#somebody hugs this man right now for gods sake
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what a difference a night can make…
#jesus it really is all about choices isn’t it#some smooth because god only knows how much haymitch needs it#and me as well to be honest#it’s like… catching fire to mockingjay transition#he aged like 40 years in a few months who can blame him#somebody hugs this man right now for gods sake#i love him so much#haymitch abernathy#effie trinket#the hunger games#thg fanart#hayffie fanart#hayffie#thank you#my illustration#also changed my signature for some reason#new year reasons I guess#watch me go on a spiral I dare you#me and mitch are literally one single being#i am so sorry that book!haymitch had to go through all pf that alone#I am sure he tried to take effie with him that night as well#alas#thank goodness for the movie canon
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Can we have some stories of times that Frank, beloved Squad Dad, had to give each of them a hug? Thanks!
"Christ, where are they?"
"I don't know, I'm looking. You're sure you weren't followed?"
"Positive." Frank shuffles closer to the monitors and dodges the angry swat. "Relax, son, I'm just lookin', not touchin'."
"You're a menace. Fingers to yourself."
"Christ, you hit one touchscreen--"
"No touching!"
Frank had hit it. He'd hit it pulling Jimmy into a tight hug because oh, thank God, somebody's still alive with that cyclops bastard on the warpath. Jimmy'd fixed it fast enough, it's fine. They're both fine. For now.
The front door opens and closes and Antoine's voice, exhausted and wrung out, reaches them before he does.
"Tell me I'm not walking into a room of corpses."
"Nope." Jimmy switches screens. "Frank's here. Everybody else has gone dark. He follow you?"
"I lost him."
"You hear from the boss?"
"No. Was hoping you had."
"Uh-uh." He comes over, next to Frank, and slumps forward. "You got nothing?"
"Zilch. I can kinda track Deathstroke--chatter, y'know--but it's a ballpark."
"Great."
Frank pulls him into a one-armed hug and promptly rips his hand back when he hits blood.
"What the hell?"
"Armor took the brunt."
"For fuck's sake--c'mon, lemme take a look at it. Next time, lead with the gunshot wound, okay? And gimme your cigarettes."
*
Trent narrowly avoids taking the door off its hinges half an hour later. Antoine's collapsed in Jimmy's spare rolly chair, insisting that he's fine, and Frank has largely given up fighting him on it.
"I swear to God," Trent pants, "when we find the boss, I'm giving him the biggest fucking I Told You So."
"You're not hurt?"
"Nah. I got him to back off with the mini gun and lost him on the back streets." Trent grins and plunks said mini gun on the ground. "Shit, man, you didn't try to fight him, did you?"
"Fuck off," Antoine mutters. "No."
Trent looks fine. Out of breath, a bit, and his hands are badly burned from the confrontation with the Bat, but otherwise he's okay. Well, apart from the bruise on his head, also courtesy of Batman. When Frank pulls him in for a quick hug, there's no broken bones or questionable bloody spots, either.
"I'm okay. Just. You know. Pissed."
"I don't think this was part of the contingency plan."
"Yeah, well, I'm still getting in my I Told You So," Trent gripes. "Because I did. I said that one-eyed bastard was trouble. And now look."
"We all said it. He said it, too, remember?"
"Still. How do we know he didn't double-cross us?"
"We don't, but it's not his style." Jimmy pauses. "Everyone shut up. I got activity at one of the safehouses in Drescher, just lemme work."
*
Mark gets there before Riley does, but there's no time for anything because they've found the Knight, all right, but everything's gone tits-up. They're all gathered around the screen--Mark's only half paying attention, with Antoine's shoulder an' all--watching in anticipatory horror. Well, not Trent. He left to meet them, to offer any help possible. But they're keeping him updated. Frank would love to do the same, but Batman destroyed most of the drones, the remainder are hacked, and Batman also fucked up his leg earlier tonight. So he has to sit here and stew and curse whatever deity did this to them.
Riley made it. He must have. Frank doesn't know anybody else who has a snowball's chance in hell at shooting Deathstroke. A cheer goes up when the assassin staggers back, and yeah, all right, when he's not their problem, the Bat's an impressive fighter. More importantly, he stands a chance at dealing with this asshole.
"Trent's comin' to you," Antoine says tiredly. Mark tries to take the mic away and gets swatted at. "We looking at a pickup or a...a retrieval?"
Silence. Then rapid taps: pickup.
Oh, thank God. Something goes right tonight.
"Okay. He's about...Jimmy, get me--thanks--five minutes out. How bad is it?"
"Not as bad as it'll be when I'm done," Mark grumbles. "Fucking idiot. What the hell got into him? That was never gonna go well."
"Could'a been fear toxin," Frank reminds him. "Could'a been anything."
"Goddamn moron."
"Yeah, well. That's nothing new."
"Humph."
Frank just laughs at him, gives him a friendly elbowing.
"Might wanna grab a Coke," he says. "Night ain't over yet."
*
Riley gets three steps inside before Frank grabs him. Mark's not here to lecture, but that's okay.
"The hell," he says, "was that?"
No answer, but a second later he realizes it's because Riley's arms are pinned. Whoops.
He lets him go and straightens up, hands on hips.
"Well?"
It worked.
"You were gonna try to kick his ass."
Yeah.
"For chrissakes, boy--"
He'd have done it for us.
Yeah. Yeah, he would have. For better or worse.
"Can't argue with that," he says softly. "C'mon, may as well comfy up."
Riley shrugs. He looks exhausted now, with the adrenaline worn off, and his hands are shaking a little. Frank claps him on the shoulder with a little more force than strictly necessary and steers him away from the computers.
"Get on, now."
#asks#arkhamverse#scaryverse#the squad#mark does not get a full hug because mark bites#literally he is a not a huggy person and you might get chomped#probably not but the risk is not zero
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Something just like this : Matt Murdock x reader
inspired by Coldplays's "something just like this"
"She said "where'd you wanna go? How much you wanna risk?
„Matty?”
„Go back to bed.”
“I can’t .“
I was standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, dressed only in shorts and some old T-shirt, rubbing my eyes, sore from the hours spend in front of the computer. The clock was showing the hour I haven’t seen in a while and the dim light was not helping my coordination when I took a step and almost tripped over my own feet.
“You clearly need rest” Matt was quick to catch me before I met the floor, his hands gripping me tightly to him, making sure I was safe.
“What about you?” I asked running a hand through his soft, black hair.
“What about me?”
“You talk like you don’t need a proper sleep. Not just a nap.” I muttered looking at his bruised face “even devil needs a break sometimes.”
I'm not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts.
“It’s different” he pulled away and I shivered from the cold that came for me in the absence of his body next to mine. “I am different.”
“No, you’re not. Don’t walk away from me, Matty. Please.”
“Go back to bed.”
“And what if I won’t?”
He was now standing in front of a window, half of his face illuminated by the neon lights from the bar across the street. The reddish aura did nothing to hide his scars and puffiness and once again, just a simple thought of his night activities were a kick in the teeth for me. And the worst part. His martyrdom. He put himself on the cross, not really wanting to come back down. Not for Foggy, not for Karen, not even for me. I never wanted to take away that part of him, I knew what I was into when we started dating, but still. He shouldn’t have to handle things all by himself. He shouldn’t have to be up every night, listening to all the sounds on the streets, focusing on everyone who needed his help. Exactly like he was doing now, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.
“Matt.” I took a step forward, just to see if he was going to run away from me again. He didn’t so a few more and I was hugging him tightly from behind, feeling his tensed muscle and stress and sense of duty. “Please” I kissed his shoulder lightly.
“Go back to bed.” God, he was so implacable. However, a slight lean into my touch gave him away.
“No” I pressed myself closer to his back “I’m not going to leave you like this.”
“I’m not bleeding anymore.”
“What do you mean anymore?! Are you hurt?!” I tried to spin him around to I could see him frontally and he turned unwillingly.
“Y/n.....” he sighed deeply realizing he said too much. Such a silly mistake for a lawyer.
Some superhero, some fairytale bliss
“Please, let me take care of you…… You don’t need to be strong all the time. Not around me. I won’t judge you, you know that. I love you…..” my voice was now becoming a bit desperate. “Please, I am here for you.”
“I’m tired, Y/N….” his body following the words as he slouched, turning from the devil into a wiped out man.
“I know Matty. I know. But you can rest now.”
“I don’t feel like I can. “
“Then focus on me, ok? Let me help you forget about the pain.”
just something I can turn to somebody I can kiss,
“Ok…..” he closed his eyes, hiding all the pain and fears inside as I let him to the bedroom forcing him to lay down, tucking him in and laying right next to this childish person I loved. It’s been a while since he was this close to me and all of a sudden I realized how I missed this. Our little, brief moments of peace and serenity. So rare, almost non-happening. It made me wonder whether I made him come to bed for his sake of out of pure selfishness, but I shook it off. It wasn’t about me, but him. He was the one to always protect me (sometimes much to my displeasure given the methods used), comfort me and hold me when I was down. It was my turn to return a favor. We both needed this. I needed to remind him he didn’t have to hide from me or act stronger than he really was.
“Y/n…..” he whispered sleepily
“Yes, Matty?” I started finger-combing his hear in a reassuring matter, humming slightly under my nose.
“Can you just hug me like this?”
“I wouldn’t dare not to” I grinned “come here, baby” he was more than willing to rest his head on my chest, his arms circling around my waist, holding me desperately.
“Thank you….”
“Anytime, Matt. I mean it, anytime. Don’t run from me….”
“I don’t want to put you in danger……..”
“Matty” I put a hand on his cheek forcing him to look up at me “you’re not putting me in any danger, you hear me. I chose this. I chose to be with you. You and me against the world. Even if at the end of the day I’m just the one to give comfort. I can’t go out with you on the streets, but I can make sure you got your safe space here.”
“What if….” He tried to get up but I forced him down.
“Stop it. Stop thinking for a while, all right?” I started to caress his side, mindful of all the fresh scars and injuries I patched up the night before, and two nights ago. “Breathe with me. Everything is good. You’re safe. I’m safe. It’s all good.” I tried my best to make my voice soothing and it seemed to work as he nodded, hiding his face in the crook of my neck.
“I love you……” he muttered, his breath tickling. “What was that song?”
“What song?”
“The one you hummed a minute ago.”
oh, I want something just like this.
“Oh…. That one. It’s just little something that reminds me of you every time you are away. Something about how I don’t need superhero, but someone to hold and have for myself. Something just like this. Like now.”
“Is that enough?”
“Always.” I kissed the top of his head “Now sleep. Even the devil needs a break sometimes.”
“How did that devil end up in a relationship with an angel?”
“The angel saw something more to him…” I smiled and upon my words he shifted himself closer
“you are so warm and soft…..” he chuntered and a second later I heard his light snoring, feeling myself drift off as well. Calmer than before, just because he was by my side.
#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock#matt murdock imagine#matt murdock x y/n#matt murdock x you#matthew murdock#daredevil#daredevil x reader#daredevil x y/n#daredevil netflix#daredevil x you#mcu imagine#mcu#marvel imagines#marvel
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TW: Grief and loss. Transphobia.
"Come on, Lyall. It is not a big of a deal. She is just a teen. She is just experimenting...."
"I know that, Hope. The issue is that she shouldn't be borrowing my clothes. She should be bothering yours... She is wearing my cologne for God's sake..."
"It is just a phase probably..."
"Understand it! It is not normal!"
"You cannot make our daughter be the way you want her to be... She is just... She is just different"
Different... Weird... Abnormal... Rosie was used to these words. Surely her parents said that all the time. And probably they were right. Rosie was a bit weird.
Everything about the way she looked felt wrong. Every time she thought about what she was supposed to be: a grown up woman, delicate, supposed to use dresses and makeup, Rosie felt nauseas. It felt good to wear men's clothes and use her father's cologne. Rosie felt more like herself. Perhaps she was meant to be somebody else. She was meant to be a boy. Rosie felt like she was always meant to be a boy but she was trapped in a girl's body.
Was that even possible? All Rosie wanted was to be a boy. And she should probably use a name other than Rosie.
"I know what you are going to say..." Rosie told her mother when she went to talk to her that night "I heard everything. Dad thinks I am a weirdo. Don't worry... Everyone thinks that"
Rosie's mum shook her head.
"That's not true, love. I adore you just the way you are"
Rosie hated herself though.
"Do you think it is weird that I use dad's clothes?"
Hope smiled "I used to wear weirder things when I was younger. I remember I used to make necklaces and earrings with empty wrappers" she giggled. Hope was cool. She was a hippy that used to go to protests and hang out with musicians until she met Lyall. A shy nerd accountant that only wore sweaters and boring ties.
It was different. Rosie didn't care about her clothes. She wished she could change her body. Be born again. This was a nightmare. How could someone change their skin?
"Dad thinks so. He thinks that I am a freak, doesn't he?"
"That's not true. Your father is older and old fashioned. But he adores you, Rosie"
Rosie sometimes wondered how could someone so cool could have fallen in love with someone like Lyall. They were so different.
