much honorary members of Mason's lacrosse team. While Mason gives them shit for being menaces, he really likes when they show up, it definitely stops things from getting boring.

· Mason visits New Roman as well, even though not as much because going to New Roman can be a process as a mortal going to New Roman. Still, he has teamed up with the twins and a few of the other children of the seven around their age to case a little harmless trouble on the weekend.

· Btw, Dean has had several conversations with a teenage Mason about precisely what to do if he finds himself being hit on by a horny god (with very specific things to say to Apollo or Dionysus). Mason considers these the most embarrassing conversations he has ever had with his days. It's bad enough that his middle-aged dads still act like teenagers half the time and CAN'T keep their hands off each other. He doesn't want to hear about how Greek gods had tried to bone them back in the day. Grandpa Solace jumping in with "Just remember, Apollo isn't nearly as good in bed as he claims, and you can take my word for it" doesn't help with the awkwardness. He would rather have to go through the birds and bees talk a million times over.

· All three of these boys are NOT STRAIGHT. Michael is gay, while both Lee and Mason are bisexual. It's hard to say that Michael or Lee "came out" because it happened so organically. There was no sit everyone down and tell them moment. Instead, it was just "I LIKE like that boy" or "that boy is really cute" when they were like twelve. Mason takes FOREVER to admit this to himself and even longer to admit it to anyone else. Michael and Lee KNOW way before Mason admits to anything, and neither of them lets him hid from it. Lee tries the comforting approach hoping Mason will admit it while Michael goes more the exposure therapy route- he'll point out cute guys and ask what Mason thinks. He tricked Mason into going to a few gay events without Mason knowing until it was too late to back out.

· FYI, Mason comes out to Lee first, but only because they get into a fight because Lee is flirting with a boy; Mason secretly has a massive crush on (or at least he thinks it's a secret, but everyone can tell). Michael is solidly pissed about this for months, but that doesn't stop him from trying to play matchmaker.

Dribble:

The rain had stopped, and Mason supposed he should have been happy about that, but the lingering sense of tension and danger made it hard to appreciate. He, Michael, and Lee had already walked one block north of Gypsy Bar, and Mason was hoping as they put even more distance between themselves and the bar that sense of unease would dissipate at least a little.

They had been walking in silence for several minutes. That was a rare thing, and Mason hoped it meant that it was one of those rare occasions that his cousins were thinking about how horrible their idea had been, but Lee killed that hope the moment he opened his mouth.

"Well, we had to try," Lee declared.

Mason looked over and up because, of course, Lee was at least three inches taller than him. That would have been more annoying if Mason was at all insecure about his height, but at six foot he was comfortable. Also, he had a couple of inches on Michael, which helped.

Lee's hair looked practically white instead of its usual light blonde under the street lights' harsh glare, and his complexion seemed extra fair. Even his freckles were lost in the artificial light. Not surprisingly, there wasn't a single sign of worry on his face.

Maybe if Mason had Greek god powers, he would have been relaxed too, but he didn't. That call for adventure that Lee and Michael had just seemed like asking for trouble to Mason, the mere mortal. "Not with the worse fake IDs in history," Mason pointed out yet again.

"They were not that bad!" Michael was quick to defend.

This was not the first time Mason had heard that, and it didn't make it any less ridiculous. One of Michael and Lee's dads was literally a doctor that could heal people by touching them. There was no fucking excuse for their inability to see what was right in front of them. Why Michael had even bought the IDs, having seen them, Mason would never understand.

"They looked like they were hand-drawn by a preschool," Mason pointed out, "And the names were ridiculous."

"Pictures didn't look much like us," Lee agreed.

Michael let out a long, loud sigh, pushed a dark strand of hair that had fallen out of his ponytail and into his eye line, and tucked it behind his ear. While Lee looked like the stereotypical California surfer dude, Michael almost looked Mediterranean. He had light brown hair that he had grown out over the last year and now almost exclusively wore tied up, and he naturally had a more tan, almost olive complexion. Even with the differences, it was impossible not to recognize the two as twins immediately. They both had the same sharp facial features, lean and athletic builds, and light blue eyes.

Mason was the obvious odd man out in the group. His hair was somewhere between a light brown and a dark blonde, and his eyes were hazel rather than blue. His build was boxier, and he was definitely wider in the shoulders than his cousins, but that might have been because he had been playing lacrosse since he was eight. His facial features were also a little more square and angular. It might not have been a stretch to believe the three of them were related, but no one was going to mistake them for triplets.

"Okay, that is enough with the pouting," Michael declared with just a little bit of annoyance in his voice. Mason was a little surprised it had taken that long because usually, the more outrageous and destined to fail one of Michael's plans were, the more annoyed he got when it did, in fact, fail. "At least we got a fun story out of it," he stated.

Knowing Michael, he really did see that as a win which was crazy. Mason fucking loved his cousins. They were literally his best friends and really always had been, but sometimes they were crazy to be around. Mason put that on all the demigod stuff. After all, if you have literally trained to fight monsters since you were a little kid getting fake IDs and trying to sneak into a twenty-one and over club probably didn't sound all that crazy.

Mason wasn't exactly a fucking nun. Sneaking into a bar didn't sound completely crazy but trying to get into a bar known for checking IDs with comically bad fake IDs did.

"We are lucky they didn't call the police," Mason pointed out flatly. The bouncer had decided to take pity on them for some reason after giving them one hell of a fucking lecture, and Mason would forever be grateful. "Or worse, our parents," he added with a shutter.

"What are you worried about?" Lee asked with a laugh, "Uncle Dean and Uncle Felix would have been totally cool."

Mason gave Lee a serious look. "Nothing about my parents is cool," he stated firmly, "No matter how many people say otherwise."

"You really are a master of denial," Lee commented teasingly before patting his shoulder and adding, "It's kind of impressive."

The fact was Mason was well aware that his dads were pretty cool. If they had been called and told Mason had been caught with a fake ID trying to sneak into a bar, they probably wouldn't have even yelled at him. Neither of them were big yellers. Mason would have gotten one hell of a disapproving lecture which Mason was convinced was worse than yelling ever could be. He definitely would have lost a whole bunch of privileges for the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately, Mason had been hearing about how cool his dads were since he could remember. The fact that Felix getting early releases of video games all the time helped. Dean always bringing Mason and his friends for ice cream after practice when he was younger didn't hurt. As he got older, he just became the one with the cool parents in all his friend groups. It got old after a while, and that was before the term DILF started getting thrown around.

He would have been more annoyed if it was anyone besides Lee and Michael. They had it just as bad as he did, even if it was slightly different. Uncle Nico was practically a legion among Demigods for all the questing he did as a teenager, and even if he had just sat on his ass, he was still the son of Hades, which was a big thing. Uncle Will didn't have the history with all the questing, but he played an important role in some battle, which was enough to give him some fame. The twins had to deal with their fair share of people going full-on hero-worship over their dads, and then there was the fact that Uncle Nico had worked as a model for like five years.

Mason might not have been truly pissed off, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to flip Lee off for that comment. He did grin as he did it, at least so it was clear that it was all good.

They had walked about half a block as they had talked, and they made it about a block more in silence before Michael huffed. "So what are we going to do now?" he asked. Mason went to answer but barely got an opportunity to take a breath before Michael held up a finger to cut him off. "And the answer of going home is not allowed, so just don't even say it," he stated firmly.

Mason didn't get why going home, playing video games, ordering a pizza, and hanging out was such a bad idea. His dads were out on a date night, so they probably would have had the house to themselves, not that that mattered. According to Michael, that was just not an acceptable way for them to spend their evening, and in fairness, he had made that clear before then. That didn't mean that wasn't exactly what Mason had been prepared to suggest, but he wasn't really surprised that Michael warned him not to before he got a chance.

Mason stopped and looked around to get a feel for where they were. Since they were in West Berkeley, it was more his stomping ground rather than the twins. If it were New Rome, the twins would have a list of places they could go and things they could do, so he guessed it was on him to at least come up with one suggestion.

If he was honest, he only had a vague idea of where they were, and it wasn't a part of the city he visited often, so he didn't have the best idea of what was around. Ultimately, he went with the first thing that came to mind. "There is a really cool vintage bookstore like two blocks from here," he stated, pointing in the direction he thought it was.

It might have been the first thing he had thought of, but Mason didn't think it was a half-bad idea. He had been to the place a few times with Dean because Dean had a radar for little bookstores, and it didn't matter what they were doing or where they were supposed to be; he had to go in. It was such a well-known fact that Felix always looked up where bookstores were when they went on vacation so they could plan when they went. The little bookstore that Mason couldn't remember the name of had actually been pretty cool.

"You found an answer worse than go home," Michael commented flatly, "Why do you hurt me like this?"

Mason rolled his eyes because now Michael was just overdramatic. "They serve coffee and stuff," he informed.

"Coffee actually sounds pretty fucking good," Lee admitted, which was a good sign. Of the two, Michael always wanted to do something big and over-the-top. Lee could be like that sometimes, but he was more likely to see reason when Michael was just suggesting something crazy. Usually, if Mason could get Lee on his side, he had a chance. If Lee backed Michael's idea, then it was only a matter of time before Mason agreed to whatever insanity had been planned.

Michael stared between Mason and Lee with clear disapproval. "We can not go from trying to sneak into a 21 and over club to drinking coffee in a used bookstore," he stated with disgust before just shaking his head with disappointment, "Honestly, what is wrong with you two?"

"Okay," Lee declared, managing to sound just as unamused by Michael as Michael was with them. Lee was infinitely better at dealing with his brother when he was being dramatic than Mason was. "How about we go into that pizza place-" he pointed past Mason toward a small pizza place just across the street from where they were standing, "-and talk to the cute girls that are walking in."

"Well, that doesn't sound like fun for me!" Michael grumbled as he turned and assessed the option for a split second. "Oh, there is a couple of boys that could be cute! I don't hate that idea."

Mason gave in and turned to see what they were talking about and immediately wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "Oh my god, could you too stop staring," he hissed as he turned his back on the scene and hoped no one saw him.

They should have gone to New Rome.

Of course, both Michael and Lee were staring at him, and he knew they were going to ask. Neither of them was precisely known for letting things go either.

"What?" Mason shrugged, sounding more defensive than he meant to, "They are people from my school."

Michael and Lee exchanged a look that was never a good thing. It was one of those weird twin silent communication things they would do, and it usually meant they were about to tag team, Mason. It never worked out well.

"You know them?" Michael asked, although he managed to give the question far more weight than such a simple question should have had.

Lee was even less subtle as he stared at Mason with obvious suspicion, "How come we don't know them?"

Obviously, Michael and Lee didn't go to Mason's high school because they were in New Rome, but they hung around with Mason enough that they knew all of Mason's school friends and a fair number of his classmates. It wasn't necessarily weird that they didn't know someone that Mason knew from school, but it was a more rare occurrence. On this specific occasion, it actually made a lot of sense because they were people Mason only recently started getting to know.

"It looked like Theo and a few of the other kids from the theater club," Mason explained. Mason was not a theater kid. Even if he had wanted to be, he never would have had time with lacrosse and soccer. Since he was a junior and apparently would benefit from diversifying his afterschool activities (so saith his guidance counselor), he joined the AV club and somehow ended up helping with the school play, so he got to know some of the theater kids over the last few months. Not a big deal in the slightest. "And for the record, you two aren't entitled to know all my school friends," he pointed out just to prove a point.

Michael and Lee exchanged another look.

"Theo?" Lee questioned.

"Interesting," Michael commented.

Mason's heart jumped into his throat. Had he said that name? He hadn't meant to, but it must have just slipped out. He was absolutely fucked because the twins weren't going to let that go, and that was the last thing Mason needed. Theo was just a dude with great hair that made Mason feel weird sometimes, and he didn't want to talk about that.

Play it cool, Mason told himself through his internal panic. He shrugged, which felt like the most unnatural gesture ever. "He hangs out with a lot of the AV kids helping with the play," he explained. More accurately, he hung around many band kids helping with the play, and Mason had to adjust the audio equipment a fair amount. After talking a few times, Mason may have invited him to hang out with the AV kids, and the guy took him up on that. There was no fucking way he was telling Lee and Michael that story. "I've learned his name. It isn't a big deal," he stated. That at least was true, and no one would convince Mason otherwise.

Michael and Lee were silent for a long moment, just staring at him before Michael broke the silence. "You know what? Pizza sounds fantastic," He declared before turning on his heels and starting across the street. He was halfway across before he called over his shoulder, "And I love a good theater club. Always fun gays."

Lee patted Mason on the shoulder, which turned into him practically pushing Mason forward toward the pizza shop. "So, which one is Theo exactly," Lee asked in a mischievous tone.

Now Mason wished their wrong fake IDs had worked.

[gophergal]

HEY GOTTA 'NOTHER CHAPTER FOR YA. Thank you to @bucketofcowboys for betaing for me! Without his help, I would be pulling weird shakespeare lines outta my ass. He makes my shit sound smooth lol

I'm Not Lonely - Chapter Three

Word count:4 000+| Rating: M |  Michael Myers x OC | M/F

WARNING: Gore, Animal Death

Jean must have fallen asleep at some point while reading to Michael, the book slipping from her hands into her lap. She jolted awake at the sudden weight on her legs, her heart pounding momentarily until her eyes fell on Michael's form, watching as his head tilted inquiringly to the side. He appeared as though he still sat where he had been the night before, still watching her as she slept.

It was strange, obviously, but she couldn't help the warm feeling that spread through her from the human companionship. She was tempted to physically shake the feeling away from her limbs and mind, but restraining herself. The knowledge of why she felt so comforted by him, a man she knew by first name alone and nothing else, filled her with a mixture of shame and annoyance, though she pushed that all to the back of her mind to simmer.

With a yawn, Jean stretched, feeling her back click into place after her poor sleeping position. She stood on stiff legs, feeling the sleep flee from her system as the blood circulated throughout her body. In the kitchen, after a quick bite of breakfast, Jean looked at Michael from the other side of the table, sipping on her coffee as she considered what she had planned for the day.

She'd need to get groceries- the fridge was becoming a bit empty now that she was cooking for two so frequently. That brought another thought to mind, that she really didn't know what Michael liked to eat. Part of her wanted to say, “Fuck it, I'm the one cooking and paying the bills, so what he likes doesn't really matter,” but at the same time she didn't feel like being so harsh.

After cleaning the dishes she and Michael had left in the sink, getting dressed in errand appropriate apparel, and yelling to Michael so he'd know she left, she got in her car and drove toward Haddonfield. The grocery store was relatively quiet today. There were times that it could be a true mad house; hoards of middle aged women being impatient with the young employees of the store while their husbands stood around bored, watching their wild hellions wreck havoc.

