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scwheeler · 2 years

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🏹 ˖ ࣪⊹ — past tense

pairing: mike wheeler x fem!reader

summary: you’ve had a crush on mike wheeler since birth, however he’s never been too fond of you. but high schools coming up and after a few events, you finally get over mike but how the tables turn…

warnings: asshole mike 🖕🖕🖕

age of pairing: 15-16

a/n: this was originally the flipped fic i made first but i changed it up a little and was just bored ALSO IT BARELY MAKES SENSE LOL

june 24th, 1981

you had just finished your third lap around the neighborhood on your bike. it was summer yet the heat was bearable, at least to be outside before two p.m. or else you had to smother yourself with sunscreen to prevent getting burned. you thought it was a good idea to head home now as you biked around the corner to see your familiar washed down yellow house.

what was unfamiliar was the three white moving trucks pulling up the house next to yours. it was a large white house that had been empty for some time now. you expected some elderly couple or family of like eight kids to move in. but as you parked your bike on the driveway of your house, you walked towards one of the trucks that had people in it.

there was a little boy with dark hair and a navy jacket on. it was summer and he was wearing a jacket? who was this kid? he had his back turned to you, making you more curious. you started to jog to him and a man who was giving him brown cardboard boxes bigger than his torso. it was probably his dad. he had thick glasses and a come over like most guys you saw at the grocery market and shopping mall.

they were in the moving truck and moving around boxes so you jumped in, “hi! you need some help?” you reached for one of the boxes that had a red label ‘FRAGILE’ which you disregarded. “whoa there, that’s some heavy stuff, why don’t you head on home little girl,” he shooed you away and put a foot on the box you were reaching for, preventing you from carrying it.

you didn’t take it personally, lots of people probably don’t want a strange girl taking their belongings. “hey dad—” the boy peered into the moving truck where you and his dad stood. he stopped himself once his eyes laid on you. he seemed scared more than friendly.

he had a band-aid on his chin and freckles on his cheeks. he wore a stripped collar shirt under his jacket and plain khaki pants, reaching all the way to his black sneakers. wow was he dressed for winter! you were paying too much attention to what he was wearing you didn’t even realize he was speaking.

you only looked at his face. once your eyes met his, you knew this boy was going to be yours. no matter what.

august 16th, 1981

“—and when we got there it was the beach, like everywhere!” your classmate carly kept talking about her trip to california as the rest of the girls listened in awe. living in hawkins had its perks sometimes but not having a beach was not one of them. however you didn’t really care about what she did or what she was saying.

it was the first day of fifth grade and the only thing you were excited for was the teacher to bring in the new student. your next door neighbor, mike wheeler. throughout the hot summer days, he was the only thing that made those days hotter. you felt your cheeks warm up whenever he would reluctantly knock on your door to drop off a pie or any treat his mom was baking that week.

those days were the days you waited all week for. every friday evening you would look your best, wearing your hair in the cutest ways and putting on the clean clothes fresh out of the laundry so you could smell the sweet flower scent. you would also prevent anymore else from approaching the door.

you stood next to the door, in front of the mirror adjusting your hair while waiting for him to arrive at about seven to knock on the front door. you would wait exactly six seconds so he wouldn’t realize that you were literally waiting on hand and foot for him.

what you didn’t know was he basically saw you through the small side window, standing there counting in your head until finally deciding to get the door. he thought it was weird. he thought you were weird. when his mom would nag him weekly to take a new baked treat over to your house, he thought he was getting punished.

he would have to go all the way down the stairs and get the plate or tin and walk over to your house next door. he complained that the walk felt like a whole marathon when in reality it was only about twenty steps maximum. then he would knock on the door not even bothering to press the doorbell because you had probably had touched it.

he would watch you wait like ten seconds until finally answering the door with a bright smile and thank him a million times. he would keep a straight face and just nod, not one word coming out of his mouth during the last six weeks he’s been doing this.

you would always take any chance to play with him. if he was outside about to get on his bike, you would rush outside without a care in the world if you stumbled down the stairs or hit your knee on a stair. but the instant you would get on your bike, you saw him peddling away like he was trying to get away from zombies. you thought he was going to go meet someone or had something to do, like being the newspaper boy? so you didn’t mind it.

sometimes when you felt like it (basically always) you would get on your bike and chase him, following where he was going. he was just going in laps like you did which meant technically he couldn’t say this following because you were just a fellow neighborhood kid riding their bike around.

you tried your hardest to catch up to him, so you could chat with him or even go somewhere with him but you didn’t know if it was if he had iron lungs and mechanical legs or because he always had a head start, his back would always be turned.

beginning school was the next dreaded thing mike was worried for. not because it’s a new school and he didn’t know anyone. he did know someone, you. mainly that was why he dreaded it. he would have to pass the halls and avoid you to the fullest. what if he ended up with the same teacher as you? then he knew he’d be screwed.

“everyone, this is michael wheeler. i’d like you guys to be nice and respectful to him, please sit down beside y/n. y/n raise your hand,” the teacher spoke carefully and guided him towards you who had a hand up as if there was a star to be reached. ‘how could the universe love you so much!’ you thought.

how could the universe hate him so much, mike thought.

he walked towards his seat that was sat to the right of you. you watched as he slowly sat down and pulled out a blue notebook, the same as yours. yours had a few peeled off sticker residue and markings from previous pens and pencils but it was the same alright.

mike didn’t spare you or your desk a glance to notice so you thought it’d be best to let him know. while the teachers back was turned and faced the blackboard to write down the agenda, you leaned to your right side. “mike—mike, look we’re matching!” he looked at you holding up your notebook like the nobel piece prize and groaned.

not the reaction you expected but it was mike wheeler after all. he would always find a way to avoid you but you were already there. he was hiding and you were next to him. almost attached! for the rest of the day, he looked away from you, facing his right side instead of his left where you sat.

he was talking to lucas and will, two boys who sat near him as well. you’ve never talked to them before even though you spent the last four years of school with them. they seemed weird, not like geeky weird, but like they couldn’t hold a conversation with you. maybe it was early puberty?

either way, you sat in silence. looking at the board but stealing a few glances to peek at mike from the corner of your eye. he was passing notes and laughing with the others boys. looks like he already got himself some new friends. friends that didn’t include you.

june 7th, 1984

tying your white shoelaces to your red sneakers, you entered the classroom for the last day of school. your hair was tied back into a ponytail and moved from side to side as you approached the library. you wanted to return all the books from this school year before you forgot and then finally get to enjoy the start of summer.

as you put it back onto the shelves, you overheard a familiar voice. mike. instead of walking away to spend your summer day, you leaned towards the bookshelf and waited for the boys to speak again. “people will think you’re doing charity mike!” one of the boys said. “yeah i’m not one to be mean but she’s so gross like she’s been obsessed with you forever and did you see her stupid yard?” “that piece of shit!” “shut up it’s a library shhhh,” one of them said. “mike come one be honest.”

you gripped onto the books in your arms and waited for mikes response. “yeah i would kill myself if i was seen with her,” he laughed. you immediately ran out, getting out of the school and getting on your bike. without another thought you rushed inside your house and to your room.

january 3rd, 1985

mike had made it clear he didn’t reciprocate your feelings and even though it was hard, you swallowed your emotions and decided to give up. other than the conversations you had practically forced him into, he never made the effort to talk to you. basically avoiding you for the last four years. so the last day of ninth grade you expected it to the same. and it was.

until you got home. you stood in disbelief in the middle of your kitchen as your mom spoke to you. the words “dinner at the wheelers,” sounded incorrect like you had a hearing problem. but when she repeated it, you realized it was true. “but they’ve never invited us over in like the four years they’ve lived here?” you asked and sat on at the table.

“what matters y/n, at least they’re noticing now,” your mom responded and before you could mutter ‘that’s ridiculous’ you walked out and into your room. sitting on at the desk, you stared down at your textbooks, “mike wheeler…what could he want now?” you’d eventually gotten over him, as you do with most crushes so you didn’t mind going over for dinner.

you weren’t going to be a stuttering, blushing mess and you would be polite and kind. especially to his parents and not mind him any extra attention. but why now? why after these three long years would be invite your family over?

the afternoon came sooner than you thought and you found yourself in a clean formal outfit with a homemade key-lime pie in your hand, waiting in front the mike wheeler’s door. it would be a lie if said you hadn’t been facing this door a million times. you used to come and knock on his door almost every weekend and everyday in summer, asking him to play or come over but his response was a quick decline.

at first he was nice about it, saying he had to help his mom or making up another lame excuse but than he stopped trying to even be somewhat kind about declining your offer. you could see him through the living room window, reading a book and gritting his teeth while you pressed his doorbell time after time. he would ignore you or make one of his other family members get the door, so he could avoid you at all costs.

it was disappointing to say the least but you still saw him at school. you waved to him every chance you got but after experiencing his unresponsiveness for about the seventieth time, you quit. he probably never even noticed your existence at this point!

but mike knew. he always knew, and he was different than you thought. once you stopped caring about him and knocking on his door or taking any chance to make him look at you, he realized something. he missed it, he missed you. it was now him searching for you in the class and him who stared out his bedroom window to see if you would walk over and ring the doorbell.

he didn’t like you. even if only as a friend, he would never admit it. but seeing you view him unlike before changed his mind. he liked your bright personality and your eagerness to try anything. sometimes he would sit in his room, staring at his math homework but thinking about you. how on the bus, you walked right passed him and sat next to timothee brown! crazy! everyone knew timothee was weird and no one ever would sit next to him. to seem unnoticeable, whenever someone boarded the bus, he would look at you who was looking at timothee. chatting, talking, laughing!

he would think to himself, “what was she laughing about? how could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful!” however he could only turn around and stare out the window while his friend dustin continued to talk about dnd. why was this happening to him! he hated you. he hated you. always had and always will, so why was he dreaming about you every night and imagining what you were doing during class, outside of school, while with his friends, at dinner, during homework, and even when he was watching tv!

you were like a song he couldn’t get out of his head.

a bad song.

there was a knock at his front door and as much as he wanted it to be you, his face showed different emotions. you stood with a pie in your hand and in front of his door once again. wasn’t this want he wanted? but it wasn’t. you looked forced, annoyed. how he looked whenever you would come up to talk to him.

it wasn’t like before, no immediate hugs or jumps to conversations. you walked straight to the kitchen and helped mikes mom set the table. he only watched you walk right past him and ignore him. ignore him! he finally was going to speak to you and now his time was up? it was like a video game and he had used all this lives.

you tried to kept your composure, but to be honest when he opened the door with his shaggy dark brown hair, almost a shade of black and burgundy covering down to his eyebrow and straight freshly-ironed gray collared sweater, your heart slipped almost a beat. scratch that. make that three beats.

before he could look up, you turned your attention to nancy in the background who smiled and waved to you. quickly to divert his attention, you ran inside without a hello and entered the kitchen to help with dinner. brushing past mikes shoulder, deep inside you wished you paused and said hi whcih could possibly have sparked a conversation but he never did in the past three years so why would he start now!

sitting at a wooden dinner table could never have been more awkward. your parents and his had small conversations but mostly about work and school, meaning you and mike were out of the question. luckily you turned your head to nancy and instantly started to ask her stuff about high school. she gladly responded to your questions. she was so sweet, you kept your eyes away from in front of you and to the side where she was sitting. mike who was facing you was waiting for you to be done but you had no intention of stopping.

when nancy and you finished your conversation, you went up to use the restroom twice, forgot to turn off your record player in your room, and finally dinner ended. all of these were excuses to avoid talking to mike and he clearly noticed. at the end of dinner and everyone was settled in the living room, you excused yourself to your room so you could finish your homework.

surprisingly this was true, mr. dons just handed out an essay assignment due this week and you forgot to do it. you sat on your desk, opening your cabinets to get your notebooks and grabbing a few pencils. once you wrote the first word “the,” there was a knock at your door.

“come in!” you said and assumed it was your mom bringing you a snack or to tell you the wheeler’s were finally leaving. but it wasn’t. “sorry to disturb you,” he apologized softly and approached you. you sighed, “what do you want?” he was nervous, looking around your room. he saw a small red notebook on top of your dresser, he looked back to you with your eyes glued to your papers. he carefully reached for it, “don’t touch that.” you turned around and stared at him, “seriously mike what are you doing here?”

“i just wanted to talk to you,” mike said and sat on your bed. you turned back to your homework, “well i don’t want to talk to you.” “why?” he asked, further agitating you. “because—i just don’t,” you groaned and tried focusing on the words in textbooks but you couldn’t with the presence of mike wheeler.

“i thought you liked me,” mike mumbled which finally grasped your attention. “liked.” you replied, making mike finally leave your room.

#*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧scwheeler #mike wheeler x you #mike wheeler x y/n #mike wheeler x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st 4 vol 2 #mike x reader #mike stranger things #mike wheeler #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x y/n #finn wolfhard x you

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swanqueenelmaxshadowhunters · 5 months

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It was Eleven's first Christmas, and she couldn't be more excited. The whole concept was still new to her, but El enjoyed seeing houses and businesses adorned, the large Christmas trees with all those colorful balls and other ornaments, not to mention the snow.

People also seemed to have a penchant for themed sweaters, and that was one of the things Eleven liked the most. Most people said they were horrible, and especially the boys, like Mike, refused to wear anything resembling a Christmas sweater, but El loved them.

Hopper had bought her four sweaters with Joyce's help, and El suspected, with Max's assistance as well. Although Max claimed not to be a fan of such things, Max knew El's tastes better than anyone, even better than Mike.

Thinking about Max made the corners of Eleven's mouth curve up in an involuntary smile and brought warmth to her heart. Since the events of that fateful July 4th, they had started spending more time together. At first, El felt guilty about everything that had happened, especially Billy's death, even though he wasn't a good person, especially to Max.

El knew she didn't understand relationships very well, and she didn't understand, especially, how Max could feel so bad about Billy's death, but Max was her friend, and she was very sad, and El hated seeing her that way. Not to mention the nightmares.

Right after Billy's death, Max told her that things were ugly at her home, with Neil arguing with her mom more and more intensely. El knew she couldn't use her powers on Neil, but she could try to keep Max safe, so she always found an excuse for Max to sleep in the cabin, and Hopper seemed more than happy to accommodate her requests.

When Max woke up screaming and crying on the first night, Eleven woke up startled, but seeing her friend's state, the shock was replaced by guilt and concern. She didn't know what to do; all the movies she had ever watched never showed how to comfort a friend.

So, El let her instincts speak. She pulled Max close and hugged her as best as she could, and felt relieved when Max didn't reject her approach, but instead buried her head in her neck and gripped her pajama shirt, letting tears flow freely as sobs shook her entire body. Despite the trauma and sadness that moment represented for Max, and for El too, she couldn't help but like how it brought them even closer.

"Earth to Eleven."

Dustin's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she noticed he was staring at her. "What?"

"Is everything okay? You were—" Dustin shrugged. "I don't know, seemed like you were far away."

"But I didn't go anywhere." Eleven furrowed her eyebrows, looking confused at Dustin.

"No." He smiled. "It's like when we start thinking about something, or remembering something, and get carried away by it, you know?"

"Ah." Eleven's eyes shifted to Max for a moment, then back to Dustin. "I think I know."

Eleven watched in silence as Dustin, always so perceptive, seemed to study her for a moment, as if deciding something, and then he just shrugged and asked, "How are you liking Christmas so far?"

"I like the lights and the sweaters." El smoothed her sweater as if to make a point.

"Sweaters are great! I don't know why Mike doesn't like them."

"Mike doesn't like a lot of things." Max grumbled from where she was, helping Robin put up some lights on the wall.

"Not true, I like plenty of things." Mike replied, coming from Joyce's room, with Will right behind him, each carrying a cardboard box. "But these sweaters are ridiculous."

"Your hair is ridiculous, and no one says anything."

Max shot back, giving Mike a challenging look. El watched the scene and felt her heart warm. She knew that was Max's way of defending her interests, and she liked how Max didn't care if she had to argue with Mike or anyone else to defend her. Not that she needed someone to defend her, but it was nice to know there was someone willing to do so.

She smiled, seeing Max narrow her eyes at Mike, and the way she lifted her chin slightly.

She knew the other boys would hardly stand against Mike, especially Will, even though they were almost brothers now, and she understood. They had been friends for many years, and she was the outsider. Just like Max.

Maybe that's what brought them together, in parts. And it was good to have someone to talk to and spend time with beyond Mike and the boys, especially now that she and Mike were no longer together. Someone to teach her things that Mike could never. And who understood her.

"She's doing it again."

Dustin's voice brought Eleven out of her thoughts, and she looked at him for a moment. "Sorry."

"Nah, no need to apologize." Dustin smiled and tossed a ball to her. "Help me finish decorating the tree."

Eleven nodded and joined Dustin and Steve to decorate the Hopper-Byers Christmas tree.

Yes, that was another thing Eleven liked a lot; since the events on July 4th, Hopper and Joyce had started going out, or as Max had explained to her, having dates. It was good because Hopper smiled a lot now, and so did Joyce.

And it was really nice to have a large family, even though Eleven was still getting used to all this. Being closer to town, she and Hopper had moved to Joyce's house a few months after the July 4th events.

She wasn't sure how it had happened, but one day Joyce came to the cabin to talk to her and ask if Eleven would like to live with her, Hopper, and the boys in her house.

What Eleven liked most about Joyce was that she didn't try to use anything to convince El about anything. Instead, she sat and talked with her, giving options, explaining things, and letting Eleven decide what she would do.

Max's laughter filled the room, drawing Eleven's attention, and she smiled widely at seeing her friend on the floor with Robin on top of her. Robin had fallen from the ladder. Again. Eleven didn't know Robin as well as Dustin, Erica, or Max, but she liked her. Robin was funny and smart, and she made Max laugh. That was one of the things El liked most about Robin.

"Oh my God, are you guys okay?"

Joyce came from the kitchen upon hearing the noise, hands covered in flour and something else.

"We're fine, Mrs. Byers." Max laughed, pushing Robin. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize, dear." Joyce smiled kindly, and her gaze shifted to Eleven. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Eleven nodded, her eyes finally leaving Max. "I'm fine."

The door opened, bringing in a blast of cold air as Jonathan, Hopper, and Nancy entered with more Christmas shopping; food, last-minute decorations, and extra gifts.

"Hello, kiddo."

Hopper ruffled Eleven's hair as he passed by her. Eleven smiled at him but didn't stop what she was doing. She picked up another ornament from one of the boxes Will and Mike brought from the room and busied herself helping the boys decorate the tree.

Jonathan joined them and went to help Steve with other decorations while Nancy took the Christmas lights from Robin's hands, instructing her to help Max hold the ladder so she could put the lights on the wall.

Surprisingly, Lucas was helping Joyce in the kitchen. Apparently, he had a hidden talent and a taste for cooking that caught everyone by surprise, but no one was complaining or judging him.

"After we finish here, we're going to make snowmen," Mike said, his smile widening.

"Snowmen?" Eleven furrowed her eyebrows.

"Yeah, with the amount of snow piling up in the backyard, we can make a bunch of them!" Will said, excited. "But don't worry, El, we'll show you how to do it."

Eleven nodded, and without even realizing what she was doing, her eyes met Max's across the room. Her lips curled up into an involuntary smile, and she felt relieved when Max said, "You got this!"

(...)

After finishing decorating the tree, walls, and doors, Eleven and the others headed to the backyard of the Hopper-Byers house. The house was larger than when El first set foot there; when Joyce asked if she would like to live with her and the boys and Eleven said yes, Joyce and Hopper started the project of renovating the house to accommodate everyone. It wasn't a big house like Mike's or the other boys', but it was cozy and familial, and most importantly: Eleven felt safe there.

"Here, let me help you with this," Joyce said, stopping Eleven on the porch. "There you go, now you're ready." She said, closing the zipper of Eleven's winter coat and adjusting a beanie on her head.

"Thank you."

"Come on, El, let's go."

Eleven felt her heart race, as it always did every time Max took her hand and smiled at her that way, highlighting her dimples. She ran hand in hand with Max across the yard and joined the boys, who were making snowballs with their hands and throwing them at each other.

"Hey, you idiots, be careful!"

Max shouted, sending an irritated glance toward the boys when a snowball came too close to Eleven's head.

"Sorry, El!" Lucas offered an apologetic smile.

Eleven looked at the boys, one by one, and then exchanged a glance with Max, in a silent conversation only they understood. Max nodded, and Eleven's smile widened.

She looked back at the boys, her expression neutral as she focused on her powers and made a massive snowball float just above the boys' heads. She exchanged another brief glance with Max, who nodded, and Eleven turned to the boys with a smile on her face that they knew well at this point.

With a slight nod of her head, the snowball fell onto the boys, and she and Max burst into laughter.

"Hey, that's not fair!"

"This is cheating!"

"I'm going to freeze to death."

The girls' laughter intensified in the face of the boys' indignation and drama, and soon Steve, Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan were by their side to see what had happened.

"What-" Steve blinked, confused. "Did you do that?" He turned to Eleven, eyebrows raised slightly.

Eleven just nodded, laughing. Her eyes sparkled with innocent mischief, and soon everyone was laughing at the boys partially trapped under the snowball.

"Well done, you idiots." Max stuck her tongue out at the boys and pulled Eleven by the hand. "I think here is good to build our snowmen."

"If you say so."

To anyone else, this simple phrase might sound rude or dismissive, but El knew that Max already knew her well enough to know that it was just her agreeing with Max.

"First, you do it like this," Max said, kneeling in the snow and grabbing a handful of snow between her hands, forming a small ball. "You make a snowball like this, and you keep adding snow to this ball until it's about thirty centimeters."

Eleven nodded and started doing the same as Max, gathering snow until she formed a ball large enough for them to place on the ground and roll it to achieve the ideal size for the bottom part.

With the corner of her eye, Eleven noticed that the boys had already been freed from the snow and were building their own snowmen.

She turned her attention back to the snowman she was building with Max, and soon they moved on to the middle part. Building the snowman was faster and easier than Eleven expected - especially when you have powers and can use them to stack the snowballs on top of each other, she thought. Once they finished, they ran inside the house to grab scarves, hats, and other things to decorate their snowmen.

They placed carrots as noses, blue bouncing rubber balls and green gems for eyes, and colorful pebbles for the teeth. Eleven put a blue scarf on her snowman, and Max put a red one on hers.

"Now we need sticks for the arms," Max said.

Eleven joined her in searching for the ideal sticks for their snowmen's arms, and after a few minutes, they were complete. The boys', however, were still halfway done. That's because every now and then, they interrupted the snowman building to play snowball wars or to mock each other's snowman-building skills.

With not much else to do, they joined the boys in the snowball fights and chases, zigzagging between the snowmen in the yard.

Eleven had never felt such happiness in her life as in that moment; surrounded by people she loved and trusted, people who cared about her and saw her as more than a girl with special powers.

She never imagined it was possible to feel such joy, the kind that feels like your heart might leap out of your chest at any moment, and this feeling intensified when she and Max fell into the snow - breathless and sweaty - with Max on top of her.

Her eyes locked onto Max's, and Eleven felt her heart race. Max's blue eyes were already mesmerizing on an ordinary day, but in that moment, against the gray sky and with cheeks red and glowing with a happiness Eleven hadn't seen in months, they seemed even bluer, even more captivating. Eleven felt her breath catch in her throat as Max's eyes dropped to her lips, and she thought she saw something in them, like when Mike went in for a kiss, but she wasn't sure.

"Hey, dingus, let's go inside before we become part of the decoration."

Robin's voice interrupted that moment, and Max's eyes widened as she quickly got up; her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. She reached out to Eleven and helped her up, but for some reason, it seemed like she was avoiding her eyes.

"Come on, let's have hot chocolate to ward off the cold!"

Joyce called from the door, and Eleven followed Max inside. She still held her hand, but something felt different. Max seemed tense and thoughtful, and El wanted to ask her if she had done something wrong, something that upset her, but she knew she would have to wait until they were alone for that.

As they entered, each one hung their coats on a hook. Hopper was in the living room, sitting in his armchair and sipping on a mug of hot chocolate, but Eleven was pretty sure it wasn't just chocolate in there. He smiled at her, and she returned his smile.

Mike, Will, Dustin, and Lucas sprawled out on the carpet, all talking at the same time and gesturing wildly. Jonathan and Steve went to the kitchen to help Joyce bring trays of hot chocolate and cookies, while Nancy, Robin, and Erica settled on a sofa.