"He keeps buying me dresses and girly stuff and I hate them!" She hated herself "I keep telling him that I would never be feminine and stuff"
Rather die than be a woman one day.
"Tell you what. We can go shopping and we can buy whatever you like" Hope touched her daughter's cheek.
A male's body?
"Even if I want men's clothes?"
Hope raised an eyebrow. But then she smiled.
"Rosie, I don't care how you dress and if you like men's clothes... As long as you are happy. I don't care about anything else... I love you, no matter what"
Rosie hoped that was true. What if she told her mother the truth? Would she accept it? Would she help Rosie become a man?
But Rosie wasn't ready to tell her now. She didn't even know what to say.
Rosie smiled "Cheers mum, and I would like you to call me Ro or R simply..."
"Why? Rosie, Rosalind is such a beautiful name"
Rosie hated it.
"Please mum... I don't like to be called Rosie"
She... No... HE would find a better name. Something more masculine. Something more like... Like himself.
"Alright, love. Whatever you want"
So he hugged his mum.
Remus was thinking about one of the first moments he came out to his mum. Hope had been very supportive. Even if she didn't understand. Even if Remus didn't understand it yet. Hope had always been amazing. Best mum in the world and Remus' best friend.
And now she was gone. And Remus would never see her again.
"Moons?... There you are"
Remus immediately melt and broke between the arms of the boy he loved. He needed Sirius so much right now.
"Don't leave me alone, please" Remus cried on Sirius' shoulder.
"Of course not. Never..." Sirius swallowed "I love you"
Remus held him tighter in response.
"Remus..." A voice said behind him. Remus broke apart from his boyfriend's embrace to check if he wasn't hallucinating. It was the first time Lyall called Remus by his real name without hesitating or with a shaking voice.
And his father looked so broken. It was just the two of them now.
"I'll let you speak alone" Sirius said politely.
Lyall still had a grudge toward him, thinking he was like the rest of his family. But he simply nodded now.
"Thank you..."
As soon as they were alone, Lyall approached carefully and slowly. Remus didn't move. His eyes were stuck on the floor.
Lyall was still here and Hope wasn't. She was gone. She couldn't be gone. But she was.
But when Lyall's hand was about to touch Remus' shoulder he pulled away.
"She wasn't supposed to leave me so soon! Not now! I need her... I really need her..."
"I know..."
Lyall had never understood Remus. It took him a lot of effort to accept Remus' true self. While Hope accepted and supported Remus from the start. She was always there for him. Lyall wasn't. Lyall had always been trying to fix him.
"It isn't fair..." Remus said out loud "This isn't fair"
"It hurts me as well..." Lyall's voice broke "But I want you to know that I am here too. For whatever you need... Remus..." and he hesitated again. So Remus started crying.
"YOU NEVER CARED ABOUT ME... NOT LIKE HER! YOU DON'T LOVE ME, THE REAL ME!"
Lyall shook his head. Tears were running down his cheeks as well.
"That's not true..."
"SHE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO GO!! WHY HER? WHY HER?? AND NOT YOU!"
Lyall wasn't surprised by Remus' words. Nor offended.
"I love you, son" Lyall finally broke "I love you so much. You and your mother were everything to me"
Remus was in shock for a second. Because Lyall had called him "son" for the first time. Because he had said all these things in front of his girlfriend Sandra, who was just a few meters away. Hope had been the love of his life. Even if they had been divorced for two years. Even if they fought all the time.
"Come here..."
Lyall pulled Remus into a hug and Remus gave in easily. Lyall was the only one who understood him now. Not Sirius. Not his friends. Only his father. So Remus gave into the hug and broke down crying like he used to do when he was a little kid and he had nightmares. Once when his father was his favorite person in the world. His hero. And Remus deep down craved that again. So Remus and his father cried into each other's arms. And maybe it was about time they fixed their relationship again. Father and son. In Hope's honor.
#marauders#maraudersera#marauders headcanon#remus lupin#trans remus lupin#lyall lupin#hope lupin#sirius black#wolfstar#trans boy
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His Queen Pt5
The jackals brake the gate for us after Ahk and I quickly change into our clothes, Ahk is wearing his typical Deshret (crown), wesekh (collar) his cloth belt, shendyt (kilt) and his cape. I wear my kalasiris (straight dress) and decided against my wig, because that thing is way to itchy from what I remember
"Thanks guys. Don't worry I'll watch out for them" Larry says to our jackals as we run to a balcony. We look down to see what a mess the place is then some screaming from the other side of the room
"What is that?"Ahk asks
"Huns" Larry says irritated "I gotta deal with this guy" the Huns run over to us screaming, Larry running towards them also screaming while Ahk, Nick and I follow. The Huns start speaking their native language while Larry speaks... well made up
"Pardon me Larry. I speak Hun" Ahk says then starts to converse with the Huns "he says that he wants to rip you apart"
"All right again with the ripping. Listen I understand. I get it I do. Ripping, you want to rip things. I think maybe that's because somebody ripped you a long time ago. In here" Larry points to his chest "did somebody rip little baby Attila a long time ago right here. They ripped something out didn't they? they ripped love right out of you didn't they? little baby all alone in a tent" I look at Ahk confused, Ahk shrugs his shoulders "whose daddy went off to pillage some town or go and plunder somewhere just doing his job. But who was left alone?" Attila looks like he's about to cry "you" this makes Attila break. He hugs Larry who pretends to sing in Hun. He then points at someone else saying they're next
"Larry Daley" Attila starts speaking Hun and they push each other playfully
"Alright I need everyone to listen up" Larry shouts as he walks over to the balcony, but it's so loud no one can hear "guys come on!"
"Quite!" a loud noise travels through the museum making everyone stop "my dum dum want to speak"
"Thank you"
"What is that?" I ask looking at the large... thing that just shouted
"An Easter Island Head" Nicky states but I'm still confused
"This here's King Ahkmenrah and his wife Queen Amunet. Ahkmenrah's tablet is what brings you to life every night. And those old night watchmen? they stole it. Now we need to find those guards and get the tablet back and we need to do it before morning. Civil war guys, head over to the planetarium wing" the civil war people salut. Larry points at a bronze man "my explorer friend whose name escapes me"
"It's Columbus" Nicky tells his father
"Right, Columbus! right I'm sorry. There's no name plate so..." I clear my throat telling Larry to get to the point "Columbus take the Neanderthals and do a sweep from intervertebrates all the way around through reptiles. Jed and Octavius their vans parked out back. Go and take care of it"
"No no sir. I ain't working with toga boy" Jed shouts, which sounds more like a whisper
"Romans work alone" Jed does something to Octavius
"Ow"
"That didn't hurt dont be a baby"
"Yes it did"
"Come on" Octavius then does something back to Jed. I sigh rubbing my hand over my head
"That was much harder"
"Guys come on!" Larry shouts "Jed, Octavius. Take away the fact that you were born 2000 years apart, you guys aren't that different. Your both great leaders. You just want what best for your people right?" the Roman and cowboy agree "civil war dudes. You guys are brothers for Gods sake, you gotta stop fighting. North wins. Slavery's bad, sorry. Don't want to burst your bubble, but south, you guys get...Allman Brothers and NASCAR so just chill"
"What's he on about" I ask again, Ahk shrugs
"Look, without that tablet, all of this, this whole coming to life at night thing it all goes away.Now, I don't want to let that happen... but I need your help. We can get this done, but we gotta do it together. So who's with me?" there's murmurs of agreement. Larry asks again and this time there's shouts of agreement "all right! Let's do this, people! And animals. And weird, faceless puppet creatures. Come on! Let's go! Let's do it!"
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I wish I was better at this. I’ve lost a fair amount of weight but it isn’t enough. I’m still the upper end of healthy. I’m healthy. I’m fucking healthy. Fuck this. I should be doing better. I’m meant to be ill and struggling and sinking into the flames and chaos. Not healthy. I’ve lost like 26kg total but I’m still almost overweight. I should be underweight. It’s been nearly a year. I think? Why am I not doing better? I’m trying so hard most days. I’m a fucking failure. I can’t do anything right. How hard is it to just. Stop. Eating? Fuck sake. I need to hurt more. It needs to be more effective. I need people to worry. But only certain people at certain times. Other than that I want to be invisible. A ghost. To dissolve. Idk I’m just so disappointed that I’ve given another year of my life to my eating disorder after being fake recovered for a few years and I’ve hardly benefitted. Okay well I do generally feel better about how I look and it’s clear I’ve made progress. But. Idk it doesn’t feel like enough. I know that’s the point though. It’ll never be enough. I’ll never be enough :( I. Just. I fucking want a hug. Someone I trust. To just come here and make me safe. I want to feel safe so badly. I want to feel wanted and cared for a significant to fucking somebody. I want warmth and softness. I want to be forgiven while I’m crying. I know I can give myself some of those things but sometimes it would be nice to fucking not. Sometimes I want to give up and have someone else do the work. It’s like. Therapy is like weightlifting. I’m doing all this myself (well with my therapist but I mean practicing the skills is me). But sometimes I want someone to take the weight away from me. So I can just. Deflate a little. Untense and relax. Give me a minute to breathe. Let me go feral for a minute. Let me deteriorate. Just a bit. So I don’t have to try so hard all the time. Because I’m still not very good at trying so it feels like a lose lose situation. Idk anyway. I’m sad. Fuck bmi. Fuck bmi so bad lmao. I don’t even believe in it. Why am I basing how I feel on something that doesn’t exist. Fuck this. I want a hug. I’m fucking screaming out for some fucking love here but of course no one can hear me. They don’t want to. That’s fine. I’m shit. I don’t want to ruin anyone else’s life. I’m poison. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everyone who’s ever met me. I’m sorry. God if I was dead things would be better. But I’ve accidentally turned into a lil bitch and my inclination is mild to moderate instead of severe die now lmao. Idk. I don’t fucking know. Everything hurts. It’s after 2am and I’ve taken my sleeping tablets like every day for prob a week which isn’t ideal. So I want to overdose on cocodamol to get me to sleep. I want to cut. I want to go all day tomorrow without food. I did it last Saturday. I should be able to do it again. Unless I’m pathetic (I am). God man. God this rant is stupid. I’m so fucking stupid. What the fuck. What am I ? Some fucking edgy depressed 15 year old? Yeah. Fucking probably. I don’t know who I am lmao. I’m just struggling man. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fucking fine.
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For MIKEY with a female companion please?!?!?
59. "How mad would you be if we took a break for pizza rolls?"
47. "I know we're just friends but you're sitting on my lap and I'm so sorry if I get hard."
11. "Sit on my face immediately."
Hello there! Yes I can. Also I’m tagging @annaliaandtheturtles on this too because you basically asked for the same prompts so I hope you don’t mind friend!
Also I’ve been dying to these with my orange boi so let’s get it.
Rated Explicit/Comedy? (18+ only)
This didn’t exactly feel like a very ‘friendly’ thing to do, in fact this isn’t something friends do and while those thoughts did race in your head along with warning bells, you simply ignored it.
Because seriously, friends do not in any way shape or form platonically dry hump each other.
Naturally this evening your plans didn’t exactly consist of this to begin with. Michelangelo had shown up after patrol, looking a little more bruised up than usual and somewhat glum. He’d explained the hiccup during patrol had been partly his fault and he’d gotten the stern big brother(s) talk from all 3 of his eldest siblings.
It wasn’t fun.
Being the baby had its perks but at moments like this is truly annoyed him that at his twenty one years of age he was still being treated like this whenever he messed up. So he knew he could blow off steam with you by just being away from the Lair for the rest of night.
You noticed how affected he was by it all, the usual peppy banter not there and the way he hissed when he moved around his seat spoke of the nights events. So what? You had sat on his lap, side saddle and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. You’d given him your own stern talk, but this one filled with a lot more praise for his skills, wits and strength. His blue orbs had shone, he’d really needed that.
You’d hugged him, he’d hugged back (somewhat shyly wrapping his arms around your midsection) and it had been a nice long embrace. He’d felt your hand rub his shell, he’d rubbed a soft circle on your back.
When you leaned back you gave him a quick, albeit friendly, peck on the lips. Which wasn’t a big deal, right? Of course not, so what Mikey felt his cheeks heat up? And you chuckled nervously because his lips were insanely soft?
Not. A. Big. Deal.
There had been a solid five minutes of silence with Mikey bitting the inside of his cheeks and you adjusting your weight on his lap. He had winced again some what and you feared you’d sat on some bruise. You were about stand up and let him have his reprieve when he kept you there. “Um, uh...” He swallowed, brow ridges raised. “Mikey? You alright th-“ You fixed your posture and he looked away.
“I know we’re just friends but you’re sitting on my lap and I’m so sorry if I get hard” He basically spoke it to the floor, clearly embarrassed of the predicament but more so because you did feel something rather, well hard poking your backside. Your ‘oh’ face was followed by your cheeks heating up, but something inside of you urged you on. A gentle press of your palm to his cheek moved his face back into your line of sight.