Jean shuddered at the image, glad to be in at a slow time as the young cashier greeted her with a smile. The normalcy of this shopping trip was sobering as she placed items into the cart, her mind working slowly to remind her of what was wrong with her current life situation. Unfortunately for that rational part of her mind, she simply continued to mark things off her grocery list. She reached for a pack of Dr Pepper cans, only to bump into an arm. She drew back quickly, pulled out of her muffled thoughts, and looked at the person she bumped into.

“Oh! I'm very sorry, m'am,” the tall woman- no, she was rather young, now that Jean got a look at her, she was simply taller than Jean, who was admittedly quite short. Her fluffy blonde locks swallowed her head as a single mass, the part framing her sharp features. She must be a high school student, Jean thought.

“It's fine, please go ahead. And 'Jean' is fine. I'm not married,” she chuckled, picking a bit at her shirt sleeve.

“Nice to mean you, Jean. I'm Laurie. I... don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new in town, by chance?” The girl asked.

“No, not really. I've lived in the area for my whole life, but I live a bit out of town. Laurie, you seem familiar though.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, I can't place where I've seen you though- Wait, were you one of the people attacked on Halloween night?” Jean asked with a gasp, then immediately wished she hadn't. Laurie looked away quickly, and seemed to struggle for words momentarily and appearing on the verge of tears. “I- I'm really sorry, Laurie. That must have been horrific. Did they ever.... catch the guy?”

“No. He's still on the loose. Sheriff Brackett said he'd do everything he could, but Annie- his daughter- my friend, she-” Laurie cut herself off, not needing to say more for Jean to connect the dots, her shoulder's trembling slightly with the effort to remain composed in this public environment.

“You're a very strong young woman, Laurie. Especially to still be out and about so soon after all of that. I'm sure he'll be caught, too. That type of bastard isn't usually free for long.”

“Thank you. It's been very hard, on everyone.”

“I can imagine.

“Y'know, it may be a weird thing to offer, but if you ever need some help, or someone to talk to, here's my number. I can't say I can truly understand your specific situation, but I've had my fair share of loss, too,” she said, producing a small piece of paper and a pen, scribbling down her home phone number, then handed it to Laurie.

Laurie accepted the paper, dabbing at her eyes slightly with her sweater sleeve, “Thank you, Jean. I might have to take you up on that some time.”

“Don't hesitate, I'd be happy to lend an ear,” Jean replied with a small, warm smile.

The women purchased their groceries and parted way. Talking to Laurie had caused the trip to take longer than intended and now the sun was creeping lower, the brightness slightly too intense to be comfortable. Jean got into her car, the paper bags of food on the passenger side, and she left. The intense, golden light highlighted the trees which were now barren of their leaves. That and the chilly air harbingers of the coming winter. Jean worried her mind with the thought that she would have to fix some of the roofing of her home before the wet snow came down and buried the world.

There would be time to do that, for now she had other things to think about, such as her new housemate. Despite, his impromptu move in almost two weeks prior, she still knew nothing about him aside from his name. She hadn't even seen his face before, she realized, causing a slight hum of anxiety to spread through her body. Something in her kept screaming at her to do something about it, but as she drove toward her home, that voice grew quiet.

There were no lights on when she arrived, and no sign of Michael as she put away the groceries. Aside from a couple empty food wrappers in the sink, which greatly irritated her, it was the same as before he first visited her. Perhaps he'd left for the night. She didn't know where he went when wasn't at her home, but frankly she wasn't his keeper and had no responsibility to keep track of him. He was a grown man, after all. She placed the case of soda on the counter and, with a yawn, piloted her weary body toward the stairs.

She instinctively skipped the creaky step, nearly losing her balance to fatigue. At the top of the stairs, she noticed that her bedroom door was slightly ajar, a sliver of moonlight beaming through the crack, a strange occurrence as her habit was to close the door at all times. She drew closer, cautious and uneasy now, and gently pushed open the door, supporting it with her body and praying that the squeaky hinge would remain silent.

The door now open, she could see a lump under the covers on her bed, poking out from the top a curly, dark mass. She let out a small gasp of breath when she noticed the white, fleshy sheet on her nightstand. Michael's mask. This was Michael who'd stolen her bed. Even at rest, there was a tension to him, eyebrows contorted and face twisted into a slight grimace. Yet, she noticed her hand drawing closer to his hair as if it were magnetic. She pulled her traitorous appendage back, foiling it's mission to tenderly push back a brown lock from his forehead.

A slight glint of reflected light caught her attention, her eye sweeping over the sleeping form to see the metal blade of a kitchen knife in his hand. He had a white-knuckle grip on it that did not waver with the haze of sleep. It chilled her. She began backing away, unwilling to take back her bed that night and unsure if she would even be able to sleep. Still, as she stepped gingerly out of the room, the couch called to her downstairs.

The next few days were uneventful. She worked, she came home, sometimes she had to take the couch. Michael didn't seem to leave at all, yet he seemed out of place in the house, having nothing change around him. Tonight would be her last night of work for the week and she was excited to have some time to rest on her day off. She sat across from Michael at the kitchen table, taking occasional glances at his masked face, imagining the man beneath. He sat like a wax figure, unmoving and unphased.

“I have to work again tonight, I can't really tell you what to do, but I'd appreciate you locking the door if you go somewhere,” she told him. While she awaited his lack of response she wondered what he even did while she was away, though she ultimately decided that ignorance was preferable to knowing something she'd regret. Besides, she had things to do before she left for work that evening. The sun was low in the sky as she put on her dusty pink uniform dress and black flats.

Michael watched her leave the house from his spot in the kitchen, waiting for the security of an empty house. Once the coast was clear he ripped the mask from his face, the latex of it clinging to his greasy brown locks in his haste to eat. He grimaced at the tugging sensation, placing his second face on the table next to him. As food was shoveled into his mouth messily like a child, he decided on what he'd do that day. It seemed a good day to snoop through his host's home because, surprisingly, he hadn't already. If he thought about how different this was from any other time he'd stalked prey for too long, it would only confuse him. At the same time, he was reminded constantly by the Shape that it would all end soon, soon enough the pleasure of killing the woman would outweigh the benefit of keeping her alive.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, putting the plate into the sink rather carelessly with a clink. The house was rather uncluttered, with few items in the cupboards and cabinets. Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as he could tell. Still, bland as it was, it was far more welcoming than the white walls and antiseptic smells of Smith's Grove. Of that place, those were all he could remember clearly, everything else was shrouded in a drugged haze, a curtain of accusation and rough hands holding him down when the doctor ordered. A few small moments of kindness from nurses and orderlies peeked through the curtains here and there, but even those paled in comparison to how Jean was. The Shape scoffed at the idea, reminding him that if she knew the evil that everyone else had, she too would end up as another barrier between him and freedom, and such barriers were meant to be torn down.

The stairs creaked as he climbed, and the photos on the wall watched him closely. Upon closer look he saw a woman, looking much like slightly older Jean, alongside a little girl and an old man. He pulled it off the wall for a closer look. Smiling faces, a happy family, though shaped differently than his own had been. The girl looked to be the same age he'd been on that night so many years ago. He tossed the frame onto the carpeted floor after the top step, not caring for what that last thought brought to mind.

On the upper floor, more pictures were on the walls and now he noticed how few actually showed the older woman. They formed a sort of jumbled timeline, the little girl growing taller until he recognized her as Jean at various ages. A few had only her, no sign of the old man or the woman, and he took one from the wall. She was dressed nicely, her back to the glowing sunrise, making her messy blonde hair appear as a fiery golden halo. He decided that he liked it and held onto it as he kept wandering though his host's home.

The Shape became restless at some point, it's voice growing more frantic and incomprehensible with the passing minutes. Michael was tired though, the thrill of the hunt would be dampened by his lack of sleep. The Shape grew louder, demanding blood, gracing his mind with sudden images of what he could do to satisfy it. He ground his teeth, fist clenching and un-clenching as he tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. He needed rest. The Shape could wait, surely. There would be more prey, more chances. The hardest night was over, and he was unlikely to be caught while he stayed with Jean. Frustrated, he relented, giving in to the grating presence of the Shape. He stomped downstairs, muscles growing tense with each heavy breath.

The diner was relatively quiet that night, only two men were at a booth in the front. A not-quite-elderly duo of middle-aged men with greying dark hair, one taller and mustached, the other weaselly in appearance. Jean hurried to the booth to take their order, “Hey, what can I get you two gentlemen tonight?”

“I'll take a tenderloin sandwich, slice o' apple pie, a black coffee,” said the mustached man.

“Cheesecake, black coffee,” the weaselly man said. With that, Jean nodded and smiled, leaving to take the order to Gus, tuning in to their conversation as she walked away.

“Eh, you know about that one bastard that's been on the loose since Halloween?” Asked the weaselly man.

“Yeah, of course I do. I watch the news. What about it?”

“I've heard that he's twenty bodies in now.”

“The police say that?”

“No, they wouldn't and you know it. I've heard it from a few buddies.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Haddonfield's never had so many suspicious deaths, bud. It's gotta be a bit more than a coinkydink that they'd ramp up after this guy starts killin'.” Jean brought the men their orders and they quieted down on the morbid talk for a bit. The weaselly man rubbed hands together excitedly as Jean set down his cheesecake. The tall man shook his head light heartedly.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” the tall man said. Jean smiled, holding back the urge to roll her eyes at the unwanted pet name. She left to wipe down the other booth tables in the room.

“Anyway, I heard that the cops are broadening their search to the surrounding area,” said the weasel, “been some sightings of a masked man wearing a blue jumpsuit around some houses on the outskirts of town.” Jean found that the description was unsettlingly familiar.

“C'mon, that could just be some kid in a dime store mask and his dad's coveralls.”

“After halloween?”

“Yeah, y'know how kids are. Not sayin' its good, those kids might get themselves killed.”

“Isn't that what happened to that one highschool football player? Tramer, I think his name was.”

“Yeah, just like that. Police thought he was Michael Myers and he got run over. Well, on accident , of course,” The tall man said, putting air quotes around “accident” and then took a bite of his tenderloin sandwich.

“And what a damn shame it is. Poor kid had so much potential. Might as well add him to the body count.”

Jean stopped wiping the table she was standing at. She felt the blood rush from her face, her heart dropped into her stomach, and bile rose in her throat. It all was too much. Her head spun, making the connections, remaking the connections, denying the truth. Her knees felt weak.

“Woah, miss, you good? If all this murder talk is getting to you, we can stop. You look like you're about to pass out,” the mustached man asked her, voice laced with concern.

“I-” she started, swallowing hard, “I'm okay, I think my blood sugar's just low. I'll be back,” she finished, leaving quickly to go back to the kitchen where Jo and Gus chatted. Jean pushed past, throwing open the back door and pressing her back to the brick wall of the diner outside. She breathed hard, shaking hands gripping her skirt as her legs threatened to give beneath her.

Jo burst out a moment later, worried. She put her hands on Jean's shoulders, words coming out of her mouth, but not reaching Jean's ears. She shook Jo's hands off, reclaiming her composure. “I'm fine, Jo, I guess all that talk about the killer on the loose got to me,” she said. It wasn't quite a lie.

“Are you sure you'll be alright? You live alone and now I'm worried about you,” Jo asked.

“It's fine. I'm fine. I promise.”

“Okay, I'll drop it, but if you ever need anything, you know where I am.”

“I do,” Jean nodded. She wouldn't drag Jo into this. This was her own problem, and Jo might very well get hurt. She considered asking Gus to help her, he was a large guy, someone she could trust, and she was sure he would do anything to help if she asked. Then she reconsidered. She'd never be able to forgive herself if she got him hurt. No, she'd have to take care of this herself, somehow.

There was a creeping feeling on her back as the eerie twilight faded into blackness as she drove. There were no stars in the sky, yet the full moon cast it's silvery glow on the earth below, bathing the landscape in a strange dream-like contrast. It was slightly hypnotic, feeding her unease. Once she arrived at her home, she turned the knob on the front door, now aware of the lights left on in the house. She pushed open the door, breaching the barrier between her feeling of environmental disorientation and her nauseating awareness of the room before her.

A sharp scent of salt and copper was in the air, horrifically mixing with the familiar smells of the house, corrupting them in the dim light from upstairs. Before she could bring herself to flip the light switch, she surveyed the dark room, eyes falling on a dark, crumpled form at the bottom of the staircase. Pooling below it, a reflective, dark liquid that appeared black in the shadow of the heap.

She flipped the switch, eyes screwed shut. She finally found the courage to open her eyes, and regretted it. Tears pricked her eyes, a mixture of shock and disgust, as she looked at the crumpled canine body at the bottom of the stairs. The dog, once a charming golden brown, was now stained with the rust colored blood that had kept it alive. Gruesomely, its abdomen was torn open, broken ribs visible alongside the snaking internal organs.

A sound ripped itself from Jean's lips and she looked around the room. The first aid kit was strewn about on the coffee table, the couch soaked in red. Dried blood was tracked everywhere, shoe prints from the back door to the living room, dried droplets leading up the stairs, a smeared hand print on the wall. At the top of the stairs, her bedroom door was ajar. A horrible, sickening curiosity gripped her, guiding her around the discarded carcass and up the stairs.

Her heart pounded as she froze in front of the door, mind blank, her survival instincts screaming at her to run. Run far away. You are prey. You will die and then you will feed this horrible predator. She swallowed down these instincts somehow, and pushed open the door. Blood had been dripped from the threshold to her bed. Then she saw him. On her bed. Her clean, comfortable bed with the soft, white sheets. His filthy, blood-stained jumpsuit was touching her once clean, comfortable sheets. Her knees no longer quivered below her. Her prey-like instincts cowered away as something snapped within. She was fucking pissed.

“Michael, what the fuck are you doing in my goddamn bed?! My home?! My FUCKING SHEETS, you bastard!” She shook, no longer in fear- no, that ship had passed along with her pure white sheets- her hands shook with the desire to express her feelings violently.

Michael jumped up almost comically as though he'd been stabbed with a straight pin. He nearly fell, then fumbled for the white latex he treated as his face, then pulled it on. The knife he slept with had clattered to the floor in his struggle, and had been kicked under the bed. He whipped himself around to look at Jean, then stalked to her. Jean held her ground. He was a mere two steps from her, the difference in height and mass between them highlighted by the closeness.