Eleven pulled Max by the hand, and they sat on the carpet near where Nancy was. El liked to look at Nancy. She was so different from Mike, with her big, intense, blue eyes, completely different from her brother's dark brown eyes.

"Your snowman looks really nice," Nancy said, pulling Eleven out of her thoughts.

"It's the first time I've made one."

"You've never made a snowman before?" Robin's eyes widened, and she grumbled when Nancy nudged her.

"She lived in a lab, dingus. I doubt that old man made snowmen there."

Max's protective tone made Eleven smile involuntarily, and she noticed Nancy and Robin exchanging a look, like the ones she and Max exchanged sometimes, but at the same time, it was different.

"But now you're here, and you'll build many snowmen from now on," Nancy said gently.

"Yes," Eleven smiled. "And I can also go to the arcade, and to the movies, and I learned how to ride a bike. Hopper even gave me one!"

"The next step is learning to skateboard," Robin said, wiggling her eyebrows.

"I prefer to watch Max do that. She's really good at it."

"And to think that when you two first met, you looked like you were going to rip Max's head off," Steve said playfully, coming with a tray of cookies for the girls.

"Things changed. Now I don't want to knock her off the skateboard anymore."

"Wait, you were the one who knocked me off the skateboard that day at the schoolyard?" Max's eyes widened comically, her mouth open in disbelief.

"Maybe." Eleven bit her lip, trying to hold back a smile.

"Oh, you're so in trouble for that." Max said, narrowing her eyes and pushing Eleven, falling on top of her again.

Eleven gasped and burst into laughter when Max started tickling her. When Jonathan approached with the tray of hot chocolates, Max stopped tickling Eleven and helped her sit up, and although that had been a normal moment between them - Max often tickled her - while sitting, Eleven noticed that Max was still avoiding her gaze a little.

Eleven tried not to care about it and not to dwell on it at that moment. Later, she would ask Max, and whatever it was, they would figure it out together. She accepted the mug of chocolate that Jonathan handed her and focused on eating some cookies.

After eating and drinking, everyone settled in the living room to watch a movie, and it took longer debating which movie to watch than to actually watch it.

After the movie ended, Joyce went to the kitchen to check on dinner while Hopper, Jonathan, and Steve set the table. Will, Mike, Lucas, and Dustin took charge of tidying up the living room, while Nancy, Robin, Max, Erica, and El helped bring dishes from the kitchen to the dining room.

El had just placed a plate on the table and was heading back to the kitchen when she nearly bumped into Max.

"Sorry, I was distracted," Eleven said, still standing in front of Max.

"Oh, oh!" Robin's voice made El shift her gaze from Max to her. "Mistletoe!"

"What?"

El and Max asked simultaneously, but Eleven could sense a nervousness in Max's voice that rarely made an appearance. She looked at her friend and saw that she was as white as the sheet she once used for a Halloween costume.

"Mistletoe. You know what that means," Robin wiggled her eyebrows, but despite the gesture, there was no malicious intent in her.

"No, she doesn't!"

Max shot a furious look at Robin. Eleven knew she had a lot to catch up on, but she didn't understand why Max seemed so upset. Max blushed, turning as red as a ripe tomato, and El, oblivious to social implications, was genuinely confused.

"What's the mis... mistle-"

"Mistletoe," Steve said, appearing beside her.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It's just a silly tradition," Max quickly said.

"What tradition?" Eleven asked, ignoring Max's eye roll. She knew Max did that when she was annoyed or upset, and she knew it wasn't anything personal against her.

"According to tradition, when two people find themselves under the mistletoe, they should-" Steve gestured vaguely.

"I don't understand."

"Oh, for God's sake." Max huffed, annoyed, even redder than before. "According to tradition, when two people meet under the mistletoe, they're supposed to kiss."

"Oh." El's eyes widened, still innocent, and she looked at Max. "Oh! Do you want to... kiss?" she asked.

Max hesitated, her eyes shifting between El and the mistletoe. She managed a small, uneasy smile. "We don't have to, El. It's just a silly tradition."

"Ah." Eleven didn't know why, but the fact that Max seemed uncomfortable with the idea of kissing her made her feel sad.

Max took a deep breath, seeming to notice El's unease. "I mean, we can if you want, but it's not a big deal." She nervously chuckled, looking at Steve and Robin, who tried to contain their amusement.

She couldn't understand why Max seemed so bothered by this seemingly harmless tradition, but the subtle uncertainty in Max's eyes caught her attention. "If it's just a tradition, why not do it? Traditions are supposed to be fun, right?"

"Yeah, you're right. It's just a silly tradition." She then turned her attention to the mistletoe. "Okay, let's do it."

El tilted her head, still unsure. She didn't want to upset her best friend.

Max leaned in, giving El a gentle kiss on the cheek. The room fell silent for a moment, and El touched her cheek, feeling the warmth there.

"Oh, come on!" Robin grumbled.

Max rolled her eyes again, her cheeks even redder than before. "Fine, you want a real kiss?"

She turned to El, who nodded, now understanding the situation a bit better.

Eleven watched as Max leaned in slowly, her eyes locked on El’s. As their lips met, El's eyes fluttered closed as the new sensations swirled within her.

The room faded away, leaving only the warmth of Max's lips against hers. The kiss was sweet and innocent, yet filled with unspoken emotions. El found herself enjoying the sensation, and a small smile played on her lips. Max's kiss was gentle yet firm, so different from Mike's sloppy ones.

Before she could fully process what was happening, Max had pulled away again, and El immediately missed their closeness. Although she still didn't understand many things, that kiss made her comprehend a bit the confusing feelings she had been experiencing toward Max for the past few months.

As they pulled away, there was a discreet celebration from Steve and Robin. "It was about time!" Steve smiled, clapping.

She tucked a strand of hair behind El's ear. "Well, that was unexpected."

Max chuckled, her cheeks still very red, and her eyes sparkling in a way Eleven hadn't seen in a long time.

"I liked it. Can we do it again?"

"Sure, El. As many times as you want."

Max was still as red as a tomato, but she didn't seem upset anymore, Eleven noticed. This time it was El who leaned in and pressed her lips softly against Max's. “Okay.”

(let me know if you are interested in reading Max pov as well.)

#elmax #stranger things #max mayfield #eleven hopper #elmax fanfic #elmax fic #christmas fic #elmax first kiss #mad max #max x eleven #stranger things fanfiction #eleven stranger things #max stranger things

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kettlefire · 2 years

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Vomit Pile #3

Fandom: Stranger things

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Summary: Steve Harrington was raised to never be a bother, to always be invisible unless he was a rising star. Sometimes... sometimes you can't live the way you were taught. Especially when the man you've been falling for shows up in the middle of a rain storm.

Warning: Angst without a happy ending.

Steve Harrington knew nothing more that being a popular kid. If he was going to get his parents attention it was going to be this way. He was going to be great at sports, or catching all the girls attention.

Things his parents could brag about.

The he met Eddie Munson. Eddie fucking Munson.

He was jealous. How could he not be? Dustin made a new friend. A friend that was apparently so much cooler than him. Steve couldn't blame him.

To himself, he was nothing more than a 2D piece of cardboard. He shared basically nothing with these kids when it came to interests.

Then Eddie showed up. With his perfect long hair, and large brown eyes. Suddenly, all Steve could think about was Eddie.

Eddie Fucking Munson.

And the way he shifted his voice when called for. The way he left the kids laughing with tears. And the way all his kids would go to him for advice, or for their nerd things.

Steve hated it. He would wish Eddie never came into their life, but he also knew that Eddie was making it easier for everyone there.

The day Mike found out Eddie was gay, he left and talked to Will. The tension that was building between the group vanished in the matter of days.

After Steve spent months trying to get everyone to be okay with each other. After Steve spent nights awake, and stressing over it all. Eddie showed up, and within days, it was fixed.

Don't even get Steve started on how well Eddie connected with Max.

Max who fought him every time he showed concern. Max who yelled, and got defensive when he tried to show any interest in her life.

Steve hated Eddie.

But he also loved him.

Loved him for showing up and being there for the kids. Helping them in ways Steve could only dreamed to do. He wanted to always hate Eddie, but every time the nerd opened his mouth-it changed.

Every time Steve saw the way the kids stared up at him like he was a god. It shifted. The hate and jealousy Steve felt at first turned into something else.

Something Steve couldn't name.

Not that he'd tell the kids. He will take this to his grave. He won't tell a soul about the way he tried hard not to flush when he's called 'big boy'. Or the way he felt a warmth grow in him like a rising sun, every time the kids' face lit up seeing Eddie.

Eddie was his internal secret he won't tell anyone about.

Except Robin.

How could he not gush to her, and she took all his annoying rants in strides. Hell, most of the time he's sure she knew about his man-crush before he did.

He had to tell her, after the day she helped him realize he was bisexual, how could he hide this from her.

Ignoring his internal turmoil, Steve was there every time Eddie needed a safe place to stay. Every time Eddie needed to vent about how he was trying to start living with his uncle.

Every time Eddie needed to feel safe enough to cry.

It was never at the Munson household. Eddie hated his parents. Hate was a strong word... Eddie feared them, in a way Steve would never understand. Regardless, Steve was always there.

He stamped out his heart, so he could be the safe space for Eddie. Just like he was for everyone else.

Until that night.

It was pouring rain, you could barely see five feet in front of yourself. So, Steve opted to stay in. He kept himself busy with records, and the occasional call to Robin before phone lines went down.

He saw how his day was going, and resigned himself to a lonely night in with his music.

Until the knock.

The bone-soaked Eddie that stood in his porch was jarring enough. What made it so much worse, was the horribly done buzz-cut the man was sporting.

Steve ushered him in, offering a fresh jacket from the coat closet that was never touched. Eddie refused it, not to Steve's surprised.

Once entering, Eddie immediately asked for anything. Alcohol, weed, drugs. Anything to help him forget about why he's hair was gone, why he showed up to Steve's place in the middle of a storm.

Steve should have backed off. He should have indulged Eddie in his need for mindless distractions, and not push for why.

Then the argument happened. It started so quickly, and dissolved into something worse.

"It's no big surprise you turned out this way!"

Steve regretted it the moment it left his mind. But Eddie was being defensive, and pushing Steve away. Even when Steve was trying his hardest to comfort the man. All he got in return were aggressive jabs, and anger.

So Steve snapped. He was getting fed up. Maybe it was between holding in his feels for the other man, or it was just the tiredness after a long day with his parents, and watching the kids.

"Fuck you!"

Steve wasn't surprised by the reaction. Although, he expected Eddie to turn around and leave, afterwards. For once, he didn't.

For as long as Steve has known Eddie, the man has only stood up for one reason. Always. To protect the one's he loved. Never himself.

Steve should have stopped. He should have apologized, and actually given the shorter man comfort. He didn't.

"They shaved off your hair, and you ran away! You figured I'd be the best comfort?!"

The way Eddie's face crumbled at his words almost stopped Steve in his track. Almost. Instead he kept going. Yelling in a way he knew he'd be hoarse by morning.

It was ugly. No other way to explain it.

But so much was put out into the open. Only on Eddie's end of things. The disgusting way his dad treated him. The way his mom cried slurs at him on the daily since they found out he was gay.

The way Eddie never felt safe. The way Eddie yelled about the bruises he's endured in silence. Why he was so connected to Max.

In those moments, the fight was slowly slipping from Steve. All he could think about was protecting him. Just like he did the others.

Lies. Not like the others. Eddie was the only one he ever dreamed about waking up on a lazy Sunday with. Half-heartedly debating about getting up, even if they knew they had nothing to do.

A domesticated life.

By the end of Eddie's rant, Steve had tears in his eyes. He was trying to hard to stop himself from pulling the metal-head in close. Holding him tight, and attempting to kiss the pain away.

Instead he tried to pick the best words to say. The best way to fix an already fucked up situation.

"Please just stay here. Until you can live with Wayne at least."

The harsh laugh that left Eddie was like a stab to the gut. Steve already felt his heart drop passed his gut, all the way to the floor. When Eddie spoke, it was like someone twisting the knife.

"Hey man, I love you, but no fucking way."

Then he was gone.

Eddie finally ran away.

Steve tried to hold it together. As Dustin questioned him about Eddie, as everyone apart of the club came to him. For some fucking reason.

Steve didn't break.

He told them he had no clue where Eddie was. That the man must have given up on trying to graduate before leaving Hawkins. He must have finally left.

He held it in as best he could.

Until one drunken night with Robin, and he told her everything. Told her about how Eddie told him he loved him before he left. How he blamed himself for why Eddie left. Worse of all, he told Robin how much he wished he had kissed him.

Wish he told Eddie how he felt. Wished he told the man that there was someone in Hawkins that loved him.

He sobbed late into the night. While Robin held him, trying to console him. But no matter what anyone told him. There was one thing Steve believed.

Steve Harrington failed Eddie Munson when he needed help the most.

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sleepy-moron · 2 years

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I saw some people be like "Will can have a satisfying ending to his personal arc of self acceptance without being in a relationship with Mike" and while that's genuinely something I agree with.......I have a few problems with this. Mostly I think they've accidentally wrote themselves into a corner because basically all of the alternatives have issues.

Assuming that all of the current "canon" ships are endgame (i.e. people who have actually dated in the show not including Steve and Nancy bc Nancy is dating someone else) and going off the idea that there will be no new major characters next season Will and Steve will be the only characters to not get with their love interest....and Steve still got to have parts of his plotline be unrelated to romance in s3 s4. Being sad and gay while pining for Mike was basically Will's major plotline for both seasons. Yes I'm counting his friends ditching him to hang out with their girlfriends as gay induced angst for the sake of this argument. Will has been planned to be gay since the beginning, and unless Robin existing as another gay character has also been planned from the beginning, they were going to have what could have been their only gay character not get a happy ending that includes romance when all the other party members do. Not saying that romance is necessary for happiness but having one of three queer characters in your ensemble show not get a romantic plotline while basically every other major character does is shitty.

2) They should have introduced a love interest for him already if they intend to give him one besides Mike. Vickie was barely in this season but at least she exists and gets some establishing characterization. Since we aren't supposed to get new characters next season that means the new love interest is basically gonna be some cardboard cutout they give Will so people don't accuse them of not giving a gay character a happy ending. Never mind the fact it's blatantly using the new guy as a replacement goldfish for Mike, I just would want one of my main characters to wind up in a relationship with another character that's actually relevant rather than some dude who shows up for 30 seconds. I don't care if it wasn't obvious he was a love interest for Will, I literally just wanted the character to be introduced. Also means that Will actually getting over Mike is more than likely gonna be completely ignored or mentioned like once in the season, or they're going to basically have him still pine for the whole season then have a 180 at the end.

3) Will not getting a happy ending is just straight up shitty writing at this point. The kid has done nothing but suffer for the entire fucking show and for him to just be in unrequited love for the rest of his life, trapped in the upside down forever, or straight up fucking die is not a satisfying conclusion for the character.

At this point assuming byler isn't endgame Will is either going to get a replacement goldfish boyfriend at the last second, be one of like maybe 3 main characters that end the show single, pine for the rest of his life, or wind up dead (or an equivalent depressing ending) they did this to themselves

#byler #byler tumblr #stranger things 4 #stranger things #i said what i said #this is another rambly one but i was getting frustrated at the take that Will doesn't need to be in a relationship to get a happy ending #when literally everyone else besides characters that are probably going to die next season and steve #Will deserves better

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transmissionsfromthebattlefield · 2 years

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DEVOtion, Day Two

And then the nerds re-congregated, and DEVOtional Saturday happened.

And what a de-evolved time it was.

The Jimmy Psycho Experiment, who have been DEVOtional openers for a few years now, set a relaxed mood well with their tiki-loungey versions of everyone’s favorite DEVO hits. Attention soon shifted towards the many special guests, whose Q&A sessions took up a good chunk of the night. Good old Mark was back for round 2, though he was slightly more subdued when compared to his misdemeanor on Friday. DEVOtional old timer Jerry Casale, who almost always comes out to support the fans, brought with him the music video premier of his next single, “The Invisible Man.” Without spoiling too much for everyone who wasn’t there, it was hands-down one of the most amusing things I’ve ever witnessed, and it only makes me more fascinated about what exactly goes on within Jerry’s mind that could make him conjure up something so perfectly, undeniably wack. But you’ll all see it in a few months.

Steve Bartek, the guitarist on Jerry’s recent music who is best known for his work with Oingo Boingo, joined Jerry in looking very smart and answering questions. I didn’t get to talk with him at all, but he seemed like a really genuine guy. The dark horse of the program, however, was one Michael Schwartz, better known as Rod Rooter, DEVO’s evil manager from way back. Throughout the night, Mike seamlessly incorporated his character into his talk-talk to the point where I initially genuinely wasn’t sure if he was joking or not when he discussed being the first white guy on King Records with a song produced by James Brown. (Spoiler alert: he WASN’T).

Sometime before DEVOtional started, Max had the brilliant idea of making Rod an entire election campaign which proceeded to snowball from a joke to people on Facebook actually buying made-to-order polo shirts emblazoned with the phrase “America’s Begging For The Barrel Room.” The virus had spread so far that Max didn’t even have to give Mark one of the campaign buttons he was handing out; he had already been given one by someone else. With Mike’s charisma and wit, I wouldn’t hesitate to vote in his favor, and I can’t help but hope he becomes a mainstay. (“The Man” did approve of Max’s effort, by the way.)

Max signed one of his posters for him while I stood by, causing him to ask Max in character, “Is THIS your GIRLFRIEND?” Max would go on to be very fixated on the fact that Mike was a few hours early to the punch on that.

Jerry, Mark, and the rest were signing items for hours. I heard someone say their autograph session clocked in at over three hours, which blows my mind and makes me want to pray atheist style for their dominant wrists. Max used the opportunity to gift Mark and Jerry bags containing some of his original music and hand decorated lab coats, with airbrush art for Marky and colorful tampons for Jer-Jer, while I stood by as photojournalist and emotional support.

(Jerry sadly didn’t try it on for us in person, but the photo he uploaded later more than makes up for that.)

I wasn’t immune to the photo opportunities, either.

All the while, Al Mothersbaugh’s band, Massive Hotdog Recall, brought the party as usual, proving that “Shout” can be a good song if you add some non-synthetic, whip-spankin’ horns to it. New Devolution, an energetic tribute band who came all the way from Chile to perform, followed by plowing through high-power early 80s DEVO tracks. The fun factor was through the roof as the spontaneously generated giant helium balls the crowd was serving around threatened to make a dent in it.

After the raffle, which I did not win anything at, the highly anticipated Fight Milk, who were not balls, took the stage. They exemplified the fun factor just like last year, but having more than one guy on the stage again (while retaining last year’s cardboard cutouts) totally elevated their energy. Alongside Jackson, the band’s creative mastermind and sole constant, it was great having Tavi from Finland back onstage, whether he was flashing a creepy smile at the audience with down pitched vocals or scurrying around the stage wrecking his guitar strings. Those boys be DEVO.

Max was also making his live performance debut, and he absolutely killed it. Not many other DEVOtional performances would both perform a song that hadn’t been performed since 1974 and make the live debut of Jerry’s latest single. (TAKE THAT, OLD MAN! Just kiddin’.) Max took lead on both, and it was so great seeing him in his element. It truly wouldn’t have been the same without him up there in that goddamn tampon coat hurling his Rod Rooter buttons at the crowd. I even caught a photo of one in mid air! I love blinding everyone with the flash from my camera.

Detention finished off the night, though I sadly didn’t get to see most of their set because, deja vu, I was too busy having a conversation in the Ballroom’s bar the room over. (I got to hear their Steve-tribute cover of Oingo Boingo’s “Little Girls” in muffled format, though!) At least I did get to chat with their singer Elliott, who I’ve bumped into a few times on the Kent campus, beforehand. Us Kent chicks gotta stick together.

And then, just like that, the night had winded down. Everyone packed up, stumbled out of the ballroom, and hit up Ubers back to their hotels. And then it was over.

Did it beat last year’s for me? No. That year was too special! But I’ll gladly let it be the first loser.

And hey, I got a boyfriend out of this one, so I guess that’s a plus.

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briamichellewrites · 8 months

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Bria’s documentary, Starting Over: The Story of Bria Michelle was receiving great reviews from critics and fans. Demi Lovato, who had just gone to rehab also released a documentary on MTV, but hers wasn’t receiving as much attention or publicity as Bria’s. Though her documentary was being praised for its honesty, it was also seen as a PR move as she had been in the news following an altercation with a backup dancer. Bria’s documentary didn’t need PR.

It was one hundred percent real and raw. She didn’t know very much about Demi because she was younger than her. Did she watch her documentary? No, it didn’t seem interesting to her. Jon watched it with his wife because he wanted her to know who his girlfriend was. Yes, she was very young but she was magnetic. She was surprised. Not just at her age, but how beautiful she was.

“My mother was born in Los Angeles. Throughout her childhood, she was sexually abused. Her father gave her drugs. He then took pictures and videos of himself abusing her. She became pregnant when me when she was sixteen years old. It was because of the pregnancy that the abuse was discovered.”

She went into detox to help her go through withdrawal safely before going into rehab for around nine months. After giving birth, she brought her to the police station and surrendered her. Two years later, the police found her body. She had died from a heroin overdose. For years, she wondered why she had given her up.

She thought maybe she was young and couldn’t care for a baby or she was coming out of a bad situation. Another theory she had was that she had another child and couldn’t afford to take care of a baby. It wasn’t until 2000, that she learned the truth. What were her feelings towards her mother? She had infinite sympathy and compassion for her. Her mother did the most selfless thing any mother could do and that was to give her a chance at a better life.

A life without abuse. There were so many things she wanted to tell her. One of them was that it wasn’t her fault and that she loved her. She also wanted to thank her. What was her name? Sara Michelle Hart. She showed the camera the tattoo she got for her on her arm.

Like everyone else, they laughed and cried. Dorothea could tell what her husband loved about her. She felt like she knew her, even though she only met her once. In one scene, she was in the studio singing, How Do I Live by LeAnn Rimes while one of her friends played the guitar. She had a great voice that didn’t need auto-tune.

“I’m the only girl in a friend group of guys. It’s a hard job keeping these guys in line.”

The guys laughed behind her.

Bria adopted a four-month-old Scottish Fold Calico cat named, Mama and her two ten-week-old kittens named Bert and Ernie. She initially only wanted one cat, but after learning about her having two kittens, she decided not to separate them. They were introduced to Cookies and Cream, as well as Mike. They sniffed each other out. They were so cute!

Mama was being protective of her babies because they were in a new environment and she didn’t know if it was safe. She held them close to her with her paw. He held out his hand to her to sniff. After she smelled him, she allowed him to pet her. She and her kittens were found in a cardboard box in the downtown area. Two volunteer cat trappers came and rescued them. They were taken to an emergency veterinary clinic to get checked out.

Despite being homeless, they were in good health and a healthy weight. They were then brought to the cat shelter, where they were given a private room until they became comfortable around the volunteers. It took Mama weeks before she let anyone get close to her or her kittens. The volunteers had to wear protective gloves because she would bite and scratch.

But with patience and time, she learned to trust. Just like Bria. Mike helped her set up the playpen she bought to separate Mama and her kittens from Cookies and Cream while they adjusted to their new environment. Once it was set up, they carefully put them inside before putting in their cat bedding, toys, water, food bowls; and litter box. Mama kept a close watch, as they explored their new home. They were scared and it would take a week or two to adjust.

briamichelle: Is five cats considered a crazy cat lady? Asking for a friend.

Bria posted a picture of Mama and her kittens to her Instagram to announce their adoption. She had an idea of fostering cats in the future after she retired from music. Mike thought that was a great idea and very rewarding! What was the process? She didn’t know. It was something she would have to look into. Maybe she could even volunteer at the shelter.

What did she and Bradley decide about their relationship? Nothing. He had yet to ask her to be his girlfriend. She was impatient because she knew he wanted to ask. He was supposed to ask her on her anniversary, but he didn’t. She liked him but she wasn’t going to wait forever. He told her to ask him the next time he came over. Maybe he wasn’t ready. If that was true, then he knew Phoenix had been waiting forever to ask her out. Forever? He laughed and smiled.

“He’s been waiting ever since the first day he met you.”

“Then why the hell hasn’t he done it yet?”

“Because Rob and Brad did it first.”

“Oh my god. I’m going to get on his ass now.”