And while your brain chanted ‘you’re just friends you’re just friends YOU’RE JUST FRIENDS’ it seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. You had leaned in and kissed him.
It never dawned on you that one simple kiss could lead to such a turn of events:
That included a thorough dry hump session where the chair had started to dangerously creak. By then you had unglued yourself from him but your hands had urged him on to follow, pressed against the table Mikey had kissed you again like a possessed man. Pent up didn’t summarize it, pent up couldn’t exactly explain it. It didn’t explain the tearing of your shirt from your head or your shaking hurried hands untying the jacket around his waist. It didn’t explain you both kissing sloppily towards the living room because the bed felt too far away and Mikey was tripping on kicking off his own shoes.
The laundry list of questions that ran through Mikey’s head were pretty much the same ones you had. Would this ruin the friendship? Were the two of you secretly in love? Was being in love with your best friend a good topic to bring up when you had your hand down said best friend’s shorts?
Mikey moaned, so did you.
Questions could maybe take a back seat for now.
His eyes fell on your chest, desire evident in his pretty blue eyes and so you tore yourself away from him long enough to catch one another’s breathes and unhooked your bra. You’d never seen somebody look equal parts shocked and excited, but there he was a shaking mess as his eyes looked from your chest to your eyes. “Yes for Christ sake have at them” You half laughed and commanded him, Mikey’s ‘right right’ only made you laugh more when he cupped them.
To say he had dreamt about this moment was a true understatement. Getting to do it? Actually holding such soft pieces of flesh, and god they were soft, Mikey felt he should maybe thank god or the closest affiliate. But it still nagged at him that this was all happening with you, with his Brest friend.
His breast friend who has the softest and most beautiful-
Focus man.
“Y/n I know this is like happening but I don’t want us to be weird afterwards because you’re well my bestie dude, and well- this isn’t weird right? We’re good?” You had never seen such a level of concern for somebody literally grabbing a hold of your tits.
This was absolutely bonkers.
“Do you want to stop?” It was firm, you weren’t going to allow whatever exactly this was, cloud your judgement. Mikey’s hands slid from their hold to rest of your waist. He thought, he honest to god pushed all desire away for five excruciating seconds and thought if maybe it was best to discuss this.
It also dawned on him that he was starving.
Impressive how the mind and body work.
Mikey’s gaze landed on yours, “How mad would you be if we took a break for pizza rolls? Just to like get our bearings man, I want to do this but-” How he was doing this while still staring at your boobs was impressive, you shook your head with a smile.
“Look at your being the mature one. I guess we should talk about this first and I wouldn’t mind some pizza rolls” You picked up his jacket, opting for putting that on since it covered most of you, Mikey couldn’t help but feel kinda giddy about that. He also couldn’t help his smile when you grabbed his hand and went back to the kitchen with him in toe.
Having a beautiful girl in nothing but his jacket pulling out two bags of Tostino’s pizza rolls while simultaneously trying to curb your hard on to take a break, was no easy feat for him. “I’ve got five cheese and pepperoni, who am I asking of course you want pepperoni, you want the entire bag?” You were already depositing the entire bag on the tray, going over to turn the oven on (because you knew how he hated when it was microwaved).
Mikey blinked at you.
You were making him pizza rolls, in the oven, you were giving him a Costco size bag all for himself, you were beautiful and absolutely a smokeshow of a woman.
“Holy shit I’m in love with you” It dawned on him so easily and so clearly and so abruptly.
You smiled, he looked so adorably flustered but happy. Mikey being happy due to you had always done that, it had always made you warm and excited. Somewhere along those lines the answer was there, it had just decided to announce itself now.
“I’m in love with you too, I can’t believe it took us nearly fucking” You covered your mouth, laughter bubbling up to the surface, Mikey couldn’t help it too, he started laughing with you. After a few seconds the two of you sighed contended with each other’s confessions.
You walked over towards him and threw your arms around him. Mikey hugged you tightly, your aroma so pleasant and comforting, he was happy it would be on his hoodie for a few days. He liked it even more that he would get to feel you like this, against him all warm and soft.
“Do you maybe wanna try this again and we’ll eat the pizza rolls afterwards?” You asked a little embarrassed by how turned on you still were.
He could have a beautiful girl? He could have pizza rolls with said beautiful girl afterwards? And she liked him back too?
“Sit on my face immediately” He responded without hesitation.
#tmnt bayverse#mikey tmnt#tmnt mikey x reader#tmnt michelangelo x female reader#michelangelo tmnt#tmnt michelangelo x reader#tmnt mikey#tmnt michelangelo#michelangelo x reader#mikey x reader#Mikey#Michelangelo#ask#lithebunnyq#annaliaandtheturtles#smut prompts#ns*w
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COSMIC - S1:E5; Chapter Five, The Flea and The Acrobat - [Pt. 2]
A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series
𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘣 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘔𝘳. 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.
|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||
"Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you."
'I can't believe I'm at Will's funeral.'
"Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." The pastor continued.
I spared a glance at the people around me.
I looked to Jonathan, his head bowed, and poor Joyce who was sitting nearby.
I can't imagine what they must be going through.
Joyce was like a second mother to me, and she has always treated as if I was one of her own. I'll always be grateful for that. I lay a hand on her shoulder.
She looks up to me confused like I had pulled her deep out of her thought, upon seeing it was me she smiles thankfully. She put her hand over mine and gave it a few gentle pats and then a small stroke with her thumb to say thank you.
I smiled solemnly at her and let go, listening to the rest of the service.
"It's times like these that our faith is challenged. How, if he is truly benevolent... could God take us from someone so young, so innocent?"
I looked down at my feet.
"It would be easy to turn away from God... but we must remember that nothing, not even tragedy, can separate us from His love."
I felt a nudge on my shoulder and turned to look at Dustin. He wore a sly smirk as he looked to his right, past me and Mike.
Frowning in confusion, I turned my head to see what he was smirking about.
"Just wait till we tell Will that Jennifer Hayes was crying at his funeral." Dustin said cheekily.
I scoffed under my breath, rolling my eyes.
"Since when has she cared about Will? She couldn't even get his name right, remember that week she called him Bill?" I huffed, crossing my arms in distaste.
The boys smirked at me.
"What?" I asked.
"Somebody jealous?" Lucas smirked.
"No-! Not ev- Shut up!" I scowl.
The boys giggle earning more than a few concerned and offended glances making me smile to myself. Mrs. Wheeler leaned down and shushed the boys making me smirk more.
'Serves them right.'
Soon enough, the casket had been lowered into the growd and roses had been thrown on top. I made my way to the very side of the grave, looking down.
"I know you're not dead. But I swear to God, if you don't come back I'm gonna kill you." I muttered to the casket in the ground.
As people began to filter out, we watched as Mike's mom said her condolences to Will's parents.
"I'm so, so sorry."
"Oh, thank you so much for coming." Will's dad said.
I never liked him.
Joyce was just standing by herself quietly, her arms crossed looking down at the grave.
"Yeah, if there's anything we can do..." Mr. Wheeler offered, shaking the man's hand.
"I appreciate it. Thank you so much."
I said goodbye to Lucas who had to follow his parents out, even though we would be seeing him later at the wake. I did the same with Mike, and soon enough Mom was waiting for us so we could get to the car.
"Mom, will you give me a minute?"
"Of course, Pumpkin," She smiled at me with sympathy.
I turned around wove through the crowd that had separated me from Joyce. I tapped her on the shoulder, seeming to jostle her from her thoughts a second time.
Upon seeing it was me, she smiled.
"Hi, Ms. Byers."
"Oh, hi Y/n. Thank you, for coming, sweetheart," She smiled.
I captured her in a bear hug and she gladly reciprocated, giving my several comforting strokes.
"Of course. I'm so, so sorry for your loss." I said, letting her go.
"Oh, thank you, honey. T-Tell me, how have you been holding up?" She asked gently.
My eyes welled up.
"I'm not gonna lie, it's- it's been really hard. I just, I just miss him so much. Your son was such a good person. Always a gentleman." I knew what I was saying.
Even if he is alive for sure, everything I said was true. He always has been nothing but kind to me.
Not to mention, I owe him for so much.
She seemed extremely thankful for hearing that and I was glad I could make her genuinely smile on this sad day.
"Really? Oh sweetie, thank you. That means, just so much to me."
I look back to my mom and brother waiting for me by the car, and I return my gaze back to Ms. Byers.
"Um, I better go. My mom is waiting for me. I guess I'll be seeing you at the wake. Goodbye, Ms. Byers."
"Thank you again, Y/n. I'll see you later, okay?" Her face slightly fell and she smiled at me.
I nod and begin walking backward sending a small wave her way before turning around a breaking out into a small jog to catch up to my mom.
⊹ ⊹ ⊹
Being at the funeral of your best friend is daunting and quite surreal.
Being at the funeral of your best friend who is quite possibly alive in another dimension and you and only four other people know this is a completely different ballpark.
We had all met up at the wake and regrouped.
The plan was to ask Mr. Clarke if there was anything he could tell us about the theories regarding alternate dimensions. I'm just praying that we don't arouse suspicion given the setting.
"Mr. Clarke?" The tall man turned his attention away from the buffet to look at us.
Mr. Clarke smiled sympathetically. "Oh, hey, there."
The somber look came easily to my face as I looked to Mr. Clarke, Mike, and Lucas on either side of me while Dustin was digging into the buffet.
"How are you kids holding up?"
Lucas speaks up for us, slightly distracted by Dustin's blatant chewing. "We're... in... mourning."
"Man, these aren't real Nilla Wafers," Dustin sighed, shaking his head.
My eyes widen softly, and I look to Mr. Clarke trying to cover for him.
"You'll have to excuse my brother, Mr. Clarke, he's-" I stop midsentence to see him happily munching on more snacks, and look back to Mr. Clarke. "well, he mourns in his own... special way."
"We were wondering if you had time to talk?" Mike asked, wanting to move things along as quickly as possible.
"We have some questions," Lucas added.
I shook my head in agreement. "A lot of questions, actually,"
Mr. Clarke complied and the four of us found ourselves at the nearest table, asking our teacher about other dimensions at our "dead" friends' wake. Not something I ever could have imagined doing.
"So, you know how in Cosmos, Carl Segan talks about other dimensions? Like, beyond our world?"
"Yeah, sure. Theoretically." Mr. Clarke replies, noticeably confused at the subject of our questions.
"Right, theoretically,"
"So, theoretically, how do we travel there?" Lucas asked.
"You guys have been thinking about Hugh Everett's Many-World's Interpretation, haven't you?" A ghost of a smile on our teacher's face.
"Yeah," I chuckled, nodding my head in response.
The boys looked at me, wondering why I had said that.
I gave them a look that said, 'I don't know, just go with it.'
"Well, basically, there are parallel universes. Just like our world, but just infinite variations of it. Which means there's a world out there where none of this tragic stuff ever happened," I found myself nodding along, not for the sake of being believable, but actually lost in the idea.
"Yeah, that's not what we're talking about," Lucas sighed, leaning back.
"Oh."
"We were thinking of more of an evil dimension, like the Vale of Shadows. You know the Vale of Shadows?" Dustin asked, taking another loud bite of his off brand Nilla Wafers.
Not thinking that our science teacher would know anything about Dungeons and Dragons, I was completely taken aback by his next words.
"An echo of the Material Plane, where necrotic and shadow magic–"
"Yeah, exactly." Mike said cutting him off.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
"If that did exist - a place like the Vale of Shadows - how would we travel there?"
"Theoretically, of course." I add.
"Well..."
Mr. Clarke grabbed an empty paper plate and pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket. He then drew a straight line across the paper plate as he spoke, creating a visual for us.
"Picture... an acrobat..." He drew a small stick figure on top of the lines. "standing on a tightrope. Now, the tightrope is our dimension. And our dimension has rules."
He began drawing arrows on either side of the acrobat.
"You can move forwards, or backwards. But, what if..." He drew a very small creature under one of the arrows. "right next to our acrobat, there is a flea? Now, the flea can also travel back and forth, just like the acrobat. Right?"
"Right." We all agreed.
"Here's where things get really interesting. The flea can also travel this way... along the side of the rope." He drew arrows indicating the flea's direction around and under the rope, causing me to furrow my brows. "He can even go underneath the rope."
The boys and I all shared the same look before returning our gaze to Mr. Clarke. "Upside Down."
"Exactly."
Mike spoke up. "But we're not the flea, we're the acrobat."
"In this metaphor, yes, we're the acrobat."
"So we can't go upside down?" Lucas asked warily.
"No."
"Well, is there any way for the acrobat to get to the Upside Down?"
"Well," Our teacher furrowed his brows, a thoughtful look coming upon his face. "you'd have to create a massive amount of energy. More than humans are currently capable of creating, mind you, to open up some kind of tear in time and space, and then..."