“You've got three goddamn choices. First, you could kill me. Go ahead, I fucking dare you. Second, you could leave. Go somewhere, leave me the fuck alone. Or, you could stay here, follow my rules, have a steady supply of food and somewhere to sleep. Make your choice, Michael,” she growled, glaring into shadowed eyeholes of his mask.She bared her teeth, seething as he put a massive hand, covered in dried dog blood, around her neck. He did not squeeze, simply held it there firmly as he waited for the Shape's instruction.

The instruction to snap her neck did not come. The Shape remained silent. He had expected fear. That was common- expected even- in his prey. They would run, or try to fight back. Some tried to submit, begging him not to snuff out their lives. Anger though, that was reserved for the exceptionally stupid. Yet something was beginning to make itself clear, Jean was not stupid, exceptionally or otherwise. Rage continued to flare in her slate grey eyes as Michael released her neck, an alluring red stain coiled around it. He marveled at the mark as she turned away, stomping down the stairs away from him.

Watch that one, the Shape demanded. Michael agreed to the Shape's demand. He would definitely watch her. She had his attention now.

#michael myers #slasher x oc #slashers #michael myers x oc #gopher writes #I'm Not Lonely #it has been.... 4 months

[peaky-gray]

Save Yourself

Pt. 7/?

A/N: here is part seven, I hope you love it as much as I did writing it. let me know what you think and if you want more! xx

Listen while you read.

TW: drug use

PART ONE.   PART TWO.   PART THREE.   PART FOUR.   PART FIVE.   PART SIX.

You and the boys arrived at Ada’s home in London, where Tommy knew Ben Younger was, who Tommy had business to speak about with him. You walked into the room, taking a seat at the table by the window, Michael doing the same.

Michael, sitting across from you, had the audacity to pull out a vial of coke, line it up, and snort it. In front of you. You scoff loudly, Michael looking at you and realizing what he had done. When you were together, you didn't argue often, but when you did, it was usually about snow. You hated his drug usage and what it did to him. He started taking it after he was shot, said it helped him sleep, you went along with it, hoping it would stop soon. He never stopped it though, only increasing his usage. You both stared at each other as the memories of the arguments both played in your heads. 

Tommy speaking brought you both back, "Er, Michael, you still have shit on your shoes." 

Motioning at Younger, "My associate here can evidently smell it." 

Ben responded, "I don't mean any offense."

Tommy, ignoring Ben, continues to talk to Michael handing him a coin, "Here, Michael. You and Prudence go find Karl and buy him an ice cream, eh? That man doesn't trust you." 

You speak up, laughing, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Michael, glaring at Tommy, spits venom, "Fuck you, Tom." 

You stand up, glaring at both Tommy and Michael, telling Michael, "Fucking come on."

Michael gets up, shooting daggers at Tommy, speaking again, "You know, Gina phoned. Baby's heart's beating strong. But I swear to God, Tom, by the time that baby draws his first breath, you and I will be done." 

Tommy scoffs at Michael and then looks at you. “And you will be king. Is that it, Michael?”

Michael stops and turns around to face Tommy, “You know, Tom, there are doctors in London now who can talk their way into your head. Dig out all the shit. Perhaps you should see one.”

Taking the cue to leave, Michael walks out of the room, with you following. The universe hated you, you were sure of it. 

Stepping out onto the street, you knew Karl was not going to get his ice cream, not with the way Michael’s jaw was clenching and the tension in his shoulders strained against his coat. This was the first time you and Michael had been properly alone since his homecoming, you didn’t count getting the car at the yard because you didn’t speak to each other. Now, he had no choice but to speak to you. He stood on the street, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He was different, angrier, colder, panicked. Certainly not the Michael you knew. 

Unsure of what to say, you stare at Michael. He notices gruffly, “What?”

“No-nothing. You just look different.”

“So do you. Hairs longer. You look tired too.” You weren’t tired, you were exhausted. You watched Bonnie die, Michael came back with a wife and an unborn child and you weren’t coping well with any of it. 

Scoffing, “Gee, thanks, Michael.” 

“You know I didn’t mean- I’m sorry.”

Desperate to leave the uncomfortable situation, you tell Michael, “It’s alright. I’m gonna go find Karl and buy him an ice cream. You can do whatever. Uhm, bye.”

You see Michael’s face change, an expression of mild panic, “No, don’t leave. I mean, I can come with you. Don’t want you walking the streets of London alone.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all, only letting Michael lead you down the street.

Minutes of walking in silence, Michael speaks again, “I’m sorry for your loss by the way.”

With nothing else to say but thank you, you both continue walking in silence. 

You arrived back in Birmingham before Michael, Tommy, or Arthur, so that evening you stopped by Polly’s to wish her a proper happy birthday. Knocking on the door, it opens with Polly - panic settling on her face when she sees you. 

“Prudence, what are you doing here?”

Confused, “Uhm, wishing you a happy birthday? Is everything alright?”

Before she had time to answer, you heard a sickly sweet American accent. Over walked a tall blonde, “Is everything alright Polly? Who is this?”

You thought to yourself, you have got to be fucking kidding me, Gina. You now had a vendetta with the universe. You looked at Polly, who looked like a deer in headlights as she spoke, “Gina, this is Prudence, a uhm, family friend. Pru, come in.” Gina didn’t know who you were, yet.

If this encounter had happened any other day, you probably would have fled the scene. But tonight, you were fed up and ready to play any game that Gina threw at you.

Walking into the corridor, you shrugged off your coat and hung it on the coat rack next to a camel coat you were sure was Gina’s. Not your style.

You enter the living room where Polly and Gina were already sitting, taking a seat on the sofa. Clearly, you had already missed the beginning of the festivities, shame. Gina poured herself a cup of tea, urging Polly to open the gift she had given here. You could only imagine what it would be. 

“So, you heard the baby’s heartbeat today.” If you hadn't known Polly for as long as you did, you probably would have missed it. Polly had a glimmer of suspicion in her eyes upon asking the question. She knew something you didn’t but after meeting Gina, you clued in on the suspicion as well. 

Gina chuckles, “Beats so fast.” 

Polly speaks, “Would have been a birthday gift enough. New life.” 

Polly unboxes her gift, revealing a figure of the Statue of Liberty. Classic.

Gina speaks up from across the room in her American accent, “Liberty. Freedom.”

Polly tosses it in her hand, “Feels like a weapon.” God, you loved Polly.

“I only came because Michael’s driving back from London, and he said he didn’t want you to be alone.” Was Polly supposed to be thankful to Gina for that?

Polly sets the statue down on the table before speaking, “So, whose idea was the gift of freedom?”

Gina looks at Polly, “Mine.” Of course it was.

You had sat in silence on the couch for the entire conversation, Gina not daring to even glance at you. Although she didn’t know you, she didn’t yet have a reason to hate you. You were beginning to feel like the statue sitting on the table.

“You want to take Michael and the baby to New York?” After Polly asked Gina that question, you were starting to wish that you did flee. Or that the couch would swallow you up. 

“Yes. The baby will have two grandmothers. The other one lives-”

Polly interrupts Gina, “The other one lives amongst human beings. The other one is a human being.”

Gina sighs as Polly speaks again, “It’s all right, I’m not drunk. I’m just free. So, what do you want? My approval?”

Gina’s answer surprises you, “Your help. Michael wants you to come with us. We can all live on Long Island, right on the beach.”

“Isn’t Long Island in Australia? Or is it in California?” Polly questions. 

Gina lights a cigarette, “It’s in New York. Polly.”

Polly looks at you as she answers, “You see, we all try and get away. But we never do.” 

Polly places her hand on Gina’s stomach, your heart finally catching up to your head. This was a mistake. Gina looks momentarily terrified before her poor poker face returns. 

“I wish I heard that heartbeat today.” Polly didn’t need to hear the heartbeat to know what she suspected, she was Polly Gray, and Polly Gray knows everything. 

Gina pulls Polly’s hand off of her stomach, leaning closer to Polly, “You’re starting to sound a little sorry for yourself.” Gina was beginning to venture into territory she didn’t want to be in. 

Gina puts out her cigarette and stands up, “I’m an American. We don’t just go round and round and round. We go in a straight line. And my baby...will be born in New York.” 

Gina swiftly turns on her heel to leave as Polly rolls her eyes, Gina did not know what she just got herself into. 

Polly turns to you with a smug expression on her face, “Darling, isn’t she?”

You didn’t have the energy to laugh. 

#michael gray #michael gray imagine #michael gray x reader #michael gray fanfic #michael gray fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #bonnie gold #bonnie gold imagine #bonnie gold fanfic #bonnie gold x reader #animal kingdom #j cody #j cody imagine

[100layersofdaddyissues]

angel - Chapter 1 (reupload)

hi so ive only just noticed this morning that the first chapter of angel was deleted somehow so here is the re-upload for anyone whose been looking for it. 

warnings: smut, drug use 

word count: 4.2K

  No one could tell you how you should feel. And although so many had tried, none had been able to successfully warn you of the danger that came with being involved with Maxwell Lord. It was well known that the man ruled over everything the light touched. That power is what attracted you to him in the first place. He was strong and competent (for the most part) and above all, he was rich. Initially, that’s really all that mattered to you. You’d never been the type of young woman to show a romantic interest in the people you dated.Iit didn’t matter whether they were attractive or nice, just so long as they had connections and enough cash to spare. Then you were theirs for as long as you could stand them.

     Truth be told, you’d never really considered Max a target; it’s no secret there was an age gap there. And admittedly, you thought he would be the type to want to settle down and get married soon. That truly did not interest you in the slightest. Your story with Maxwell began like any other of your “relationships”, you just happened to be in his vicinity on a fateful day. In the dark corner of a dingy club, just on the outskirts of the downtown red light district. You didn’t have any hope of a fruitful encounter. It wasn’t the most high class so you had of course assumed that no one of monetary worth would be lurking in this place. With a sticky floor and bartenders that, for a few dollars more, would look the other way when it came to what went into pretty girls drinks. Just breathing the air in this postcode would taint one’s reputation. 

As you stood in your dark corner you observed the girls in their mini skirts, shaking their ass in hopes of some free drinks, or maybe a reason not to have to go home that night., h There he was, Maxwell Lord himself. It surprised you to find him staring you dead in the eyes. You let your eyes shamelessly drag down his form. Standing tall in a perfectly tailored powder blue suit with his blonde hair slicked back as it always was. His height and broad stature towered above the skinny men who haunted this club with their presence. All of them wishing to be akin to Mick Jagger or Robert Plant, though the only resemblance was the big hair and the ominous white powder that they had carelessly neglected to wipe off their noses. Maxwell was staring at you with some sort of intent in his eyes.

     You held his gaze for a moment longer, observing the man in his glory, you turned away your head. Before you could see him start to make his way to you,  you returned your eyes to their previous spot. He was gone.Your eyes darted back and forth searching for where he had disappeared, when a breathy voice made its way into your ear.

      “Are you looking for someone, doll?”

  It was no louder than a whisper, it could barely be heard over the pounding of Michael Sembello’s Maniac, but it was so distinguished you didn’t even have to turn your head to know where or who it came from. And yet when you did, you still felt surprised seeing him stand there, a sultry glint in his eyes.  ”Why did he come to speak to you?” you wondered.

      “Well I was, but it seems like he found me before I found him.” You said with what you had hoped sounded like seduction dripping from your voice.

  “Have you got a name? Or should I just call you angel, because from where I’m standing that’s really the only name that would honour someone as breathtaking as you.” 

 Logically, you knew he was coming onto you. You’d been club hopping all night, cocaine and ecstasy mixed with sweat dripping from your pores, you knew he couldn’t be serious in thinking you looked that good. But you can’t help but have been allured to his reputation as a powerful business man, and even more powerful lover.

      “My name is Y/N but if you’d like to call me Angel that’s perfectly fine with me.”

 “Well Y/N it’s a pleasure to meet someone as beautiful as you, I’m Ma- “

 “Mr. Lord, trust me, I am well aware of who you are. I don’t think anyone in here wouldn’t know you, except maybe him.” you say pointing to the old man who clearly misinterpreted the vibe of the club walking in, seeing as he was sitting at the bar with his head on the counter almost definitely asleep.

 “You make an excellent point, maybe someone should probably try waking him up, it's almost concerning.” He says with a deep chuckle, as you join in giggling with him.

 “I’m going to reason with you here Y/N. I’m very bored and you’re very beautiful. So would you like to leave with me? I’ve got an apartment just a block away.You can come back with me, and maybe keep me company?” 

 As he spoke, Maxwell moved his face closer to you until his face was merely an inch or so from your face. You barely needed to nod before he grabbed your hand leading you out of the club, into the cold of the night.

     Within minutes you were standing out the front of his apartment building. Beginning to feel the cool air tint your skin a shade of purple, you can't imagine you would have been very attractive. The heat of the lobby hit you as the doorman greeted you, opening the door and telling ‘Mr Lord’ to have an excellent morning, huh, morning, you hadn’t even considered that you’d be been out that long, but alas looking at the big grandfather clock at the back of the lobby you read 4:20.

     When approaching the elevator, you saw Maxwell slightly flick his head and the attendant left the small space with a smile. You assumed it was a usual occurrence for him to not question why Maxwell was telling him to leave, although you didn’t doubt you were the first person for him to be bringing back to his home. You were standing in the elevator quite awkwardly while Maxwell pushed the number of his floor in. 135. You were suddenly grateful that you lacked a fear of heights, as you pondered whether that was a rational fear to have or not, Maxwell was once again very close to your face.

      “I know I’ve already told you quite a few times tonight, but you are absolutely stunning, can I kiss you?” His tone was surprisingly sincere as he spoke in a hushed tone.

      “I never really pegged you as the asking type Maxwell.” You said mischievously thinking it would lighten the mood. 

 But he stayed serious as he said “just because I’m a dick doesn’t mean your consent isn’t important to me” 

 You were stunned. But the moment you said yes, his demeanour changed and he smashed his lips to yours. It was rough and passionate and everything you’d expected in the beginning. Hot and fiery, but definitely careless. He was dominating you already, and you knew in that moment that you were in for a rough night.

     The elevator door opened with a light ding, revealing what looked like a mansion. It was easily at least 30 times bigger than your own apartment. You walked around with amazement spread across your face,  unable to contain your awe of the beauty that is this place. Your eyes trailed around the room and suddenly landed on the view of the city, you walked toward the floor to ceiling windows in what you assumed to be the living room. 

“This is absolutely incredible Max!  I can’t believe you live in a place like this!” you said with amazement and wonderment dripping from your voice.