He laughed again. Phoenix would be great for her. He was calm, and patient and was able to go with the flow. If she didn’t choose him, he wanted her to choose Phoenix. He put his arm around her. She looked at him and called him adorable. He laughed and kissed her. I love you.

No matter who she was dating, she would always have a place in his heart as his best friend. Bradley instantly heard the sound of meowing when he walked through the door. He counted the number of cats. Five. He looked at Bria and asked if she was crazy. Mike laughed at his question. He thought she was only getting one more! Not three! She defended herself by saying she was not going to separate a mother from her babies! Okay, that was a good point.

Mike decided to leave them be, so he said goodbye to them. Bria came over to him. He knew they had to talk, so they went to her living room and sat down.

Phoenix was bored at home, so he was more than happy when Bria texted him to come over. Something had to be going on because she never invited him over. He called Mike to see what the hell was going on. With a laugh, he told him that he might have told her about his crush on her. You bastard! He laughed again and told him to trust him.

When he got to her house, he was invited inside. After closing the door, he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. Finally! He pulled away and asked what happened with Bradley. They decided not to pursue a relationship and to stay friends.

She got tired of waiting for him to ask her to be his girlfriend. His heart pounded. Would she be his girlfriend? She smiled and said yes! He laughed with happiness before kissing her again, as he imagined fireworks going off. This was the woman he had been in love with for years. Rob had her. Mike had her. Brad had her. He pulled her closer. When they pulled away again, he laughed because he was so happy. He kissed her forehead before they went over to the cats.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia @boricuacherry-blog

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theliterateape · 1 year

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[From Back in the Day] All Art is Political

By Tani Freiwald

The following essay was originally written and performed for BUGHOUSE! in Las Vegas on October 28, 2019. The topic of debate was “Is All Art Political.” Tani went up against Scott Hertinstein. Tani was determined the winner by our judge.

You know the challenge in an all or nothing statement is that it only takes one exception and your whole argument can dissolve faster than a cardboard suit in the rain. I know there's the old “exception to the rule" clause but that just seems facile and lazy to me. So tonight I intend to prove categorically and without exception, that all art is political, because, as it turns out, everything is political: every relationship, every interpersonal interaction, every aspect of our daily lives and here’s how we know that.

Many, many, many, many years in the past. I’m talking two-and-a-half to three million years ago, an unexpected mutation appeared. Wait a minute, is that an oxymoron? Is there such a thing as an “expected” mutation? Some might argue that electing Trump to the Presidency was an expected mutation given the growing malaise, injustices, and tribalization of our country over the last thirty years, but we’ll save that for a later debate.

Anyway, about three million years ago, our ancestors, the apes, gave rise to a new species, Homo or man. As early man began spreading out into the world, different environments necessitated different forms of adaptation and a whole slew of different hominids began to populate the planet. There was Homo rudolfensis, Homo erectus, Homo neanderthalensis, Homo floresiensis, Homo denisova, Homo habilis, Homo sapiens. Homo, homo, homo, homo, I guess, in the end, we’re all gay.

But what’s really important about this evolution is that in the beginning, we were a pretty unremarkable species compared to the rest of the animal kingdom. We were smack dab in the middle of the food chain. We ate creatures less powerful than us and were eaten by creatures more powerful than us. Still the multi-Hominid world worked pretty well until, eventually all but one Homo had disappeared, (betcha Mike Pence would like the sound of that). Maybe eaten, maybe unable to adapt to hostile environments, and in some cases wiped out by other Hominids: remember Homo neanderthalis? Now, just a memory and the occasional bone fragment.

Yup, turns out bonobo bros preceded Bernie Bros by a few million years.

During this time, Hominids lived in small, predominantly family groups that operated just like those of our nearest ape relatives, the chimpanzees and bonobos do today. Their social structures are hierarchical with a single dominant leader. The alpha ape maintains, or tries to maintain social harmony. Interestingly we tend to think that when an Alpha is challenged two individuals engage in physical combat with loud, aggressive behavior resulting in the vanquished either retreating to a lower status within the troop, banished from the group altogether or in the worse case scenario, fatally injured.

Well, we would be wrong. The truth is when two individuals contest the alpha position, they usually do so by forming extensive coalitions of both male and female supporters. (Yup, turns out bonobo bros preceded Bernie Bros by a few million years.) Ties between supporters are based on intimate, daily contact like touching and hugging (hello Joe Biden) kissing, grooming, and mutual favors. Sound familiar? Alphas become leaders not so much because of physical prowess as their ability to lead a large and strong coalition. In other words, a process by which power is achieved, maintained and used to determine who gets to make the rules that will effect every aspect of everybody else's lives. Also known as Politics.

But there's one limitation to this otherwise successful system of group dynamics. It is totally reliant on trust. A trust that can only be established in groups where all the members know each other intimately. So as groups get larger the social order destabilizes, ruptures and a new group is formed. When you think about it, it makes sense. After all, just fifty individuals generate 1,225 one-on-one relationships and countless interactions in other combinations.

So, if group dynamics and power relationships ie politics seems only effective in small groups, how did Homo sapiens manage to rise from inconsequential, middle of the food chain fodder to the conquers (and ultimately) destroyers of the planet? I’m glad you asked, ‘cause here’s where the art part comes in…

About 150,000 years ago there occurred another unexpected mutation that today we call the Cognitive Revolution, and it would be followed in rapid succession (well, rapid in evolutionary terms) by the Agricultural Revolution about 70,000 years ago and the Scientific Revolution a skant 500 years ago.

It is Art that was integral to history's two great cultural manifestations, religion and commerce.

One of the consequences of this cognitive leap was the development of language. Almost all animals communicate with vocalizations and calls but man is the only animal with a means of sharing information through a limited number of sounds and signs that can produce an almost unlimited amount of meanings and ideas. Nowhere is this unique human feature more evident than during my favorite part of infant development when syntax precedes words. You’ve really missed out if you’ve never had a deep philosophical conversation with a ten-month-old over the question of Trump's quid pro quo with Ukraine. And no, listening to republicans doesn’t count, even if it does sound remarkably like baby talk.

But where, might you ask, is Art in all this. Well, if the concept of Politics precedes everything, guess what, Art, informs everything that politics and language created because 70,000 years ago, Homo sapiens developed an ability no other animal possesses, the ability to imagine that what which can not be seen. In other words, Imagination. If there is a dividing line between art and imagination, I’m hard pressed to find it.

It is Art that was integral to history's two great cultural manifestations, religion and commerce. Neither of which would have been conceivable without trust. But now, trust was no longer dependent on intimate daily activities of small groups. Relationships with strangers thousands of miles away could be developed based on common beliefs in the myths of religion and commerce. Even today’s national identities and political affiliations are all based on shared trust generated by the mutual acceptance of ideas, not picking parasites off your cousin’s head. And those intangible human constructs could not have been created, nurtured, and spread across the globe without pictures, storytelling and music. In short Art.

We could never have come to dominate earth without art. But there would have been no art if the chimps and bonobos hadn't invented politics.

#Art #politics #evolution #group dynamics

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troquantary · 3 years

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Edward Cullen: That Boy Ain’t Right

So I was doing a reread of @therealvinelle 's collection of Twilight metas, as one does, and in "Edward, Denial, and a Human Girlfriend" she mentions that she doesn't believe Edward is sane. I thought, "ha, yeah, he's definitely not," and also, "but wait, what does that mean exactly, please say more about that." But since she's already inundated with asks, I've decided to use my own head-muscle and explore this idea. (TL;DR: I start out more or less organized, synthesize some points Vinelle has made across several posts (and have hopefully linked to them all where relevant but please tell me if not), touch a little on narcissism, then take a hard left into the negative effects of being a telepath.)

Just a couple things to note at the outset, though. Theses have been written already (probably) about Edward as an abuser. Edward being insane doesn't negate that at all; he's definitely an asshole and just...a disaster of a human being. (I find it more funny than anything, but YMMV.) I'm also going to try to avoid talking specifically about mental illness and how it relates (or doesn't relate) to abusive behavior -- that's territory I'm not really equipped to discuss, like at all. My starting point is "Edward has a deeply warped perception of reality," not "Edward has X disorder."

So: deeply warped perception of reality. The evidence? Goes behind a cut, because my one character trait is Verbose.

Vinelle provides a great example of it in the post linked above, which I'll just quote because she does words good: "[Edward] keeps acting like his romance with Bella is a romantic tragedy, and all the cast of Twilight are actors on a stage making it as sublime as possible." Edward's the one to pursue Bella, but he does so with the full belief, from the very beginning, that it will never last; Bella will "outgrow" him, go on her human way, and he can spend the rest of eternity brooding magnificently over his too-short romantic bliss. [Insert premature ejaculation joke.] Turning her is never an option, even though Alice, Noted Psychic, says that romancing Bella will either end with her dead (exsanguinated) or dead (vampire).

This framing, where he's a dark anti-hero in love with -- but never tainting! -- the pure maiden and eventually leaving her in a grand, tragic sacrifice to preserve her soul? It's fucking bonkers. Bella isn't a person to him in this scenario. As Vinelle points out, Bella's never really a person to him at all; he falls in love with his own mental construct, cherry-picking from what he observes of her behavior and her responses to his 20 (thousand) Questions to convince himself that she is the ideal woman.

Bella's not the only one who gets the projection/cardboard-cutout treatment. Edward sees everything and everyone through a highly particular, personalized lens. He filters his entire reality, which we all do to an extent, but the thing with Edward is that he starts with his conclusions and then only pays attention to the evidence that supports those conclusions. Often that evidence consists of what he admits in New Moon are only "surface" thoughts -- but recognizing that limitation doesn't keep him from taking those thoughts as representative of what people are. Edward then becomes absolutely convinced by his own "reasoning" and won't be swayed from what he has decided is Objectively True. It's obvious with Bella; it's also painfully obvious with Rosalie. (Vinelle explains this and brings up Edward's raging Madonna/Whore complex in the same post, so refer to that again -- she's right.)

He also catastrophizes. Everything. Bella's just vibing in her room, rereading Wuthering Heights for the 87th time? She's gonna be hit by a meteor, better sneak into her room while she sleeps. Bella's going to the beach with the filthy mundanes their human classmates? She's gonna fall in the ocean. Jasper's cannibal pals are stopping by for a visit, but know not to hunt in the area? DISASTER, DEFCON 1, ALSO FUCK YOU JASPER FOR EVEN EXISTING IN MY AND BELLA'S SPHERE YOU UNSPEAKABLE BURDEN. Edward must believe that Bella is vulnerable and in near-constant peril, to support the reality he has created in which he is the villain turned protector and maybe?? hero??? (!!!) for his beloved. So when the actual, James-shaped danger arrives, he goes berserk, snarling and flipping his shit and generally not helping the situation. His fantasy demands that Bella remain human, so instead of doing the very thing Alice, Noted Psychic, assures him will neutralize the threat (and not just a threat to Bella, either, but to Bella's family and any other human James might decide to include in the "game"), he vetoes it immediately, no discussion. Bella Must Not Turn, and he sticks to those guns despite James nearly reducing her to ground beef, despite leaving Bella catatonic with depression (but human! success!) in New Moon, despite Aro's order and his family's vote and, let's not forget, Bella's clearly and repeatedly stated desire to be a vampire. It's going to happen. But he doesn't accept it until Renesmee busts out of Bella like the Kool-Aid man and the poor girl's heart finally, unequivocally stops.

Sane people don't behave this way. I don't want to slap labels on Edward, but I can't help but note that he comes across as highly narcissistic. He's the only real person in his universe, the lone player among us NPCs. That probably has a lot to do with him being frozen in the mindset and maturity of a seventeen-year-old boy, but I think it's also just...him, on some fundamental level. His failure to connect with others and recognize them as full, independent beings with their own wants and priorities isn't like Bella's failure -- she's badly depressed. Edward is...something else, and I get the sense that his sanity has been steadily deteriorating over time. And a cursory google of narcissistic traits turns up some familiar-looking stuff. He's self-loathing, yes, but also grandiose; he hates himself for the monster he is (and hates most vampires besides Esme and Carlisle for their monstrosity, too) but still feels superior to humans, to the extent that he felt entitled to human blood and resented Carlisle for depriving him of his "proper" diet. He eventually returns to Carlisle, but he's far from content -- the beginning of Midnight Sun finds him in a state of ennui, bored and dismissive of (if not outright disgusted by) everyone around him, that has apparently persisted for years and years. He doesn't play the piano, he doesn't compose, he doesn't enjoy anything...at least until Bella comes along and then he becomes obsessed to a disturbing degree with her and his new, romantic tragedy spin on reality.

[Next-day edit: I’m not sure where else to fit this in, but the way Edward casually contemplates violence against people who have, at best, mildly annoyed him is...chilling. I have a hard time writing off his strategizing how to murder the entire Biology class as a result of bloodlust -- it’s so calculated, nothing like the blackout state of thirst Emmett describes when he encountered his own “singer,” and that is probably the default for when a vampire is extremely thirsty. But even ignoring the Biology class incident, Edward still does things like consider, with disturbing frequency, how he might grievously injure or kill Mike Newton, all because...Edward considers him his romantic rival (despite Bella barely giving the kid the time of day). He thinks about slapping Mike through a wall, which might be an amusing slapstick image, except as a vampire Edward’s actually capable of turning this boy’s skeleton to a fine powder. So it’s, y’know, kind of sick when you think about it.

But even worse than that, when Bella tells Edward about how she flirted with Jacob to get at that sweet, sweet vampire lore, Edward chuckles and then, after dropping Bella home, flippantly observes that now that the treaty’s broken, why not genocide? I’m not even kidding, it’s right there in Midnight Sun; he seriously thinks about the fact that he’d be technically justified now in wiping out the entire tribe because a teenager tried to impress a girl with a spooky story. That is fucked. Remember, Edward was there with Carlisle when the treaty was first established. He knows how remarkable it is that they even came to a truce in the first place, that it was only ever possible because Carlisle is...well, Carlisle, and that it marks a pretty significant moment in supernatural history. He doesn’t care; he doesn’t respect it, or he’d never think something like “Ha ha, if I went and killed them all, I wouldn’t even be wrong. I mean, I won’t do it, but I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Again: not the thought process or behavior of a sane person. (Or a person that respects life in general -- sorry Carlisle, big L.)]

Finally, whether he's a narcissist or not, I think the fact that Edward has constant, unavoidable access to everyone's thoughts is a powerful contributing factor to his instability. He can tune out the mental noise to an extent, but he can't stop it -- so he comes to rely on it like another sense. This causes issues with disconnect and lack of empathy, of course, but there's another facet to this shit diamond: he's basically experiencing a ceaseless flow of intrusive thoughts. His narration in Midnight Sun suggests that he "hears" the words people think, can "see" what they visualize in their mind's eye, and can sense the emotional "tone" and intensity of their thoughts. Therefore, perceiving Jasper's thirst through his thoughts makes Edward more aware of his own, "doubling" the discomfort. This would be a lot to deal with even from just his immediate coven members, but Edward gets all of this pouring into his head like a firehose on a day-to-day basis because the Cullens live right alongside humans. I know Meyerpires have galaxy brains or whatever, but that's a ton to process.

Besides the compounding effect on his own thirst when he "feels" the thirst of others, Meyer never suggests that Edward has difficulty separating his own thoughts from other people's; even when he was newly turned, he recognized Carlisle's "voice" in his head as Carlisle's. That would create a whole different host of issues around identity, but it looks like Edward's escaped that particular torment. However, I can easily imagine that what he does experience is just shy of unbearable nonetheless, with an eroding effect on his sanity over decades. He can't sleep to escape it; he's on a dishwater diet and probably (like the rest of his family) experiencing a perpetual, low-grade physical discomfort due to his thirst never being fully satisfied; and he's around far more people than is the norm for vampires -- even discounting all the humans, his own coven is unusually large -- meaning more noise.

Honestly, it would be weirder if he were all there, considering.

And even though I feel like I lost a sense of structure around where I started ranting about telepathy, I've written like 1.5k words about Edward fucking Cullen and I think that's enough for one post.

#twilight #twilight renaissance #twilight meta #edward cullen #i stared too long and the twilight abyss gazed back #long post #major credit due to therealvinelle for having basically all the ideas already #theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin too since they agree and build off each other's metas a lot #idk how people who write meta can just crank these posts out i've been here for two hours #edited to add stuff i forgot to mention about edward's disproportionately violent fantasies

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sonnet77 · 3 years

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Michael Cutter // Welcome and Goodbye

Run into my heart so carelessly, that's the reason I'm afraid. You're thoughts that can't be tamed, and I'm trying to be sane.

Summary: Five times when Mike Cutter could have said something, and one time when he finally did.

Warnings: nothing but classic tropes, angst, references from episode S18 E18

A/N: This has been rewritten and stared at way too long. I don’t know anymore. As always thanks for reading and your sweet comments. Shout-out to @hurricanejjareau for the fab gif set :’) Reader tag, if you do/don’t want to be tagged for future things, just let me know: @moon-river-drifter @tinkerbelldetective @hhroadgirl @breakawayfromeveryday @justjaclin@hearthockey @thiswitchyweirdo @mrsrossshorlynch @cocobird09 @queen-of-bad-ideas @bouquetoutlaw-blog

8,707 words // Song Inspiration: welcome and goodbye - dream, ivory

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You had made your way up the many floors of One Hogan Place, and found no one in the tiny cluttered office that was labeled Michael Cutter’s. After waiting for a long five minutes, with fidgeting nerves, you sighed aloud-- this wasn’t a good start to your interview . You suddenly overheard some noises down the hall and wandered closer to see if you could get some answers.

“Hello?” You called out.

“Yeah?” A voice answered from inside the room. You couldn’t see from who, since large document storage boxes were staggered everywhere like a walled fortress.

“Uh, I’m looking for Michael Cutter. I was supposed to have an interview this morning. But he’s not in his office.”

The figureless voice said your full name, correctly at that, before a man appeared from behind a row of boxes, files in his hands, glancing at the watch on his wrist.

“Legal studies and English dual major, right?” He asked, looking back up with the smallest of hesitant smiles.

“Yes,” you replied, watching him, noticing how the manila folders contrasted against his pale blue shirt.

“Sorry I got caught up in this,�� his voice stumbled out like his limbs-- which were trying to avoid knocking over precarious cardboard towers and not dropping the folders still tucked underneath his arms, while he offered you a hand to shake, “Mike Cutter.”

You shook it, as he sincerely apologized again, “Sorry about the wait.” He didn’t break his stare, his mind connecting a face to the name.

Mike had been working in the D.A.’s narcotics bureau for three months before he had doubts-- his first major case was falling apart as soon as he managed to piece it back together. Tensions were high, and intimidation tactics from the newly accused were abundant. One coworker had quit. Cutter had assessed the current risks, realizing they would be detrimental to the citizens, bureau, and ultimately, his ego. He was still finding his footing at the D.A.'s office, but he had enough skill or luck, to have a foundation to stand on. So, he managed to get approval for a new contract hire request to help in the interim with things. (Catch was, he had to handle the interviews.)

“Do you need some help?” you asked concerned, as he picked up and shifted another box onto the table, “These files don’t look very organized.”

“No,” Mike said, before he pushed up his sleeves and corrected himself, “I mean, yes. You’re right, they’re not. They just delivered all these company records before you got here.”

“If they’re business or accounting summaries, moving them into financial quarters would be a good start. What time period are you looking at for the current case?”

Cutter paused briefly, his back to you, shifting another box, the spot above the bridge of his nose creasing as he thought to himself. He knew this was only an interview, and he wasn’t allowed to bring up case specifics until a confirmed hire, but you were kind enough to offer some help and interest, unlike anyone else he’d met in the past few days during these meetings.

“Uh, the last year is most suspect. Five months ago a new client was approved…” Mike began, revealing more about the case then he was supposed to.

You dug through the mess, found the necessary labeled files and arranged them into an initial pattern to see if anything stuck out, asking more about the case and how it could relate back. After awhile, a ringing cell phone interrupted the process,

“Excuse me,” Mike noted, taking the call.

You busied yourself with rereading some statements and organizing loose files. Mike listened on the line. Mid-way through the conversation, his focused stare inadvertently wandered, like a curious kid bored in line. It shifted away from the grey sky peeking through the blinds towards another sight: your determined self standing nearby, still working-- a smile faintly toying at Mike’s lips until he felt it sitting there.

Cutter soon hung up the call, addressing you again, “Thank you for the help. I know this interview didn’t go as planned. But, I have to run, so I’m not late for a second meeting today,” his voice attempted to chuckle.

“It’s no problem,” you said, grabbing your bag.

“So, will I see you again tomorrow?” He asked, discernable hope sneaking into his question.

“Oh, for a new interview time, yeah let me--”

“No, for the job,” he frankly interrupted, “It’s yours.”

Cutter observed your astonished humble face, “I’ve already read through your résumé. You offered good ideas regarding the case, and you voluntarily gave up time to literally push paper around a conference room for an hour. Doubt that’s what you expected.”

“I didn’t know what to expect, honestly.”

“Well, I hope it wasn’t a total disappointment,” Mike added, head tilting to the side slightly, you were no longer just some printed name on a piece of paper. He hung onto the pause this time and the idea of how you were going to respond. Maybe deep down, more than he wanted to, but he didn’t let himself think more about it to try and convince you.

“It wasn’t,” your grip on the same lull in the air now, a small grin bordering your lips.

You were happy the unexpected interview worked out. You needed this job, as your unpublished writings and journalistic pursuits weren’t paying the bills.

“Great,” Mike noted, genuine relief he couldn’t hide, forming into his features, “Let me just grab the paperwork in my office before I go.”

You followed him back down the hall. Mike searched his desk, somehow knowing what existed where and what didn’t, despite the mess. You weren’t sure how you missed it before, but there was a baseball bat strewn on the shelf behind him.

“Doesn’t seem like enough space in here to practice your swing,” you blurted out.

Mike stopped what he was doing, momentarily confused, before you clarified, nodding to the object, “The bat.”

“Yeah,” he bashfully agreed, grabbing his jacket off his chair and the now-completed papers, “It’s motivation for a bigger office one day. The mitt has to suffice for now,” he explained as you walked with him.

“9AM. I promise I won’t be late,” he assured, heading out, after he brought you to the front desk with the hiring documents, freshly inked by him.

As the elevator chimed through the lower floors, Mike felt a solace he hadn’t thought was possible these past weeks as he struggled through cases. Cutter was rarely impressed, but working with you happened to be one of those rare occasions he was. He didn’t tell you though. And, as he thought to himself, he wasn’t even sure if had words that would properly describe the impression you made, in the first place.

During the learning process of a normal office routine, you’d acquired facts that helped, like not calling certain judges right before lunch, avoiding the wonky copier by the stairs, improving the style of your legal memos, etc. But then there were facts you didn’t need, ones that always strayed from the rigid definition of work, but hung loosely around it due to the context of where and who you were with, which most of the time was Cutter.

Random conversations of law school stories, memories of lonely holidays, clever ripostes, favourite take-out orders, baseball team stats. You had nowhere to keep these things. But you saved them anyway, taking each one as it passed through your brain, and quickly shoving them into the empty spaces, like a distracted naive messenger. You didn’t think much of it, unknowingly the overflow spilling into the hollows of your unaddressed heart. You were guilty of similar talks, letting slip past your lips the struggles of writing gigs, stories from your past, a failed last relationship, favourite songs growing up. In passing, or on the surface, it all was harmless. Little did you two know, how utterly pernicious it could just be. How, when added all up, it molded into pieces that matched the hollowed out spots, sitting beneath both your ribcages.

You and Mike went to re-interview a back waiter, on the clock, at a fancy restaurant in Midtown for the latest case. You were almost out the door, until you stopped in your tracks, fear freezing everything, but your heart. Mike practically ran into you, as you swiftly turned on your heel,

“You’ve got to be kidding me?!” You hissed out loud, as you ducked into an empty booth nearby for refuge, peering your head out.

“What’s wrong?” Mike asked, completely confused, sitting down across from you.

“My Ex, he’s at the bar.”

“The one that dumped you?”

“Yes,” you whined, “Ugh, why does he have to be here?”

“I honestly don’t see what the big deal is...”

“It’s not really,” you backpedaled, words rushing out, lacking your intended rational elegance.

“...It’s his loss,” Cutter’s voice declared with ease, like it was a piece of evidence no one could argue against in the court.

Yet, it was stated so offhandedly, in passing, his focus elsewhere as he casually readjusted the unlit candle on the table.