He folded the paper plate in half, creasing it shut before shoving his pen directly through both sides of the paper plate. "you create a doorway."
"Like a gate?" My brother asked eagerly.
"Sure. Like a gate. But again, this is all–"
"Theoretical." I smile, nodding my head.
"But... but what if this gate already existed?" Mike asked, timidly.
"Well, if it did, I... I think we'd know. It would disrupt gravity, the magnetic field, our environment. Heck, it might even swallow us up whole."
Mike seems to gauge our reactions, and I'm the only one who met his eye with an equally uncertain gaze.
"Science is neat." Mr. Clarke continued. "But I'm afraid it's not very forgiving."
We all lean back, digesting the information.
#you'll float queue#stranger things#will byers x reader#reader insert#will byers#dustin henderson#mike wheeler#lucas sinclair#y/n henderson#eleven#el hopper#mr. clarke#joyce byers#lonnie byers#jonathan byers#claudia henderson#cosmic#st#st 1x05#1x05#the flea and the acrobat#stranger things x reader#x male reader#male reader#x m!reader#x reader#m!cosmic
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Let’s face it. You despise being a Celestial Dragon. You find them absolutely deplorable and want /nothing/ to do with the lot of ‘em.
You’ve seen how they treat other people and fishmen alike. It disgusts you the levels of inhuman actions they’ve done towards the innocent just because the world government /ASSUMES/ they’re the ones that came from God or whatever the fuck.
So...You ran away. You stole some cash, took some of your stuff, and then ran to the open sea. The sea where it held nothing but lowly pirates and Marine forces fighting for a twisted version of what they call “Justice.” You left a note stating that you had “died” in an “accident by falling out of your window”, using ketchup as blood stains to make sure that somebody would just believe you.
After setting all of your slaves free the night before, you knew the only sense of freedom you had left was at sea. After all, setting your slaves free like that would be taken as treason against the Celestial Dragons, and you refused to give them that kind of power over your head just because you had better morals than them.
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Warning(s): Mentions of abuse, slavery, Celestial Dragons, angst
A/N: Yet another purely self indulgent fanfiction reaction of the Monster Trio, also, sorry, it got a bit angsty for Sanji’s part lmao ^^;
Luffy has had bad experience with Celestial Dragons. He absolutely despises them. And when he hates somebody that much, he never wants to see them again. Unless it’s of course, to kill them.
Hearing your past shocked him to his core. You had kept it a secret for over a year now for the sake of your own safety, but being Luffy’s boyfriend was beginning to be harder and harder, especially since he’s friends with a Fishman. You /had/ to tell him the truth, no matter how scared you were of his reaction towards it, fearing that he may dump you and toss you overboard because of his hate towards your kind.
A brief silence filled the room that you two had been in, discussing your past and why you ran from home, and why there was suddenly a news report of you “Being Dead” in the latest newspaper. He had demanded some answers from you. You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck in awkwardness and gulped, “So....I ran.”
“I ran away from that place...I couldn’t stand being part of their kind. Seeing them hurt innocent people and fishmen alike just because of their “Social Status” grossed me out so bad that I faked my own death, and ran to the sea.” Using your fingers to create quotation marks with them, your arms fell down to your lap as yet another awkward silence filled the captains room, you hated that he was quiet.
“So...You ran away because you dislike the Celestial Dragons?” He commented, holding the piece of paper that had your face on it, only to then tear it to pieces a few moments later. You saw the pieces fall on the bed, somewhat stunned by what just happened. “Then that version of you is dead!” He simply says with the biggest grin you’ve seen from him. “You’re new name is y/n, and you’re a pirate! And you’re my girlfriend too!” He says cheerfully, pulling you into a tight but gentle hug. You couldn’t help but start to cry of relief, knowing that the captain of the Straw Hats wouldn’t judge you for your past despite his hate towards your kind.
Standing in an area on some Island, you stood awkwardly staring up at the green haired man. Despite the thin air, it seemed like he didn’t give two fucks about what was happening. He just stared down at you for a while, almost like he was judging you for your past, you could sense it too.
He lets out a sigh, a hand reached to your head and he patted it gently, “You’re no longer a Celestial Dragon right?” He asks, still petting your head, “No! Absolutely not! I ran away and faked my own death for a reason!” You responded quickly, feeling your anxiety start to get worse as time goes by almost at a slow pace. “Then it doesn’t matter who you /used to be/. You’re better than them. You freed all of your slaves the night before, and then ran the day after. The fact that you did that just proves to me that you’re one to be trusted.” He says then let’s go of your head and then grins
“Besides....If I felt like you were a threat, you would’ve been dead before Luffy accepted you into the crew.” He admits while rubbing his head. He was right though, he would’ve killed you if he’d sense you where a bad person to be around...A soft smile started to form on your face, you ran up to him and hugged him tightly, burying your face into his body as you felt a weight was lifted off of your shoulders. Zoro only stood there, allowing you to hug him
Much like Luffy, Sanji is disgusted by Celestial Dragons. Even more so coming from a family of Maids and Butlers, as well as slaves to do their work for them as they sat in the lap of luxury.
So, hearing that his darling s/o was born from their kind, made his stomach churn in pure disgust. You could tell by the look on his face that he was disgusted about your heritage, finding out about how you were raised to believe that your family was somehow the ones that “created this world.” But, what he was most disgusted by, was how your parents treated you, despite the fact that you where also a Celestial Dragon...YOU where abused too! Now it all made sense to him.
It made sense why you can barely handle being touched without jumping, or why it looks like your scared at somebody slightly raising their voice towards your general direction. How you flinch whenever you hear somebody bang a wall or surface. How you bite your lip when somebody asks for your honest opinion...All of it started to click into place in his head...It had hurt him to hear the news so abruptly that he left the room to cool his head off and have a smoke or two.
Watching his back leaving the room made you start to panic. You’re heart sank to the pits of your stomach as the door slammed shut in front of you...Even though you had mentioned that you had ran away and faked your own death to become a Pirate, seeing this reaction hurt you the most.
So....You broke down. You broke down and started to softly sob, as it became a habit to hide your crying due to your past. You knew that this would happen...But seeing it happen in front of you right now, it still hurt regardless if you “mentally prepared yourself for it.” All you could do was just sit there and cry. You had cried for what probably seemed like for a few hours.
With how drained you where from crying, you had fallen asleep on your bed, falling to your pillow after the first 45 minutes of sobbing. You didn’t hear the door being knocked on, “Y/n san?...” Sanji spoke out in a more calmer tone of voice. He opened the door to see that you had fallen asleep...Guilt hit his stomach like a two ton truck, “Oh no...Don’t tell me...” he thought as he gently placed the tray of food for the both of you to enjoy together to forget about what had happened and make amends for it.
He leaned over the bed gently to see that you had cried so much that your eyes were red and puffy, he could see some kind of a shine on your cheeks that could only resemble the shine of tears. “This was my fault...” he thought to himself as he tired fixing your sleeping position so that way it wouldn’t hurt you so bad the next morning, only to get an idea to have you sleep on his chest instead to cuddle you throughout the night.
“I’m so sorry y/n...” He would repeat until he himself had fallen asleep, and the two of you had peacefully slept with each other that night, you had never felt safer asleep than you where with Sanji.
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Somebody to You (1/4)
Chapter 1. Hidden Feelings
Alex Manes is Michael's best friend in the entire world. His platonic soulmate, in fact.
That's why, when Michael discovers that Alex is in love with him, he panics. Rather than risk the loss of his friendship, Michael begs his brother Max to date Alex instead, and divert his affections. Though hesitant at first, Max agrees for the sake of helping his brother.
But what happens when Max realizes that there is more to Alex than he first thought?
Romance ensues, and as Max and Alex become closer, Max realizes that what had started as a favor to Michael has turned all too real. The only problem is that Michael never expected Max to actually fall in love.
Can Max stay with Alex knowing that their beginning is based on the worst kind of betrayal?
High school was hard enough without your best friend falling in love with you.
Not that there was anything wrong with Alex Manes, guys and girls both had to admit he was pretty to look at, but he was Michael’s best friend. When he’d first come out to him last year, Michael had very pointedly not teased the question, You don’t have a crush on me, do you?
Now, he didn’t know whether or not that had been the right move. If he’d asked, would Alex have blushed and given himself away? Or would he have been insulted? Or would he have rolled his eyes at the question like he did any time Michael said something stupid?
Maybe if he’d asked, he wouldn’t have found out by accidentally eavesdropping on Alex’s private conversation with Liz. Maybe he wouldn’t have heard Alex’s tears, heard his voice as strung out as it had been, fueled by exhaustion and fear.
“What if he doesn’t say no?” Liz tried, the words more a plea than an actual consideration to Michael’s ears. He could hear her desperate desire for her own words to be true, and the resignation in the knowledge that they weren’t. “What if he likes you back?”
“He won’t,” Alex cried, and made Michael’s grip on the music room door handle tighten. “He’ll never talk to me again.”
“Michael loves you,” Liz insisted. “He’ll love you even if you want something more. Look,” she was speaking more quickly now, “maybe if you tell him, you’ll feel better. Right? That’s why you’re crying, isn’t it? It’s just another huge weight on your shoulders, but if he knows that you’ve loved him since middle school, then – then maybe at least he’ll stop rubbing his one-night stands in your face!”
She sounded furious at the mention of it. Michael thought about the last blonde, nameless girl he’d had two nights ago, the way he’d latched to Alex’s back the next day, eager to tell him all about it. The way Alex, the dark circles around his eyes darker for reasons other than the eyeliner, had shrugged him off and murmured some excuse about getting to class.
Shame swelled in his chest until he realized he had nothing to be guilty for. He hadn’t known Alex had feelings for him!
Oh god, he realized. Alex had feelings for him. His best friend – no, best friend wasn’t enough to describe what Alex was. His soulmate, the very half of his heart, wanted more than friendship from him.
He swallowed, about to walk away. He shouldn’t be hearing any of this. He shouldn’t know any of it. Then –
“No,” Alex said. “No, I’m just – I’m just tired.” He sniffled, and Michael imagined him roughly wiping his face with his sleeves. “I don’t want him to know.”
“Alex –”
“No, Liz,” he said more sternly, more afraid. “I don’t want him to know. You . . . when I told you, you promised you’d never tell him. You’re not going to –”
“No,” she breathed, appalled. “No, of course not. I’d never do that.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I just . . . please, you can’t say stuff like that. It – I can’t – if he finds out –”
“Hey,” Liz said softly. “He won’t.”
“I can’t lose him,” he said and sniffled. “I’m just . . . upset because of my dad. The last thing I want is for Michael to leave me because of a stupid crush.”
A moment’s pause, then Liz tried, “Alex . . . it’s more than a crush.”
“Please,” Alex pleaded. “Don’t tell him. I never want him to know.”
“Okay,” Liz said, and Michael heard shuffling. He dared peek into the room and saw Alex there alongside the piano, his back to the door, Liz’s arms around his shoulders. Her eyes were closed, so she didn’t see Michael. “I promise, I’ll never tell him.”
Alex hugged her waist, and his body sagged with exhaustion against her. He hummed, but his voice waivered, like he was trying not to cry again.
Michael had left then, replaying everything he’d heard in his head. Alex liked him. No, Alex more than liked him. What was he supposed to do with that?
This wasn’t like finding out the local gay guy had fantasies about him. This was finding out the guy he trusted more than anybody, the guy he cherished more than anybody, had feelings for him. It felt like a threat to their friendship.
Michael slumped against the driver’s side of his truck, his backpack barely hanging off one hand. This was Alex. What was he supposed to do?
Alex liked him. His response? He clenched his jaw. No fucking way. He didn’t want to be in a relationship with Alex. It was Alex. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see holding his hand and going on dates with him and he’d seen him in the locker rooms. It was no wonder the girls here had had a memorial when they’d found out the hot emo musician only wanted men . . .
It didn’t matter. He didn’t want anything with Alex. He’d had too many one-night stands and too many nameless, faceless nobodies to know that love was only something that existed in his brother’s books. Getting intimate with someone meant risking losing them.
He clenched his fists. He would’ve rather died than lose Alex. He opened his truck door and climbed inside. He gripped his steering wheel tightly, unable to start it for a good minute as an unidentified dread settled in the bottom of his chest and climbed up through his heart.
When he parked in front of the junkyard where old man Sanders let him stay, and he found his brother Max sitting in a lawn chair, he understood what the dread was. It was the same thing he’d heard in Alex’s voice when it seemed like Liz might let his feelings for him slip; Raw fear.
As he stepped out, millions of worst-case scenarios swarmed his mind. What if Alex decided to tell him the truth? What if he blurted it one day in a fight? What if they were so happy that Alex got the courage to kiss him? What if things ended terribly and they lost each other?
Max raised a brow at him. “You look like hell. What happened?”
Michael could only shake his head as he took the seat opposite Max. He was due to work in half an hour, but sometimes Sanders let him rest up if he’d had a long day. And those last few minutes overhearing what he had in the music room had officially made this the longest day ever.