      “Actually I don’t live here, I just have this place for when I’m going clubbing and can’t be bothered calling my driver to take me home. I live in the middle of the city, just over there.” Max said as he came up behind you to point at the tallest building in the skyline. 

 Your eyes widened in wonder and amusement, as he started to kiss your neck

  “Well maybe I could see that place sometime then?” 

 He abruptly stopped kissing you. 

  “No, no one goes there but family, I don’t take anyone to my home. You understand?”

 Though it kind of stung that he was so abrupt about it, you nodded in understanding. You didn’t care enough to be hurt that he didn’t want to show you his home, as far as you were concerned you’d never see this place again either. This was a one night stand, you didn’t care whether it happened again or not.

     With that, he spun you around and smashed his lips against yours with such force you felt his teeth snag your bottom lip without even realising. You stumbled over your feet as Maxwell pulled you from the wall. He started pushing you in what you could only assume was the direction of the bedroom. He reached behind you and fumbled with the door knob to push you through what you would discover tomorrow to be an ornate archway. When your legs hit the back of the bed, he pushed you off him and stood so tall over you, so dominating in stance. Your mouth and pussy began to water with anticipation. There was a promise of an unforgettable time that gleamed in his lust-blown eyes. His hair was a mess as he took his suit jacket off and his tie, rolling his sleeves up he looked the image of sex. As he grabbed your legs to pull you to the edge of the bed roughly, he locked eyes with yours. Keeping his gaze, you felt him trace a path that led up your legs, to your thighs, to your hips, where he slowly dragged your lace underwear down and promptly pocketed it. You weren’t going to ask for them back; you wanted him to remember you.

  “Sit up, take your dress off, and lay back down at the edge of the bed” his tone was domineering and forceful, you did exactly as you were told. 

 As he watched you with attentive eyes, he knelt down next to the bed as you lay back down, he put his hands around the back of your thighs and pulled you so close that his nose brushed against your clitoris. He was so close you could feel his breath and you were so aroused that it was already stimulating you just to feel those tiny puffs of air.

      You began squirming in place, whining “Maxwell, please, I’m begging you to do something!” 

 “I do so love a needy baby girl, but the more you beg, the more I’m going to torture you doll.” 

 His voice was seductive, but you knew his threat was anything but; he meant business. You wished with all your might that there would be another opportunity where you could test his threat, but right now you needed an orgasm and you needed it quick. So you did what you did best: Be a Good Little Girl. So you shut your mouth and nodded your head. 

 “No no angel, I want to hear your words. What do you have to say for yourself? Hmm?” 

 “I’m sorry I’ll be quiet and I wont whine, sir”

      “Sir? You learn quickly, I might just have to keep you,” you couldn’t lie, you wish it didn’t excite you as much as it did to hear him say that he wanted to keep you. He was exactly your type, powerful and rich, you wanted to be kept by him.

 After what felt like an eternity, his mouth finally attached itself to you. He wasted no time going absolutely feral on your clit, licking and sucking and the slight bite here and there. It was absolute euphoria. He didn’t waste any time before shoving two fingers deep into your cunt. He curled them in just the right way for it to hit your spot, and you felt a jolt course through your body. You were kicking yourself for wasting time on the young socialites in the city who couldn’t eat pussy for shit; when it was clear the older they were, the more gained experience. This held exceptionally true with Max. Within minutes you could feel the familiar knot building in the pits of your stomach, and it was only moments before he was coaxing you to orgasm with his fingers while his mouth tried to tie a knot into your clit with his tongue. Never has a man made you come from any sort of sexual encounter. You were already shaking when his face raised itself from your pussy as he started kissing his way back up your body, you didn’t know how long you’d be able to last with him fucking you if his dick was as good as his mouth.

     “I’ve never had such a pretty thing like you react in such an explosive way to my mouth, are you just trying to stroke my ego angel?” his face was mere centimetres from yours as you heaved out heavy breaths just trying to compose yourself enough to speak actual words instead of loud moans and quiet whines.

  “No that was nothing short of incredible. I’m not the type of woman to fake it. That was fucking incredible, I’ve never had an experience like that that wasn’t caused by my own hand.” 

 He chuckled lowly before saying, “well now I know you’re just trying to inflate me. You think that was good just you wait doll. You’ve got a long morning ahead of you.” And you didn’t doubt it.

 Beginning to reach down, you paused halfway to silently ask for permission to touch him. He said nothing but simply grabbed your hand to place on his chest, letting you explore whatever and wherever you wanted. You traced muscles and planes of skin that would have caused Micheangelo to swoon, himself. Lower and lower you ventured, until you met the border between his pants and the rest of him. Silently and instinctively, you looked up at him and asked for permission again.

  “Go on Baby Doll, take it off.” 

You woke up groggy that afternoon, you turned over to see the bed, empty, though you weren’t surprised, you were however surprised to see yourself still at the apartment, usually you left immediately after the person fell asleep, but here you were bundled up under warm covers being weighed down by the doona struggling to find your way out. You walked your way around the apartment, trying to find the bathroom, when you happened upon Max, sitting in a big sofa chair out on his balcony smoking a cigarette, only in his suit pants from the night before, again this was something that surprised you, oud never thought Maxwell to be someone who waits around for his encounters to wake, you had him pegged as someone who would just leave a  note and never see the person again.

           “good morning angel, how did you sleep?” you hadn’t even realised he knew you were awake, he hadn’t turned to see you, you stuttered for a moment before saying, “after last night I’m surprised I even woke up before tomorrow, I’ve never been that worn out after sex.” Your voice was quiet, almost timid, you weren’t sure why, you were never intimidated by men usually. But when they make you orgasm; they have a power you’ve never encountered before.

           “I’m going to be honest here darling, I’m not here for a relationship and if I was I wouldn’t have tried finding one in that bar but that pussy was magic and I’m not very willing to let it go just yet, so I have a proposition for you. You’re a beautiful young woman, I’d like to see you again, whenever I want, I'll take your number and I will call you. Do you have a job that will hinder you from coming at any time of day?” His tone made you feel like you were one of his business partners, like he was making a transaction.

           “I work in marketing at Halo Corp, so I would assume that would be a hindrance”

           “you work at Halo Corp? the competition to my own business? Run by Henry Giorgio? Yeah that won’t do, you work in marketing you said?” you nodded meekly as he walked towards his phone, as he dialled in a number and greeted someone called Grace. Catching the phrases “fire him,” “I don’t care” “no I have a replacement already” and then he hung up. “there you go Doll, now call Henry tell him you have a new job, you’re working for me” you were stunned, was he doing this just to have you close so that you could service him whenever? Of course, he was. You wondered how many people worked for Maxwell merely for his convenience. You assumed the “Grace” he spoke to was definitely one of his “conveniences” but he, you weren’t going to complain about the opportunity to work in the biggest company in the city.

           “I’ll get on that when I get home, I don’t know the number for my boss, but thank you for the opportunity that company fucking sucks” you said with amusement in your voice, you really did hate working at Halo, there was no respect from higher ups for the people who actually ran their company.

           “right well i'll let you go do that now, I have to go to lunch with an associate, did you need a ride home?” “oh no it's okay I could walk or take a cab” you say not wanting to burden him, well or let him know where you lived.

           “nonsense I’m calling my driver and we’ll drop you off on the way in, you my want to get dressed though, I don’t think you’d want anyone to see you wrapped up in a sheet on the street” you looked down at yourself and agreed before heading to the bedroom to retrieve your clothes from the night before.

           When Max said he would call his driver for some reason you expected a limousine to pull up, but yet here you were standing on the curb in front of a 1974 Rolls Royce silver shadow, you were in awe. You’d barely noticed that Max was pushing you slightly towards the opened door as you stood and started at the beautiful car, “come on doll, it's just a car you’ll see plenty lets go'' you blushed In slight embarrassment at how easily you he could tell you were in awe and how he could care less about the car he drove in, though you suspect had never driven it himself.

           On the way to your apartment Max really only spoke on the car phone, planning something more important than you could comprehend, when he wasn’t on the phone he was asking about you, nothing interesting or caring, like your hobbies or your family, no he was asking for your full name and social security number, setting up your employee business account with Lord Industries.

           Soon the car was pulling to a stop outside of your apartment building, you looked up at it from the window of the car, the building was falling apart, the walls were cracking and foundations were sinking, many of the windows had bars on them, the fire escapes that went down the side of the building were all rusted in place and no longer usable. You looked back at max who was staring out the window with a furrow in his brow, his face looked unusually stern and still, he looked down at you with concern in his eyes, “surely you don’t live here? Not while working for Halo?” he said with concern laced in his voice, you just laughed at his insinuation that working for halo would have any bearing on where you lived. “yeah this is where I live, it’s really all I can afford to be honest with you, Halo doesn’t pay that well at all, most of the money we make goes to Henry and his associates.”

           “nope that’s not gonna work, come on, take me to your apartment, Darius keep the car running we're going to my apartment on west 22nd Miss Y/L/N won’t be staying here.”

“wait what do you mean I won’t be staying here?” you said in absolute confusion=on, it didn’t make sense to you why he would be making you leave. “Well it’s clearly not safe here and it wouldn’t rest well on my conscience if I left here with you staying, come on, get your essentials for the night and then I’ll have Darius come pick you up tomorrow morning to move the rest of your things, you’re not staying here.”

“No really it's too much for you to lend me one of your homes” you tried to argue. 

“This is not only for your safety but for mine, if i come to you needing your services I can't be seen here nor can i risk being around anyone who lives here” 

           You felt slightly offended at the way he spoke about the people who lived here, you lived here, this had been your home for months but you really couldn’t argue with him, you didn’t know how, you didn’t really want to, the people who lived here were a horrible crowd and if Maxwell Lord was offering you one of his apartments to stay in then you take the offer. You grabbed your toiletries, some clothes for tomorrow and pyjamas and you back out the door before you could even check for your pack of cigarettes, Max telling you that he’ll buy you more if you left now. He was in a rush clearly.

           Darius dropped max off first, with a polite nod and a ‘ill see you soon’ he left out the door of the car into the restaurant “La Chambre Du Salaud” French is always fancy. You sat silent in the backseat, not really knowing the etiquette as one of Max’s girls.

           “Miss, would you like some dinner? Max is never good at feeding himself and I doubt he fed you, he doesn’t keep any food in his other apartments.” The driver, Darius, spoke up from the front seat. Now that you thought about it you were starving, absolutely fanging. “I would love that, but I wouldn’t want to be a burden.” You said quietly, you truly didn’t want to come off as a burden. “nonsense if Max is letting you stay in one of his houses, I’m sure he would be okay with you having a meal. We’ll stop wherever you like.” You agreed to dinner at McDonalds, not wanting to put Darius out, he asked you a few things about your family and what you’re doing in the big city while you ate, “well originally I’m from Pennsylvania but there’s nothing going on down there, no one can make a name of themselves there, especially not from my small town, I wanted to be someone, and when I realised that that was a pipe dream and I realised I couldn’t go back, not couldn’t really, more so wouldn’t, I’ve seen the bright lights, I want to stay in the concrete towers forever, I decided that working for a good corporation would let me stay for as long as I was working well.” It was true, mostly, you did sleep your way up at Halo, but you did work hard for some of those promotions, no one gets to the head of anything from just sucking dick.

           “Mr Lord isn’t the biggest fan of that halo company you might have shown him a real good time last night, oh don’t blush miss I’m his driver I’ve seen far worse in the back of my cars.” He was right, you were redder than a rose, you could feel the heat spread across your cheeks, you weren’t sure why, you had slept with many people, and been caught with a fair few, maybe it was the fact that Darius was so distinguished, he felt trustworthy and for some reason you didn’t want him to think badly of you. “Come on Miss, we should get you back, you should sleep or at least rest. I’m sure Mr Lord did quite the number on you, I'll be back to pick you up in the morning, around 10 although you can call me earlier if you’d like.”

           After getting to the apartment you noticed that Darius was right, no food, honestly it looked like no one had ever been in there before, it was so pristine it was almost like a hotel, you wondered how many women had brought here but you decided dwelling on it didn’t really mattered, you didn’t really care anyway.

           You set up what little clothes you had brought in the closet, the toothbrush in the bathroom and then you found your way to bed. 

@innerstrawberrypolice​

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #maxwell lord #maxwell lord angst #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord smut #ww1984

[aewriting]

Ohhhh tell me about the Western AU!

Ooooh the Western AU, yes. 

This is one I started a while ago, and the further I got into it, I realized that I would have to do a LOT of research for it to turn out the way I wanted.  That being said, after receiving your ask, I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe there are ways I could go with it that may not be so labor intensive, but could still deliver the story I’m looking for.  It’s been a really long time since I’ve posted anything related to this, so I’m posting the previous excerpts below the cut.

Warnings for mentions of abuse, injury, harmful religious beliefs, sexual suggestiveness, presence of a firearm

Peek 1:

All the Manes boys were handsome. Polite. Hard workers.  The older two were spitting images of Jesse, while the younger two looked… different (“Like the mother,” people would whisper around town).  If there was the occasional bruise, black eye, well… boys liked to tussle. And even if it wasn’t a tussle… that was Jesse’s right, wasn’t it? Spare the rod, spoil the child.  Heaven knows other men, left on their own with four boys, wouldn’t have raised them so well.

Things changed, after the accident.

Some said that Jesse shouldn’t have pushed the boy so hard, that he was young, yet, to be riding that horse.  They said that Jesse wouldn’t hear it, said that the boy needed to grow up, be a man. And, really, who was going to stand up to Jesse?  No one tells another man how to raise his own children, especially not a man like Jesse.

The injury had been bad.  Boy was lucky to still have his life.

As soon as it was clear he’d live, Jesse dropped him at the orphanage.

Peek 2:

He doesn’t remember much, about the other two.  A boy and a girl.  Dark hair, and lovely blonde hair.  That lovely blonde hair is what got them out of here.  One of the fancy ladies from town, oohing and aahing.

Maybe he should have clung to her, too, like the boy did.  Maybe he could have gotten out, too.

It wasn’t to be.

He caught on quickly.  Not just the language, the speech.  He caught on with how to survive, in a place like this.  Avoid the older kids, especially the boys.  Make himself useful.

And don’t… don’t…

“He’s a devil child.”

“He’s not.”

“You… you know it’s him.  There was no one else in that room, with the laundry tub. There’s no other explanation.”

“There are a million explanations.”

“And then there’s the way he is.  With the animals, the babies.  It’s like, like…”

“Some folks have a talent for that sort of thing.”

“Talent? Is that how you see it? I’m beseeching you, Sister, let me call Father George.  He… he will take care of this.”