Your ears ran after the quick compliment, catching it and consuming it, an unexpected analgesic. It seeped under the surface like water causing a short circuit. You weren’t even sure if your mouth twitched into an actual smile despite feeling like it did, panic still around you.

“I just, I don’t want to deal with him. I know he’ll say something, because it’s a chance for him to be a pompous ass.”

Mike made a noise at your unfiltered comment, vaguely amused at the lengths you were taking right now to avoid this jerk. He felt the same enduring faint smile that pulled at his mouth, the one he always kept fighting since you started working with him.

“Alright,” Mike gave in, “But we are going to have to leave,” he pointed out obviously, the early bird diners across the aisle giving you strange and confused looks.

“I know, I know,” you breathed out, resting your elbows on the table, trying to think. Then an idea struck you, an arrow direct from your subconscious or otherwise. Cortisol fueling your boldness or lapse in judgement, depending on how you viewed it.

“Can you pretend to be my boyfriend for like the next five minutes?”

“What?” Mike asked, the question rapid, yet the word, slow from his lips, his eyebrows rising. His stare straight into yours now, like a head-on collision.

“Please? That’ll shut him up,” you explained, eyes earnest, a vulnerability sitting in at the table now-- a forgotten ghost materializing.

You watched Mike’s face, which found a new way to react. You tried to read him. You had been trying more so recently, which ultimately just ended up you staring at him from across the room. You didn’t know why you suggested it. It was all petty, you knew, and you knew that better as you felt his held stare seemingly morphing to chide your overreaction in the silence.

“If not, that’s fine. It’s a stupid idea. You can head out, I’ll meet you back at the office... Maybe I can grab a waiter to see if I can use the kitchen exit,” you suggested, looking away to search for one, while avoiding Cutter’s still unchanged face.

“This is ridiculous,” you heard Mike say louder through an exhale. And in how he said it, you assumed he was shaking his head at you, as if you were some delusional suspect who just asked for some absurd leniency at a plea deal.

You were surprised at how much the thought pulled down your optimistic heart. It was built up too much from the compliment, perhaps. You kept your sheepish gaze on the tabletop, chin in both your hands now. You listened to the clinking dinnerware and livelier conversations around you, feeling Cutter’s weight shift when he got up from the booth. You inhaled your chagrin, struggling to get out of this situation, too many emotions still processing.

“Are you ready to go, darling?”

The question from Mike’s voice swiftly drifted into your ears like an airy summer breeze, the sudden string of words peppered with such sweetness and affection. Something you never heard before, but instantly wanted to hear again.

Your crestfallen face shot up from the table as Mike extended his hand for you to take. Your nerves transformed into a quasi-calmness, something else flooding your veins as you took his hand with a delicate yet somewhat disbelieving smile, getting up from your seat.

Cutter knew this was a bad move. He knew it as soon as he felt your palm in his hand-- his breathing pattern getting tangled in the spaces between his ribs like a weaving ribbon. It was exactly like the time when he first met you, months ago now-- that whisper of unsettling sublimity. He had managed to forget that sight. Not anymore. It left another mark, with another sense.

His hand shifted, not wanting to let you go, finding the middle of your back, without any effort or doubt. Mike tied another knot around himself, tethering to the details only you held.

“This guy better notice us,” Mike ordered, leaning over your shoulder, adamancy fighting to cover up worry.

“Then let’s make sure of it, Counselor,” you confidently replied with a sideways glance while he casually led you through the surrounding tables and chairs, “Put your arm around me when we get to the bar.”

You kept walking, heartbeat hastening further in the extended absence of a reply from him. Yet, as instructed, you felt Mike’s arm gently wrap around your shoulders, his body next to yours as you walked now, the bar coming into full view. This simple act, even one you had half-expected, startled your heart for a second time tonight. It sank further, missing how the nonchalant tenderness of togetherness could feel. These little forced actions planted something into your mind, which your heart had already been growing in abandon.

“So, what do you want to do this weekend?” You happily wondered aloud, and purposefully within ear-shot of your Ex. Your hand reached up and found Mike’s, needing a longer memory than the brief exchange from before.

“I’m open to ideas,” Mike answered, his lips involuntarily and eagerly forming the smile he’d been practicing so long in secret-- your brightened eyes totally focused on him. For a second he forgot what or who the actual point of this charade was or for. And, he didn’t care.

The line of what was an act was becoming hard to distinguish, bleeding out and through. That mark extended into permanence now, his conscience being ungrudgingly engulfed by your company. As were you, with his.

So much so, you hadn’t even noticed your Ex’s bewilderment, him nearly choking on his drink, his obnoxious mouth halfway to the floor as you and Cutter walked past. You were too busy trying to keep Mike looking at you.

You stumbled back to reality as your name rang through your ears, knowing it wasn’t Mike who had said it.

“Oh, hey,” you said, now totally pulled out of your daydream haze, stomach suddenly lurching at the sight of him, not giving the satisfaction of a personal greeting. You covered it up in well-acted indifference.

You waited a second, watching your Ex’s eyebrows and lips struggle to find a place to rest, enjoying his baffleness. Mike was still beside you, letting you play it out however you wanted.

“Looks like you need another drink,” you cooly commented, leaving him there, not hearing the half-assed retort he tried to spout behind you.

You weren’t sure if you imagined it or not, but as you walked away, you thought you felt Mike’s grip protectively tighten around your frame. His touch burning through the fabric, his radius of cologne like a blanket, your veins rushing in an adrenaline high of successful revenge and newfound desire. The closeness dragged something back from far away. Something glowed brighter than the candlelight inside, or the approaching dusk outside. Like the discovery of a lost artifact, the dirt was dusted away and it revealed the truth buried within you. What you had now seen, you couldn’t look away from.

You wanted this to be real.

“I think that went fairly well,” Cutter noted, a pleased yet reluctant smirk halfway to his lips as he gave you space that suddenly felt like exile.

“Yeah, definitely” you forced a zealous smile, briefly eyeing his blurred silhouette, unable to focus normally now, “That was one of his better conversations, looking back,” you tried to joke, to wipe away this current feeling you were covered in.

Mike gave a small laugh, watching you, as you fumbled with your shirt sleeve.

“Thanks,” you said more quietly.

Mike knew you deserved better than whatever you had with your ex, but he stopped any thoughts beyond that. Those thoughts that made him second guess himself, and read into things. Cutter never assumed anything in any relationship anymore because he had experience in how they fell apart, no matter what you thought, believed, or rationalized-- those childhood scars existing within adult skin.

You looked up, and your stares fell into each other’s crosshairs, some part of both of your brains fixed on something vaguely forming, but not defining it outloud. You felt your cheeks flush in the golden light, but you kept your sightline on Cutter, mustering all the confidence you had to not look away-- hoping he’d notice you.

Your convictions faltered, when Mike brought up work again, aimlessly checking his phone, the effect of your presence floating away like a newspaper caught in the wind. Your eyes dropped to your shoes, feeling heavier than the concrete below them. But you blinked, and walked on, leaving whatever it was, at the restaurant. You pushed it farther away with each step, holding the conversation without awkwardness or the obvious memory-- like nothing had happened between you two, because nothing really had. It was only you who fell for the act.

Mike couldn’t jeopardize what he was working so hard for, despite knowing the exact fuel, first-hand, that could convince him to. This job was still new, and whatever this was, that he stumbled upon with you, wasn’t anything he accounted for. He saw how the scattered sunlight hit your eyes making them appear even more alive and in colour. He felt the fear in his chest from your stare boring into some part of his soul he thought he had under lock and key. He didn’t like it. He was trying to figure out the meanings he couldn’t hide from anymore. He wasn’t confident in how to translate them, or if he even should. He didn’t want to deal with it. So, he used what he knew, the reminder, the anchor of work, to erase that split-second of everything that had just taken up all the space around him-- as if that would rid himself of the mark he made. He didn’t want to talk about it, because then it’d be too real, too finite. So, he didn’t.

“Mike!” A cute woman yelled, dashing over to where you and Cutter were standing at the intersection, a few blocks from the courthouse, waiting for the light to change. You just wrapped up your lunch recess.

“Candace,” Cutter greeted, his salutation like he was uneasy on a tightrope, “Hey.”

“And you are?” Candace lightly asked you, before Mike or you could speak up.

She adjusted her doctor’s coat over her fashionable dress as you introduced yourself. And so did she again. Candace paused with an expectant face, you were supposed to say something more, apparently.

“Mike, don't you ever talk about me at work?” She asked, her smile strong, but its genuineness seemingly weak, as she nudged his arm.

“No, not really.”

Candace’s face scowled at his immediate reply, while you had to quietly hold back an amused snort at the exchange.

“And we’ve been dating for how long now?”

Your amusement died instantly at her voice, run over by the line that was louder than the impatient traffic.

“Yeah,” Mike breathed out roughly, not sounding an agreement or rebuttal, patting Candace’s shoulder in consolation.

Meanwhile, you were trapped in the sudden hurt of lost potential. It etched into every bone in your body, fracturing the piece you stubbornly nurtured in hope for weeks. None of this, however, crossed your face-- a silent break. You were numb, diving into a black hole of nothingness, lost in freefall, your body waiting for the crush of the surface you might never hit.

Candace didn’t wait for a reply from you. She didn’t seem to care, ignoring you altogether as she focused on Mike, “So, what are our plans this weekend?”

It was déjà vu playing before you, without you as the leading role. Your toying tiny memory you had with Mike, burned you. It scorched like a hot iron, disintegrating the projection of your crush, film melting to a match. You wanted to know how long they were dating, but didn’t want to know at the same time-- like bad news you couldn’t stop learning more about, trying to analyze the timeline of who, what, where, and when, it changed for the worst.

“Uh,” Mike mumbled, drawing his eyes up from the pavement, despite feeling the gravity of you by him, which he shouldn’t have noticed, “I managed to get Yankees tickets.”

“That’s baseball,” she whined, with an unenthused face, “You know I don’t do sports… I bought a new dress.”

“You can wear a dress to the game,” Mike happily suggested, trying a second time, “You’ll be voted best-dressed, for sure.”

“They do that?” She asked naively.

“No,” Mike deadpanned, “But you’d still have my vote,” he said, trying to salvage it.

“So, it’s just sitting with you for hours?” Candace questioned unenthusiastically, “It’ll wrinkle,” she pouted.

“Or! I can wear it to the benefit concert! Remember the one I told you about?,” she paused, again not really concerned with an answer, her calm radio-ready voice very convincing, “Let me see if I can sell the tickets. Text me the info, and if I have someone who will pay more at the hospital. You get some extra cash. Yay. And, then we can have an actual fun night together. I heard some celebrities are going to be there too.”

“But you--”

“Mike, if the team is at the World Cup or whatever, we can go.”

“World Series.”

“What?”

“It’s the World Series,” he corrected again.

“Uh-huh,” the word extending into a longer second syllable than needed. Candace’s pager beeped, going to check it, she said, “You knew what I meant, anyway.”

Mike took a breath, raising his chin to the sky slightly to reassure himself.

“Promise?” He asked again.

“Promise,” Candace assured, “I gotta get back and make rounds. Don’t work too hard, babe. And nice meeting you!” She said, running off, before you even had the chance to correct her for calling you the wrong name, while she blew a kiss to Mike.

“She’s a doctor?” You muttered out, attempting to hide your growing disdain as you both started walking again. All these emotions and what-ifs roared into a storm behind your eyes, you had nowhere to go and escape.

That was the only thing you could utter, not believing she deserved a compliment off first impressions, not wanting to learn the details of their budding romance or whatever misshapen idea of one this seemingly was. It’s not like Mike was obligated to tell you about his romantic life.

“Yeah, at New York Presbyterian,” Cutter cleared his throat, head barely turning to glance at you, his hair blowing in a short breeze.

After a block of fast walking, you spoke up and got back to case talk, using it to forget, leaving the new realizations found on that street corner to evaporate in the midday sun, while burying the ones you couldn’t leave behind.

Mike knew Candace after meeting her during a random lunch run. She flirted with him when they ran into each other once or twice, and exchanged an occasional text, but he left it alone mostly. Then Mike asked her out on a first date, the week before he and you ran into your ex at the restaurant. Then he asked her out again, after. Because it was easier than figuring out what to do in regards to you. It was what Mike wanted because it didn’t complicate anything. It wasn't a risk, and he knew what to expect. It was comfortable and it had been working… well enough. He had responses rehearsed in his head, on how he could answer and defend various things you could say. And, while you walked in silence, he waited for your reaction-- something he could analyze. But, you said nothing about it.

Mike didn’t say anything more either.

And neither did you, until a few weeks later.

“So…”

“So… what?” Mike asked gently, filing away the plea deal just finished, listening, but not looking at you, as the early evening light flooded the conference rooms’ windows. It was the last meeting of the day, and your official last day in the office-- your contract was done.

“You wanna grab a drink to celebrate all the cases won that we never went and celebrated these last six months? Like that mess of a Newgarden trial when I started, and ultimately saved for you,” you spoke casually, trying to keep it light, despite your body language being altered to hide the weight of it all.

It wasn’t a date. You weren’t trying to make it one. You just were trying to salvage a friendship, one that was quickly receding into a different formality and separateness, unfought by either of you.

“Raincheck?” Mike questioned, getting up to follow behind you. When you didn’t answer, he continued in the silence, reluctantly stringing together, “Candace made reservations at this edgy new restaurant that I’m going to love, weeks ago.”

You scoffed to yourself, turning away from the door you were going to open, biting sarcasm taking over where rejection was.

“I’m sure she’ll love it enough for both of you,” you mocked, the hurt escaping from where you’d been trying to heal it over. His eyes watched you, but he said nothing, and you hated it. Everything held back, broke through. You had nothing to lose now. You were leaving.

“Also, I doubt you’re going to a World Series game with her, and it’s not because of the Yankees standings,” you blatantly commented.

“What are you implying?” Mike pressed, stunned with your sudden shift in disposition that just hit him.

“Come on, Mike, how many times has Candace changed plans, done what she wanted? Why do you let her off the hook?” You questioned.

You aimed to read his face, but your own glint of anger made it harder. Mike didn’t put up with things like this at work, so why was he being second chair in his own relationship? It irked you.

Mike shook his head, mouth half agape, defensiveness shifting into place, “You’re being judgemental, you’re just pissed she said your name wrong when she met you.”

“Ah, you remembered that?,” you chuckled bitterly, “Still didn’t answer the question, though,” you noted, heartbeat rising as you saw the annoyance under the surface of his eyes, like a big wave growing before it hit the shore.

“Relationships are about compromise…” His distant voice tried to argue with you, as if he was speaking to a kid acting out.

“Not about compromising yourself,” you interjected, “Who are you trying to convince, Mike?”

“What’s your point?” He asked, crossing his arms despite the manila folder in his hands, aggravation piercing through.

“It isn’t right,” you asserted.

“And how do you know what’s right for me?” Mike spat.

Your own swell of brashness receded, recognizing you were swept into a deeper water than what it really was, with the idea of what could be.

“Why are we even talking about this?” Mike countered, frustrated, “We’re colleagues, we’re not--”

“You’re right... I don’t know,” you admitted abashedly. You had no argument for him. You didn’t know. So, you cut him off, not needing to hear the rest of his statement outloud-- you weren’t friends, you were just two people connected by circumstance. And this confirmed that.

Mike and you always had your separate lives outside of the office, the pieces known of one another were sparsely littered in brief mentions, always told in reference or past tense. There seemed to be no incentive to try and make memories together now in the present-- in whatever form you were trying to restore, outside of work.

You looked at him briefly, catching a glimpse of that memory-- the endearing first sight of him six months ago, tripping over evidence boxes, folders in hand, smiling at you.

He wasn’t smiling now.

You had confessions caught between your teeth, the one that said he deserved someone who wanted to sit with him for hours at a baseball game, the one that admitted you were going to miss working with him, the one that revealed you liked him more than you should. But, you couldn't bring yourself to say any of it. He wasn’t ever yours to lose, or gain. You swallowed your pride, and the pain in the back of your throat that had grown worse.

“Sorry. Forget it, Cutter,” you quietly said, looking away briefly, addressing him only by last name, as if that added enough distance on the map you already had drawn from you to him, “Just forget everything. There’s nothing to remember anyway.”

Mike felt the air change between you two. It was immediate like a burst of air through a broken window in a sealed room. He heard the familiarity fade in your voice. He saw how your shoulders sank then rose in reticence as you walked away through the door. He knew a line was drawn. A consequence he hadn’t foreseen when his ego tried to preemptively shield him. You had just sent a crack into the reality he formed into a sanguine fix for himself-- his safe bet in Candace. Then it boiled down to him trying to get you to force your hand instead of his, (less risk that way). But, maybe there was nothing to show, or win.

Mike was always slightly off-balance since you came into his life. Maybe it was best you interrupted, and stopped him from saying ‘lovers’. Maybe, that would’ve been the canon blast to sink this entire friendship stumbled upon months ago. But now, it didn’t even seem like you were interested in that. Again, he got what he wanted, no loose ends. There wasn’t an incentive to risk any more.

You left, and he didn’t say anything more to make you stay. So, Cutter tried to forget, like you told him to. Like he had been trying to do all along.

Interestingly enough, the Yankees did make it to the World Series that year. You wondered if Candace kept her promise and went with Mike to a game. Then you scowled for thinking about it. You were doing fine. You met new people, changed apartments, had new experiences and losses. Your time at the D.A.’s Office was less than a year, small compared to the greater timelines of life, but it never faded into your memory as you would’ve liked.

You didn’t like how dreams randomly planted scenarios in how things could’ve been different with Mike. You hated how those lost feelings found you again and again, hanging around like smoke on clothes-- the joy and disappointment like a bad cigarette habit you couldn’t break. You didn’t reach out, ever-- time, life, and stubbornness making it harder. Also, why bother when it was Mike who made it clear you weren’t anything in the first place.

Meanwhile, Mike pushed away the memories that surrounded him, by pulling himself deep into everything else at work. He garnered a successful reputation in his bureau in a couple years, no longer the doubting lawyer, unsure of himself. At least, he never showed that side of him to others. Frankly, he didn’t show any side of himself really, after you left, learning that it only made more trouble than it was worth. Mike’s revelation, of course, made it easier for him to do what he wanted, which was win cases, and focus solely on one thing: justice. He could care less about everything else, which gave him confidence and more work. His methods had got him the job opening of Executive A.D.A. in the violent crimes bureau, a bigger promotion despite his lesser office tenure. Again, a success at distracting himself from the past he couldn’t always outrun.

Then it caught up to him, again.

Mike saw you, or rather, was struck by you. You appeared no different than almost four years ago. His mouth went dry. He knew no one could hear his heartbeat in his ears, except him. Question after question spiraled out their tendrils, climbing over the walls of his brain: How were you? What were you doing now? Did you like your job? How was your life? Did you have-- he stopped himself-- his heart suddenly sore.

In his hesitation from across the room, you looked up, shocked at the familiar suit and coat taking up your office space. Both your sightlines knotted together, and that pit at the bottom of your heart grew exponentially. Same blue shirt get-up, his haircut slightly different. He nodded in your direction, putting his hands in his pockets, standing there, wanting to move, but unsure. You waved him over, busying yourself with writing a note at your desk to give you a moment to figure out what the hell you were going to say. You had so many drafts, rehearsed so many times-- but now, the speeches crumbled into rubble. You took a deep breath as the low voice you hadn’t heard snuck into your ears reminding you of another time, like an old song from your youth you forgot you loved.

“I hadn’t expected this,” Mike said slowly, nervously hovering near your desk.

“Yeah,” you drew out, standing up, neither of you pushing the personal space, for a hug felt disappointingly out-of-place, like clothes that didn’t fit anymore despite you wanting them to.

“You’re finally writing full-time?” He inquired, re-realizing this was an online newspaper office.

“Mmm-hmmm, I vet blog recommendations but also collaborate with investigations. In the city, there’s plenty of issues to uncover... just trying to find justice where I can,” you explained with a reluctant smile passing your lips, “You still at the D.A.’s Office?”

“Yeah,” Mike replied, “trying to do the same as you. I was here, hoping to get some info for the latest indictment.”

“How’s your conviction rate?” You joked, a genuine smile appearing.

A smile Mike learned he had missed more than he thought, knowing this seemed so different compared to how he last saw you. He tried to argue his time working with you was fleeting, merely an impression, but as soon as he recognized you, he realized you were a goddamn indentation in his mind, and he carved it out deeper every year it moved farther into the past.

He raised his eyebrows, his lips a confident half-smirk, “Not sure. I changed bureaus, and kind of lost track. Murder trials go on so much longer and by the time you win, there’s another.”

“I’m sure it’s a killer.” You deadpanned the pun, which got a chuckle from him, “You got a new office then?”

“Yeah, windows and extra tables and everything. It’s practically the Plaza.” He joked.

“Enough room to practice baseball? Or did you give that up?”

“No, still got them,” Mike nodded his head, surprised you’d remembered, “And yeah, there is space.”

You were unsure of what else to say, despite knowing there was so much to ask. Your eyes outlined every detail of how Mike looked now, his posture more reserved (or was it guarded?), the grey flecking his hair-- the different stress of cases surely contributing to these things. Yet, his eyes were still as blue as the New York skyline in early fall, something still behind them-- like a sunken object at the bottom of a deep pool, you never could make out exactly what it was.

“Uh,” Mike looked away, “Actually you reminded me of something.”

“What is it?” You wondered, anticipation speeding up your heart.

“Recently, there was an article put out on a popular news blog that seems to be linked to something bigger than a current case-- meaning it was done as a warning for my boss. I wanted to know who leaked the info. Would that be hard to find?”

“Not particularly, if someone tells me.”

“Could you find out for me?” His voice stumbled over the words, just like he did when he was younger.

You paused briefly, going around behind your desk in silence. You opened up the internet browser and gestured for him to take a seat.

“Find me the article, and I’ll let you know.”

Mike let out the breath he was holding. He nodded before sitting down. While he typed and scanned the search results, he occasionally glanced at you leaning against your desk, next to him. He cleared his throat.

“Here.” He said, getting back up to let you see.

He let you read the article, while his eyes retreated back to you again, in their own tide with his mind-- who decided to pull them away from the shape of you, yet also selfishly wanted to take another fleeting moment while you weren’t looking.

“D.A. McCoy galavanting in California, on the taxpayers’ dime?”

“It’s not true.” Cutter defended.

“You do realize you’re biased.”

“I know, but it’s still false. It’s someone high profile linked to our case as a potential witness, and this was a way to say ‘stop digging’.”

You sighed, “that is plausible,” you said, leaning back into your chair, undecided.

“You were right about Candace, by the way,” Mike gently revealed, randomly, looking away as he shifted his weight.

Your eyebrows rose slightly when he looked back to you, waiting for him to continue.

“I had wanted to go to the final game of the World Series. The Yankees still had a chance to tie and reclaim their win. I bought tickets. She forgot she even made that promise. She said it wasn’t a big deal. But, it was. So, despite her long-winded ultimatums in-person and by phone. I ignored her, and went by myself. And then the Yankees lost, 0-2, which was its own kind of insult to injury.”

“Is this an attempt at flattery?”

“Yes, but it’s also me trying to say I didn’t want to admit that you had a valid point. And, it’s long overdue. And right now, I’d really appreciate the help.”

Unconsciously, your rigid expression softened at his earnest blue-eyed gaze and small smile, like driftwood being smoothed in the ocean's surf. You hated that smirky smile, the one that was more amusing than smug. You nodded in acceptance, swallowing that familiar vague pain in the back of your throat.

Mike continued, “I also think she cursed the team because they haven’t been back since, and I’ve been single and they still couldn’t even win the division series this year.”

You noticed the casual drop of relationship status, but you refused to react to it. This was a lot, at once, to maintain composure about. You didn’t want all of this flooding back so quickly when you had nothing to hold onto-- after you worked so hard to be some form of okay again.

“What’s your cell number?” You asked, changing the subject, as you grabbed a pen and paper, “I’ll call you if I find out anything.”

Mike didn’t push the boundary that was drawn out so long ago. He took what he could. And, he hoped you’d call. Regardless if you found anything, he hoped you’d call.

It was about four days later when his phone rang.

“Hey Mike, it’s--”

“Hi,” he interrupted, recognizing your voice, dialing his own back from sounding overeager, “What’s up?”

“I traced that article you gave me back to a PR firm: Swann and Poltek. They’re pretty big. Interestingly enough, they handled the Governor’s last campaign.”