“Tell me something,” he sighed, leaning his head back and not at all paying attention to the dotted white clouds across the blue sky. “Anything.”
“Okay?” Max said more in the form of a question. “I – uh – saw Liz today. In the music room. With Alex.”
He groaned. “Anything else.”
Max nudged his knee with the back of his hand. “Hey, what’s wrong with you? You look like someone just smashed your guitar.”
My guitar. The guitar that Alex had given him because Michael had offhandedly mentioned once that music helped ease the noise in his mind. How had he not known then? Alex had paid such special attention to him. He had read his mind and known what his heart had wanted and given it to him when no one else bothered to look past the excitement of getting to rebel under the bleachers with the genius trailer trash.
How had he not known?
“I changed my mind,” he said. “Don’t speak. Just let me wallow.”
“Huh,” Max said. “Isobel’s been a fortress since she joined the Spring Dance committee, and you’re busy falling into your own despair for whatever reason.” He pulled a little brown leather notebook out of his back pocket. “Do any of my siblings have time for me?”
“I’m not falling into anything,” Michael grumbled. “Why do you have to get so poetic about . . . every . . . damn . . .” he trailed off, his eyes narrowing at the notebook. “Alex has that same notebook.”
Max hummed noncommittally, leaning back in his seat again and resting the notebook on his lap as he began doodling a rose. “Different colors though,” he said. “His is black. They got mixed up last week when he and I bumped into each other in the school hallway.”
An idea formed, somewhere in the back of his mind. Like water on ink; something definitely there, but unreadable. He leaned back again, wiping whatever the itch was from his eye.
“I don’t want to think about Alex right now,” he muttered, though even as he said it, his thoughts taunted him. Alex was all he could think about right now.
“Whoa,” Max blinked. Even he knew how much Alex and Michael treasured each other. Michael had never said he didn’t want to do something where Alex was concerned. “You guys have a fight or something?”
“No,” Michael said, though a fight might’ve been easier to deal with. “I found out . . . I heard Liz say . . .” He huffed, closing his eyes. He blurted. “Alex is in love with me.”
Silence. Michael opened his eyes and saw Max’s expression completely unsurprised. He looked like he was waiting for Michael to get to the point.
He straightened. “Are you kidding me? You really knew?”
Max scoffed. “You really didn’t?”
“No!” he gaped and stood. “He’s my best friend, why would I think he was in love with me?!”
“Because he’s your best friend.”
“So?!”
“So!” Max said like it was obvious. “Alex hates people! Liz and Kyle are his only friends, he barely tolerates me and Isobel, and Rosa Ortecho swears he hissed at her once!” He huffed a disbelieving chuckle. “Before you came along, Liz told me he never said two words to anybody he hadn’t known since before his mom left. You want to take a guess as to why he warmed up to you so quickly?”
Michael didn’t answer. Max grabbed his arm. “And for the love of god, stop pacing, you’re making me nauseous.”
He tugged him down onto the lawn chair, and Michael sagged against it. He stared into the distance, lost in his memories of his first meeting with Alex. Alex had been bullied, pushed into a tree and made fun of for stares and feelings he had yet to understand himself. Then Michael had jumped between him and the bullies, waving a tree branch, screaming at them to get away or he would kill them.
It had been the wildness of his eyes and words, wildness he’d gained from years with monsters for parents, that had unnerved them in the end. Alex had taken his offered hand with wide eyes then, and timidly asked, “You’re not scared of me?”
Michael had known then that this twelve-year-old had been told too often that he was something unnatural, something wrong, and was expecting it from someone else now. So he’d looked Alex over, as if checking for bruises, and rested the branch on his shoulder like it had been a bat.
He’d grinned and said, “No fangs or a tail. You look fine to me!”
After that moment, Alex had followed him everywhere, his eyes never anything less than adoring.
Michael shut his eyes. How could he have not known?
A buzzing against his thigh snapped him out of his thoughts, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Alex was calling.
“Shit,” he leapt to his feet, holding the phone at a distance as if afraid that Alex could somehow see him through the camera. “Shit shit shit.”
“What?” Max followed and his shoulders slumped at the sight of Alex’s name. “Dude, just answer. He doesn’t know you know, remember?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, right, yeah.”
“It’s still just Alex.”
“Just Alex,” he repeated. “It’s just Alex.” He answered the call, held the phone to his ear, and all but yelled, “Hey!” He winced at himself and Max rolled his eyes.
“Hey?” Alex asked, laughter in his voice. He didn’t sound like he’d just been crying his eyes out at all. Then it hit Michael. Alex was abused. He was used to hiding his scars. “Why’re you screaming?”
“I’m not!” he said, then adjusted his volume with a clear of his throat. “I’m – uh – I’m not. What’s up?”
He loves me. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.
Michael, so caught in the thought, completely missed what Alex had asked him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry,” he grit out, “say that again?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, is the auto shop really busy right now?” Alex asked like he knew the answer. “Pay attention, Guerin, this is important!”
Of course, Michael had ditched time and time again because they hardly had any cars in around now, and all Sanders did when he was an hour late was yell and grumble, then give him and Alex an extra plate of whatever he’d had for lunch.
“I asked what time you were coming to my gig tonight,” he said, a little more hesitantly. When Michael didn’t answer, he cleared his throat. “At the – uh – the Wild Pony? Just so I can save you a seat.”
Michael let his hand with the phone fall, his shoulders slumped. For years, he’d owed that nervous stammer in Alex’s voice, the way he went from confident to shy with just a second of Michael’s silence, to nerves about his gigs. Now he speculated it was because of something else.
Damn it. He wished he’d never known about Alex’s feelings. He wished he could unhear everything.
He realized Alex was talking again, and he held the phone to his ear.
“If you can’t make it,” he was saying, “I get it, I just need to know for the seats, you know?”
Michael had never canceled on Alex before, but Alex was a little sensitive where his music was concerned. Michael assumed it was because he had a father and brothers who belittled what he did every day, no matter how often Michael told him he loved his songs.
He gripped the phone tightly. He wondered what Alex would do if he canceled on him now.
“Michael,” Max mouthed, “talk to him.”
“Guerin,” Alex huffed a laugh. It sounded forced. “Dude, it’s fine. It’s one gig, I think our friendship will survive.”
Will it? Michael feared. Will it survive this, Alex? Will it survive feelings that friends shouldn’t have for each other? Will it survive if I can’t help but look into the double meaning of every word you say now?
He felt oddly frustrated with Alex, like this was his fault somehow. Like he was singlehandedly destroying everything they’ve ever had by wanting more.
“Is it another gig?” Max asked, nudging his elbow. “Will Liz be there? Ask him if Liz will be there.”
Michael rolled his eyes, about to snap at his brother that this was not the time. Couldn’t he see that Michael was suffering some emotional turmoil over here?
“Guerin,” Alex tried again. “Are you there?” He heard a sigh, and Alex mumbled, “Is the reception bad?”
Michael hated this. He was starting to scare Alex, and it was the very last thing he wanted to do. Max was still asking about Liz, his notebook, just like Alex’s but a different color, in his hand, and Michael clenched his jaw. Max liked Liz, but it would be so much easier for everyone if . . . if . . .
His eyes widened. The idea that had begun to sink below the depths of his mind surfaced now. Before he could make it out completely, he found himself saying, “Sorry, hang on a second, babe, my brother keeps trying to talk to me.”
“Oh!” relief flooded Alex’s voice and he chuckled breathlessly. It sounded so much more real, and that hurt Michael all the more. “Yeah, sure! God, Michael, you freaked me out a second there. Yeah, take your time.”
Michael covered the speaker on his phone and told Max quietly, “I need you to come to Alex’s gig with me.”
Max’s eyes widened. “Liz will be there?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Michael said. “I need you to ask out Alex.”
Max stared a moment, then, “What?”
Michael held up a finger to his brother and brightened his tone when he told Alex, “Hey, Alex, can I bring Max to your gig tonight?”
“W-wait,” Max said, “Michael, what’d you mean, ask out Alex? Was that a joke?”
Michael ignored him as Alex scoffed. “Sure. But you’re definitely coming, right? Because I was totally lying before. If you don’t make it, I’ll never talk to you again.”
Michael smiled and almost said, Would I ever not show up for you?, realized how Alex might take it, and diverted at the last second.
“Uh – yeah – see you tonight, then.”
It was awkward and unnatural for them, but Alex hardly seemed to notice, lost in his own happiness, as he told Michael he’d see him tonight, and hung up.
He barely met Max’s dark eyes and crossed arms when Max said, “No.”
“Hear me out –”
“If your next sentence doesn’t end with, ‘and then everyone will laugh, and it’ll totally take the edge off,’ I don’t want to hear it.”
“One date!” he begged, following Max back to the chairs and their backpacks. “Just one! Consider it a birthday present to me! For the next five years – no, ten years!”
“This isn’t a favor, Michael!” Max argued. “I’m not going to ask your best friend out just so you can avoid having to talk about this!”
“But –”
“Besides,” Max said, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, “I’m not gay or bisexual or pansexual or anything. He’d smell a fake a mile away.”
“You’d totally pass for bisexual!” Michael argued. “Look at you” – he tapped Max’s arms, his chest, his notebook – “you have the whole muscly jock with a tender heart thing going on, come on!”
Max stared. “Do you hear yourself?”
“Max,” he urged. “I need you to do this one thing for me! I’d do it for you!”
“You wouldn’t have to,” Max said. “I don’t pass off people who like me to my brother like a freaking torch.”
Michael winced, and Max sighed, his expression softening. “And I like Liz, remember?”
“Then this’ll be the perfect in for you,” he insisted. “Getting close to Alex means getting close to Liz. Then, in – in a month, just until the Spring Dance, you can smooth your way to Liz, and Alex will know the breakup is coming.”
Michael swallowed thickly before he said, “I know him. He hates being left behind, so he’ll end things first.”
Max shook his head. “And he’ll be heartbroken. Assuming your plan works. Is that what you want, Michael?”
Michael hesitated, then, “It’ll just break for a minute.” He added quickly, “Th-then I’ll come in, and he won’t want to date your brother, so he’ll know we’re better off as friends.”
He pursed his lips a moment, then walked past him. “You’re crazy.”
Michael clenched his jaw and blocked Max’s path. “I can’t date Alex,” he said fiercely. “I can’t.”
“He doesn’t know you overheard anything,” Max told him, not unkindly. “Can’t you just . . . play along?”
Michael shook his head, his fists tight at his side. “It’ll come out,” he said. “I know it will. Please, Max, I . . . I can’t lose him. I need you.”
Those were the words, Michael knew, that Max could never say no to. Those were the words that he and Isobel used only in extreme cases, when guilt for taking advantage of their brother’s good heart had to be put aside to fix whatever had happened. Michael hated using them, had used them only once before in his life, but knew he had to use them again now.
Max sighed and looked away, something like resignation settling in the slump of his shoulders. A moment’s pause, then – “Alex hates me.”
“No,” Michael breathed, already smiling despite the pinch in his chest that he would’ve rather not thought about. “You said it yourself, he barely tolerates you.” He took Max’s journal and held it up. “And if anyone can make something into something more, it’s a writer.”
*
Max wasn’t good at being a boyfriend. Not that he’d ever been anyone’s boyfriend, but that was the problem. He had no idea how to flirt or tease or ask anyone out. It was why he’d spent the better part of the last year pining after Liz Ortecho, stumbling through his hellos.
Now, for whatever reason, he was prepping himself to ask out someone for the first time in his life. And it was Liz’s best friend. The things he did for his siblings . . .
As Michael parked his truck outside the Wild Pony, Max thought about the few times he’d seen Alex around town. He was reminded of the Greek mythology stories he loved reading; of Hades, Lord of the Underworld, and how sunlight couldn’t touch him. He was nothing like his brothers who were all on one sports team or another. Who seemed to have no problem being popular.
Though none of them, he knew, were like Alex. The dark prince, the one everyone wanted to know for his mystery, but the one who didn’t want anyone near him. The one people gave up on because he was too difficult to approach.
You had to have an in. And, Max supposed, Michael was his in.
“Remember,” Michael was telling him as they left the truck. “His favorite song is Welcome to the Black Parade, don’t get him a beer until after his set, and whatever you do, do not insult Star Wars. He didn’t talk to Valenti for two days when he thought there were Jedis in Star Trek.”
Max started to laugh, saw that Michael was watching him expectantly, and huffed. “Would you calm down? I’m the one who gets to worry here. There’s no way Alex will let me come within three feet of him.”
“I already told you,” Michael said. “You have me. You just think about being your usual charming self –”
“Is that supposed to be another joke?”
“—And Alex will be happy to have you.”
Michael stopped abruptly just as they reached the doors. He turned to Max and pointed a warning finger. “Just don’t kiss him.”
Max blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t kiss him,” he repeated seriously. “That’s . . . it’s too far. He deserves to be kissed by someone who . . . really wants to kiss him.” He shook the thought out of his head. “Just – just don’t kiss him.”