“Take care of what? The extra help we get with the infants, the chickens? The washing? No. The way I see it, the boy is a gift, not an abomination.”

It had warmed something, in Michael.  And from that point on, he knew two things.  He had to be careful. And he had to be useful.

Peek 3: (This one’s NEW)

“You need to go, child.”

“What?”

Sister Joan is in his face now, shoving a bundle in his arms.

“They’ve called Father George.  You need to go before he gets here.  Please, Michael,” she says, sounding desperate.

“But Alex - “

“Will be fine,” she says quickly. She purses her lips. “Sister Felicity blames you.  Entirely,” she says, looking at Michael meaningfully. “For corrupting

“She’s wanted me gone since the week I got here,” he says bitterly, trying to process what’s just happened. “And she treats Alex like he’s some, some infant just because of his leg.“

Sister Joan nods in apparent agreement. “I gave you some clothes, food, a little money.” She looks down. “It’s not much, Michael.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, and without warning, she pulls him in for a hug.

“Be careful, my son,” she breathes, holding him to her tightly. “Your name,” she whispers, “it means ‘Who is like God?’ And I’ve always thought it fit you.”

He pulls back a bit, looks at her questioningly.

“I’ve seen what you can do,” she says softly.  “With the animals, the children. the... the others things I can’t explain.” She shakes her head in wonder.  “The others, they say it’s the devil in you, but it’s not.  It’s not.” She releases him from her embrace. “May god bless you, Michael.” 

Peek 4:

“I, I can’t do this, Michael.”

“Sure you can,” Michael says, tone light.  “You used to do this every day back at the orphanage.”

“It’s been years.”

Michael quirks an eyebrow at him.  “You really think it won’t come right back?”

Alex shakes his head.  Damn him.  He sees the expression in Michael’s eye – he knows what he’s doing. And suddenly Michael’s hands are on him, his shirt, unbuttoning the collar, the first and second buttons.

“What are you doing?” Alex hisses.

“Improving your odds.”

“What?”

Michael’s head suddenly shoots up. “Shh, I think… I think she’s coming.  Let me do the talking.”

Alex nods, and watches the door to the saloon swing open.  A beautiful woman enters…

And promptly aims a shotgun at Michael.

“What the hell are you doing in my bar before first call, Guerin?”

Michael’s hands are raised in surrender, and he’s smirking.

“Wonderful to see you too, DeLuca, m’lady.”

She’s shaking her hear at him.  “Don’t pull that horseshit. What are you doing here?” She swings the shotgun around.  “And who is he?”

“He,” Michael says, “is Alex.  Great pianist from out East.  Renowned.  I heard ol’ Tom skipped town, and I thought I’d help out my favorite girl.”

Alex’s chest clutches a little at the way he says it, the way this… DeLuca woman’s mouth twitches into a half-smile. She does lower the shotgun, though.

“The Ortechos are good under any circumstances,” Michael says, his tone suggestive.  “But they’re even better with music.” Michael bites his lower lip. “Those hips, damn.” He looks the woman over, every inch of her.  “Wouldn’t mind seeing you in action up on that stage again, DeLuca.”

She laughs, wryly.  “Nuh uh, Guerin, someone has to mind the bar, break up the fights.” She looks at Alex then, more carefully.  “He’s a good-looking sort.”

Michael’s smile widens. “He is, isn’t he?”

DeLuca snorts a bit. “God help you, Guerin, you’re insufferable.” Her attention is on Alex again. “Someone like him would certainly brighten up the bar.  Maybe coax some ladies into staying for a drink or two.”

“Some men, even.”

DeLuca’s eyes widen.  “Guerin,” she says, voice low.  “You don’t know when to keep your damn mouth shut sometimes, I swear.”

She finally speaks to Alex.  “I’m sorry about him, and I’m sorry you ever fell in with his lot.”

Alex smiles, shrugs.  Seated as he is at the old piano, he doesn’t think she’s noticed his leg.  All the better.  

“Why don’t you play something for us?”

So Alex breathes deeply, flexes his fingers, and launches into what he hopes is a pleasing rendition of “Ode to Joy.”

It goes… well, he thinks. No major mistakes.  He’d played it so often for Sister Felicity, in the evenings, that it’s almost like muscle memory. Satisfied, he finishes up.

Michael’s gaping at him.  “Alex, that was – “

“It was good, really good,” DeLuca says, looking thoughtful, if not quite enthusiastic. “I mean, technically, I don’t see any issues.  But, ah, people don’t really come to the saloon to hear Beethoven.  Can you play anything else?”

Alex pauses, then launches into “Nearer My God to Thee.”

Michael still looks rapt, but the DeLuca woman is shaking her head a bit. “I… look,” she says, and she finally, finally sets down the shotgun on top of the bar and walks up to Alex.  “Your playing is lovely.  But… but do you understand what happens here? In this place?” Alex looks at her for a long moment.  Looks at Michael.

He needs this job.  He needs money.

He breathes deep, hits some keys, opens his mouth, and sings. “As I was a-walking down Paradise Street, way, hey, blow the man down! A pretty young damsel I chanced for to meet. Give me some time to blow the man down!”

He continues like this for a few verses, trying to get into it. He peeks up, over the piano, and DeLuca’s smiling. Tapping her foot along to the beat.

This is one of those sea shanties that can just go on forever and ever, so Alex decides to call it, finish it up. “Give me some time to blow the man down!”

DeLuca slaps her open palm on the bar and starts clapping.  “Yes! Thank you! That’ll work, that will certainly work. Now, If you can take that spirit and apply it to a song about the railroad, or drinking, or lost love, or, or just about anything that the Ortecho sisters can shake their skirts to, you’re hired, honey.”

Alex sags in relief.  “Thank you.”

Michael looks at DeLuca, then at Alex.  “I dunno.  I personally kinda liked all the talk about blowing a man.”

And with that, DeLuca gives him a strong shove. “Outta my bar, Guerin.  But you,” she says, and points at Alex.  “Come back this afternoon.  1pm.  You need to meet Liz and Rosa.”

#WIP meme answer #western au #my fic #malex

[skinsharpenedteeth]

No clue what to call this one...

It’s PunkRock!Michael and Emo!Alex AU that pretty much no one asked for. That being said, it’s for @litwitlady per our previous conversation about the subtle difference with punk and emo kids.  As a warning, it fluff n smut.

              The ground vibrated under Alex Manes bright red converse and he wondered if he’d be able to hear anything once this night was over. He’d found the furthest wall and decided to hold it up for the evening as he waited for Maria to get done with her one-woman-mission to fuck SOMEONE in this derelict house that operated as a “music venue”. All the rooms were lit with harsh yellow lighting, bereft of all but the most untrustworthy looking furniture, and there were dents and holes in walls all over the place. Alex was a little afraid the second floor would cave in at some point and he’d have to find out that people actually lived here.

Looking back up towards the corner of what was once considered the dining room of the house, he was happy to see that he couldn’t see Maria anymore. Maybe she’d gotten lucky faster than he’d figured she would and soon they’d be able to get out of here. But that might still take a while, so Alex slid down the wall and took out the book he’d been reading about the perks of being a wallflower. He noted someone coming to stand next to him in this periphery but didn’t look up. He didn’t want to engage anyone here and the bouncing of their leg by his shoulder made him sure they weren’t looking to engage him either since they seemed to be enjoying the band.

              ��When the band finally wound down, the figure that had been standing next to him practically fell onto the floor in a heap of legs and elbows. He turned to look and saw it was Michael Guerin, probably the most serious, mysterious, hard core punk kid at his school. His blonde curly hair had been streaked with green and slicked back from his face. He didn’t wear any make-up like some of the punk kids did or Alex himself for that matter. He had on a D.A.R.E. shirt with the sides and sleeves ripped off which showed off his lithe, strong body when he slumped forward. The shirt was tucked into tight black jeans with safety pinned holes up and down the legs. He wore the rattiest shit-kicker boots Alex had ever seen which were covered with patches, pins, and spikes. He’d left his spiked bracelets and collar that he’d worn at school at home for the evening and Alex felt like he was almost seeing him naked. Which wasn’t unwelcome because for all Michael Guerin’s faults, being unattractive was not among them.

              “Having fun?” Michael asked, looking over at him in between nodding and slapping hands with various people milling around in the crowd. The band was breaking down their gear and everyone was moving to other parts of the house or out into the yard between acts. Alex pursed his lips at him and went back to his book. He was sure he was just fucking with him. Michael Guerin didn’t make small talk. He mostly just stalked the halls and kept his head down in classes. Alex couldn’t look at him without rolling his eyes sometimes, he was such a cliché.

              “I, uh, don’t think I’ve seen you at many of these. Thought you liked fuckin’ Panic! At the Disco and shit…” he continued, sneaking looks over at Alex. Alex sighed through his nose loudly. Apparently, they were going to do this tonight.

              “I’m here with Maria,” Alex finally responded, still not looking up from the book he was frankly only pretending to read at this point.

              “Oh? I saw her leave with one of the guitarists from the first band. Was she your ride?” Michael asked, sounding nervous. Alex did look at him then, trying to see if he was just fucking with him or if he was being sincere. When he decided he couldn’t tell, he dug his phone out of his back pocket and saw a missed call and a text from Maria.

>Found something strange and hopefully wonderful. Won’t be back tonight.

              “God fucking damnit, Maria,” Alex exclaimed, almost throwing his phone in frustration.

              “So I guess that’s a yes?” Michael asked a little sheepishly.

              “This is why you never see me at these things. I don’t have a fucking car and my ride likes to fuck strangers and ends up deserting me. I fucking know better. Ugh, fucking Maria,” he raged. Michael watched him at it for a while. Meanwhile the other band had finished setting up and people were starting to filter back into the room. Alex looked around at the people and groaned, just wanting to leave and get out of here.

              “Hey, come on. Let’s go outside. It’s about to get loud,” Michael suggested, standing up and offering Alex his hand. Alex absently noted that his fingernails were painted, though the polish was cheap and had already chipped off in several places. At the first screech of feedback from the amps, Alex grabbed his hand and let Michael pull him up. He shoved the paperback into his back pocket and looked Guerin in the eyes, feeling a fluttery feeling in his chest when their eyes met. He was a bit surprised when Michael didn’t immediately drop his hand, but instead held it while leading him through the dingy kitchen and out to the backyard area. A group of smokers hung around the door chatting and they called ‘Hey-o!’ in excitement when they saw Michael. He waved and grinned at them but kept tugging Alex with him until they were past the property line. Apparently, someone had found a couch on the side of the road and had moved it out into the undeveloped desert behind the house to stare out at the dark nothing beyond. When they reached the front of the couch Michael finally let go of his hand and flopped down on the cushions at one end with a sigh.

              “Uh, what are we doing?” Alex asked, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed them. He shuffled a little and stared down at the orange and white plaid couch dubiously.

              “We’re hanging out. Chill, sit down, enjoy the night with me. We’ll still be able to hear the band from here,” he added, patting the spot next to him.

              “Oh, goody,” Alex remarked sarcastically before sitting himself down on the cushion farthest from Michael’s. He still didn’t quite trust his intentions, but he was glad to be out of the house. They could, in fact, here the band still, but the lyrics were muffled and it almost sounded like the songs had a melody this far out.

              “So, what’s up with the finger bruises on your arm?” Michael asked, pointing towards where Alex’s shirt sleeves had ridden up when he’d finally sat down. “Girlfriend like to get a little rough?”

              “Uhh…. That would be pretty remarkable since I’m totally gay and you know it. Like, everyone knows it,” Alex accused, deflecting his question about the bruises. He didn’t want to talk about his problems with strangers. As hot as this guy was, he was still a stranger. Michael smiled widely at him.

              “I didn’t know if that was a rumor or what, man,” he replied easily, seeming to take Alex’s correction in stride. For some reason that threw Alex off. He’d been waiting for an attack.

              “Oh,” Alex said, feeling a little deflated, “Well, it’s not. I’m gay. Does that make you want to run back to the party? Afraid someone will see you out here with the emo faggot?”

              Michael’s smile fell and he looked a little insulted. Alex almost apologized, but he didn’t owe this punk anything and he kind of wanted to see how he reacted to some pushing. His tone was less congenial when he finally answered.

              “I don’t give a fuck who you’re into. Love is love. What I do want to know is who the fuck keeps bruising you up all the time? Those aren’t love taps I saw on your ribs the other day in the locker room and you don’t skate or play sports. Who’s fucking you up?”

              He sounded mad, indignant on behalf of a stranger. On behalf of Alex, who was not used anyone giving a shit about him. It was a new feeling for Alex to have someone pay that much attention to him and care that he was being hurt. But he couldn’t just say ‘My dad knocks me around because I crave cock and hate the military’ so he kept his mouth shut and Michael watched him stay silent, watched him tense up with his shoulders closer to his ears and wrap his arms around his body. He obviously wasn’t going to say anything so Michael tried a different tactic.

              “The foster family I’m with right now… they’re alright. But the family I was with before them? Fucking meth heads. And meth heads get mean when they’re coming down,” Michael said, turning and pulling his shirt over his head to show Alex his back. There were long thin grooves over the middle of his back and little round scars like burns. “Not all that is the meth heads. The long scars were from the religious zealots I got put with a couple years ago. Being exorcised isn’t fun, but the lead up was worse.”

              Alex stared at the skin in horrified fascination, moving closer to see them better in the faint light of the moon. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching out to trace along one of the scars with his fingers, but at the last minute came to his senses and brought his hand back.

              “That’s awful, Michael,” Alex whispered. Michael pulled his shirt back down and turned to him, a bittersweet smile on his face.

              “Well, it’s all healed over now. Right now, no ones hurting me. So, who’s hurting you? Are you getting bullied? I know that Valenti kid is a fucking homophobic piece of shit jock bully, but if he’s literally beating you up I will get my boys and we’ll tear his ass in two,” Michael threatened with passion. Alex looked at him, feeling his face soften at how serious Michael was.

              “You can’t defend me like that. Kyle’s a fucking jerk, but he’s not doing this. It’s..uh… It’s my dad. He’s the one hitting me,” Alex admitted quietly. Somewhere in the middle of his confession, he had started to find his own hands fascinating. So fascinating he couldn’t look up to see Michael’s expression over his confession, but instead just kept watching the way his skin pulled taut when he interlaced them and twisted one way or the other. One of Michael’s hands came into his view then and covered his own, stopping their anxious twisting. Alex froze and waited.  He didn’t know what reaction he was hoping for but he felt himself bracing for it.