“Really? Now that’s interesting,” he paused, racking his brain to figure out how he could keep you on the line a little longer, “Thanks again for taking the time to find out.”

“You’re welcome,” you paused, before sarcastically adding, “Just don’t make it a habit. Unless you want to negotiate an investigative fee right now.”

We can discuss it during our date.

What about drinks, you and me?

Would dinner work instead?

Can I just make it a habit of running into you again?

Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime.

But he didn’t say any of that.

“Not in the budget, currently.”

“Well, good luck with the case.” You replied, wondering if you could hear anything in the silence on the line-- a signal that agreed with what you wanted to believe for so long-- that this was more than just a favour from an old acquaintance.

“Thanks.”

“Take care, Mike.”

“You too.”

Cutter sighed aloud, dropping the phone, dismayed with himself. He didn’t think this would be so hard to do. But, it was-- unable to escape those fears from so long ago. There were words, ripe to use, but Mike let them hang there, tongue-tied with old strings. There was a layer to you that wasn't there before, and he didn’t know if it was for him or because of him. He had so little to go on, and it was his own doing. He had gained confidence in other areas of his life, but when it came down to you, he was still stuck in the past.

&1.

After becoming depressed with Governer Shalvoy’s cover-up of the web of events tied to the Madison murder and guilty Frank Beezly’s future pardon, Cutter tried to distract himself from work. It was a thing he never was usually inclined to do, but more recently was fine with. Nursing some questionable off-brand liquor in his apartment when he couldn't sleep, he opened his laptop and looked for your news articles online, and tried to remember anything you mentioned about your writing pursuits from years’ back. He wasn’t surprised at your work: it was researched, thoughtful, and well written. He also stumbled upon a few references to submitted pieces-- the fiction and poetry kind, which vaguely sounded familiar to something you enjoyed from old offhand conversations. He wasn’t really one for those sorts of things, despite his verbose line of work. The words could sound awfully pretty, but he never got the meaning. Then Mike stumbled upon a poem of yours that was published last year:

Emcee

Master of ceremonies,

I didn’t know I was a part of the show, won over.

Then the curtain fell, cursed formality,

Realized the ending before anything.

Anxiety a chip on my shoulder,

My eloquence more of a thrown boulder

At a delicate situation, housed on the edge of the cliff

Slipped, stranded.

A landslide of feelings I thought I abandoned.

That suit and tie, loose daydream threads pulling at me,

Caught, saw a sliver of what’s underneath,

Smile in every crack of the street.

Your articulate lips were an altar I would’ve been sacrificed to,

To learn what your lungs would say

When I took your breath away

With my insurmountable love.

Pretty blue horizon I skydived deep.

Lost traveler crashed, what I tried to give, you didn’t want to keep.

Not enough then, not enough now, to escape the almost.

Here I am, on stage, attempting to console my self-inflicted wounds,

Heartbeat echoing, I’m still talking into the microphone in that emptied room.

He repeated the given title, as if trying to pronounce a new word, or recalling a forgotten incantation as it dawned on him: M.C.

Like his initials? Was it about him? Mike paused, your written words crashing like a tidal wave, going beyond that mark which had reemerged. The thought was like broken glass digging in, making him hurt. This was written almost a year ago, things could've changed by now. But-- if it was still true, or even if it had been, and he let you go-- there was so much time wasted because he was afraid. He finished off his drink with one swig. He sat there in silence, the bright glowing words on the screen burning, like his throat. It was life’s metaphorical way of shaking him up, telling him to do something. So, finally, he did.

When you got back to the office, you found an envelope left on your desk. As soon as you inspected it, visions from old notes on whiteboards and meeting memos’ familiarity grabbed you: it was Mike’s handwriting on the outside. His name next to the ‘from’ confirmed that too. You were confused, thinking maybe he felt obligated to pay you back for your investigative help from 2 weeks ago. You carefully opened the letter, unfolding the note inside. It was a print-out of the poem you’d never think he’d find, let alone read. Your heart caught in your throat, even learning of this secondhand felt too vulnerable. Then you saw something written at the bottom of the page:

The room isn’t empty. If you want to talk, I’ll be at Pete’s Tavern. Friday, 7 o’clock. If you don’t, no hard feelings.

You stood a moment, staring at the sudden potential that flooded the place you wrote off as done for.

The nerves you felt as background noise when you first read Mike’s note didn’t escape you. They were there all day after, and still here every step you took towards the black and white sign of the restaurant on the corner. You hoped for the best, but worried it wouldn’t work, that too much time had passed, that somehow it’d end the same just like every other time you thought it was going well.

Mike had been watching the door non-stop since he got to Pete’s, taking only brief breaks to check his watch countdown time. Then he saw you walk through the door, and he couldn’t stop that familiar grin from spreading across his face. You were a vision, better than anything he could’ve imagined because you being here, was, in fact, real.

You were scanning the room, and your eyes met each other’s. That earnestness radiating from Mike’s face, calmed your nerves. You recalled the memory from that fleeting moment at the restaurant years ago, that look in Mike’s eyes where everything else dissolved away and all you wanted was to keep him looking at you. Now, he was. Completely, and totally, that mystery hidden in his irises revealed and finally, in the open.

“Hi,” he greeted, the tone of his voice somewhat familiar, that tenderness saved from a moment before.

“Hi,” you mirrored, taking a seat across from him, “You know you could have just called me and asked me out. But I admit the handwritten letter was very poetic.”

“What can I say, you inspired me,” Mike acknowledged, a smirk tugging at his lips again.

“Also,” he added, tapping his fingers against the tabletop, nerves floating up to the surface as his smile faded, “It was for self-preservation. I wouldn't have had to face the rejection first-hand.”

“Really?” You asked, not incredulously, just in a way that lent your own surprise at how someone who stared down murderers daily could be insecure towards you.

“Yeah,” his voice agreed, splitting the word up, “not that I’d admit that to anyone else or frankly, have for anyone else.”

You kept talking through the dinner that felt like a second chance, an amleroration. It was magical yet unsettling in another way. It was like time was erased and confined at the same time. The restrictions were gone, but all the gaps had gotten bigger to overcome. It wasn’t difficult, but it took time-- fortunately both of you were willing to spend it.

The short walk after dinner turned into over twenty blocks. The Empire State Building standing over you on the street, the line for tickets miraculously gone for the evening.

“Hey, do you wanna go up to the observation deck? I’ve never been, and no one’s here.” You suggested.

“Yeah, sure.” Mike had been once before, when he was way younger, but it wasn’t at night. And even if he had, he could’ve cared less. He would’ve said yes to anything you suggested because it was more time with you he didn’t even have to ask for.

Traveling up the 80-something floors, both of your hands managed to get intertwined with one another’s during caught stares and lingering smiles. Neither of you minded they did-- clandestinely clinging onto the reality of one another that was felt briefly once so long ago, now aware and willing to hold onto it closely. So, the memory would hold onto you too.

The skyline was an onyx landscape alive with tiny sparkling lights, manufactured stars, windows into worlds. A 21st century sight Van Gogh would’ve been inspired to capture if he had been at this very spot. It was a view you had to truly see to accurately understand-- the atmosphere or time of year perfectly right. And despite the nighttime breezes up that high-- it took your breath away.

“Wow, it’s so beautiful,” you commented, enamored with the scene and current reality that led you here. Your hair elegantly fell away from your face, like the wind was at your command while your eyes held the surrounding glimmering reflections alongside another old spark nurtured back to life.

“You really are.” Cutter casually admitted, with a low drawl, his lips shifting into another smirk as he watched you.

You turned, his comment hitting you much differently than anything previously said-- the sudden coquetry was its own soft breeze, against your now blushing cheeks.

“You’re beautiful,” he said again, trying to make up for all the times he had thought it in all of its contexts and meanings, and never told you outloud.

You bit your lip, thinking back, quietly confessing, “You don’t know how many times I’d imagined you’d say that.”

“Actually, I think I can, because it’s probably as many times as I wondered about this,” Mike admitted, leaning in, his eyes clear, shining with conviction.

“So, can I kiss you now?,” his voice whispered, invisible ashes falling from where his warm breath dusted your face.

“I thought you’d never ask,” you replied, lips turning into a smile.

Your hands broke apart to only meet each other again-- Mike needing to commit this fully honest moment to another physical sense, his fingertips against your flushed cradled face, writing a cipher only you knew the meaning of, desperate to create a new mark to cover up the one that’s haunted him for so long. You were adrift in the nostalgic revived intimacy of this closeness, the chance to live out the line you wrote and prove its truth, one he’d never argue or forget, as you spoke in the sweet affection you had kept reserved in hope for so long since. You and Cutter both adamant on making up on all the time lost.

#mike cutter #michael cutter x reader #michael cutter #law and order fanfiction #law and order #mike cutter x you #mike cutter imagine #law and order svu fanfiction #michael cutter imagines #michael cutter fanfiction #mike cutter x reader

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itsnotwierditsart13 · 3 years

Text

Holy Shit (ronance fanfic)

A small little fic about Robin and Nancy getting together:)

It was a thankfully slow day at Family Video as Robin and Steve worked their shift together. Robin was building a new cardboard display case for a shipment that was supposed to have arrived hours ago. Everything was always moving in slow motion at this job, though, and Robin enjoyed it thoroughly. Meanwhile, Steve couldn’t even bother to look busy as he slumped in the one old raggedy chair that Keith allowed them to have. It was pouring rain outside, the windows rattling from thunder every so often. There were probably going to be at least 2 more customers coming in before they closed in four hours. Mostly just older ladies who shouldn’t be driving a car, let alone in the poor weather conditions. Ms. Matheson, a store regular, never rewound her tapes fully, always halfway. It drove Steve crazy, even though he expected it.

“We should have Nancy come by, since it’s so dead,” Steve stated casually as if he didn��t have ulterior motives. He was slumped in his chair, eyeballing Robin for any type of reaction. It was clear that she had feelings for Nancy. After everything that had happened at Starcourt the four of them had formed a bond. Hanging out together most days, sometimes including the kids.

“Don’t start,” Robin replied while flinging a piece of cardboard at him. It narrowly missed his head and landed on the dirty carpet behind him. “She’s my friend and straight, if you’ve forgotten. I’m not gonna indulge in whatever you’ve cooked up in that head of yours.” There was another boom of thunder, drowning out Steve’s exasperated sigh. It was the same conversation they’ve had about twenty times since Steve had picked up on Robin’s feelings.

“It’s just...sometimes when she’s looking at you. She’s looking at you. Ya know?” Steve explained. He was entirely convinced that Nancy felt at least something more than friendly for Robin. The two acted differently around each other. “And she knows you’re a lady lover. Maybe you’re like her gay awakening or something,” he finished, causing Robin to raise an eyebrow at him from across the counter.

“Whatever you say, Dingus.” It was clear that Robin didn’t believe a word he said. “Now, can you make yourself useful and hand me the duct tape,” she gestured to the roll that was out of her reach. He rolled his eyes as he passed it over to her.

He didn’t have the heart to mention that she was building it upside down.

_______________________________________________________________

Robin was beginning to lose her mind at a rapid rate. It was clear Steve was going to be no help in the situation as he sat on the far end of the couch, minding his business.

The three of them, minus Johnathan, had decided to have a casual Friday night movie marathon. That was nothing out of the ordinary, except the minute Steve flicked the lights off and started ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’ Robin’s brain almost short circuited. Nancy, who was previously sitting a good distance away, curled into Robin’s side like it was the most casual thing in the world. She wiggled around enough that Robin had no choice but to wrap an arm around her small shoulders. They were now fifteen minutes into the film and Robin couldn’t process anything that was happening. She knew that her body was rigid and stiff, almost like a statue, but it was impossible to relax. What was Nancy doing? Sure, they had hugged before and the occasional times they’ve had to sit closely. Nothing like this had ever occurred, though.

Nancy seemed relaxed and engrossed in the movie. Robin had been side-eyeing her. Meanwhile, Steve continued to act like nothing strange was happening. Although Robin knew that he was fully aware of the situation at hand. The asshole was probably feeling pretty smug currently. Robin would’ve thrown popcorn at his stupid hair if her arm wasn’t already occupied. Despite the growing anxiety, it felt good to have Nancy against her. The girl was warm and small enough that she fit perfectly under her arm. Nancy’s arm that wasn’t wedged between them was laying gently across Robin’s stomach. It was all so...intimate. Robin had no idea what to think of it. This was the closest she had ever been to another girl before. On top of the fact that she had feelings for said girl.

That thought alone filled her with guilt almost immediately. Nancy was probably used to cuddling up to her girl friends like this, why should Robin be any different. The fact that Robin was a lesbian probably wasn’t even a thought in Nancy’s mind. The girl had taken the news in stride when Robin had slipped up and came out accidentally a month ago. Here Robin was, though, catching feelings for an innocent straight girl. A straight girl who was currently happily tucked into her side. Shit.

Robin stood up abruptly, dislodging Nancy and causing Steve to startle slightly. “Um, I have to pee,” she mumbled out unconvincingly before taking off down the short hallway. When she was finally locked in Steve’s small bathroom she let out a sigh of frustration. It was times like these that she wished she could just be normal. It took another few minutes to calm herself down enough but she knew she had to return to the couch eventually. It would look suspicious if she hid in the bathroom all night.

When she walked back out into the darkened room, Nancy glanced over at her with an unreadable expression. She quietly sat back down and did her best to avoid the two pairs of eyes that she could feel on her every so often.

Nancy kept her distance for the rest of the night.

________________________________________________________________

A week had passed since the ‘Movie Night incident’, as Steve had dubbed it, and things had only gotten stranger. To Robin’s horror, Nancy had been touchy feely with her every chance she got. Such as, entwining their hands while walking or resting her legs over Robin’s in the car. It was causing Robin to be in constant gay panic mode, which was exhausting to say the least. The more it occurred, the more Steve found it entirely amusing, though. Also, Nancy was always hanging around with them at the Video store. She’d stop in and bring them lunch, even if it was just for a few minutes. It was as if Nancy was doing everything in her power to give Robin a heart attack.

Despite everything, Robin could only feel herself falling harder for the other girl. It pissed her off. She could barely focus when the other girl was around. Currently, she was trying not to stare as Nancy walked into the store with all the kids trailing behind her. Dustin immediately made a beeline for Steve, who was stocking shelves. The others all screamed over each other about which movie to rent. Will, with his sweetheart face, gave a small wave to Robin as he passed. He would always be her favorite of the bunch.

“Hey Robin,” Nancy greeted casually, a small smirk on her face. She wore that expression a lot now and Robin couldn’t decipher it to save her life. “Sorry for the midday child tornado. I’m dropping them off at the Byers house but they wanted to stop for movies,” she joked. Robin had to swallow around the lump that had formed in her throat and waved her arm dismissively.

“Please, it’s been bleak around here anyway. The only person I’ve had to talk to was Dingus,” Robin responded, gesturing over to Steve, who was now surrounded by all the kids. He was probably getting ready to hand them over a movie that they shouldn't be watching at their age. Nancy let out a laugh and stepped forward until she was standing directly in front of Robin.

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Especially when I’m stuck watching Mike while our parents are out,” she spoke and then paused, leaning in a bit more. “Although, I am pretty jealous that he gets to hangout with you all day. Even if you have to deal with customer service.” Robin held her breath as Nancy just kind of stared at her with that same unreadable smirk. Before anything else could transpire between them, Max sprinted through them towards the register. The others followed behind soon after, all yelling about her movie choice. Nancy just rolled her eyes while Robin finally let air into her lungs again. The spell was broken after that as they both made their way over to the, still arguing, group.

Robin didn’t miss Steve making kissy faces at her from behind Nancy’s back. He’d seen the whole exchange.

________________________________________________________________

Another week passed by in much the same fashion. It all came crashing to a sudden halt when Nancy had stopped by the store on a Sunday afternoon. Steve wasn’t scheduled and it was just Robin watching the counter by herself. Nancy had only been there an hour before flustering Robin to her breaking point.

“Okay!” Robin shouted, causing Nancy to startle and take a step back. They had just finished their coffees that Nancy had gotten them while talking easily. When there was a moment of silence Nancy got that smirk on her face again. The one she’d been sporting constantly the last two weeks. Out of the blue, as if it wasn’t a huge deal, Nancy leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You can’t do that! You’re gonna kill me!” Robin continued to rant. She could feel the heat rushing to her face as Nancy just stared at her with wide eyes.

“Do you…um? Do you not have feelings for me?” Nancy asked hesitantly with confusion in her voice.

Robin sucked in a breath of air so forcefully that it made her cough a little. “What!” she wheezed out, grabbing ahold of the counter. Nancy had the decency to look sheepish as she shrugged her shoulders gently.

“I sort of overheard you and Steve talking about me. More specifically that you...liked me. But now I’m realizing I’m an idiot and probably misinterpreted the conversation,” she finished, taking another hesitant step back from Robin. “Oh god, you probably think I’m a freak now.” Robin just continued to stare at the other girl in shock. “You were just trying to be my friend and I was touching you constantly. I am so sorry,” Nancy ranted while waving her hands around anxiously. It was clear she was working herself up into an all out panic attack.

“Wait,” Robin startled, holding her hand up suddenly. “You were flirting with me?” The statement caused Nancy to stop her pacing and look at Robin.

“Well...yeah. Obviously,” she gritted out aggressively and crossed her arms over herself.

“Do you have feelings for me?” Robin yelped back. Nancy just scoffed and let out a bitter laugh.

“Jesus Christ, Robin, you’re really gonna make me say it? Yes...I like you, a lot. You’re funny and caring and I just feel comfortable around you,” Nancy’s words were mumbled out but Robin caught the whole thing.

“Holy shit, Nance,” Robin breathed out in disbelief. The other girl just looked up and glared back at her. With that look, Robin realized what a dumbass she’d been and smiled widely. Before Nancy could comment on it, Robin gathered all her courage and leaned forward to connect their lips. It took a few seconds for Nancy, who was probably confused, to kiss back. They stood there kissing gently while everything else around them faded away. Robin wrapped her arms around the smaller girl, pulling them as close as possible. She could feel Nancy smiling into the kiss.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later the sound of the door chiming broke them apart. Luckily, they were behind a shelf so the visitor couldn’t have seen what they were doing. Robin just rolled her eyes as Steve came strolling around the corner, though. Of course he’d make an appearance even on his day off. When he spotted the two of them he stopped dead in his tracks. It only took a moment for him to take note of Nancy’s blush before he smiled widely.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” he stated. In the next second he had to dodge Nancy’s swatting hands. Robin couldn’t keep the smile off her face even if she tried.

#ronance #ronance fanfic #robin/nancy #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things

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mikemoon · 3 years

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( choi yeonjun, cis man ) have you seen MICHAEL “MIKE” MOON ? i heard HE is a COMPUTER SCIENCE MAJOR at SAN VERTO COLLEGE and an EMPLOYEE at HALL OF FILM. they’re 22 years old and they’ve been living in san verto for 6 YEARS. they tend to be CARE-FREE & ADVENTUROUS, but rumor has it they can also be GRUMPY & CLUMSY. [ tally, 25, gmt+4, she/her ] @foolsstarters

tw // mentions of depression, cheating, divorce, underage drinking and smoking

michael moon, born myungjun moon –– choi yeonjun fc

birthday: september 9, 1998 - 22 yrs old ; virgo

cis man, he/him, bisexual

born and raised in philadelphia, pennsylvania

mike grew up being an only child, and always around the company of his mother in their house. his father was always traveling back and forth from south korea to the states for work. his parents have met at work on one of his father’s trips to the states, and they fell in love. his mother being american-born, she couldn’t really leave philadelphia. she loved it there. so they decided to keep it a long distance relationship.

sometime during those fleeting meetings, she had gotten pregnant with michael. and of course, his father spoiled them both, giving them everything they wanted. he never left them to fend for themselves. when the boy was born, his father named him myungjun, and his mother decided to name him michael for his english name. the nicknames jun, mike, and sometimes junnie were often heard whenever his parents or childhood friends called him.

up until mike was five years old in 2004, he’s lived with his mother, while his father was leaving and coming back for a week or two. but that year, he’s finally moved to the states and stayed with them for longer nights. he even finally married michael’s mother. of course, he still disappeared for a few days or weeks on end for work.

but that was also the year michael’s mother found out that her husband was with another woman. michael has never seen his mother break down like that before. sadly, the young boy was peering into the room when the fight happened and witnessed everything. his mother made her partner choose between the two women, and he eventually told her that he was going to divorce his first wife for her, and appeared to have gone through with his promise. because after that incident, he’s been around more often.

by early 2015, when michael had just turned 16, his mother had gotten a teaching job in ashdown academy, which resulted in their move to san verto, california. meaning, new school and new friends for mike. meanwhile, his dad was still traveling a lot for business and coming back whenever he could.

michael has grown up as a cheerful and energetic child. his friends at any school he went to would tell you how much of a great friend he is, how trustworthy and caring he is. it was so easy for him to make friends anywhere. he was the type of friend who would smile at you and listen to you talk on and on about whatever you liked, and the type who would cheer you on with anything you want to achieve. he wanted everyone to feel included and loved.

so it wasn’t that hard for him to get along with new people once he moved to town. he was a very social person.

he was also the type of teenager who was out there doing things he wasn’t supposed to. he missed his old friends and his old home, but he wanted to have fun with all the new kids he was befriending. that simply resulted in him going to house parties as an underaged teen to ‘have fun’. his mother didn’t approve of him coming home very late at night, clearly smelling like smoke and alcohol.

internally he was a depressed mess. of course, no one is completely happy as they grow up. his family was a mess, even if it appeared as fine to everyone else. his family life affected him so much while growing up. mike sometimes could disappear for a few days in his room, and it was always during some of his bad spells.

what made it worse was the day he found out the truth.

it was 2017 when michael walked into his father’s office in their house, looking for him to ask him about something. and instead of finding the man, he found a stack of papers poking from underneath his father’s laptop. upon closer look, they appeared to be divorce papers. michael’s heart sunk, thinking his parents were breaking it off.

michael is a curious kid, he couldn’t help but close the door and read the papers. but what he saw wasn’t his mother’s name, it was another woman. his heart raced, as he put things back where they were and immediately left the room. michael had found out one of his father’s many secrets. he never divorced his first wife all those years ago. he lied and somehow stayed with both women without suspicion... well, until now. clearly the other woman was breaking it off for a reason.

michael couldn’t help his curiosity. he came back to the room later that night and snapped as many pictures as he could of evidence he could find. he even found his father’s phone (which was easy to figure out the password of) and found a plethora of pictures of the man with a different family, different kids and a different partner. he airdropped the pictures to himself to avoid leaving any traces behind and quickly left again.

a quick search on facebook, and he managed to find the first wife. it was easy with the name and pictures he had. if anything, michael prided himself on being a good internet detective... or stalker. he spent everyday trying to find the rest of the family on the internet. he found the woman’s young daughter on instagram and twitter, along with her older son’s accounts as well. it felt weird. it was a constant “now what?” for michael. he’s found them. what was he going to do now? he couldn’t just message them and tell them everything. and he couldn’t break his mother’s heart by letting her know.

except he had to let her know. he could never live with the fact that he knew his father was betraying her this entire time. and so michael told her everything, and after comforting her all night when she broke down yet again, she immediately ended things and asked for a divorce. now it was just michael and his mother, all alone. and for once, having to get by on their own.

thankfully they were safe, with his mother’s amazing money management skills, and the job she got at the academy, they managed to live their regular lives despite the heavy feeling of a broken family looming around them. the two just wanted to be happy again.

michael spent the next few years trying to lead a normal life. his mental health had gotten worse after everything he’s found out. he went to college, and he continued trying to do well in school. he really wasn’t the best when it came to grades, but he was trying his best.

and truthfully, he couldn’t help but make a few spare accounts on some social medias to follow his father’s other family.

but he eventually decided to just let it go, assuming they definitely knew about his mother and himself, which would explain the first divorce. so he decided to put it in the past and move on.

his mother has moved on as well. she found herself someone who actually cares about her so much (mike’s stupid ass has done a secret background check to make sure this dude wasn’t another cheater lmaoo) and now mike isn’t an only child anymore. it’s been 2 years since his little sister yuna was born, and he loves her so much. he still isn’t used to the idea of a new fatherly figure in his life, but he’s.... getting there.

little dumb hcs

mike majors in computer science at san verto college, with a concentration in game development and design

hes a lil gamer boy,,, u KNOW he’s that annoying dude with a gamer chair that has a sound system in it khjkh

he posted a few videos on youtube but rly just ditched the channel after like a month. he still posts whenever he feels like it tho and it’s usually just.... messy gaming videos or opinions no one asked for

his dad’s dumb ass still doesn’t know it was mike who exposed him to his mother. he thinks she found the divorce papers on her own. therefore.... mike still gets money from his dad on a monthly basis and gets to keep the car he bought him for his 18th birthday lmaooooo a win

you probably heard me say this before but.... theres a hc that mike is allergic to eggs. simply bc the idea of him shopping in the vegan section is funny to me

this boy has a love for frogs ? idk where the obsession came from but you bet you’re gonna see a cute lil frog sticker on everything he owns. he doodles them on everything too ? it’s a habit at this point. he also knows random little facts about them and tells them to anyone who didnt ask for them

. embarrassing but.. this dude... omg.... a big sana stan.... he has a photocard collection.... he went to a twice concert like 5 times.... dont be surprised if you see a feel special sana photocard in his phonecase.... im embarrassed of him

he also has a hyunjin mcdonalds hashbrown photocard framed that a friend gave to him for christmas bc.. it’s a rare card,,, and you can see it on a table by the door when you walk into his apartment 😭

mike also has a habit of buying things he doesn’t need ?? he has a plushie collection that has been growing since he was young, and now is getting bigger with the rise of squishmallows

there’s this random hc where he drunk bought a cardboard cutout of john cena ,,,, don’t ask,,, it’s currently guarding his room back at his mom’s house djfhdj

can you tell mike is my most embarrassing , most chaotic character,,

also he moved out after graduating school and when he started to attend college,,,, gimme some roomies pls

connection ideas ??

michael’s childhood friends; could’ve gone to the same school back in philly before he moved away ??

friends he made when he moved to town?? mike is very social and was... kinda popular in school, i’d say. he made friends with basically anyone he found interesting

michael’s ex; they could’ve ended on a bad note, or even on a good one and ended up being friends. im really up for plotting anything.

michael’s best friend; PLEASE i love wholesome best friend plots. it doesn’t matter if they met in san verto or philly

roomies pls !!! i would love it if he could have some roommates who have to deal with his very . peculiar decorating habits

co workers ?? customers ? regulars ? he works at hall of film !

like this to plot or hmu !