“I won’t kiss him,” Max held his hands up. “I don’t want to anyway.”
“And don’t talk that way around him,” Michael grit out. “Anyone would be lucky to have Alex.”
Max looked to the skies for aid. “Then you date him!”
“I can’t,” was all Michael said, and tugged on Max’s arm. “Come on, you’ll do great.”
The Wild Pony doors opened to chatter and cowboys and clanking drinks. Max heaved a sigh, tapping his fingers on his thigh. He could do this. He could do this.
Michael patted his back and went on ahead. Max followed, thinking of what he’d say to Alex when he saw him.
He considered, “What’s up?”, “How’s it hanging?”, “‘Sup, bro!”, and winced at himself. He needed more time to think of something, but he didn’t have any. He spotted Liz first, and Kyle and Alex beside her. Liz and Kyle were laughing about something, but Alex was focused on his music sheets, his fingers running over the keys as if making sure he knew the song by heart.
Right then, Max realized what a terrible idea this was.
“Michael,” he tried, reaching for his brother’s shoulder. “I – I think we should talk about this –”
“Alex!” Michael called, and went ahead. Max was left stumbling behind him.
Alex glanced up and smiled at the sight of Michael. “Hey! I saved you a seat up front!”
Michael looked like he was going to wrap an arm around his shoulders like he usually did, then his smile dimmed and he cleared his throat, patting Alex’s arm in the end.
“Duh, buddy,” he said. “What are friends for?”
Alex glanced down for a fraction of a second before his smile returned and he pulled Michael to behind the keyboard to look at his song. It was like Max wasn’t there.
Michael seemed to notice that, too. He raised his brows pointedly at Max, and Max cleared his throat, stepped forward, and said, “H-hey, Alex.”
Alex looked up like he thought he heard someone talk to him, and his eyes met Max’s. His brows furrowed and he pressed his lips together, clearly confused as to why Michael’s brother was talking to him.
“Hi,” he murmured. “So, Guerin, look at this, I used the lyrics you came up with yesterday.”
“Uh –” Michael barely glanced at the page. “Hope you don’t mind that I brought Max,” he said, pulling Max forward. “He really wanted to hear you sing.”
Alex narrowed his eyes at Max. “If he’s here to, like, make fun of me or something –”
“No,” Max said at once. “No, I – I really do . . . like . . . music.”
Alex stared a moment. Then he looked away, uncomfortable, and took Michael’s hand. He muttered, “Is he coming with us for ice cream after?”
Michael chuckled and subtly removed his hand from Alex’s. Max could see the flash of hurt in Alex’s eyes before it was gone, and he thought he might’ve imagined it.
“We’ll see,” Michael said, “about the ice cream, okay?”
Alex scoffed and bumped their shoulders. “Yeah, okay. The day Michael Guerin says no to ice cream is the day Kyle Valenti gets into med school.”
“Hey!” Kyle argued.
“I’m kidding!” Alex laughed. “I knew you were listening in, you freak!”
Kyle pulled Alex to him, and Michael kept laughing until he whipped around to face Max, then his smile fell away and he hissed, “Work with me here!”
“I’m trying,” Max hissed back. “I am making him uncomfortable, Michael.”
“He’s just not used to you talking to him,” he whispered. “Just – just – just . . . move in there!”
He pushed Max forward, and Max nearly stumbled into Alex’s keyboard. Alex looked startled.
“Max,” Liz blinked, “are you okay?”
Kyle tilted his head. “You drunk already, dude?”
“Uh . . .” Max started, and pointed at the keys. “I like your piano.”
Alex raised a brow. “It’s actually not mine. It belongs to the bar.”
“Oh.” Max nodded. “W-Well, you look really cool. I wish I could play the piano, so that’s – that’s really cool.”
“Thanks?”
“Can I – uh – can I buy you a beer? After your set?”
His face burned as Alex stared. Then, while still watching Max apprehensively, Alex called, “Guerin?”
Michael didn’t answer. Max turned to find that he’d started talking up the first blonde he’d found. Asshole, he thought, clearly looking for any excuse to leave him alone with his best friend.
He looked back at Alex, and saw that he was watching Michael, too. His shoulders had fallen, and his brows pinched, but there was no surprise in his face. He was so used to Michael ignoring him when a better offer came along.
He knew he should say something, though he didn’t know what. If Alex thought of Michael as nothing but a friend, this wouldn’t have hurt him.
Liz then suddenly wrapped her arms around Alex’s waist, tighter and tighter until he burst into laughter. Kyle picked up the music sheets and complained why Alex never played any heavy metal.
“You dress like you play it,” he said, “is all I’m saying!”
They were clearly trying to distract him from whatever Michael was doing. Max scratched the back of his head, not knowing what to do himself.
When the show started, Michael was already in his seat, pulling Max to sit down beside him. Liz clapped the loudest and Kyle offered a thumbs up. Michael kept his arms crossed, as if afraid anything he did would be taken the wrong way. Max could see Alex’s momentary confusion before Mimi DeLuca announced his song.
Max was looking everywhere, namely at Liz, until Michael nudged his side with his elbow, and Alex started playing. As the first few notes fell together like a soothing waterfall, Max started. He looked to Alex, eyes wide. This was his music? He didn’t know why, but he’d imagined, like Kyle had teased, heavy metal or I-hate-everything ballads. But this . . .
Not thirty seconds in, Max’s eyes had fallen shut.
He had no idea how it had happened. One second, he was in a wooden chair at a bar where most of the crowd was laughing and talking over the music. The next, he found himself in a forest, surrounded by pine trees, with a clear lake behind him.
When Alex started to sing – who knew he had such a smooth voice? – Max then felt the breeze of a desert night across his cheeks, the stars and full moon bright above, the rest of the world turned to peaceful quiet.
The further along Alex got in his song, the more Max’s fingers itched to write. He couldn’t remember the last time ideas poured into his head like this, the last time he felt his heart swell with the anticipation of creating something.
This was a song Alex had made up. Had he always had such talent? Max had never been to one of his gig’s before because he’d never been invited. Or he had, and he had been lost in the chattering crowd in the back, not paying attention.
Now, he had to pay attention. He found it impossible to do anything else. When Alex finished, his friends and Michael stood to applaud. Liz screamed, Kyle whistled, and Michael looked prouder than Max had ever seen him of anybody. Max slowly did the same, staring.
Alex looked red-faced, but his eyes shone brightly and he smiled widely, like even he could feel the emotion he’d just created. He stepped down, running a hand through his dark hair, and accepted the bottle of water from Kyle with a thanks.
“Is it over?” he breathed after taking big gulps.
“Yeah,” Kyle laughed, ruffling his hair and messing it up again. “It’s over, buddy.”
“That’s my Alex,” Michael said before he could help it, and Max saw the blush deepen in Alex’s cheeks. Michael seemed to have realized his mistake, and handed a cold beer under the table to Max.
Max hesitated, then held it out for Alex to take.
Alex looked startled, but he was still smiling. “Thanks,” he murmured, accepting the bottle.
“So,” Kyle drummed his hands on the table. “Ice cream to celebrate?”
“Ice cream!” Liz yelled and Alex laughed. He turned to Michael.
“Ice cream?”
“Uh . . .” Michael looked over at the blonde he’d been flirting with. She waved to him from across the bar. Max saw the tick in his jaw, the way his fingers curled to fists under the table, and he knew that the last thing Michael wanted to do was cancel on Alex.
Yet that was what he did.
“Raincheck?” he said, and nudged his chin at the girl. “I think I’m about to live the Rockstar fantasy.”
Liz frowned, disapproving. “But you’re not the Rockstar. Alex is.”
“Well, the girls have to go somewhere,” he shrugged, already walking backwards. “If any guys show up, I’ll send ‘em your way, babe.”
“O-Oh,” Alex’s brows pinched. “Okay . . .”
“Max can take my place!” he offered, and turned his back to them. “See you tomorrow!”
“Jackass,” Kyle muttered.
Max opened his mouth to defend Michael, not knowing what he’d say exactly, when Alex said, “He’s just been really stressed out lately. He – he has all those honor classes. I think he should let off a little steam.”
Liz did not look like she agreed. “Alex . . .”
“It’s okay, really,” he said, then managed a smile that did not reach his eyes. “More for us, right?”
Max stared. “You really care about him, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Alex said simply, and looked at Michael’s retreating form with a forlorn look. “He’s my best friend.”
Alex seemed distracted. No matter how much Liz and Kyle tried to pull him into conversation, the best he could manage was a smile that even Max could tell was fake. Max felt kind of bad for him. He seemed to really be trying his best to cheer up, but every time a blonde girl or any straight couple passed, his mood dimmed again, like he couldn’t help but wonder what Michael was doing now.
Not knowing what else to do, Max nudged his arm and asked the only question he could think to. “Did you really write that song you sang tonight?”
Alex looked confused as to why Max would ask him anything, and he shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah.”
Max shook his head. “That’s so cool,” he breathed. “It – I mean, it was really good.”
Alex checked to make sure Liz and Kyle were too caught up with each other to hear them, then said, “Okay, what’s your deal, Evans? Why are you suddenly being so nice to me?”
Max frowned. “I’ve always been nice to you.”
Alex raised a skeptical brow. “You’ve always been polite. And that’s only because I’m friends with your brother. I know you’re as scared of me as everyone else.”
“That’s not true!” Max said at once. “I’m scared of everyone!”
Alex blinked, and Max realized too late what he’d said. He blushed and looked down, expecting to be laughed at. When he heard Alex huff an incredulous chuckle, he shut his eyes tight, humiliated.
Then he said, “You? Mr. Perfect?”
“I’m not perfect.”
Alex scrunched his nose. Max was reminded of a kitten. “Aren’t you though? Tall, dark, and handsome,” he nudged his chin at the notebook poking out of Max’s back pocket. “And you write.”
Max smirked. “But you’re all of those things.”
Alex blinked, startled, and Max could’ve sworn he saw a pink tint across his cheeks. Maybe it was just too dark.
Max cleared his throat and went on. “You should know then, better than anyone, that it doesn’t matter how good-looking you are. Sooner or later, some people just give up trying to get close to you.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” Alex scoffed halfheartedly. “Trying to get close to me?”
He wouldn’t look at Max as he said it, as if he was sure that was not what was going on. It made Max’s words come out more smoothly than he’d expected. “Yes. It is.”
Alex stopped, surprised. Max also stopped and faced him. He could see Liz and Kyle stop out of the corner of his eyes, and prayed they couldn’t hear him.
When he spoke, the lie left his lips with a little more trouble. “I like you, Alex. I – I always have. I’ve wanted to talk to you for years, but I . . . I’m not good at . . .” he gestured at his entire self, as if to say everything about him was an obstacle.
“That’s why Michael brought me to the show tonight,” he said. “He knew I’ve wanted to talk to you forever. And I finally got to.”
Alex stared, his expression unreadable. For a terrifying moment, Max wondered if he saw through the charade. Then he said, “You like me?”
He said it more like a statement, a dare. Max could only nod once, gripping his notebook so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Then he saw it. The doubt and suspicion behind Alex’s eyes. Alex sighed and kept walking. “Then let’s see how long,” he said, “until you give up, too.”
*
Max Evans stared. A lot.
Alex was not new to people watching him. Everyone was usually curious about the youngest of the Manes brothers until they realized just how different and unapproachable Alex was, and then their curiosity’s limit showed.
But the longer Max stared, the more curious he seemed to become. If he wasn’t glancing at Alex’s hair or eyeliner, he was looking at Alex’s bracelets, the rings on his fingers, the drawings on his shirt, his necklace, his nail polish.
Alex felt like he was being studied. It was weird. He wished Michael was here to get Max to stop staring. He wished he could snap at Max to look away, but the guy was like a walking cinnamon roll. It was impossible to get angry at him without feeling bad.
When Alex ordered his Neapolitan ice cream, Max not only insisted on paying for it, but offered a spoon of his own lemon sherbet cup for Alex to try.
“Don’t you have, like, hundreds of other friends you could be spending Friday night with?” Alex finally asked.
“Just my brother and sister,” Max confessed, picking at his sorbet. “Hey, since it’s Saturday tomorrow, y-you want to do something?” Then, as if it was an afterthought, added, “Together.”
“No,” Alex grumbled around his spoon.
“Why not?”
“Because I always spend Saturdays with Michael,” he said, and immediately longed for Michael again. He wondered if he was having a lot more fun than Alex was right now. He tried not to think any harder about where Michael might be.
“Oh,” Max said quietly. Alex glanced at him and saw that he was awkwardly tipping the melted part of his sherbet into his mouth. His lips twitched before he quickly schooled his features.
He thought that would be the end of that conversation, but then Max asked, “If he cancels, you wanna do something?”
Alex frowned. “Why would you think he’d cancel?”
“Just . . .” he shrugged. “He kinda does what he wants, you know?”
“Michael never cancels on me,” Alex bit back.