              “Do you have somewhere to go to get away from him?” Michael asked, his voice now quiet next to Alex’s ear. The hand not on Alex’s came to rest between his shoulder blades, thumb rubbing soothing circles through the cotton of his shirt. Alex felt his body relax a fraction, slumping a little as he realized he wasn’t about to be attacked.

              “Yeah, yeah. I have friends who will let me stay with them,” Alex managed to get out through the thickness in his throat.

              “Add me to that list,” Michael said. Alex’s head jerked up to look at him and he realized he was only a couple breaths away from him. “I’m serious. Add me to the list of people you can call if you need an out. I’ve got a truck, I’ll come get you. No questions asked, nothing owed.”

              “You don’t know me, Guerin,” Alex said in the stillness between them. He couldn’t stop his gaze from moving from his perfect hazel eyes down to his lips. He suddenly knew he wanted to kiss this guy. Whatever happened after was fine, but he wanted to do something reckless. Michael was pushing a long piece of hair back behind Alex’s ear and looking at him fondly and it made Alex’s gut clench with want.

              “Sometimes people do nice things without an expectations. It’s been known to happen,” he replied. Alex nodded and swallowed, suddenly filled with nerves again, though for a very different reason than before.

He saw Michael watching him, watching the way his eyes kept darting down to look at his lips, watching the way he mirrored licking them with his own. Slowly Michael leaned forward, closing the distance between them and pressed his lips against Alex’s. Alex was cupping his jaw and keeping him close before Michael could back away and end the kiss. Alex opened his lips, his tongue lickeding over Michael’s in a request and a question. This wasn’t Alex’s first kiss, but it was the first one he was adamant about pursuing further. Michael hummed deep in his throat and opened to Alex’s advances, letting him explore his mouth with his tongue before doing the same with his own. Alex felt breathless and elated. He didn’t care that the music in the background was hardcore punk being played so badly Syd Vicious would be rolling over in his grave. He didn’t care that he was kissing Michael on a dirty, half rotten couch out in the desert where anyone could see them and tell his father what he’d been doing with another boy. He didn’t care that Maria had left him to fend for himself so she could chase boys. This half-crazed make out session with Michael Guerin was making it the best night of his life so far.

              Maybe it was the lack of oxygen or the adrenaline of being seen by someone he’d never admitted to himself that he’d always been hyperaware of, but Alex couldn’t stop his hands from falling from Michael’s jaw and starting to grope at the skin exposed by the open sides of Michael’s shirt. In response, Michael turned his body and started to pull Alex until he was sitting straddled across his lap. Then it was Michael’s turn to slip his hands under the hem of Alex’s shirt and let his hands slide over the muscles of his back and waist. When it became too much, Alex finally broke their never-ending kiss to gasp air into his lungs. Michael didn’t miss a beat, his mouth attaching itself to Alex’s neck with sucking, stinging kisses that made Alex want to go crazy.

              “Fuck,” Alex groaned when he felt Michael’s fingers start to slip past the waist band of his jeans. It was so hot to feel him against his skin. It was too much, though, just too much with someone he’d really just been introduced to. “Wait, wait, wait! We gotta slow down…”

              Michael groaned and buried his head against Alex’s shoulder, hands immediately coming out from under his shirt and wrapping him up in a hug. Alex slowly withdrew his own hands, resting them on Michael’s shoulders while they both calmed down and regained their breath.

              “Sorry,” Michael murmured against his shirt before lifting his head and giving him a quick, close-mouthed kiss. “Sorry.”

              Alex smiled and laughed a little, rubbing his hands up and down Michael’s upper arms while he gathered himself. He was nervous about having stopped them, but he was still so fucking happy about what had happened.

              “It’s okay. All of that was okay, I just… Where did this come from? You don’t even know me, you’ve never talked to me at school or even, like, acknowledged my presence…” Alex said, eyes flickering over Michael’s face. He saw the way his expression went soft and slightly incredulous.

              “I may not know your favorite color, but I’ve wanted to kiss your emo eyeliner wearing ass since my first day at Roswell High. You’re always being so snarky and bratty to everyone and then when you’re with your friends? Your smile lights up the place and it’s so rare to see, but so fucking beautiful. It’s just… man, fuck school. Fuck those people. Fuck the kids, fuck the adults, fuck the institution. They’re answering just enough of the questions to keep us from asking more. It’s a fucking joke. I’m not in the right headspace at school. You’re about the only good thing about showing up every day. Just seeing you makes me hate humanity a little less.”

              Alex felt the heat of a blush infusing his face, but he also couldn’t stop smiling. This guy. This fucking guy.

              “Your,uh… your smile is pretty great too. I think tonight’s the first time I’ve even ever seen you smile,” Alex commented, his arms wrapping comfortably around Michael’s neck. Michael’s lips widened into a cheesy approximation of a smile that really just showed all his teeth with his lips pulled back while he crossed his eyes.

              “Oh my God, staaahhhp,” Alex said laughing at the stupid face. When Michael let his features relax back to normal, Alex darted in and kissed him. He meant for it to be one kiss, but it quickly turned into more as the heat which had been banked earlier, now came back to life with more energy.

              “Can we lay down? My legs are going to sleep,” Michael mumbled between kisses against Alex’s lips. Alex jumped and was about to scramble back and off his legs when he felt Michael’s hands under his butt and then he was being tilted backwards until his back rested against the cushions.

              “I shudder to think what’s on these pillows,” Alex grumbled even as he widened his legs and let Michael sink between them to rest his body against Alex’s. The weight and friction felt amazing. He suddenly didn’t care about the scratchy upholstery where his shirt at ridden up his back. He just wanted Michael’s mouth back on his and to keep feeling his body writhing on top of him.

              “You want to add to the mess?” Michael asked after breaking their kiss, raising an eyebrow and smiling mischievously. Alex looked at him confused for a moment and then his eyes followed Michael’s hand as it slid down to his own jeans, flicking the button open and leaving his hand on the zipper tongue. Alex’s eyes widened and he shot up to meet Michael in a kiss before glancing back down between them. It was so hot. He could tell Michael wasn’t wearing any underwear and his pants were almost painfully tight against his own body. “Alex?”

              “Fuck, yes. So much yes. All the yes. Enthusiastic conset given,” Alex babbled between kisses, his hands sliding down to start undoing his own jeans. Michael’s hand followed his, pushing his away so he could cup Alex through the black cotton of his boxer briefs. Alex felt like he could come just from that. His body was vibrating, breath caught in his throat as he gasped at the feeling of someone else’s hand so close to his own dick. He wanted to reciprocate. He wanted to touch Michael back so with shaky hands, he slowly pulled down Michael’s zipper and pushed aside the fabric of his pants. He felt the velvety skin against the back of his hand and then he pulled it out. Michael was uncircumcised. Alex felt like he knew this somewhere in his hind brain from talk or the locker room showers or something, but it was different when it was something you glanced while trying to hide as much of your own body as possible. Now it was thick and heavy in his hand. The foreskin moved in such a hypnotic way as Alex pulled and then pushed gently until he could see the wet, spongey head of Michael’s cock. It was giving him all sorts of scary, wonderful ideas of things he wanted to do and try that was definitely way too fast for a random hook up on a murder couch.

              “Does it freak you out?” Michael asked, voice a little breathy as he held still and let Alex play with him. Alex shook his head slowly, still watching his own hand as he jacked Michael’s cock, thumb swiping and spreading the precome over the head. Finally, Alex’s brain came back online and he looked up into Michael face. His eyes had closed and his mouth hung slightly slack. He looked like he was in pain, but he was enjoying every second of it. Alex didn’t stop his hand movements as he raised himself up enough to capture Michael’s bottom lip between his own. Immediately Michael responded, returning the kiss hungrily. His hand had stayed over Alex’s underwear, but now he pulled and tugged at the offending garment until he could get it far enough down to sit under Alex’s balls.

              “OOhhhhh my God,” Alex cried out as Michael’s hand finally grasped flesh and he was overwhelmed by the heat of his hand and the roughness of his skin.

              “You alright?” Michael asked, keeping his hand still to make sure Alex was still game. Alex nodded and sank back down against the sofa cushions. Michael was giving him a curious look from where he was holding himself up on one arm. Alex laughed a little and moved his hand to grip the back of Michael’s neck fondly.

              “That feels so much better when someone else is doing it,” Alex admitted a little shyly. Alex was afraid this was going to become a Conversation, but thankfully Michael just smiled softly at him and moved back down onto his forearm so he could kiss Alex while still having enough room between their bodies for their hands. Michael’s hand was a little dry on him, but he didn’t care. It still felt amazing and everytime their knuckles bumped against each other a zing of pleasure rocketed up his spine. He was doing this to someone else. Someone else was touching him. It was a-fucking-mazing. He started to feel a familiar tightness beginning in his core, his body winding itself tighter before it let go. He broke away from Michael’s mouth, panting and making pained little “Ah” sounds against his cheek.

              “Fuck, Michael, I’m about to—I’m going to—” he was trying to get out, even as his vision narrowed and his body became a singular being of exquisite pleasure. He felt Michael’s mouth cover his and then his own hand was wet as well. When it was over they laid there, panting against each other and then Michael tipped sideways to wall onto his side between Alex and the back of the couch.

              “Shit,” Michael said succinctly, cheek against Alex’s shoulder and breath still short. Alex just nodded and looked down at himself. There was come all over his shirt. His come, Michael’s come, marring the black in white, viscous stripes.

              “Shit,” he repeated after Michael, his voice less in awe now that it was time for clean up. Michael looked down at his shirt and honest to god giggled a little. He brought his come covered hand up and wiped it over a clean expanse of Alex’s tee.

              “Hey! I gotta wear this home!” Alex exclaimed, battling Michael’s hand away.

              “No you don’t. Follow me to my truck, I’ll let you borrow a shirt. This one is fucking toast,” Michael snickered. Alex looked down again and had to agree. Soon after, they tucked themselves back up into their jeans and got off the couch. Alex found himself a little wobbly after the high of an orgasm. Michael caught him with a hand on waist and kissed his cheek.

              “You get a little come drunk. Noted for next time.”

              “So there will be a next time?” Alex asked, suddenly finding he was nervous to hear the answer.

              “If you want there to be a next time, then yeah,” Michael said, holding out his hand to take Alex’s. Alex looked at it for a second and then up at Michael’s guileless face. He smiled then and reached his hand out to hold onto Michael’s. They slowly made their way around the outside of the house where the music was still rattling the glass panes left in the windows and out to the street where Michael had parked his truck. Alex stripped off his shirt and handed it off to Michael as Michael pawed through a backpack of clothes he kept under the passenger’s seat. Finally, he passed over a black Misfits shirt. When Alex put it on he noticed it smelled like rain, dust, and sage brush. It wasn’t a bad smell and in fact made him want to bury his nose in the collar to train it to memory. It was how Michael smelled and that wasn’t a bad thing.

              “Want a ride home?” Michael asked a little shyly as he tugged the bottom of his shirt on Alex’s body in some attempt to ‘straighten it’.

              “Sure,” Alex agreed, climbing in the passenger’s seat and buckling in. Michael closed his door for him and ran over to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting up the car. As soon as they were on the road, Alex slid his hand over the seat between them in a silent request for Michael to hold his hand. With a quick smile, Michael did.

#malex #malex fic #malex au #roswell nm #barely edited #no name #punkrock!michael querin and emo!alex manes #michael guerin #alex manes #high school au

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Five: The One with the Tour

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2476

    Scott Harvey was a manipulative man. He knew how to get what he wanted when he wanted and was never one to take no for an answer. He'd do whatever it took to ensure he had people wrapped around his finger so that he could snap his fingers and have what he desired in his hands at a moment’s notice. And Lily fell for that. She became the next in a long line of women who were eating out of the palm of his hand, all because he promised her the world. He promised her security, happiness, and peace. Instead, she got fear, chaos, and emotional trauma. The exact thing she was terrified of. He used her anxiety against her, used the fragility of her mind to keep her trapped in his web like a fly.

She was sort of thankful for Mary. she was a sweet woman, the two got along and were pretty amicable. Lily knew if she needed anything, Mary would help out, and vice versa. Because you can have a messy marriage, but keep a healthy relationship with the wrecking ball that destroyed the thin wall that still stood. Lily was grateful for Mary because she was able to open the blonde’s eyes to see what was going on. The web of lies that Scott had caught Lily in, like a spider, finding its next meal.

And every time she saw him, saw that sideways smile and forehead creases, all of the emotions he caused caught up to Lily in a ball, and took up camp in the middle of her throat, rendering her speechless for the majority of their brief conversations. Which is where we pick up, in the hallway of Scott and Mary's apartment building, Scott holding his daughter, Leila, in his arms. something Lily didn't believe she had ever seen her ex do with their son.

"Traffic was insane...sorry I'm a little late." Lily mumbled, her broken eyes darting everywhere, in an attempt to keep them from making contact with the deep-set hazel of Scott’s iris'.

"Don't apologize. I'll never complain about spending a bit longer with Hunter." Scott said, his voice still as soft as a marshmallow. Lily couldn't help but wince ever so gently as it floated into her ears, sending a rush of adrenaline and nerves to her heart, picking up its pace.

"Mom!" a young boy’s voice called before bursting past the older man, almost knocking down his mother, gripping onto her waist.

"Hey kiddo," Lily smiled, hand running through the blonde locks atop of her son’s head, smiling gently as he hid his face into her side. turning her attention back to Scott, she gave a weak smile, "Thanks for letting me pick him up early. my parents are coming down for dinner."

“No problem. Say hi to Abel and Alicia for me," Scott smiled, causing a shiver to run down Lily's spine. The idea of saying that Scott said hi made Lily sick to her stomach. Her parents despised the father of their grandson, for good reason. As far as the Osborne parents were concerned, Scott was a dead man, "See ya, buddy."

Saying a quick goodbye, Lily and Hunter found themselves back in the car as quickly as the conversation that just happened. Hunter was quiet at first, waiting for Lily to regain her composure for the second time that day. Her forehead rested on the leather of her steering wheel, deep breaths escaping her lips as her fingers wrapped around the wheel. A few moments later, Lily relaxed back into her seat, turning on the car.

"So Grandma and Grandpa are coming over?" Hunter asked, breaking the comfortable silence the mother and son had going on, "When did you find out?"

Lily tried her best to repress the smile the threatened to explode onto her face. She loved giving Hunter surprises. With everything the boy has been through, being able to see his face light up when he's faced with something unexpected was the only high she'd ever need. It was rare to see such extreme emotion out of Hunter, and let alone something as raw as the joy he gets with surprises. And this one that she had planned, it would go down in history. He would be talking about it for ages to come, for the rest of his life even. That's what Lily wanted, for him to create perfect childhood memories he'd be able to tell his kids in the future. To gather them up around the table at Christmas and pass stories around about how he and Grandma spent a day with Earth’s mightiest heroes and got to see where they worked. That was the goal of a parent, to make their child's days as memorable as they could.