#foolsintro #this got SO LONG #i didnt proof read and im sure i missed something

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elisela · 4 years

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echo oscar mike buck x eddie, 1.9k, vermont verse @extasiswings wanted eddie to have a cat in vermont and I wasn’t gonna do it but then .... well, it’s chapel so.

Eddie learned, very shortly after moving to Vermont, that he likes routine. He thrives off it—blame his parents and their strict schedule when he was growing up, blame the military, or maybe just blame his personality—but he finds comfort in knowing what his day is going to look like when he wakes up in the morning.

And he has a good one, has had a good one since he met Buck and fell into an easy(ish) life with him, waking up in the morning to kick a seventy-five pound dog off his bed so he can have sex with his husband, said husband making him breakfast every morning, filling up his days with workouts, running the youth center a few days a week, taking classes at the community college just because he hates being bored, and being home by the time his kid and Buck are both back just to spend the rest of the day with them.

(Less Chris these days, now that he’s sixteen and more interested in girls, trying to convince Eddie to take him in for an exam so he can be cleared to drive, and spending every waking minute out of the house and with his friends. Eddie’s mom had said he was too permissive last time she called and Chris hadn’t been home, but Chris is happy, Buck is happy, and Eddie is certainly happy, so he tried not to let it get to him.)

So Eddie’s in the middle of his Tuesday routine—breakfast with Bobby, Combat to Classroom lecture at a community college in Burlington, and a run around the University of Vermont campus before he heads home to clean up before opening the youth center—when he passes the Delta Tau Delta house and stops.

He’s not sure why the cardboard box catches his eye, but it does, and laying inside is one tiny kitten, eyes closed against the soft rain that’s falling.

Eddie’s parents were not big on pets growing up. His dad was never home, and he can still hear his mother saying, “when you’re mature enough to take care of a pet on your own, then we’ll talk.” Christopher had been born before Eddie was ever deemed mature enough for a pet, so it wasn’t until he’d found Ox out on the trail that he had gotten any experience. But Ox was a monster, a beast of a dog who took up so much room that he and Buck had gotten new furniture just to accommodate him.

So this—this tiny tan and black kitten that might fit in Buck’s palm—he’s not sure what to do, so he does what he always does when he has a question, and he calls Hen.

“Eddie, being a surgeon is not the same as being a vet,” she sighs when he fills her in. “Is the cat warm?”

He bends down and strokes a finger over its fur and down to its paws. “Not really,” he says, “but her eyes opened so she’s still alive. Should I take her to the vet?”

“Sometimes I wonder about you,” Hen says, and Eddie grins even though she can’t see him. “Yes, take the cat to the vet. But you know you’re gonna have to keep it for awhile, don’t you? The shelters have been full for months, that always happens when it starts getting colder.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do, leave her to die?” he says—

—which is the same thing he says that night to Buck, when Buck takes three steps inside the door, looks at Eddie bottle-feeding the cat, and says, “no.”

“No,” Buck says again, shaking his head as he toes off his untied boots and kicks them under the bench. “You already—” he leans down and kisses Eddie, a soft press of lips at the corner of his mouth, “—brought this beast into our—get off me Ox, let me get my jacket off first—into our house without asking.”

“She was in a wet cardboard box,” he says, looking down and tilting the bottle to get the last drops out. “What was I supposed to do, leave her to die?”

“Leave her at the vet,” Buck says, scratching Ox on the head and moving towards the kitchen, talking as he disappears through the doorway. “I put chicken in the fridge to thaw this morning but I think I want—Eddie!”

“I think he saw the litter box,” Eddie whispers to the little bundle in his hands, setting the bottle down and sliding her back into his hoodie pocket to keep warm. He stands up, sliding a hand into his pocket to make sure she’s secure, and goes to console his husband. Buck might be upset, but he’ll get over it. “The vet wouldn’t take her,” he says, leaning against the doorway and watching as Buck looks over the bags on the kitchen table.

Eddie’s never had a cat; he had no clue what to buy, so he just … bought one of everything.

There’s something—off, about it though; when he’d brought Ox home, Buck had sighed and complained about it, but he hadn’t looked—mad.

Like he does now.

“I named her Echo,” Eddie offers, expecting to be laughed at, for Buck to roll his eyes and finally crack a smile, but he just lets out a breath and allows the bag to fall from his hand. “Buck,” he tries again, “really, the vet wouldn’t take her and—”

“And did you try anywhere else?” Buck asks, looking at Eddie skeptically. “Because the seven bags from The Dog and Cat tell me that you didn’t.”

“Hen said the shelters were all full,” Eddie says. “Maybe I should have talk to you first, but you were busy—”

“Funny, you’ve never thought I was too busy working when you want me to come home in the middle of the day because you want me to fuck you—”

“—and you love cats,” Eddie says over him, because he can’t exactly argue with that. He’s definitely taken advantage of Buck working for himself now, not having a set schedule or time-frame unless it’s his own making, the couch out in the workshop getting so much use that Buck had joked about finally just bringing a bed in. “You volunteer at an animal shelter, I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“I walk the dogs,” Buck says, “and you didn’t think that, you thought if I came home and saw the cat that I’d just accept it like I did with Ox.”

Eddie opens his mouth to keep arguing, but Buck crosses his arms over his chest, and he closes it again. Buck doesn’t get closed off like this often, and although he still thinks he had a good reason—he’s not leaving any animal outside, exposed to the rain that’s now pouring down—but he’s also aware that Buck is … entirely right. Somehow, Eddie had fallen in love with Echo in between jogging back to his car with her wrapped in his hoodie and walking into the veterinarian’s office, and he really didn’t intend to look for a home for her anywhere else.

They haven’t fought in a long time, he thinks suddenly, because he has no clue what to do right now.

“I’m gonna go out to the workshop,” Buck says, “can you take care of dinner?” and leaves without waiting for the answer, motioning for Ox to follow him.

Ox goes, the traitor.

---

Eddie gives it an hour, calls the little italian restaurant that’s on the way to the ski resort—where Eddie had taken him on their first date—and orders Buck’s favorite dishes and a slice of peanut butter pie, because if he’s going to pull out all the stops he might as well get the dessert they’d shared that night. He checks in with Chris, who sends a picture of himself with three of his friends at Pizza Putt, grinning widely and holding up mini-golf clubs, and shuffles around the house cleaning up to kill time until the food is ready.

With just a few minutes left, he realizes suddenly that taking Echo with him is not a great idea, and he doesn’t want to leave her alone in the house, which means—

“Hey,” he says, stepping into the workshop. “I—are you okay?”

Buck’s laying on the couch, hand against his rib cage; he winces when he sits up. “I wasn’t watching where I was going in the house and I kinda ran into a dresser that May was bringing in,” he says quietly, and lifts his shirt. There’s a large bruise blooming under his skin, spreading across his side.

Eddie crouches down beside him, careful not to jostle Echo in his pocket, and rests his hand against the spot, pushing gently. “You want to go to the hospital? I don’t think it’s anything serious—”

“I’m fine, Eds,” Buck says, pulling his shirt down before Eddie withdraws his hand. “Dinner ready?”

“I gotta go pick it up,” he says, “but—I’m sorry. I should have called you, and I’ll call around tomorrow to see if there’s a shelter that can take her or someone who wants her. I’ll find a home for her.” Buck nods, but his gaze is on Eddie’s pocket, where Echo is poking her head out. “Would you watch her while I get the food?”

“Sure,” he says, and when Eddie sets her in his hand, Buck curls his arm to his stomach to hold her, and uses the other hand to pull Eddie down for a kiss.

---

There’s a fire going in the living room when he gets home, the first of the year; October is wetter than normal and Eddie makes a mental note to buy firewood over the weekend, because he has a feeling they’re going to need it more often this winter. Buck’s not on the couch, though, and there’s no trashy reality show playing on the television, so he goes through to the kitchen, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on the coat stand.

Buck’s not there either, but all of the bags from the pet store have been cleared away, so he starts setting out dinner—transferring it onto plates instead of leaving it in the boxes like they normally do—and is wondering if they even own candles for a candlelight dinner when Buck comes around the corner, hair damp and wavy, clearly just out of the shower with his joggers and t-shirt on.

In the stretched out chest pocket of his blue shirt is Echo, curled into a half circle, eyes closed. One paw sticks out, and Eddie feels such a sudden pressure in his chest that he thinks he may be having a heart attack.

“Don’t say a word,” Buck says, fitting a hand around Eddie’s hip and kissing him. “Is this from Trattoria?”

“Buck.”

“No.”

“Buck,” he says, staring down at Echo’s fuzzy ears.

Buck kisses him again, his lips pressed sweetly against Eddie’s, and Eddie has to force himself not to press up against him, mindful of the tiny kitten residing in his husband’s shirt pocket. “Shut up, Eddie,” he says, but it’s soft, gentle.

“And he said we had to give you away,” Eddie says to Echo when he pulls back, stroking one of her ears with the side of his pinky. “Looks like you went and found yourself a home.”

#evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie fic #911fic #vermont verse #i just write everything chapel wants i have no more control over anything #ps oscar mike mean on mission according to the internet #eli writes

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mermaidcashton · 4 years

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dance in the living room, love with an attitude

authors: claire (@mermaidcashton) & laura (@maluminspace) ship/AU: michael clifford/ashton irwin, roommates AU prompt: “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.” wordcount: 10k+ warnings: swearing, implied & explicit sexual content a/n: • written for @maluminspace & @h0tsos ‘s 5sos fic writers collab (in which we all chose from a list of AU’s and had the above prompt quote to include - check out the masterlist linked to see everyone elses!) • i do not give permission for this (or any of my writing) to be reposted, by anyone, on this or any other website. please don’t do it! • title from ‘only human’ by the jonas brothers dance in the living room, love with an attitude *** The music was probably turned up a little too loud, but it helped to drown out the nerves starting to bubble away in Michael’s tummy. ‘I hope ‘Ashton’ likes MCR’ he thought as he half-heartedly wiped down the kitchen counters with a damp cloth. He wanted the place to look mildly tidier than it usually did for his new flatmate. First impressions counted for a lot, as his mum had told him twice this week already.

Once the splashes of milk from this morning’s mishap with the cereal had been washed away along with the crumbs from last night’s dinner of peanut butter on toast, he stole a quick glance at the clock on the wall over in the living room area. It wasn’t quite midday, which meant he had a little over an hour until his new roommate was due to arrive. That should mean that he just about had enough time to vacuum the whole flat and take a shower. Throwing the dishcloth into the little cleaning basket on the window ledge, Michael focused on screaming the lyrics to ‘Thank you for Venom’ and tried not to focus too much on the anxiety about the rest of the day.

Agreeing to live with someone he’d never met in person probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas. It’s not like Michael had been given much choice, though. His last flatmate had given him less than a week’s notice when she decided to move in with her short-term girlfriend and left Michael with a whole bunch of bills that his meagre paycheck could never stretch far enough to cover. Luckily, his best friend Luke had a work colleague who desperately needed a new place to live since his landlord had slapped him with a very short notice period to move out of his current flat. Luke had offered to give this work friend Michael’s contact details and the following morning, Michael had woken up to a text from a guy called Ashton who was very interested in Michael’s recently vacant spare room.

After explaining the cost of rent and other bills in a few subsequent texts, Michael had received a very grateful reply from Ashton asking if it would be possible to move in that weekend. Of course the blonde had agreed, eager to get the awkward first meeting out of the way as soon as possible.

Determined to get his most hated chore done before he could start collecting his thoughts and mentally preparing for the arrival of his new flatmate, Michael grabbed the portable hoover from the charging port on the tiny bit of the kitchen wall that was not taken up by the counters and cabinets. He was just about to press the ‘ON’ button when a knock at the door put an abrupt halt to his plans.

Michael huffed as he made his way over to the front door. The only people that had the security code for the entrance of the building were his parents and Luke, neither of which were due to visit today. That left only someone who had the wrong flat, or one other possible visitor; his neighbour, Calum. They’d hang out sometimes, whenever their days off matched up. Their shared interest in certain obscure and rare computer games and a mutual love of sushi and beer made for hours of fun without the chore of actually having to leave the building. Michael had definitely made sure to let Calum know that he was expecting his new flatmate to arrive today, though, so he was a little confused as to why his neighbour would be dropping by now.

That feeling only intensified when a glance through the spy hole on his front door revealed that Calum was accompanied by a stranger. He opened the door cautiously, still feeling a little bewildered.

“Hey, mate.” Calum grinned, waving a handful of unopened letters in greeting. “Just found this guy outside with a bunch of boxes. I knew you were expecting your new flatmate today, so I helped bring his stuff up.” His dark brown eyes surveyed Michael with something like confusion from beneath the rim of his seemingly ever-present black bucket hat.

Michael could only imagine that his neighbour was mirroring his own befuddled expression because Ashton wasn’t due to arrive for another hour. He forced himself to look over at the stranger, whilst his mind worked over what was happening.

It appeared that Calum was right in assuming this was Ashton. He was indeed carrying a large cardboard box labelled ‘bedroom’ that would definitely suggest he was moving house. There were also a bunch of smaller boxes piled against the wall beside the front door which supported that assumption.

“Do you guys need any more help?” Calum offered, “I’m free if…”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Michael cut in quickly. “We can take it from here, thanks Cal.” The last thing Michael wanted was more people to see the apartment in its current state.

“No worries.” Calum smiled, “You know where I am if you change your mind.” He turned his attention to his little fluffy dog who had been patiently waiting for his post-walk nap. “C’mon Duke.”

Once Calum and his little fluff ball had wandered off across the hall towards their own apartment, Michael turned his attention back to Ashton. Three things struck him about his new flatmate in very quick succession;

Ashton was incredibly hot. His curly black hair hung loosely around his handsome face, framing his chiselled cheekbones and clean shaven, angular jaw beautifully. His hazel eyes were striking from behind the horn-rimmed glasses perched neatly on his perfectly ski-slope shaped nose.

He looked vaguely familiar. Michael knew that he’d seen Ashton’s face somewhere before but it wouldn’t quite click in his brain. Not that it would be entirely surprising if they’d met before, they did share a close friend after-all. It just seemed a little off that Luke hadn’t reminded Michael of the occasion they'd met at before suggesting they live together.

Despite his silence, Ashton looked somewhat annoyed, possibly bordering on angry. That struck Michael as odd. He had been known to piss people off fairly regularly but seeing as he’d barely even spoken to Ashton, this would be an all time record.

“So you must be Ashton…” Michael smiled, awkwardly tucking a strand of his messy blonde hair behind his ear whilst offering his free hand out for his new flatmate to shake. “I’m Michael, or you can call me Mike if you want. Most of my friends do.” Ashton didn’t accept the offer of a handshake, in fact he made no movement whatsoever. He simply glared at Michael with an increasing level of irritation. “Are you kidding me?”

Michael knew that he was not the prettiest of people. He dressed casually most of the time and due to Ashton’s early appearance, he’d not yet had a chance to shower and make himself a little more presentable. He didn’t think that he quite deserved such a cutting greeting, though. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you yet, I was just…”

“You don’t even remember me, do you?!” Ashton interrupted, his tone dripping of resentment now. “Fucking unbelievable!” Michael couldn’t remember ever feeling more confused in his life. Ashton hadn’t mentioned that they’d previously met in his text messages so why would he be so angry that Michael hadn’t immediately recognised him now?

The newcomer’s harsh tone had caught Calum’s attention, causing the neighbour to pause in sorting through his mail and stare unashamedly at the scene unfolding across the hall.

“This could only fucking happen to me…” Ashton huffed, adjusting his grip on the box in his arms. “I get turfed out of my flat because my landlord suddenly decides he wants it for his daughter and just when I think I’ve landed on my feet with a new place, my new fucking flatmate turns out to be a one night stand who doesn’t even remember me! Talk about kicking a guy when he’s down!”

Michael barely registered Calum’s audible gasp as realisation crashed around him. Suddenly the memory of the beautiful man that had swept Michael off his feet at a bar a few months back replayed in his head like a movie he’d seen once but hadn’t been able to remember the title of. He’d only known the guy as Ash and he’d assumed it was short for Ashley. Despite the fact that Ash’s hair had been a sexy shade of crimson, styled in a neat quiff and he hadn’t been wearing glasses, it was definitely the same guy that was standing in front of him right now.

“Ash…” the word escaped Michael almost of it’s own volition. “But I thought that was short for… oh my god, this can’t be happening.” He cupped his own face in his hands as the reality of the awkward situation began to settle into the very fibre of his being.

“Wow, you can’t make this shit up.” Calum gasped, an almost delighted smile on his face. “What’re you guys gonna do?”

Despite Calum’s annoying rubbernecking, it gave Michael the perfect excuse to look away from Ashton for a second. “Well I’m gonna throw something at you, if you don’t get lost right now, Calum.” He hissed.

“He’s not the one coming across like a shithead right now.” Ashton scoffed, setting the box in his arms onto the floor. “Being a nosey neighbour still makes you a hell of a better person than the guy that flatters their way into your bed and gives you amazing sex but then gives you a fake number!”

“That’s right.” Calum agreed. “People that do that are the worst. At least have the balls to tell the other person you’re not looking for anything long term before you disappear the next day.”

“Calum, I swear to god…” Michael hissed.

Ashton shook his head angrily. “He’s right, if you never wanted to see me again, you could have just said. I wouldn’t have wasted some of my best moves on you.”

“Oh, what were the moves?” Calum smirked, prying his way further into the conversation.

His neighbour’s blatant disregard for the seriousness of the situation was annoying to say the least. It was also the last thing Michael needed to deal with right now. “Piss off, Calum!”, he snapped.

Duke yapped disapprovingly at Michael, his tiny eyes focused on the blonde man as his human’s smirk grew even further across his face.

“Oh, you can shut up as well!” Michael snapped at the tiny pooch. “Now you’re yelling at a dog.” Ashton rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s a good thing you blew me off, looks like I had a lucky escape from dating an arsehole!” Michael really couldn’t envisage the situation getting any worse. At this rate he was going to be searching for another roommate instead of enjoying a pleasant lunch with this one, like he’d hoped.

“I didn’t give you a fake number!” Michael protested. “I swear, I’m not like that, and I really liked you! I broke my phone, the same weekend we...met.” He felt his cheeks begin to colour, trying his hardest to ignore Calum’s snort as he focused on Ashton’s disbelieving face.

“It took me two weeks to sort out a new one, I had a little pay as you go in between, I had a different number, and I-you did call, then?” Michael paused his blurted explanations to blurt out a question, instead. He had been wondering every time it was late and he was alone for 6 months whether or not he’d missed a call from the best one night stand of his life.

“Of course I did!” Ashton threw his hands up in exasperation, startling Duke and sending him scuttling back into the still-open doorway of the opposite flat. “I thought we had a connection, we said we wanted to see each other again; that doesn’t happen that often for me! Maybe it does for you…”

“Oh, it definitely doesn’t.” Calum smirked. “The only man who comes to see Michael regularly is the Domino’s delivery guy.”

Before Michael could blow up at him, Calum backed up properly into his flat, resting his hand on his front door. “It’s a shame, actually,” he continued, smiling encouragingly at his neighbour. “Michael is really a great guy. He always has time for me and Duke; whether it’s for beers, a listening ear, or belly rubs.”

He throws a wink to Ashton as he shuts his front door with a click. “I’ll leave you to figure out which one is for me. Welcome to the building!”

Michael knows he needs to gain control of the slightly-stunned silence left in Calum’s wake, fast. He needs to say something apologetic, or charming, or cool. “Do you like fish fingers?” Or that.

Ashton blinked a few times in quick succession, and Michael wanted to throw himself down the stairs.

“Do I like fish fingers?” Ashton repeated, pushing his long black hair back with both hands.

Michael flushed again, at least thankful for the fact that he no longer had an audience for the most embarrassing encounter of his life. “It’s just, I thought we could have lunch, and talk, and I’m not really much of a cook, but I have fish fingers, right, and everyone likes fish finger sandwiches...don’t they…” He trailed off, hoping Luke perhaps had another co-worker who needed immediate accommodation.

Ashton fixed him with the most intense stare he’d ever received in a conversation about freezer food, and Michael tried to match his unrelenting gaze in a way that would make him look less like he wanted to cry. Ashton’s eyes really were beautiful, seeming almost magnified by his glasses. He looked thoughtful and sad now, rather than judgmental and angry, and Michael would take that.

“I do.” Ashton decided on, after what felt like an eternity. He stooped down to pick up his box again, muscles tensing, and Michael’s mind began to wander.

He remembered Ashton’s arms looking just like that as he lifted him up for the last few feet of the journey to the redhead-at-the-time’s bed. Michael could almost feel his fingers digging into the bare skin of his thighs all over again. The memories of slow, wet, considered neck kisses being broken with teeth, and the delicious burn that started low and spread like wildfire as Ashton stretched him out like he was born to do it.

“Michael? After you?” Michael snapped out of his daze, dragging his eyes away from Ashton’s lips where they had landed at some point in his reminiscing. He stepped back so Ashton could enter the flat and set the box down by the sofa. “Yeah, great, come in, make yourself at home, I’ll get the rest of your boxes!” As soon as he was outside in the corridor, Michael let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. ‘Okay, Clifford - you need to snap out of it. Relax and smooth things over so you two can live together.’ He told himself, as sternly as he could manage. ‘We need a roommate more than we need to get laid.’

‘That’s debatable.’ Another voice - which sounded more like Calum than himself - chimed in before Michael shook it off and picked up the stack of cardboard boxes cluttering up the corridor.

‘Okay, you can do this. Damage control. Just be normal. Go in and face this head on. You can do this.’ Michael murmured, running his tongue over his bitten lips as he took his first steps back to where Ashton was waiting.

He hip-checked the front door closed as he re-entered the flat, placing the boxes next to one Ashton had carried in, before straightening up to see Ashton sat on the sofa, looking both nervous and delicious.

“I…” Michael faltered under Ashton’s almost shy gaze, then caught sight of a slice of Ashton’s firm, hairy stomach from where his t-shirt was riding up slightly.

“I just need to go to the bathroom. Then we can...talk, and eat. Okay?” Michael forced what he hoped was a casual, winning smile, and then scuttled across to the bathroom the moment Ashton made a noise of agreement and nodded his head.