He nodded, but wouldn’t look at Alex again. “Sorry.”
Alex faltered. There it was, that guilt again. Saturdays belonged to him and Michael. He didn’t want anyone else coming along. He continued quietly eating his ice cream. At least maybe now Max would know to give up this ridiculous chase.
“Well, maybe Sunday then?”
Alex blinked and looked up. “W-What?”
Max was smiling nervously, swirling the contents of his sherbet. “There’s – well, there’s this museum for fine art pieces. I – I heard it’s really cool, I’ve been meaning to go, but Isobel and Michael don’t really . . . like paintings and sculptures.” He shook his head. “Sorry, I know you must not either, I – I don’t know why I thought you would –”
“Paintings?” Alex couldn’t help but ask. “Like Potthast? And Einaudi?”
Max blinked. “Y-You know about them?”
“I mean,” Alex scrunched his shoulders. “I’m not an idiot. I love any artist who pours themselves into their work. It’s” – he blushed – “inspiring.”
Max perked up. “Right?! I’d do anything to be a writer, you know? Seeing people love something as much as I love books, it kind of makes me feel like . . .”
“Like it all has to mean something,” Alex finished, smiling to himself. “I can’t love it this much for nothing.”
Max huffed a laugh. He looked surprised, his cheeks tinted pink. “Yeah! Yeah, exactly . . .”
Neither of them said anything for the next minute. Alex rubbed the sole of his shoe against the pavement and cleared his throat.
“I mean,” he finally said, “I guess . . . if I’m really not doing anything Sunday . . . I can come. B-But only if Michael’s coming, too! I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
Max didn’t say anything, and Alex chanced a glance at him to see he had a small smile.
“What?” he demanded. “I said I’d – I’d come. M-Maybe!”
Max nodded. “Er – can I have your number?”
Don’t do it, Alex thought. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it. Max was just a stranger.
But he’s not a complete stranger, he reminded himself. He was Michael’s brother, and if Michael was letting him get this close to their tight little group, then he must’ve trusted that Alex was safe around him. And he could trust Michael more than anyone to look after him. He knew he could.
“Yeah,” he said, handing Max his phone without looking at him. He saw Liz and Kyle watch him from across the street where they were twirling around a lamppost. They were tilting their heads and smirking, like they knew something he didn’t.
Alex cleared his throat, and, as if his friends could hear him, added in a mutter, “Whatever.”
Even Max smiled at that.
*
The next morning, Max woke to knocking on his window. He saw Michael and leapt out of bed, letting him in.
“Can’t you knock like a normal person?”
“Didn’t want to wake anyone else up,” he said. He smelled like he’d spent all of last night drinking, but his curls were wild, like he’d walked for hours in the desert instead of lying in someone’s bed.
He nudged Max aside and sat cross-legged on his bed, shoes and all. “Tell me about Alex,” he said. “How’d last night go?”
Max put his pillows up and slumped against them. “Fine. Good. Okay, I guess. He was mostly quiet the whole time. Did you have to blow him off like that?”
Michael looked down and clenched his jaw. “Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. “I hated not being there. The whole time she was talking in my ear, I was trying not to get her to gag on me. I almost called Alex like fifty times!”
He shook his head, as if eager to be rid of the memory. “Forget me. So he didn’t say anything the entire night?”
“No,” Max said. “He did. I got him talking about music and other artists and stuff. I even asked him out to the museum today, just like you said.”
Michael clapped him on the shoulder, happy. “Yeah? Max Evans, you sly dog!”
Max couldn’t share in his enthusiasm. Would Michael have been so happy if he’d seen the look on Alex’s face last night? The way he defended him even when it was clear that his own heart was breaking?
“Yeah,” Max said, rubbing his eye. “Said no.”
“Well,” Michael shrugged a shoulder, “it’s not like he was going to fall in love with you in a few hours.”
“Actually,” Max said, “he said he might be able to come tomorrow. He can’t today because you guys usually hang out on Saturdays.”
Michael raised a brow. “Oh yeah?” He hummed, studying the blanket. After a long few minutes, he said, “I might . . . just call him and –”
“Er –” Max cut him off, “he was pretty adamant that you would never cancel on him. Even after . . . you kind of already did.”
Michael’s shoulders slumped, and he looked away. He muttered, “Yeah?”
“Yeah, Michael,” Max sighed. “Look, can’t you just talk to him about this? It looks like he really cares about you, I’m sure if you told him what you heard –”
“He’d hate me,” Michael said. “Imagine finding out that the one person you like knows you like them, and it makes them uncomfortable. Would you ever be able to look them in the face again?”
Max pressed the heel of his palm into his eye. “And you’re sure you don’t like Alex like that? At all?”
Michael looked up, holding his brother’s gaze. Max had never seen him so fierce. “I can’t date him, Max.”
“Why not?” Max said. “You don’t think your relationship would survive a breakup?”
“I can’t risk it,” he said. “I won’t.”
Max almost pointed out that that wasn’t an answer, but decided not to. “Fine, well,” he laid back down and turned his back to Michael, trying to fall asleep again. “He’s not going anywhere with me on a Saturday, so see you tomorrow.”
Michael did not leave, or say anything for a good long while. Then Max heard shuffling, and tapping. He peeked an eye open and saw Michael texting. Immediately, the look on Alex’s face last night hit him and he sat up.
“What’re you doing?” he demanded, reaching for Michael’s phone. Michael kept himself out of reach. “Michael, I told you, if you cancel –”
“I’m not canceling,” Michael murmured, brows pinched. “Just texting someone.” His finger hovered over the screen a moment before he hit send. “There,” he said, pocketing his phone. He didn’t look any happier than he’d been seconds ago. “Now Alex will be the one asking you out.”
Max’s shoulders slumped. “What’d you do?”
Michael didn’t answer, but the guilt on his face said it all. He was about to break Alex’s heart.
*
Alex had woken early. Last night he’d climbed through his window to his father banging on his door. He’d managed to sneak under the covers and play asleep the second Jesse had burst through, but he knew his luck wouldn’t last.
It hadn’t mattered, because there was nothing that was going to keep him from an entire day with Michael. So he’d risen early, forgotten about breakfast at the risk of running into his father and being trapped inside again, and just had water from the hydro flask he kept by his bed – he didn’t care, he would eat later with Michael. He’d thrown on his favorite skull and crossbones t-shirt, his silver skull choker, and his rings.
He felt silly fixing his hair in the mirror, running his hand through it so that the strands looked windswept. It wasn’t hard, as his hair rarely stayed down neatly. He’d learned to live with it.
Michael wouldn’t ever like him like he liked girls, he knew that, but maybe . . . maybe some part of him might find Alex attractive. Maybe he might look at him differently without realizing that he was looking at him differently.
It was dumb, but he could hope.
At least, he had hoped until Michael met him in front of their favorite coffeeshop with his arm around Maria DeLuca’s shoulders. Alex had been holding two coffees, a caramel macchiato for him and a mocha for Michael, because he loved chocolate. He’d nearly dropped them at the sight.
“Hey!” Michael called.
“Uh – hey, Alex,” Maria smiled awkwardly. “Guerin,” she said, “I thought we were hanging out today.”
“We are!” Michael smiled widely, taking his coffee and handing it to her. “With Alex! I always spend Saturdays with Alex.”
�� “B-But . . .” Alex looked between them. He could feel his heart slowly sinking into his stomach. He pressed his lips together in a quick smile to Maria and tugged Michael aside by his sleeve. “What’s going on?” he whispered. “We always spend Saturdays together.”
Michael tilted his head. “We are together.”
“Alone,” Alex insisted. “Just you and me, remember? We’ve never invited anyone else. And . . . Guerin, Maria?”
Michael laughed. He was laughing far too easily, and smiling way too much. He knew that of all people, bringing Maria would be a real sting. Didn’t he care about how Alex felt? And today of all days?
“Come on, Alex,” he said. “I’m just trying to have a little fun here.”
Alex felt like he’d just been slapped. “S-So being with me isn’t fun?”
Michael rolled his eyes like he thought Alex was messing around. Alex, horrifically, thought he might cry.
“Am I supposed to turn down a hot girl for you?” he said, taking Alex’s coffee and having a sip. “Seriously, so Maria’s coming. What’s the big deal, right? I mean, it’s not like we’re dating.”
He reached out to pat Alex’s shoulder, but Alex flinched back, away from his touch. For a split second, Michael’s face fell and he looked mortified. But it was gone so quickly that Alex was sure he must’ve imagined it.
He felt guilty, and dramatic, and pathetic. He felt cast aside, unwanted. All of that was okay, he was used to it. Maybe not from Michael, never from Michael, but he was used to it.
So he did what he always did when he was reminded just how worthless he was. He forced his chin up, exhaled shakily, and kept his words steady. “I actually just remembered that Max wanted to go to a museum thing today.”
Michael was still smiling. It felt wrong, but Alex couldn’t look at him too long to read into it. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Alex took another few steps back. He couldn’t remember ever wanting to be away from Michael, but at this moment nowhere felt far away enough. “He sounded like he really wanted me to go with him, but I had to say no because of today.” He moved further away. “I really wanted to go, too, to be honest. It sounded cool.”
“Yeah?” Michael sounded quieter. Maybe that was just because of the distance between them.
“So if you’re going to hang out with someone else, then I guess it’s okay if I go, too?”
Michael didn’t answer for a minute. “Yeah. No, yeah, that’s great. Works out for both of us, huh?”
Alex turned around so Michael didn’t see his face fall. “Yeah,” he said, and began walking away. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before Michael could say anything else, Alex pulled out his phone. He wouldn’t dial until he rounded the corner and was out of Michael’s sight. He fell back against the wall, his legs giving out under him. He held the phone to his forehead, breathing deeply.
Kyle, he knew, was on a camping trip for the weekend with his dad. Liz was busy working shifts at the Crashdown.
It’s okay, Alex told himself. It’s okay. You don’t need anybody. It’s okay.
He may not have needed anyone, but he didn’t want to be alone today. So he dialed Max’s name, and held the phone to his ear.
It rung twice, then Max answered. “Alex?” There was hesitation in his voice that made Alex blush. Was he not actually expecting Alex to call?
“Er – hey,” Alex murmured, and rubbed his face with one hand. “Look, t-turns out I’m free today after all . . . If you . . . still want to go to the museum . . .”
Max didn’t answer for a long few seconds.
“O-Or not,” he said quickly, “doesn’t really matter to me, I just thought –”
“Yeah!” Max said, “Yeah, I’m – sorry, I was changing. I’m ready to go when you are! Where do you want me to meet you?”
Alex’s shoulders slumped. He felt a strange relief trickling through his chest, but it didn’t ease the weight on his heart. He muttered, “Wherever you want. Just text me the address.”
He waited for Max’s okay, then hung up. He rested his chin on his knees as he waited for the message to come in, closing his eyes and promising himself that he would not cry.
Max didn’t live in a house. He lived in a mansion. The two story villa stretched out over a valley of cacti and desert flowers, the windows long and the front doors big enough to fit ten grown men standing side by side. Michael had once told Alex how he’d sneak in through his brother and sister’s windows, and Alex now had to wonder how.
No sooner had he gotten to the door than Max came stumbling out, a bag thrown over his shoulder.
“Hey,” he panted, “let’s go.”
Without waiting for Alex’s greeting, he bodily turned Alex around and nudged him back toward the road. Alex was not new to being hidden away by boys who’d rather their parents not see him, but he’d already had his plans with Michael ruined, and was in no mood to humor any homophobia.
“What?” he sighed. “Afraid mommy and daddy will know you asked out a guy?”
Max blinked, surprised. He stopped. “What’re you talking about? I’m not trying to hide you from my parents.” He looked over his shoulder as if remembering they were supposed to be in a hurry, and frog-marched Alex away again.
“Oh?” Alex rolled his eyes. He tried to ground his heels to make it harder for Max but had no will to do it. He was tired, but anything was better than spending the day curled up in bed, abandoned and pitiful. “The who are we trying to hide from?”
“My . . . crap . . .” Max trailed off, and, following his gaze, Alex understood why. At the end of the road, her arms crossed, her purse hanging off one elbow, was Isobel Evans. She did not look happy.
“Sneaking off?” she demanded. “Who do you think you are? Michael?”
“Isobel,” Max warned. “Not now.”
“Did you honestly think you could hide your date?” Isobel narrowed her eyes at Alex. “Huh. You weren’t kidding. It really is Alex Manes.” She reached a hand towards his face. “You were right, he is very pretty –”
“Isobel,” Max slid in between Alex and Isobel, forbidding her from touching him. “I never said that.” Then to Alex, “I never said that. N-Not that you’re not – I mean, clearly you are –”
He shook his head, and turned back to Isobel, his jaw clenched. “I’m not kidding, leave us alone.”
Isobel was relentless, tilting her head over her brother’s shoulder, since she was almost as tall as he was. “Oh, what do you think I’m going to do, Max? Get out of the way, let me look at him!”