"Oh the other day they mentioned it, but nothing was ever confirmed. I got a text this morning from Grandma about it," Lily hummed nonchalantly as she pulled out of the Brooklyn apartment complex, and turned onto the busy roads.

Connecting his phone to the Apple car play that came with the vehicle, Hunter spoke again, "That'll be nice. I know you miss seeing them sometimes. Long Island is so far away from Manhattan, why did you move away?"

Lily's smile grew wide, the dimple in her cheek creating a cavern of happiness at her son’s words. He was as intuitive as they come, and as observant as all get out. Truly, Lily believed herself to be one of the luckiest mothers in the world to be blessed with an angel-like Hunter. He was pure of heart and as sharp as a whip. He always picked up on Lily's microaggressions, and all of the small mannerisms she showed while in certain moods. She was never sure how he became as smart as he did, but doctors insisted it was because of her intelligence. That it carried on down to her son, and how he reflected her as a child. And Lily lived a loving and wonderful childhood, so hopefully, that too would relay to her son.

Reaching over to ruffle his hair, Lily let out a gentle sigh, "Well Hunter, I moved out here to the city with Auntie Gen when I graduated high school. I got into Columbia University, which was my dream school. So I came out here to study, while Aunt Gen was over in NYU, studying business. I moved out here for the opportunity, and I'm glad I did because you were the result."

Hunter let out a small noise as he acknowledged the story that his mother just shared while scanning Spotify for the best playlist. The two loved the eighties and nineties, so he settled on a premade group of songs from that era. The bass boomed throughout the car as the two began to belt out the lyrics to Billie Jean by Michael Jackson. It was moments like these when Lily felt most content. Just her and Hunter, living their best lives together as they sang to oldies but goodies. Being able to see his eyes light up whenever they passed a cool-looking building or when they saw a cute dog or one that looked like Joey. Her favourite moment though, the cream of the crop is when he sings. Though not a professional, he always looked so at ease while letting his voice dance through the car.

About twenty minutes into the drive, he caught on though, "This isn't the way home. Where are we going?" his voice rang, turning down the volume of the Lionel Richie.

She had to think quickly. If he noticed the slightest of hesitation in Lily's speech, the surprise would be blown, and he wouldn't be surprised when they didn't stop at home. So, she did what she thought would throw him off the most, "We've gotta hit a grocery store on the way home. Aunt Gen needs something for the cafe and this is the only place that sells it near here. Is that okay kiddo?"

Nodding, he turned the music back up. This meant that he believed what she said. If he didn't, he'd press on further. Interrogating Lily until he got the truth out of her. He would make a hell of a lawyer in the future, due to the strange ability he had of getting into people’s minds. He was like Scott in that way, but different at the same time. He never used it to manipulate, or use people, but to find out the truth. Get the answers. learn. That was Hunter’s goal, not to make people the puppets in his little game. he was curious, that was all.

Shortly after the small conversation between the two introverts, Lily took the turn that would lead them straight to the compound. Her aged eyes glanced towards the world that sat in her passenger seat. He hadn't noticed yet, and Lily was thankful. It would be more exhilarating if he didn't realize until they went up to the door. Knocking on the door and having someone like Captain America answer? Now that was something that Lily would love to witness. To see her son's heart swell at the sight of one of his heroes answering the door. She could only imagine what he would say, and couldn't seem to fathom how he would react.

Pulling into the parking lot, Lily stopped the car and turned it off, capturing Hunters’ attention. He sat up in his seat and glanced out the window, a confused yet intrigued look masking his typical stoic facial expression. Stepping out of the car, Lily gestured with her left hand to follow her up towards the doors. Hesitantly, Hunter followed along, his shoes making gentle noises on the rocks and pebbles below his feet.

"Where are we?" he questioned, hand slipping into the fragile one of his mothers, "and why are your hands always so cold?"

Lily remained silent, simply walking up the stairs of the compound. Her neck craned to look down at the bewildered boy, who couldn't help but swivel his head around in an attempt to recognize his surroundings. But the only time he would have ever seen this place was maybe in pictures, so Lily was sure that she had gotten the surprise in the bag. That she was able to dupe the boy that could rarely ever be surprised. Now that would be an accomplishment.

Lily's free hand reached up and knocked on the grey doors in front of them, pursing and nibbling on her lips in an attempt to hide the mischievous and prideful grin that threatened to give away the present. She had been looking forward to this moment the entire car ride, hardly being able to contain the excitement that rushed through her veins at the idea of her son’s wildest dreams coming true. Well, his wildest dream would be to become an Avenger or any sort of superhero. But a mother could only do so much.

Voices rang out behind the door before it was swung open to reveal Sam Wilson. The man who had originally offered to take the eleven-year-old boy on a tour of the place, "Lily! you made it, was starting to get worried you two would bail on us," he teased, chocolate brown eyes readjusting to look down at the blonde boy beside Lily, "Hey Hunter, nice to see you again."

Her son’s hand had slipped out of her own, which caught Lily's attention. she looked down at him and felt her heart swell about a million times bigger than it already was. His smile reached ear to ear, cheeks growing to a rosy red and his pupils dilated to eleven. He seemed frozen, stuck to his one position on the porch step of the Avengers compound. Her frail hand tapped the boy on the back, urging him to respond and walk into the building.

"He's a tad awestruck it seems," Lily chuckled, taking his small hand into her own and walking past the threshold of the home, "It took me a bit to find this place."

"Privacy is key for us," a voice rang out from a bit away. Lily's eyes averted towards the sound and she spotted Captain America. The Captain America. Steve Rogers. Every girl’s dream man. He was even more gorgeous in person, and Lily couldn't help but feel choked up as she looked at him. The way his chest looked as though it was going to burst through the fabric of his shirt, or how she could see his sky blue eyes from eight meters away, "Glad you guys could make it. Picked a perfect day, everyone’s around."

"Why don't I take Hunter down through the compound so he can get the full tour," Sam grinned down at the beaming boy, "Will you be joining us, Ms. Osborne?"

Oh no. If she went, her mind wouldn't be able to handle it. The idea of walking around with her son in a place like this was already overwhelming. Feeling as though she should be able to do more to give him the luxury life he so badly deserved. Making him feel as though he was the king of the world. Not to mention, the entire place itself was a lot to take in. And with her anxiety already running high today, it would be better for Lily's mind and heart to wait out in the car or something. Plus, Hunter was with the Falcon, she had no worries.

"It's okay, you two go have fun, I'll wait in the car," Lily said, a tight smile pulling at the sides of her lips as she ran a thumb across her son’s chin, nodding for him to follow the superhero. And as if he was in a trance, Hunter followed Sam like a zombie, or may a dog following a treat. Either would work in this scenario.

"Oh no don't go wait in your car, come sit with us. I'm sure Bucky wouldn't mind seeing you again after your run-in yesterday," Steve smiled, making Lily's knees feel like they had miraculously turned into jello, "He's making blueberry pancakes for a part of the team."

Lily's mouth ran dry. Blueberry pancakes. Just like the ones she had gotten the day prior. The ones he had asked her about. Her cheeks grew hot as a magenta colour blush forced itself onto them, giving away the embarrassment and intrigue she had. It couldn't have been anything. He was just making blueberry pancakes. That's normal. It was an average thing for people to do. Especially when you've got nothing else to do. right?

"He knew you may have been coming, that's why he made them." Steve whispered as he offered his arm for Lily, beginning to lead her towards the kitchen.

So he did make them on purpose.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female oc #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #original character #original female character #female oc #OC #oc tag #marvel #marvel fanfiction #the winter soldier #the avengers #fanfiction #tfatws #single mom #sebastian stan #fluffy #romance #comedy

[icyharrington]

Is It Wrong?- THE PREQUEL- Part 1 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

so basically,,,, i took my adhd meds for class this morning, and then suddenly got super inspired to write this, so i figured i couldnt waste the focus and wrote this whole ass thing in a few hours. this is the first part of a 3-part prequel series, which details the events leading up to the first part of iiw! just a whole lot more teen angst, drama, fuckboy michael, and more... there isn’t going to be any SMUT smut for obvious reasons, but in a future part there is going to be some dirty stuff ;) anyway i know this will prob flop but this is the first full length fic i’ve written in months and i had a lot of fun writing it, so ima post regardless ^__^

plot: things are turning upside for you now that the biggest fuckboy in school, michael langdon, is about to become your stepbrother. if you think shit is crazy now, wait til you find out that this is just the prequel 😏

warnings: underage drinking, talk of sexual shit, teen angst, sexual tension, taboo relationships 

wc: 4.2k 

i.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

You did, of course you did.

You’d seen him, engulfed in his loneliness, floating from day to listless day like some kind of cheesy Victorian spectre. Too many times you’d found him alone at night, one hand cradling a glass of sewer-brown liquor, the other thumbing through worn photo albums extracted from dust-ridden shelves in the living room. You hadn’t known your mother well- she’d died back when you were still in diapers, but what you did know was that she’d been a vibrant light in your father’s world that had been unjustly snuffed out in its prime. He was a good father to you, and you knew you made him happy despite the dull ache ever-present in his heart, but it was evident that deep down he craved a companionship you could never provide.

So of course you were glad when he met Miriam. Of course you were glad when you’d seen his beaming smile, sharing the news, with the giddiness of a teenage girl in love, that he’d found somebody. He was practically glowing, that night he’d gone out for their first date. You’d known it’d been special to him, because he’d shelled out a few hundred to treat them both to a fancy dinner; he’d even gotten her a bouquet of flowers on the drive there.

You hadn’t said anything when he’d gushed to you the next day about how he’d found the one, despite having known her for only a week; sure, he was rushing into things, but at least he was happy! And that was all you wanted- for him to be happy.

That was why you were especially crushed when you finally met Miriam’s teenage son, whom your father had briefly mentioned with a passing “he goes to your high school, maybe you know him”.

There were so many boys at your school that it was impossible to guess who your potential stepbrother might be. The prospect that you might know him didn’t bother you too much, though you did think it might be a little awkward upon first meeting, but really what did it matter? A little bit of teenage shyness was a small price to pay for your father’s newfound happiness.

That is, until you met him.

So really, it wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

That wasn’t the case at all.

You just really, really, wished he’d fallen in love with anyone other than the mother of Michael fucking Langdon.

ii.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” Miriam gushed over a glass of Chardonnay, which had already been defaced with aubergine lip prints around the golden rim. “Gosh, I just wish I had your hair. Mine was fried from years of coloring, so I just chopped it all off!”

You smiled sweetly, observing your father’s glimmering eyes as he hung onto every word that rolled off her tongue, menus still stacked neatly in the middle of the table as you awaited the fourth and final guest. The three of you had been there for fifteen minutes already, and still her son had not arrived.

I guess his study session is running late, she’d explained, after seeing your furrowed brows at her lack of accompaniment. It was the first time you were meeting your father’s new love interest and her son, and you were rapidly growing more and more anxious in anticipation of the big reveal.

Studying, you’d thought, racking your brain. So maybe he’s one of the nerdy teacher’s pet types? You could certainly live with that; there were a great deal of others you could think of who would be far worse to potentially become step-siblings with.

“Thanks, Ms… Mead, did you say it was?”

You weren’t sure you knew of any boys whose last name was Mead; he definitely had to be someone you hardly knew.

“Oh, honey, call me Miriam,” she said warmly, and you nodded, unsure of what to say next.

Miriam was certainly not what you’d imagined your father’s girlfriend to be like, not that you cared either way; she sported short, dark hair with vampy makeup, clad in all black with a tasteful leather jacket to match. She was also a bit older than you’d anticipated, with fine lines adorning her rounded face, but again, none of that mattered to you at all. She seemed perfectly sweet, and you had no complaints about her thus far.

“Okay, Miriam,” you said, feeling somewhat peculiar addressing an adult by their first name, “so, remind me, how’d you guys meet again?”

“Well, it’s a funny story, really,” Miriam chuckled, plucking a dinner roll from the woven basket across from her and dropping it onto her plate. Her dark eyes shifted from you to your father, poising an impeccably groomed raven brow. “Should you tell it, or should I?”

“Oh, you should, definitely,” your father said, sipping his wine.

“Okay, okay. Well, we were in the meat section at the grocery store when we both reached for the last steak on sale. So I looked at him, and I told him- oh my, this is embarrassing- (your dad’s name), you finish!”

Your father looked like he was about to bust out into laughter, and, suppressing a snort, he blurted, “she said she’d cut off my hands if I took it!”

Immediately after the words left his lips, the two fell into boisterous hysterics that ushered forward a few disapproving glances from the stuffy rich assholes at the next table over, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself. Well… she definitely was a character, but as long as your father was being kept entertained…

“Hey mom,” came a sudden, inappropriately loud male voice from behind you, so out of place that you nearly jumped from your seat. “I was helping Dan with the world war three chapter in our textbook, he sucks at geography shit.”

The voice’s owner revealed himself as a tall, blond boy, who promptly slid into the empty chair beside you, chiseled face slightly obscured by the deep shadows resulting from the dimness of the restaurant’s ambient lighting.

This was, indeed, somebody that you knew, and you blinked twice to be sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

It took you a few seconds to register the direness of the situation at hand, but once the thought processed in your mind, you about descended into an out-of-body experience.

This couldn’t be.

No way.

No motherfucking way.

You’d never been all too much of a religious person, but in that moment, you found yourself silently begging whatever higher power was out there that this was all just some sick, cosmic prank.

The boy turned his head to give you a good, uncomfortably long look, stupidly perfect mouth twisting into an amused sideways grin, and then he spoke. “Ohh shit, (y/n)? (Y/n) (y/l/n)?”

He spoke your name like it was a punchline, tongue darting out to lick his teeth like a lizard about to gobble up some poor, helpless cricket as you sat there with your jaw unhinged. You were at a loss for words, or at least almost, managing to croak out a pathetic, puny, “Michael.”

“Oh, good! You guys know each other already!” Miriam exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to the complete and utter horror that had just about finished swallowing you whole.

Michael let out a snort, roughly translating to ‘uhh, yeah, not that well… I’d never be caught dead hanging around with someone like (y/n)’, and you grimaced. “Yeah, a little bit. You were in math class with me last year, right?”