Michael clicked the lock shut and put the toilet lid down as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. He began tapping away with urgency as he took a seat on the toilet, pulling up his message thread with his best friend.

SOS!!!! 🚨

Luke!!!!

Where are you

LUKE FUCK HELP ME YOU DICK

With each message he sent, Michael could feel his panic beginning to swell back up in his chest. Finally, three dots began moving across the message to indicate Luke was writing. Help was on the way.

🥺🥺🥺 What’s up

Michael felt what he knew was an unjustified rage at Luke and his fucking emojis as he furiously typed a reply.

Oh nothing, I just had sex with my new roomate!!!

Michael jumped when his phone immediately started vibrating relentlessly, sliding his finger across the screen and holding it gingerly to his ear.

“Hello?” He whispered into the receiver.

“WHAT!!! What do you mean you’ve slept with him?! Ashton was due there at 12, and it’s now...12 minutes past 12! That’s INSANE, even for you! I cannot believe-”

“Luke!” Michael hissed through clenched teeth, turning on the cold tap on the sink before he spoke again. “Not today, idiot! Remember, months ago, when I broke my phone? That weekend, I hooked up with that guy I met at The Alchemist? Red hair, big arms, amazing mouth-”

“Yes, I remember! What’s that got to do with it?” Luke cut in.

“It was Ashton. I only knew him as Ash, remember? And obviously I never saw him again because I had no way to contact him after I broke my phone. But it’s him, Luke - he’s in my living room! In OUR living room! What am I gonna do?! I am freaking out!”

“Oh my God! You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Mike! You’ve had your new roommates dick in your mouth before he even moved in! Classic you.”

Michael could practically hear Luke’s eyeroll. “This is not classic me! Dick! Help me, Luke!”

“What do you want me to do, I can’t unfuck him for you!” Luke shot back. Michael let out an involuntary whimper and slumped further down on the toilet. He was so screwed.

***

Michael emerged from the bathroom, Luke’s advice ringing in his ears as he approached Ashton on the sofa. ‘He’s a really nice guy, Mike; just talk to him. Explain what happened after you hooked up, and say you hope you can put it behind you and be friends. I think he’ll be cool, honestly. Just try not to trip and land on his dick and you should be golden.’

He took one last deep breath as he sat down on the black leather beside his one-time lover.

“So, Ashton...I...listen, I’m sorry that I broke my phone and made you think I’d ghosted you. I’m just an idiot that dropped his phone outside Sainsbury’s. And I’m really sorry I didn’t recognise you straight away, I was just expecting someone I hadn’t, and your hair, and glasses, and-” Michael could feel himself starting to babble but he couldn’t stop himself; he was so desperate for Ashton to like him. He was trying not to think about why it was this important to him.

Ashton held his hand up to stop him with a small smile. “Michael, it’s okay.”

Michael stopped short in his unravelling with a look of surprise. “It is?”

Ashton’s smile grew wider. “Yeah. I was just a bit blindsided, and I was hurt at the time back then, you know? But you explained, you apologised, and you seem like a nice guy. Luke sure can’t talk you up enough, and I trust him. I have no reason not to believe this is gonna be all good.”

Michael blinked, unsure if this was too good to be true. “Yeah? So...we’re good? You’re gonna...stay?”

Ashton relaxed back into his seat, toeing his shoes off and under the coffee table. “If that’s okay with you, yeah. We’re both grown ups; we can keep it platonic and put the past behind us, right? Friends?”

Michael nodded, trying to hide the gulp in his throat. “Yeah, of course. Right. Great. Friends.” He could definitely do this.

***

He could definitely not do this.

It’d been a long one month, two weeks and three days of trying to convince himself that he didn’t want to be anything more than Ashton’s friend and roommate.

Some days, Michael thought it was possible to put those lingering feelings away and focus on their blossoming platonic relationship. After all, Ashton was everything most people could ever want in a flatmate. He was tidy, considerate, fairly quiet and respectful of personal boundaries. The slightly older man was also great company. Michael has had many pleasant conversations with him over breakfast and in the evenings before they went to bed.

As lovely as all of that was, Michael had started questioning if it was worth the growing ache in chest for more. Each new thing he learnt about Ashton made him more sure that he was probably the closest thing to the perfect man that Michael would ever know. It was a cruel twist of fate that had meant his one opportunity to have Ashton for himself had slipped through his fingers, quite literally. He cursed himself on a daily basis for that one clumsy moment when he’d fumbled pulling his old phone from his too-tight jeans outside the supermarket and had been forced to watch his only chance with Ashton sink into a muddy puddle.

Whatever higher powers existed had been even less kind to have that strong, gorgeous, well-hung man turn up on Michael’s doorstep months later, as his only hope of being able to keep the flat he’d grown to love.

Every day since then, seemed to have presented a new challenge or torture. First it was the tight t-shirts and vests Ashton wore more often than not. They accentuated every muscle of the raven-haired man’s torso and displayed his strong biceps in all their glory.

Then came the sleepy morning routine they’d subconsciously fallen into. Ashton would emerge from his room in nothing but his loose grey sweats and crooked glasses, his hair ruffled and his eyes heavily lidded, before joining Michael for a hasty breakfast which usually consisted of cereal or toast and mug of strong coffee. It was during these sluggish mornings when they’d started to bond over their mutual love of crime dramas and fantasy movies, among other things. That had naturally led to evening-long Criminal Minds marathons whole weekends debating whether the Lord of the Rings movies or the Harry Potter movies were the better adaptations of their original books. Those playful arguments had spilled over into text messages now, so Michael couldn’t even escape his torturous living situation when he went to work.

Despite all of that hardship, the most latest and arguably the toughest challenge Michael found himself facing, was Ashton’s morning yoga. At first, the older man had kept that part of his morning routine confined to his bedroom. For some reason or another, over the last week or so, Ashton had decided that the living area was a more suitable location for this activity.

If Michael thought that sleepy, shirtless morning Ashton was hot, then sleepy, shirtless morning Ashton doing the ‘downward dog’ was positively off the fucking scale. The way his large hands pressed into the yoga mat and the way his strong arms and legs tensed as he straightened his back and pushed his arse up into the air lingered in Michael’s mind all day. These images often flickered through his mind at night too, when he was alone in his bed with nothing but his hand for company.

Deciding that a little get together with some friends would help dispel some of the tension, Michael floats the idea of asking Calum and Luke over for a ‘lads night’. Ashton had agreed easily, being a generally social person, he’d seemed enthusiastic about the possibility of hosting a mini party.

A group message is created and it doesn’t take long to settle on the following Friday night for beer, snacks and a FIFA tournament.

Ashton seemed to have been looking forward to it, often mentioning how excited he was to get to know Calum better and asking Michael to help him decide between certain snacks to purchase for the occasion.

All in all, Michael was proud of himself for the idea, focusing on hosting a couple of friends had certainly given both him and Ashton something new to focus on.

It was only when Friday arrived that Michael started to doubt his plan. Watching Ashton arrange plates of snacks on the kitchen counter, with the cutest concentration face he’d ever seen, started to make Michael wish they were spending the evening alone instead. He quickly pushes the thought of his head, berating himself for thinking something so stupid. It’s not like anything could happen between them even if they were alone, they were roommates now, that’s where their relationship ends.

“So....” Ashton broke the silence enveloping the flat as he finished pouring a bag of cheesy Doritos into a bowl. “Did you finally solve the mystery of who was stealing people’s shit from your fridge at work?”

Michael was caught off guard by the question. He’d been watching Ashton so intently that he momentarily forgot about everything else. It took him a moment to remember that he’d been keeping Ashton up to date with the ongoing lunch burglar drama at the DIY store he worked at. “Oh, umm no, not yet! But Brenda finally told Linda to stick her fake friendship where the sun doesn’t shine.”

A genuinely delighted smile burst into Ashton’s face as he headed into the living room area. “Good for her! Linda sounds like a bitch…”

It really meant a lot to Michael that Ashton took such an interest in his work life. The fact that he cared so much about people he didn’t know, but was aware they meant a lot to Michael, was also heartwarming.

Before Michael could go into more detail about the break time drama, a knock at the front door interrupted him. “Oh yay! Our first guest!” Ashton beamed, jogging off towards the front door to greet Calum.

***

As soon as the beer and wine had started flowing, Michael’s ever-present pining for Ashton dulled to an almost non existent haze at the edges of his mind. Sure, his knees felt weak every time Ashton flashes him that dopey smile of his and he might have blushed whenever their knees touched as they competed against each other in a thrilling game of virtual soccer.

That was all better than his usual all-consuming lust, so Michael was somewhat proud of himself. He even managed to surprise the urge to let Ashton win their game, and was almost smug when his player sent the football flying past Ashton’s keeper to secure a 2-1 win.

“Motherfucker!” Ashton grumbled, throwing his control pad into the sofa as he fixed Michael with look that was almost definitely the hottest gaze he’d ever been caught under. “I’m gonna get you for that, Clifford.” It sounded like a promise that held more weight than the simple challenge to a rematch it was probably meant to be.

Michael had to fight back a whimper, staring into Ashton’s beautiful hazel eyes this closely was too much. The intensity of it all rendered him momentarily speechless and he was all-too glad when Ashton got to his feet and headed for the kitchen.

“I need to drown my sorrows.” The black-haired man laughed, breaking the tension that had descended on them before heading off to the kitchen. Ignoring the knowing looks from his two friends, Michael picked up Ashton’s discarded controller and tossed it to Luke. “Your turn to face me, Hemmings. Let’s see if I can beat my all time record of beating you 6-1”

“Fuck off! You have never beat me that badly.” Luke huffed, picking up the control pad that had just landed in his lap. “I’m gonna enjoy kicking your ass in front of your new boy-“

“Shit, we’re out of beers already!” Ashton’s interruption came at exactly the right moment in Michael’s opinion. He really hadn’t wanted Luke to finish that sentence and now he wouldn’t get the chance.

“I’ll go to the shop for some more, does anyone have specific requests?” The eldest friend asked as he traipsed back into the living room area.

“Oh you don’t have to go!” Michael shrugged, “you should stay here, we’ll send Luke instead, he sucks at this game anyway.”

Luke scoffed, waving his hand defensively. “You’re not getting out of playing me that easily!”

Ashton laughed, his eyes sparkling as he checked that his wallet was still in his jeans pocket. “It’s fine. I’m already out of the competition and I wouldn’t want to give anyone else an unfair advantage.”

Maybe it was just the effects of the beers he’d already drank, but Michael could have sworn that Ashton’s gaze lingered on him a little longer than it probably should have. “You’re too nice.” The blonde beamed fondly, “I’ll transfer you my half of the money in the morning, unless you wanna take a tenner from my room?”

“Oh is that an open invitation?” Calum asked, a lazy smile curling the corners of his lips. “You owe me at least that from when we bet on whether or not Luke could drink that tzatziki sauce last time.”

“Fuck off, Calum! I don’t owe you a penny, I won that bet, Luke’s a fucking wuss…”

“Hey! I am not!” Luke interrupted incredulously.

“Okay, I need to hear that whole story when I get back!” Ashton giggled. “I’ll just grab a case of whatever beer is the cheapest though, yeah.”

There was a general murder of agreement before Ashton headed out of the front door. Michael fond him watching until Ashton had disappeared into the hallway, swinging the front door closed behind him. “He’s so nice…” The blonde sighed dreamily, still gazing at the closed front door. “Don’t you think he’s just the best?”

Calum and Luke exchanged a ‘is he for real’ glance before silently agreeing that this was the perfect opportunity to tease Michael about his blatant love for Ashton.

“Yeah, he’s pretty special.” Calum agreed, smirking slyly. “You really can’t sing his praises highly enough, can you?”

Shaking his head, Michael finally returned his attention to the TV. “You really can’t, he’s just so kind and sweet.”

Calum nodded in agreement. “Not bad to look at either!”

“Right?!” Michael giggled, oblivious to the fact that his tipsiness was making his lips too loose.

“Hey Mike.” Luke cut in, reaching over to nudge his friend’s shoulder. “How’s being in love with your flatmate working out for you?” His conversational tone was entirely at odds with mischief in his eyes. It confused Michael but the youngest friend’s words were altogether too bold, a blatant overstep if ever there was one.

Despite his inner rage at being called out like this, Michael fumbled, unable to cobble together an appropriate response. “Ugh, I don’t even… You’re so far-“

“There’s no point denying it anymore.” Calum chuckled, “I can feel the sexual tension between you two from across the hall!”

“God, I bet it’s like watching a car crash, isn’t it?” Luke asked, picking up the bowl of M&M’s on the coffee table. “It’s horrific but you can’t tear your eyes away? Am I right?”

Calum nodded. “It’s like watching a bad fucking soap opera.”

Michael felt offended and embarrassed but still no words seemed to form coherently in his mouth.

“At least it’s a bit less tragic now we can be sure it’s not entirely one sided!” Luke stage whispered with a calculating look on his face as he met Calum’s gaze.

“Yeah, it’s mildly less irritating!” Calum laughed.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Michael sputtered. “Ash and I agreed that our one night stand is ancient history, we’re not-“

“Oh puh-lease!” Calum scoffed. “If you two haven’t fucked again by the end of this month I’ll eat my bucket hat.”

***

Ashton had returned with a case of twenty four bottles of beer and as a result, lad’s night had ended up running into the early hours of Saturday morning.

Having drank his way through more than his fair share of that case, Michael didn’t end up rising from his pit until noon had long since been and gone.

“Ah you are still alive!” Ashton chuckled, tearing his attention away from the TV to look at his flatmate.

This was definitely not fucking fair. Michael didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that he looked exactly as he felt - rough as all hell. Ashton on the other hand, still looked as dreamy as ever. His black curls, although slightly ruffled and fluffy, were still on the stylish side of messy and he’d somehow found the motivation to get dressed, too, something Michael wasn’t even contemplating.

“I’m glad you’re up now, though, I wondered if you had anything planned for dinner?” Ashton asked, peering at Michael from behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

The thought of food made Michael’s stomach lurch unpleasantly and he had to fight to hold back a wretch.

Ashton gives a sympathetic giggle before pausing his show and rising to his feet. “I’ll take that as a no. Don’t worry, buddy. I have a plan but first…” he jogged over to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. “Why don't you go and take a shower while I make you a tea? You’ll feel better after that and then we will talk dinner!”

As Michael plods over to the bathroom, he shoots one last look over at Ashton, busily preparing mugs on the countertop and tries his absolute hardest to remember a time that he wasn’t in love with his flatmate.

***

As always, Ashton was proven to be 100% correct.

Michael felt a million times better once he was showered and snuggled on the sofa with a mug of steaming tea.

“You look a little more alive now.” Ashton smirked, sparing Michael a sideways glance before returning his attention to ‘Law and Order’. “Do you think you can handle talking about dinner yet?”

The ache in Michael’s stomach felt a lot more like hunger than it had done when he first woke up and the thought of food didn’t make him feel like throwing up anymore so he nodded. “What’re your plans, chef?”

Ashton’s cheeks turned a rosy pink as he shrugged. “I couldn’t bear to see you try to cobble together another freezer meal so I thought you might like me to teach you a simple pasta dish?” He suggested, his tone a little shy like he was worried what Michael’s reaction would be. “I’ll do most of the work, but I thought if you helped out, you’ll learn how to make something other than Super Noodles.”

Michael couldn’t even be mad at the subtle dig at his cooking skills. He was terrible in the kitchen and it was just a little embarrassing that Ashton had noticed just how dyer his cooking skills were. “When you say simple, do you mean like a recipe and technique you can write on the back of a postage stamp because that’s about the level of my skill.”

Rolling his eyes, Ashton casually threw his arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Don't be so hard in yourself, buddy! I once taught Luke how to make scrambled eggs on the stove so he didn’t have to be a savage and use the microwave anymore, so there’s definitely hole for you, I promise.”

Michael tried to focus on the hat Ashton was saying but all that his slow, hungover brain could process was that he was pressed against his stupidly gorgeous flat mate’s side. The heady smell of Ashton’s minty body wash and the soft scent of his fabric conditioner felt intoxicating and Michael could do nothing besides allow his head to drop into Ashton’s shoulder.

To the blonde’s surprise, Ashton shuffle away or call him out on it. He simply rests his own head on Michael’s and laughs. “We’ll make a chef of you yet, Clifford.” He promised.

***

They spent a good three hours, watching reruns of C.S.I and making plans to start a Marvel movie marathon after dinner. They sat close to each other the whole time and Michael noticed Ashton watching him from the corner of his eye on at least three separate occasions.

By the time Ashton suggested they start making dinner, Michael had gone over his conversation with Calum and Luke the previous night, about sixty times. His two best friends had convinced him that Ashton wanted Michael just as much as Michael wanted Ashton.

“The way he looks at you, dude.” Calum laughed. “He’s practically imagining you naked at any given moment. It’s getting uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Michael reprimanded. “He doesn’t think of me like that anymore. We had a one night thing months ago. That’s it. Nothing else will ever happen between us again, we’re just flatmates.”

Calum and Luke exchanged a sceptical glance before bursting into laughter.

“Yeah right!” Luke huffed sarcastically. “Do you know how many times I hear your name come out of his mouth at work these days?”

Michael’s cheeks reddened. He had no idea that Ashton talked about him at work. It felt kind of surreal to imagine his roommate relaying snippets of their home life to Luke.

“Let me guess!” Calum interrupted. “About a thousand…”

Nodding, Luke drained the last of his beer. “Yeah and that’s just before lunch!”

“Honestly, if they don’t bang soon I’m gonna knock their heads together.” Calum sighed. “Did you know Michael comes over to my place most mornings so he doesn’t have to watch Ashton do topless yoga?” He asked Luke disbelievingly. “I want my lie-in’s back!”

At the time, Michael hadn’t believed his friends. He didn’t think that there was even a remote possibility that Ashton still carried a torch for him. But in the clear light of day, Michael couldn’t deny that all the signs were there… perhaps there could be more between them after all.

He followed Ashton into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his grey oversized sweater, trying to clear his mind enough to be able to process learning a new skill.

“Okay, this is like the simplest recipe I know but it’s delicious and tastes so much better than the freezer junk you usually make for yourself.” Ashton rambles as he grabs a saucepan and a frying pan from the shelf near the cooker.

“Hey, freezer junk has been my lifeline on many occasions, I’d probably be dead without it.” Michael scoffed, only half joking.

Ashton rolled his eyes fondly, handing Michael the saucepan. “Fill this with water for me and then put it on the back hob, while it’s boiling I’ll teach you how to make the sauce.”

As Michael carried out his instructions, he couldn’t help but admire the concentration on Ashton’s face when he began rifling through the fridge and cupboard, pulling out various ingredients.

Once the pan of water was safely on the job Ashton had indicated, Michael returned his full attention to the slightly older man.

“Right, the first thing we do for the sauce is put 2-3 tablespoons of olive oil into this cold pan.” Ashton explained, pushing his glasses up his nose a little, reminding Michael of a hot English teacher or something… fuck, it was already difficult enough for Michael to concentrate without random fantasies about Ashton fucking him over a desk running through his mind. “Usually I’d never add oil to a cold pan, but for this particular recipe, it works because if the pan was already hot, the first ingredients would burn before the rest was in there.”

There was something about the way Ashton talked with such passion and confidence that made Michael wish he was confident enough to just drag him to the bedroom, his need for more from Ashton becoming unbearable. He forced himself to nod, pretending like he understood when really, Ashton could be telling him absolutely anything right now, and Michael would not know the difference because all he can think about is the way Ashton had groaned at the feeling of Michael’s nails running down his back and how he’d growled Michael’s name as he neared his climax.

“Can you pass me the basil?” Ashton asked, pulling Michael out of his memory.

The blonde surveyed the ingredients on the countertop. Luckily he recognised most of them, so he picked up the basil by process of elimination and handed it to Ashton like a dutiful sous chef.

Ashton looked mildly impressed as he took the bag of basil and took out handful. “We want about ten or so decent sized leaves and we tear them in half before adding them to the oil, okay?” He waited for Michael’s nod of understanding before tearing the leaves in his hand and dropping them into the pan.

“Then we need to chop 6-8 cloves of garlic directly into the pan.” Michael looked back at the little stack of ingredients and frowned, noticing an instant problem. “We only have one clove of garlic…” he pointed out, biting his bottom lip worriedly.

Ashton burst out laughing as he picked the garlic up from the counter. “This is a whole bulb, babe…” he explained, apparently not even noticing his use of the supposedly accidental pet name.

It was difficult for Michael to feel too offended by Ashton’s laughter when he’d just called him babe, though, so he let it go, focusing on the term of endearment, no matter how accidental it might have been, rather than the humour at his dumb mistake.

“It’s the smaller, wedge shaped pieces that are cloves, please don’t mix that up if you make this without my help.” Ashton chuckled, breaking six cloves from the bulb and picking up a tiny knife he’d laid out next to the oven.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Michael pouted. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.”

Ashton gave him a fond smile. “You’re not alone in that, I promise…”

It was hard not to feel comforted by Ashton’s lopsided smile, so most of his embarrassment slipped away fairly quickly.

“I just chop off the little hard parts at the bottom of each clove and peel the skin off before chopping it directly into the pan. Don’t chop it on a board or you’ll lose some of the flavour.” Ashton explained carefully.

Michael watched with interest as Ashton demonstrated his technique with the first two cloves. He handed the third to Michael along with the knife and gestures for him to add it to the pan.

It took him probably three times longer to chop that one clove into the pan, than it took Ashton to do the first two, but he was encouraging and patient. The older man praised Michael for completing the tiny task, seeming genuinely impressed.

Once all six cloves of garlic had been added to the pan, Ashton turned on the hob into a medium heat. “Okay, so we stir this together for about five minutes. Can you do that while I open the tin of tomatoes?”

Michael nodded, picking up the wooden spoon from the counter and storing the simmering ingredients together. It already kinda smelt like his favourite Italian restaurant and his tummy grumbled impatiently.

“One thing I should specify is, you need to use tins of whole tomatoes, not chopped.” Ashton explained as he poured the first tin of tomatoes into the sizzling pan. “Can you pour in the second one?”

Michael did as he was told and watched as Ashton squished the whole tomatoes down and stored them into the red eat of the ingredients.

“Mmm it smells so good.” Michael sighed, breathing in the delicious smells.

Ashton looked proud of himself as he offered a smile. “Can you take over the stirring while I add the salt?”

Michael took the spoon from Ashton, ensuring that their fingers brushed.

There was a moment of eye contact and a silent shifting of tension between the two of them. If ever there was a time to bite the bullet and kiss Ashton, now would be it. His nerves failed him though and he dropped his gaze to the simmering pan.

Instead of moving around Michael to pick up the salt as he’d done for the tomatoes, Ashton simply reached past the blonde, pushing him against the counter momentarily before he pulled back to add the salt to the pan.

If Michael had been fully alert, he’d have recognised that for the flirtatious move it was meant to be, as it was, he put it down to a simple lack of judgement on Ashton’s part and continued to concentrate on stirring the sauce.

***

The tomato pasta tasted as good as it had smelt. It turned out to be exactly what Michael’s hungover body had needed.

He and Ashton had eaten it at their little table in the kitchen. Conversation had flowed freely as always, skirting around flirtatious at times but never quite enough for Michael to pluck up the courage to take things further.

“The only thing that would have made that better would have been a nice glass of white wine, but I thought you were still a bit too delicate for that.” Ashton giggled as he picked up the empty plates from the table and carried them over to the kitchen sink.

“Hey, you drank as much as I did!” Michael pouted, picking up the empty glasses and following Ashton to the sink. “How’re you not hungover.”

Ashton chuckled as he ran the water into the washing up bowl. “You’re just a lightweight, Mikey.”

It wasn’t the first time Michael had been called that so it didn’t take him by surprise. He laughed it off as he grabbed a tea cloth ready to dry the dishes that Ashton washed. “One day you’ll stop teasing me, Irwin.”

Ashton shook his head. “Don’t count on it, babe… you’re too easy to make fun of, that’s not my fault.”

There it was again, that little slip, a fond nickname that roommates probably shouldn’t have for one another.

Quickly pulling himself together, Michael nudged his flatmate in the arm, just hard enough to pull a surprised “oof” from him.

“Careful now.” Ashton warned jokingly. “You don’t want to start a scuffle you can’t finish, Clifford.”