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to regain your composure for fear of feeding into this complete asshole’s already massive ego. Yeah, in fact, you had been in math class with him last year, and, not-so-coincidentally, that very same class had turned out to be the one you dreaded the most.

Michael Langdon was the most insufferable, mind-numbing, self-obsessed asshole that you’d ever had the displeasure of knowing; he was easily the most popular boy in the grade, and it was clear he was fully aware of his own high school bullshit prestige. He was loud, cocky and obnoxious; the type of fuckboy- yes, you knew the word fuckboy was overplayed, but in this case there was no other way to describe him- who’d loudly brag about his sexual escapades in the middle of the hallway to his flock of adoring fuckboy minions. He was an I-don’t-do-relationships type, a U-up-text-at-3am type, a Yo-dude-did-you-see-Zoe-Benson’s-tits-today type, a bro-I’m-so-fucking-baked-right-now type. Just the sound of his voice from across a crowded hallway was enough to make you physically recoil. And the worst part?

Every-fucking-body loved him.

Your complaints about him during lunch would only result in your friends cooing dreamily, as though he were some kind of sympathetic creature that needed babying: But he’s so cute, they’d say, twirling locks of their hair and fiddling with their bracelets. I’m sure he’s not that bad.

But he was that bad, and if they took off their shit-stained, teenage hormone-clouded rose tinted glasses for only a second, they’d see exactly what you saw.

It wasn’t only the students, either. He was able to get away with everything and anything he pleased, whether it be sneaking sips of vodka in a water bottle between classes or ditching class to smoke a joint behind the bleachers. There’d even been rumors that he’d fucked some senior girl in the handicap stall during the autumn pep rally while the rest of the student body was packed like sardines in the sticky-hot gymnasium, subjected to incremental barks from the football coach to scream louder and louder.

How the hell was somebody as pleasant as Miriam the mother of such an incurable douchebag? And how, in all the unholy realms of hell, did your luck get so miserably bad that she ended up with your father?

It was all so fucking unfortunate that you almost wanted to laugh. And you probably would have, if not for the chance that you might puke all over your nice new sweater if you opened your mouth.

“You smell funny, hon,” said Miriam before you could reply. “Was Dan burning incense in his room?”

Oh, god. So she was one of those oblivious parents. You rolled your eyes; it made a lot of sense when you thought about it.

“Huh? Oh. Um, yeah. Incense,” Michael said, before suddenly extending his arm across the table to your father. “Oh shit, how rude of me. I’m Michael. Nice to meet you, man.”

Your father seemed unfazed my Michael’s distinct lack of manners as he accepted the boy’s hand and shook it, and you felt yet another knot twist up in the pit of your stomach as you realized that your father, too, had somehow been cast under Michael’s spell.

“Michael, we talked about this,” Miriam said under her breath, like she was scolding a child who didn’t know any better. “Keep the potty mouth to a minimal when we’re out in public, especially while we’re in such a nice restaurant.”

“Oh, sh…oot, sorry, mom,” Michael said with a faux-sheepish smile, his eyes flickering with amusement despite his supposed remorse. “And sorry to you too, sir. Bad habits.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mike- can I call you Mike?” your father said as they released hands, moving his to rest atop Miriam’s on the cloth-sheathed table. “I remember what it was like being a boy your age.”

You scoffed, loud enough that the table fell silent for a moment, and quickly you disguised it with a cough. Your cheeks went hot as all eyes laid on you, and you frantically scanned your brain for something to fill the silence with.

“So, um,” you said, clearing your throat. “Michael’s, uh, how come Michael’s last name isn’t Mead?”

Fuck. That sounded so fucking stupid. Instinctively, you felt your eyes wander to Michael to see if he was laughing at you, which you hated yourself for; why should his stupid, pea-brained opinion mean anything to you anyway? As much as you wanted to distance yourself from that idiotic, made-up high school hierarchy, you always wound up finding yourself being sucked back in, it seemed.

“Well, my late husband’s last name was Langdon, and since he was kind of a dirtbag, I decided not to keep his name after he passed,” Miriam said slowly, as if taking very careful thought to word herself correctly. You took in a breath; this seemed like a whole new can of worms that you hadn’t meant to open up.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t talk about dad like that,” said Michael, his tone only half-playful, eyebrow cocking as he flashed his mother a knowing look.

“You try being cheated on multiple times, Michael. Then you’ll see that dirtbag is really a nice way of putting it.”

Oh, sure, you thought bitterly. As if Michael fucking Langdon is even remotely capable of understanding someone else’s pain.

You took this as your cue to stand up from your seat, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom before scurrying off in the opposite direction as fast as you could without drawing attention to yourself. If ten minutes with Michael as your psuedo-stepbrother got to you this badly, you could only imagine how awful your life was about to get.

You could only hope that your father would find some reason to nip things in the bud with Miriam, but right now, that appeared to be an unlikely prospect.

iii.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t end my shit right here and now,” you griped to your best friend, who sat crosslegged on your bed as you stood idly before your floor-length mirror, arms dangling limply at your sides in an unintentional stance of defeat. Your face was one that you hardly recognized anymore, forehead creased with worry and eyes shadowed by bruise-colored rings from a seemingly endless barrage of sleepless nights; a week ago, your father had gleefully announced his and Miriam’s engagement; you of course, as his loving daughter, had to behave as though you hadn’t just received the worst news of your life, which somehow you’d pulled off (for a second you wondered why you’d never taken up theater, seeing at how convincing your acting could be sometimes). It was like you’d been plucked from the familiarity of your boring, normal world and dropped into your own personally tailored hell without any warning at all, though you couldn’t think of a single thing you’d done bad enough to warrant you deserving this. “The worst person on the planet is about to be my fucking stepbrother and nobody else seems to think this is a big deal!”

Your best friend shook her head, letting out a snort as if any of this was even remotely funny in the slightest. “So your stepbrother is hot and cool and he pisses you off. They literally make porn about that.”

You resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her until some semblance of sense entered her head, instead shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans with a loud huff. “Yeah, but this isn’t fucking pornhub, (best friend’s name), this is real life! And I’d rather skin myself alive than sleep with that walking STD.”

“You have a lot more self respect than I do. It’s admirable,” she said, still startlingly calm for your liking, and you were beginning to believe that she’d never understand the mental turmoil you were currently suffering with. “Personally I’d ride him into the sunset, whether he had a herpes dick or not.”

You gagged, shaking your head with adamant disgust. Was she really that fucking horny? “You’re sick, you know that?”

“Sick for diiiiick,” she sang back, batting her eyelashes playfully at you. You turned away, scrounging up every weary shred of self restraint within you not to scream.

“Look, (b/f/n). I’m being serious right now. If you fuck him, or suck his dick, or whatever, I will literally never speak to you again.” Your tone was stern, and you faced her again to see whether your seriousness had computed in the hormonal wasteland that was her brain. There was an extended pause as she blinked at you, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully as she chewed her lipgloss-slick bottom lip.

“I mean, he wouldn’t fuck me anyways,” she finally said, still infuriatingly chipper. “I’m nobody. And he’s, like, royalty.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! I don’t care whether you think you have a chance with him!” You realized too late that you were nearly shouting, so you took in a shaky gulp of oxygen and coaxed yourself to soften your tone. The last thing you needed right now was for people to think you were losing your mind, although sometimes that was exactly what you felt like was happening. “Please, just promise me you won’t? I just need one aspect of my life not to involve him. Please?”

“Okay, fine,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest and settling her chin on top. “If it really matters that much to you, I’ll just shift my thirst to Dan Mott instead. That boy is a fucking snack and a half.”

A wave of almost-relief cascaded over your body, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself become one with this momentary victory.  

One year. Just one stupid, insignificant year until I can go away to college and forget all about him.

If you could survive that much, you told yourself, you’d be able survive anything.

You just hoped that intoxicating spell of his wasn’t strong enough to bring your best friend into his web of bullshit, alongside all the other girls who’d become entangled along the way.

If she did, you’d be stranded, left to run from Michael and his ever-expanding army all on your own.

iv.

In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the dreaded date of your father’s wedding ceremony arrived; now you stood amidst a small group of distant relatives at the subdued reception party, seeking refuge from the disturbing thought that, legally, Michael Langdon was now your brother, at the open bar.

You and your best friend had decided to make something of a game out of how many drinks you could finagle from the bartender without any adults noticing, which had ultimately proved to be pointless- an hour into the reception, your father had staggered over with two overflowing dirty Shirleys, thrusting them towards the two of you with a big, sloppy grin on his face.

To say he was in a good mood would be a severe understatement- the man was jovial, and you almost felt guilty for hating the circumstances of his marriage so much. By the raised-brow looks your best friend had been shooting at you all night, you knew she was thinking the same thing: that you were being selfish for worrying so much about yourself when this was the best thing that’d happened to your father in years. And maybe it was true; maybe you’d been so wrapped up in your own teen angst bullshit that you’d willingly blinded yourself from the truth. So, with your father’s beaming face dancing in the back of your mind, you pushed any thought about Michael back to the dredges where they belonged.

Fuck Michael Langdon. You couldn’t allow him the satisfaction of knowing that you were distraught, though you’d surely already made that pretty obvious over the past few months (he’d wasted no time in taunting you about it, seeming to relish in your death glares and eye rolls- hey, future sis! he’d crooned at you as you passed his table in the cafeteria one afternoon, nearly causing you to trip and spill your perfectly mediocre iced coffee all over yourself as his friends cackled like demented hyenas).

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not-

“SIS-TERRRRRR!”

Okay, this had to be some kind of divine test of will.

A blazer-glad arm flung itself around your shoulders and you flinched, immediately jerking away from your intoxicated stepbrother (god, it felt weird to refer to him that way) whose brash motions had sent you both stumbling.

“Getting shitfaced at your mom’s wedding… classy,” you spat, crossing your arms in front of your chest and narrowing your eyes at the blond-haired boy.

He was, admittedly, good-looking (only by conventional standards, of course); his lightly gelled blond hair had long since come undone, now soft and unkempt from hours of attention-whorish dancing, but you thought the disheveled look suited him better anyway (since his whole thing was to look like a grimy, rugged fuckboy, not because you personally found it attractive, obviously). He’d undone the top few buttons of his white top (no doubt the only formal article of clothing he owned), which was now stained beyond foreseeable repair with a colorful variety of liquids, and there was a bead of sweat traveling from his slick forehead to his model-sharp jaw. Even in disarray, he looked good, and you couldn’t help but hate him for it.

“God, you are so uptight,” he said, pale eyes flickering towards the multicolored ceiling in exaggerated annoyance as he dragged out his syllables with leisure. “You need to relax, set up a dick appointment or something. Or pussy appointment, I don’t know what you’re into.”

Your mouth fell open at this remark, too stunned by his vulgarity to even get angry with your friend, who had dissolved into a fit of giggles beside you; it wasn’t that you were some pearl-clutching grandmother- you had no issue discussing sexual matters with your friends, and in fact some would even say you had a perverted sense of humor. But this? This was different: something about the way those words had fallen from Michael’s mouth made you feel dirty.

At your lack of response, Michael flashed a pearly grin that could only be categorized as evil, and he crossed his arms to mimic your stance. “Oh, sorry. I forgot that you’re probably still a virgin.”

He glanced over to your friend, whose feeble attempts to suppress her second wave of laughter had proven unsuccessful, before averting his gaze back to you. “Aw, don’t feel bad, (y/n). There’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer.”

Then, as if to punctuate his words, he smirked.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line, you felt something like a storm swirling inside of you, winds thick and unyielding and relentless, and you were almost positive that you’d tear him apart once the feeling aligned with the rest of your body.

It was then that the song blaring through the speakers switched to something inappropriately upbeat, each thump of the dance-friendly bass feeling like punches to the gut.

The storm inside you hadn’t been giving way to anger at all; it was sadness you were feeling in your belly, hopeless and humiliated sadness, though you couldn’t quite understand why: he’d made some stupid, generic joke to try and get a rise out of you- what else was new these days? Maybe it was the fact that your best friend was, by her passiveness and obvious amusement at your expense, encouraging his taunts when she was supposed to be there for you. Or maybe the reality had finally, finally sunken in, that this kind of interaction with Michael would now consume your life for the next year.

Either way, it didn’t make a difference, and as if on cue, the familiar sting of unshed tears arrived patiently at the back of your eyes.

All at once you were were dizzy; Michael’s perfect face was doubling and distorting before your eyes, and your friend’s pitched laughter rang like incessant, robotic television static in your ears.

With very last straw of self preservation you could grasp, you said nothing at all, walking away with the dazed sluggishness of a zombie on autopilot.

You considered yourself lucky; soon enough, you wouldn’t have the luxury of walking away at all.

“She’s too sensitive,” you heard your friend say, faintly, in the background of your thoughts.

You didn’t have the energy to wonder why she wasn’t coming with you, much less the energy to chastise her for being a bad friend, which was what you knew she deserved. If she cared more about getting Michael’s attention than preserving her friendship with you, you supposed there was no use in trying to stop her anymore.

He’s like a disease, you thought as you ambled your way towards the bathroom, surrounded by people but yet still so alone. He’s like a disease, infecting everyone he touches.

It was only a matter of time, you supposed, before he got to you, too.

Who knew? Maybe he already had.

tagging some people from my old iiw tag list!: (i’m sorry if i tagged anyone twice, i’m literally half asleep right now cuz i got like 2 hours of sleep in the past 24 hrs lol) @wroteclassicaly @ritualmichael @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @trelaney  @kissydevil @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @ccodyfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @bademliimagnum @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer  @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @fckinsupreme @hisgirlwonder @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @littledemondani @beriveri  @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @discocalico @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @chocolateandhorror @michaelsfrenchtoast  @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy  @imjustasadhoe @melodylangdon  @codycrazy @perfect-ginger-maniac @baphomet-wears-gucci @bigstudentpatrolbonk @jazzcowgirl @a-n-t-s @langdonsblood @ritualmichael @myluciferiscody @fentycoven @gracebtw @bongwaternation  @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @hoseokchild @witchywcmans @satanicbimbo @lvngdvns​ @langdonskillerqueen​ @aradevil​ @anemia-doll​ @muralskins​ @funtomimagines​ @mrssgtjamesbuckybarnes​ @our-mrlangdon​ @lotsofhunny​ @sevenwonderwitch​ @horrorstreet​ @kpopmademedo-it​ @naughtygranger​ @codyshands​ @krazycags01​ @skullag​

#michael langdon #is it wrong #michael langdon x reader #mine #michael langdon fic #ahs #american horror story #apocalypse #ahs apocalypse #cody fern #x reader #ahs x reader