Michael threw caution to the wind and nudged Ashton again, deliberately keeping his gaze on the plate he was drying.

“That’s it!” Ashton huffed, scooping up a handful of bubbles and swiping them across Michael’s face.

The blonde spluttered and shook his damp fringe out of his face before fixing Ashton with a glare. A few acts of retaliation flashed through his mind. He could have whipped Ashton with the tea cloth or splashed him with dishwater but none of that happened.

There was something about the way Ashton’s eyes were sparkling, almost like he was daring Michael to do the thing he’d been too scared to do this whole time. He refused to let another opportunity pass like before when they were making the pasta sauce. Michael tried not to overthink as he stepped forward and cupped Ashton’s face with one hand before leaning in and kissing him.

The raven-haired man’s lips felt every bit as soft as they had done on that night seven months ago. Ashton didn’t kiss back with the same hunger and desperation that he had done back then, though.

Michael stepped back, feeling his cheeks heat up in an embarrassed blush. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Ash…”

Ashton bit his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared at Michael intently. “No…” He said, finally breaking his silence. “You just shouldn’t have waited so long.”

The older man’s words had barely penetrated Michael’s brain before he was being pressed against the counter behind him. Ashton’s lips were on his again but this time they were working just like they had been that night at Ashton’s old place.

The intense kiss pulled a whine from Michael and he automatically wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck.

It started as a fairly simple kiss but it quickly began to build momentum. It was the crack in the dam holding back all of their emotions for all this time.

“Ashton…” Michael gasped as they pulled apart for air. “I know we said we should just be friends but…”

“Fuck being just friends.” Ashton mumbled as he worked kisses down Michael's neck. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

Those words were all Michael needed to hear in order to relax into this. “I can’t tell you how bad I’ve wanted this.” He whispered.

Ashton slipped one of his thighs between Michael’s as he nipped at the blonde’s neck. “I think I have some idea.” He groaned. “I never stopped thinking of the way you moaned my name that night, Michael.” The older man confessed, pulling back just enough to look Michael in the eye. “Wanted it again since the moment I walked in here.”

The way Ashton was looking at him like he wanted to devour every inch of Michael, had the blonde melting. “Me too.” He crashed his lips against Ashton’s in another desperate kiss as he subconsciously rutted against the older man’s thigh. After the months Michael had spent feeling kind of lonely and touch-starved, the tiny amount of friction was enough to have him whimpering against Ashton’s lips.

“Uh, you sound and taste even better than I remember.” Ashton muttered, pressing his thigh harder against Michael’s crotch to pull another little gasp from him.

“Ashton! Fuck, please, I…” Michael’s head tipped back as he lost his fight to regain any sort of control over his own body. He was in Ashton’s control now, and Ashton knew it.

“Come on…” Ashton coaxed, stepping back from Michael as he took both of his hands in his to pull him away from the kitchen counter. Michael whined high in his throat as he easily followed where Ashton led.

Michael had hardly been into Ashton’s bedroom since he had helped him move some furniture the day he moved in; it had almost felt too intimate to go into Ashton’s personal space given the history between them. Seeing it now, cozy and dark with slithers of light coming through the window from the lamp posts outside, gave Michael a chill; it felt like Ashton was sharing a secret with him.

He followed Ashton’s lead dutifully all the way to the bed, accepting the deep kiss Ashton offered him as a reward, before the older man peeled his oversized sweater from his torso, breaking away to pull it over Michael’s head. Michael wanted more contact, but was disappointed when Ashton gently but decisively laid him down among the crisp sheets, instead.

Ashton pulled his own t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion and flicked the lamp on his bedside table on, bathing the bed in a warm glow that made Michael feel like he was in a dream.

Michael gazed in wonder at Ashton as he climbed into bed beside him, letting his eyes travel all over his arms and chest, taking in the extra tone and definition in his body since the last time he’d been able to stare at him like this; clearly, the yoga was doing more than just allowing Ashton to ‘find his centre’.

He didn’t think he was anything special to look at, but he could see Ashton mirroring his own actions, eyes full of lust searching all over the parts of Michael’s body he could see, and even his gaze lingering on a part he couldn’t.

“Ash,” Michael breathed out, surprising himself with how far gone he sounded already. “Take ‘em off, I wanna…” He trailed off as Ashton’s eyes snapped up to meet his own, holding eye contact for only a moment before he nodded almost imperceptibly, shuffling down the bed and taking hold of the waistband of Michael’s sweatpants. He returned his gaze to the pale man before him, biting his own lip as he allowed his fingertips to graze the skin of Michael’s hips. “These too?” Ashton questioned in a low voice as he brushed the fabric of Michael’s underwear.

“Oh God, yeah”, Michael answered, squirming slightly from the infuriatingly gentle feel of Ashton’s touch. Ashton didn’t need to be told twice. Michael shivered with the feeling of being suddenly completely exposed as his sweatpants and underwear hit the carpet. Michael looked up at Ashton through his lashes, braced up on his knees in his black, ripped jeans. “You’d better be planning on losing those in the next second, Irwin.”

Ashton smirked as he undid his jeans. “And I mean your underwear, too!” Michael amended hastily, hungry to see if his memory of Ashton’s body was accurate.

The dark-haired man’s smirk grew wider at Michael’s clarification, pulling his zip down and allowing his jeans to fall open, exposing only bare skin beneath. “Underwear?”

Michael’s jaw dropped a little, prompting a deliciously filthy laugh from his roommate. “For the record, roomie - I don’t wear underwear.” Ashton winked as he yanked his jeans down as far as he could in his current position, before wriggling around to pull them off completely. Michael was pleased to see that, if anything, his memory had been selling Ashton short. Blame it on the alcohol.

Michael didn’t know how to decide on what to do first; on one hand, he wanted to kiss Ashton non-stop for the rest of eternity, but on the other hand, if he didn’t get filled up in the next 10 minutes, he was definitely going to throw a tantrum. Luckily, he realised, it probably wasn’t up to him. All of his experience with Ashton so far told him that the older man would definitely be taking the lead, and this was definitely not a problem for Michael. Indeed, it had worked out very well for him last time, when his staff night out started at the bar and ended with Ashton eating him out like his life depended on it.

“What are you thinking?” Ashton’s sultry voice broke through his thoughts, apparently wanting a coherent answer despite the fact that he had just begun to run his fingers up and down Michael’s sensitive, pale inner thighs. Michael let out a shuddery breath as he tried to use his words to tell Ashton he wanted anything and everything possible between them, right there and then. Perhaps the way his cock twitched when Ashton let one his nails run over a faded stretch mark right at the base of one of his thighs would speak for itself.

“Maybe we should get right to, huh, gorgeous?” Ashton teased, withdrawing his touches to lean towards his bedside table. He pulled open the top drawer, fumbling only for a moment until he found what he was looking for. The lube and condom were dropped carelessly onto the mattress as he shut the drawer again, returning his attention to the man almost-beneath him immediately. “We’ve got plenty of time for all the other goods stuff; right now, I need to fuck you, and I know you need me to fuck you...don’t you?”

Michael wondered at what point in his life he had begun to communicate exclusively in whines, but Ashton seemed to be into it, so it didn’t matter. Michael watched impatiently as Ashton popped the top on the half-empty bottle of lube, wasting no time in squirting a generous amount onto two fingers on his right hand and pulling Michael’s leg fully around his hip with his left.

Michael’s heart jumped as much as his cock when Ashton breathed gently on the lube coating his fingers in an attempt to warm it slightly before he brought them straight down to Michael’s bare hole, rubbing over it in a firm circle.

Michael was glad he didn’t have the problem of not wanting his roommate to hear him getting fucked, anymore, as he let out his loudest, neediest whine yet. Ashton proved he had meant what he said about not taking their time with their second tryst, sinking his index finger inside Michael in one fluid motion. Before Michael had got to 10, Ashton was opening him up at a steady, delicious pace and was driving Michael crazy in record time.

Michael wouldn’t claim to be a pornstar or anything, but he didn’t normally have a problem with stamina. If Ashton kept it up like this, though, Michael was in danger of coming before Ashton’s thick cock got any closer to him, and that was unacceptable.

“Ash, please, I can’t...I want, ne-your cock, please!” Michael cried out as Ashton probed his spot one last time before immediately acquiescing to Michael’s begging. Michael wriggled at the loss of Ashton’s fingers, but took comfort in the fact that Ashton was already tearing the condom packet open.

Michael watched in awe-tinged anticipation as Ashton gave himself a couple of loose tugs once he had the condom on, before closing in on his lover once more, making sure Michael was laid comfortably on the pillows as he positioned himself over him. Michael clung to Ashton’s shoulders as he lined himself up, just resting the tip on Michael’s slick hole for a moment.

Ashton’s hazel eyes bore down into Michael’s green ones with a soft fire as he raised one hand to brush Michael’s fringe out of his flushed face. Michael let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding as Ashton pushed in - slowly, but all the way.. He felt like he was sinking and floating simultaneously, and wrapped his arms around Ashton’s neck to anchor himself here, with him, in this moment.

Ashton pressed his face deep into Michael’s neck, kissing and sucking his way up towards Michael’s ear. “You good?” He murmured, shifting his hips a miniscule amount. “Yeah,” Michael breathed, “S’good, please…”.

With a final nip to Michael’s neck, Ashton pulled back slightly and began to move his hips properly, his cock sliding halfway out each time as he began to build a steady rhythm for them. Michael felt that perhaps in their sexual relationship so far, he was earning himself the reputation of a bit of a Pillow Princess, and so he began to move his own hips to meet Ashton’s building thrusts. Ashton groaned, long and loud, at the heightened sensations Michael’s movements brought, and they began to work together towards their goal.

Suddenly, Ashton’s mouth was crowding his, his tongue sliding into his mouth in a glorious kiss that Michael never wanted to end. He couldn’t tell if it had been 10 minutes or 10 hours when he felt that familiar feeling begin to bubble in the lower stomach. Ashton had begun to up the pace of his thrusts, his hips occasionally stuttering as groans rumbled low in his throat, so Michael knew they were on the same page.

“Ash,” He murmured in the millisecond between kisses. “Touch me, please, I’m getting so-” Michael broke off into a moan as Ashton was already wrapping a firm hand around his neglected cock, stroking it with determination and flicking his thumb over Michael’s dripping head. “You close, baby?” He murmured, eyes drifting over Michael’s face and the arousal present there. Michael was starting to writhe slightly and his head was flopping to the side on the pillow, but Ashton wanted his attention. With his free hand, he took Michael’s chin and turned his head to meet Ashton’s stare. The moment Michael was forced to meet his strong, heated gaze, his hazel eyes boring down on him with such intensity, Michael felt the kick of heat and it was all over. He cried out Ashton’s name and let out a series of curses and moans as he came, hard and hot over Ashton’s hand and their sweaty stomachs in equal measure.

Michael hadn’t finished himself before he felt Ashton taken by surprise, as well; his hips shooting forward to fill him to the hilt for the last time as he spilt into the condom, releasing Michael’s chin to brace himself through his orgasm on the pillows. “Michael, fuck!”

Michael regained enough control to watch Ashton’s face through hooded eyes as he came, moaning and unrestrained as he finished. He thought he looked heavenly.

As they both fought to catch their breath, Ashton pulled out gingerly, releasing Michael from his grip as he moved away to remove and dispose of the condom. Michael wriggled in place, trying to get comfortable to recover from what he hoped would be the first of many. Ashton came back from the bin in the corner and flopped back down, alongside Michael now, lifting his arm to allow Michael to snuggle in under it when he wrapped it around him. “So…” He said, sounding casual as you like. “About the whole platonic, friendly, roommate thing…”

masterlist for the 5sos ficwriters collab • my masterlist

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somebodytolovesx · 4 years

Text

Believer - Bill Denbrough

Warnings - Almost smut, alluding. I am not sexualising children, this is imagined to be their adult counterparts.

Summary - Bill Denbrough and Y/N Y/L/N have both been scarred and pained.

Bill Denbrough and Y/N Y/L/N laid in the living room, on the sofa, of the house that she had grown up in as a child in Derry, it had been long abandoned since her parents moved away to Atlanta and took her with them and nobody had dared to live there since a kid named Jerry Springsteen from Y/N’s math class had made the cruel joke that Y/N had died and that’s really why her parents moved away. The joke had caught on like a bad cough and made other kids start to conspire that the house was haunted, even the parents that weren’t gullible enough to believe it started to believe it. How Y/N Y/L/N had found out of the insensitive, hilarious rumour that made her lie on her back for an hour and laugh until she cried was through the monthly letter that Beverly, Ben, Richie, Mike, Eddie, Stan and Bill sent to her from Derry. They had guessed that after what happened during the summer before, everyone started to believe in ghouls and goblins and started to not brush superstitions and ticks of paranoia away with a scoff but instead listen to them, Y/N wrote back saying they had every right too and that the story could have been true if she didn’t have them there with her for that summer.

She still held onto the key for the front door of her abandoned house for a reason that she couldn’t tell herself, she had felt the urge to keep it on her instead of loosing it, it had felt like something had compelled her too. She spent many hours always wondering what the key was for in her late teenage life and throughout her adult life and came to the conclusion that it was a spare for the back or front door or for the garage. But when her feet landed on Derry concrete, her mind knew not quite why - that was still a mystery slowly unraveling - but for what and where like a map on the back of her hand and an answer on a school quiz.

She and Bill Denbrough had come back after so many years to that house where they had spent countless afternoons of their childhood summers running around in the back garden chasing each other with water guns or building boats and castles out of cardboard boxes and now they stood there twenty seven years later, all grown up. Bill with his hair that had a grey streak running through the front of it and more muscles on his arms and Y/N with her shorter hair and the body of a woman instead of a little girl but neither of them had truly changed, they were still the people they were at one time best friends with, only now they worried about insurance taxes and work and getting old when things in their body stopped ticking.

They hadn’t a good reason for coming back to the house but they had.

Y/N had the door unlocked with her key although the doorknob had rusted and wasn’t as agile as it had been when she last unlocked it, she had to rattle the key in there and shove herself against the door for it to open. Some of the furniture had been left behind, the stuff they wanted to get replacements of that would go with the theme her mother wanted each room of their new house to have, the house itself smelt of staleness and mouldy dust. There was cobwebs strung across walls, doorways, in corners and crevices that piled up on top of each other, it was eerily still and quiet. The house seemed to be haunted with bad spirits now yet every step and corner there were good memories made wether it was with her brother, her parents or with her best friends.

Bill walked close to Y/N and followed her footsteps through to her old living room on the right of the hallway, an old part of him had expected Y/N’s parents to be in there watching the television and reading the newspaper with a pack of biscuits open but they were long since gone. When Y/N had told Bill of the unfortunate news of both of her parents passing in the last four years, it had saddened him as much as it saddened Y/N when she remembered them now; they were always an open home to Bill Denbrough and welcomed him as one of their own once they got to know him, some of the best people in town that he knew.

They wondered into the living room as if it was someone else’s house and they had just been invited in, the only things left of when Y/N lived there was the mantelpiece above the fireplace and the tattered, blue sofa with holes in the cushions from lit cigarettes, Y/N’s fingers traced over them and dipped into one.

“This is richie’s, definitely” Y/N laughed. She had remembered when they were all round her house for the afternoon whilst her parents were doing the weekly grocery store shop down on Maine Street one day during the summer break, Y/N’s parents being out of the house had meant that as long as the windows were opened that Richie and Bev could smoke. Bev pulled a cigarette out from the box hidden away in the pocket of her shorts, Richie pulled one out of the box in the top pocket of his Hawaiin tee shirt and had punched Stanley in the shoulder when Stan had told him that stealing from his fathers cigarette stash was not ethicle and would end up with him six foot under whenever he found out. The cigarette dropped from in between Richie’s fingers and sizzled and hissed right through the thin material. At the time it gave Y/N a coronary and she had a go at Richie for it but she laughed now and would have to tell him about it later.

The floarboards beneath creaked now more than ever as Bill moved from the doorway and into the middle of the room. The curtains had been taken down and taken with them to Atlanta and the curtain pole was still fixed into the wall but the windows were too dust covered to see out of and in through, cobwebs stringed over them and the stormy weather darkened the room.

“The amount of time we’d spend in here was horrific” Bill laughed and brushed his fingers along the mantelpiece, collecting a cover of grey dust over the pads of his fingertips. Y/N smiled and took slow steps, taking her time to re-live a part of her dear childhood, towards the doorway of the living room.

She turned the corner at the end of the hallway and walked into the kitchen, the Linoleum on the floor still smelt like the crayons she used to draw with in school and the light that never quite was bright enough when Y/N’s family were having their dinner was still hanging up in the ceiling in all of it’s wonky glory. The countertop with cupboards above it that once were filled with glasses, plates and bowls still lined half of the room and the hidden away stove behind one of the wooden cupboards was still hidden. Y/N always used the hidden stove as a magic trick whenever someone new came round the house as hazardous as it was.

“Oh god, this kitchen” Bill grinned, his eyes were wide with astonishment.

“What?” Y/N laughed and shifted her hands into the front pockets of her jeans.

“Too many times where we’d make stuff and it nearly poisoned us...but it was fun” He said. He had remembered everything in that house, all of the concoctions they made with different foods and juices and spices they found in her parents cupboards and fridges, only a few of the seven of them were stupid - or brave - enough to digest them.

There was a chair in the corner of the room that used to be used for dinner guests to sit at if Y/N’s brother had his friends over, if Y/N had friends over like Bill had been so many times or even Bev or Mike had been, if family were visiting and chosen to stay for dinner. The wicker chair had been dragged over to the middle of the room by the back of it and Bill had sat down on it, he leant back and rubbed his hands along his trousers, taking a deep breath to take all of it in.

“The others should be here” Y/N said not because she hadn’t wanted to be alone with the boy - who is very much now a man - all of the Loser’s Club had idolised everyday but because it was still one of the few places in town that was still theirs twenty-seven years later and it was safe, she wanted them to be safe with her and Bill there.

“Stanley wouldn’t come in, you know it” Bill looked up at her through his eyelashes.

“I don’t think I could blame him for it” Y/N spoke as someone who had known him well, he was the person who toughened Y/N up with his blunt execution and sarcastic default. Who knows? In a parallel universe they could have been lovers and perhaps it would have been more than platonic. Perhaps.

There was a pause of silence where both of them realised they hadn’t spoken about Stanley Uris for a lifetime. The closest Bill had to Stanley Uris being a name on his tongue had been the day he sat down to start outlining an idea for a new novel, the idea was there in front of him and he seized it during the middle of the night when he woke from a bad dream in fear that it would not be there in the morning when he woke again. He was able to build the plot with ease and the ink seemed to flow through his veins, what he wanted to write about had translated to be so raw and terrifying, too real that he had to pause, pause, pause then go back to it. The characters he built were already there in his mind waiting for him, they were all so different in traits and personality but he knew that they would fit on the same page and when he looked back it now, it made sense. The closest Bill Denbrough had been to Stanley Uris since they were children was when he wrote his books.

“All these years and we’re still apart of his circus.” Bill muttered with a matter of frustration, he pushed the hair that had fallen in front of his face back and blew the air from his lungs outwards. Y/N had soon realised they were not talking about Stanley Uris although she wished they had stayed on that conversation for longer.

“We’ll do it this time, Bill.” Y/N reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, it was the only thing that she thought she could say in that exact moment. She prayed on every lucky star that she had spoke the truth and wouldn’t let Big Bill down.

“I thought when I left Derry and started to forget everything that it was getting better, there were no more dreams, I thought all of it had gone, I thought I had grown up and I’m back now... and now, everything is here.” Bill Denbrough had spoken.

Y/N’s hand rubbed up and down his shoulder and down to his forearm then back up again. He looked up and saw her dewy-eyed gaze, it made the Y/E/C colour deeper, Bill Denbrough had begun to swim in them and tried to shamelessly read what they were really telling him: ‘we were too young for all of that to ever happen Big Bill, I miss those days when we were kids’ or maybe that was just how he felt or wanted, hoped Y/N to feel.

Y/N’s eyes had only become more beautiful to Bill, he remembered how he used to worship them with every chance she gave him too and when she wasn’t looking, he would pray that she never looked over at him so he could look at the Y/E/C of them until it was all that he was seeing. Oh, the way Y/N’s eyes gleamed under the sun and the darker parts spiralled around the lighter tones, Bill fell in love with them and wanted to spend the rest of his life with them in his vision. He though they were much better than his green eyes and if they were to grow up and have kids one day once they were out of Derry, they would have the most gorgeous eyes if they were Y/N’s colour and shape. Looking back at so many summers ago, Bill Denbrough worshipped the ground Y/N walked on and wanted to kiss and bring his fingers down, over every part of her sun-kissed skin, he didn’t see it as a waste of his quick-passing time even now and would do anything gladly to be that fourteen year old boy again.

A shudder ran down Y/N’s back - oh how Bill had wanted to kiss all the way down her back from her shoulders so long ago - and a breath came past her lips that trembled. Y/N ran her hand down her thigh, the denim was smoothe but coarse under her fingers, she looked at her hand instead of how Bill was looking up at her, If she had kept her head up she would have forgotten how to function with normality. All of the things that had scared her evaporated and a new fear replaced that one, it bloomed like a flower on a warm day in spring, she hadn’t known what Bill was thinking of but she knew she was thinking about him in a way that she hadn’t since she was fourteen years old, it made all the pain of Derry seem so small and far behind. She enjoyed the fear he was making her feel it was new and different to the fear she had been conditioned to feel ever since a young age and there was such a beauty within it.

He took Y/N’s hand, warm and delicate, from his shoulder and held it in his own, when he stood from the chair there left an inch between them.

“You’re still mine” Bill spoke. He took his fingers over Y/N’s hand and brought them to his stomach, he pressed them against his warm skin and trailed her fingers down to the belt of his jeans. “I need to hear you say it, Y/N”.

She watched him move her hand over his belt from his stomach, her eyes followed the veins on the back of his hand to all the way up his forearm. It was not how she used to imagine Bill but it was more in it’s own way, the Bill that stood at five foot four and’s stutter was out of his control was a different person to the Bill that stood at six foot one and knew what he wanted. Y/N didn’t want to realise how vulnerable she was in front of him, she wanted to be with him in that moment and not think of when they would get another chance to be together as one, she wanted to feel every moment of the chance she had gotten then.

“I’m still yours Bill” Y/N muttered. Her hands grabbed at the buckle of his belt and un-looped it, she pulled it through the denim loops and let it drop onto the linoleum floor.

He stepped out of his jeans and walked Y/N backwards until she was pressed between his body and the countertop, she could feel the warmth of his breath so close on her lips. Bill Denbrough’s hand grabbed at the skin on her thigh and kneaded it, his fingers moved up her to her hip and grabbed it then up to her waist and caressed the skin there, he felt her ribs as he cupped one of her Y/B/S breasts under her blouse.

He had struggled to get her blouse off, tangled his forearms up in the sleeves off it and tore one of the buttons.

He dipped down to kiss Y/N’s lips, she was too focused on him slipping the blouse from her shoulders and onto the floor that what he wanted to show her, he squeezed her jaw and slipped his tongue into her mouth, it was then that she melted into him. She was so sweet and tasted better than the strawberries, raspberries and peaches he had shared with Audra last summer. Audra, his wife, whom he loved so dearly once and after seeing Y/N again could not love again, besides that passing thought, did not stay in his mind, she was so far away.

Y/N was sensitive to every place his lips touched on her, to everywhere his hands wandered over her and Bill Denbrough loved the sincere innocence of it all, it would stay with her until tomorrow morning and the following weeks to come - maybe even months. She felt the bullets ripple straight through her yet did not feel the pain of them and Y/N Y/L/N wanted to cry all at once because she feared that she would only find that in Bill Denbrough.

That afternoon, all of his desires that he carried - unbeknownst- through to adulthood yet that he had only remembered twenty four hours ago had leaped from fiction into a surreal shared moment with the woman whomst he longed for even before he knew it. He had left no part of skin or strand of hair untouched on Y/N Y/L/N and she had kissed him with such tenderness and touched him with so much of a desperation that Bill Denbrough feared his arms wrapped around her were crushing. They stood so close to one another and shared every emotion, thought, subtle notion; they had become the same person in their making of love in the muggy weather that made their bodies stick together.

“I am so much of you as you are of me” Y/N muttered against the crook of Bill’s neck as they laid on the sofa with their bodies naked against one another and arms and legs entangled. They watched the thunderclouds ripen and the lightning strike.

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