“Alex,” Max said, his wary eyes on his sister, “I am so sorry about this.”
“Sorry about what?” she demanded. “I didn’t do anything! Get out of the way, Max! Do you have any idea how rare it is to get a look at him this up close?!”
“He’s not an octopus, Isobel!”
“It’s a compliment!” She told Alex, “It’s a compliment, it means you’re really cute.”
“We have to go,” Max insisted, fending off his sister’s reaching hands. “We have a thing at the museum and –”
“What museum? Why didn’t you invite me? I want to come with you!”
“NO!”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll make it weird!”
“What does that even mean? Scared I’ll embarrass you in front of your new boyfriend?”
“Isobel!”
Watching them, Alex should’ve been annoyed. But Max was being gentle with his sister, and Isobel’s eyes were so genuine that Alex could tell her curiosity was innocent and eager. There didn’t seem to be a malicious bone in either of their bodies.
Crouching behind a building just half an hour ago, Alex had not thought he’d be able to smile for the rest of the day. Now, a giggle escaped his lips before he could help it.
Max and Isobel stopped and stared, wide eyed. Max’s cheeks were tinted pink. Alex pretended not to notice.
“Isobel,” he said wearily, “you want to come with us?”
Isobel looked momentarily surprised, then pleased, a satisfied grin stretching across her pink lips. She lightly shouldered her way past Max and hooked her arm around Alex’s.
“I like him,” Isobel said cheerfully, and pulled Alex down the road. Alex looked over his shoulder at Max, who blinked out of his haze and ran to catch up to them.
“Why would you invite her?” Max murmured.
Alex took one look at Isobel and smiled, something about her radiant demeanor an interesting contrast to the darkness he lived in. Maybe it was having a writer with him, maybe it was that he was kind of a writer himself, but he thought there was a fascinating story here between the three of them.
To Max, however, he merely shrugged a shoulder and smirked.
“Come on, Evans,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to think this was a date.”
Max again blushed, and Alex again pretended not to notice.
Ahhhh here it is!!! Finally!!!
I know only three to four people may enjoy this, but I wrote it mostly for me, so my expectations are low. Or, I should say, that’s how I’m trying to keep them. Don’t ask me how long until the next chapter comes up, this is just supposed to be fun. Any questions about updates shall be ignored.
That said, if you did enjoy it, comment! Tell me what you liked, if it was funny, angsty, if it’s not your kind of thing but you decided to give it a chance anyway - I love that stuff. And share/reblog. You may not have liked it, but maybe someone else really will!
#alex manes#max evans#sheriff manes#max x alex#sheriff manes fic#roswell new mexico#roswell nm#sheriff manes fanfic#sheriff manes fanfiction#tyler blackburn#nathan dean parsons
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TYRANTS | Chapter Eight - Angels Or Devils
WORD COUNT: 6.3k
WARNINGS: mentions of death, grief, tig, usual SOA shit
MASTERLIST
Irked, Chibs stuffed his cellphone into the pocket of his cut with a prolonged fuck to accompany the squelch of glass against leather.
He couldn’t get a firm grip on anything this morning.
Jax was at large, Isla and Tig had rolled onto the lot together looking much, much too comfortable, and Gemma was chewing every goddamn soul’s ear off about her son.
To say that he wanted the day to be over—before it had even commenced—was the understatement of the fucking year.
“Where the hell is he?” Clay barked from the front of the garage, turning to eye Isla directly. “You sure you haven’t seen him?”
“If I knew where he was, I would’ve told you by now.” Her retort was just as curt, prompting Tig to tense in his spot beside her.
He twined his hand around her bicep in order to calm her, but it was no use.
“Well somebody must know where he is—“
“You tried callin’ Tara?” Chibs cut the president off, hoping he’d be able to take some of the heat off of his daughter—the one that seemed to get all of Clay’s Jax-fueled frustrations launched atop her these days.
He just glared at the Scot.
“I can swing by his place? Make sure he ain’t there?” Tig offered.
“He isn’t. Wendy would’ve said.”
“Alright,” the sergeant smacked his lips together. “We’re gonna have to go without him, then.”
Isla hummed, agreeing with Tig.
That forced a vexed snarl from Clay, and she wanted to throttle him for being so fucking haughty today.
“What? He has a point. If we wait around for him, then we’re gonna be late and the other Sons will get to the cemetery before us. Jax knows where we’re going, and what time this fucking funeral starts, so just trust that he’ll be there!”
Her outburst was completely uncharacteristic. It was brash and loud, and Clay realized that her emotions were running a hell of a lot higher today than what they usually would have, so he allowed it to pass.
He cut her some slack because that was what she needed. Isla needed to blow off some steam, to raise her voice and yell out her frustrations because she would’ve let them bubble over, otherwise.
Plus, unbeknownst to him, she had started to take the Mirtazapine that had been prescribed to her, and she still didn’t know how to feel about it.
It was odd. Everything about today, was just fucking odd.
“Kids right.” The rasped acknowledgment came from Happy this time, nodding in her direction with that signature stoic expression he was known to host. “Jax wouldn’t miss this.”
“Alright.” Clay waved a hand tersely before gesturing to the sea of Harley-Davidsons parked side-by-side. “You heard ‘em. Let’s go.”
Tig grabbed at her hand as she went to slip away—exactly like she did to him last night—and pulled her toward him.
The moment didn’t go unnoticed by Clay and her father as they mounted their bikes, sharing the same look that’d been meshed with confusion and concern.
“You good now?”
She nodded, using her pointer finger to twist the crucifix that was sat against her neck, feeling a foreign heat prickle against her cheeks because all eyes were on them.
After turning up together today, people had their suspicions, too.
And those suspicions were mostly held by Chibs and the pres, but it was partly unrest because they both knew what Tig had done—though, Chibs wasn’t officially privy to Clay pulling the strings.
He would be, though. In time, he would find out for himself.
“Gemma and Wendy are heading out in the SUV. Are you going too?” He squinted underneath the sun, pulling his sunglasses from the neck of his shirt.
“I am.” Isla smiled, squeezing Tig’s hand. “Ride safe.”
She stood straight—not having to shift onto her toes because her heels provided some more height—and pressed a dulcet kiss to his cheek.
“Please don’t get into another fight today.” She expressed sadly, lightly ghosting her fingertips over the bruise sitting uncomfortably against his cheekbone. “I don’t think I have it in me to take care of you again.”
“I can’t make any promises.” Her lips curled upward, expressing some sort of smile—though, what with the forthcoming event, she didn’t feel too good about it.
But she remained silent, after that.
Isla got into the car without saying a single word.
The lull was of course grim, but stillness was what the three women needed. It was good for them to sit in complete silence—the only sound coming from the din of the car engine and outside of the vehicle—because it allowed them space to think.
She needed to collect her thoughts this morning, especially after what she had learned last night. Isla didn’t want to think that Jax would have flipped on Tig like that, but it was Jax.
He was unpredictable.
Never once had she felt a sense of outrage that she wasn’t sure how to quell whenever thinking of her best friend, but she was beginning to understand just why Clay was so pissed at his rashness lately.
Even if he was acting on instinct—using his conscience to rule his decisions—Jax was still acting recklessly. His desire to do the morally sound thing outweighed the need that his club had for him to carry out the act that would result in the greater good.
And he was right to stop Tig from pulling the trigger on that girl, but Isla was wary of how he had decided to handle it.
“You didn’t call me last night.” Gemma whispered as the car pulled up to the cemetery gates. “You said that you’d call me.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Genuinely, she told her. “When I got in I just went straight to bed, but then Tig turned up at my place and he needed my help, and then—“
“You let him stay.” She finished Isla’s sentence with a hum, providing her with an unusually somber glance. “If there’s anything going on between the two of you, then it’s okay—“
“There isn’t.” Isla shot her down, impatiently waiting for the all-clear to leave the vehicle. “He got hurt last night, needed patching up and didn’t wanna go to the clubhouse in case he saw Jax again, and so he came to me. And, because I’m nice, I let him stay the night.”
“Why wouldn’t he wanna see Jax?”
Wendy’s qualm came unexpectedly. She hadn’t thought that the blonde was listening to the little back and forth.
“Because he was the reason that Tig needed his face fixed.” She spat bitterly when Wendy just blinked at her, hoping to God that they’d be able to get outside soon.
Her irritation with the VP was palpable, and Gemma couldn’t help wondering whether Jax’s stunt had a part to play in why she was so galled when his name was brought up before they left the garage.
Regardless, Isla was getting along with it today. For the sake of Opie and his kids, she was putting her hostility aside and paying her respects to Donna the way that she had always been taught to.
“Woah, what a turn out.” Her admiration for the Sons grew with every single member—every Nomad—that she saw riding along the winding road.
Isla moved between Chibs and Tig, holding tightly onto her father’s hand as they walked toward Donna’s casket.
“Still no Jax.” Almost relieved, Tig noted. “Wonder if he’s gonna ride over with Tacoma.”
“Doubt it.” The Scot added. “He woulda followed us. Dunno where the fuck he’s gotten to.”
“He’ll be here.” She promised hopefully, breaking away from the two men—shaking Chibs off when he held on a little bit tighter, not wanting to let her go.
The black dress she’d thrown on was hardly funeral attire, but the tights hugging her legs underneath the cotton made it a bit better.
Tig watched her pad across the grass and toward Opie, trying to sniff back his own tears at the sight of her taking a long-stemmed blue flower, kissing the petals, and placing it atop the coffin.
It was horrible.
“I’m sorry, Ope.” Isla pressed a kiss to her fingers and ghosted it over the wood, feeling her eyes dampen. “Anything you need—anything at all that you can think of for yourself or your mom or the kids—I’m here. Always.”
He couldn’t quite find the words to thank her, but she knew that he was grateful. Opie didn’t have to say anything for Isla to recognize his appreciation for her, for his family, and for everybody that turned out today.
Jax wasn’t there, though. Not yet.
And, perhaps, Isla being at his side during a time of such harrowing distress was her way of trying to comfort him because his best friend was nowhere to be seen. But she would’ve done it for anybody.
She just wished that it wasn’t Opie.
“I love you…So much.” She whispered through a smile when more people began to filter in, backing away to sit beside Gemma and in front of Tig.
The cool metal of his rings were against her shoulder in an instant, anchoring her back to earth after floating much, much too high above the ground.
She was in a distorted haze, so to speak. Isla’s head wasn’t particularly in the right place today, and it could’ve been down to a multitude of things—but she wanted to simply pin it on her grief.
Chibs saw the way she gnawed into her bottom lip, the way she continually pulled Diane’s crucifix across the golden chain as means of comfort—or, maybe, it was just out of remorse.
He noticed that his daughter—his little girl—peered at Opie’s children sitting beside their grandmother as they said goodbye to the woman that brought them into the world.
He wondered if they understood the weight of it all. They were so young, so impressionable, so innocent, and he saw a lot of Isla in those two kids.
The dull throb of Isla’s heart almost slowed to a halt when the funeral commenced, and Jax was still completely out of sight. Juice held his cut while he stood beside Tara, feeling his chest tighten.
It was difficult to understand just why Jackson Teller didn’t show for such an important moment in Opie’s life.
“I can’t believe him.” Tig hissed out in a whisper, completely ruffled. Isla looked up at the man behind her, holding a dainty hand on top of his. “I can’t fucking believe him.”
He didn’t know what to say. Clay didn’t, either. As he stood beside his Sgt. At Arms and peered down at the disheveled blonde, Clay Morrow struggled to find the words to elucidate his disdain for the lack of action from his step-son.
Donna was family. Opie was family. Family was meant to be there for one another, not purposely ignoring such a pivotal event.
“He’ll be here.” Isla repeated her promise, melting into her space as Tig leant over to kiss the top of her head.
Her eyes glazed over instantaneously, coercing her to turn away before she broke down.
But she leaned backward into his embrace, and watched the ceremony commence.
And it only took a handful of moments for her mood to perk up—as much as it could have under the circumstances—but she was conceivably happier at the sight before her.
“I told you.” She mumbled. She refused to let up her grip on Tig, though, holding onto him firmer now.
It was comfortable. He was comfortable.
“What the fuck…”
Jax looked like hell. Still wearing last night’s clothes—still bloodied and bruised from his scuffle—he sauntered over the grass and made a beeline for Tara.
Isla’s throat hitched.
“Did you do that to him?” She mumbled in reference to the slit in his lip, craning her neck to eye the blue-eyed man.
“Yeah, probably.”
She just shook her head with a tiny smirk, shifting her focus back to the asshole that was taking his sweet fucking time.
It didn’t upset her as much as she thought that it would’ve, watching him go back to her like that. If anything, she was glad that they had managed to reconcile because she made him happy.
But, for a reason unbeknownst to herself, she felt bad for Wendy.
To watch the father of her newborn take his cut from a woman that’d only been back in his life for five minutes, to hold and kiss her in front of everyone, was something she shouldn’t have had to witness today.
They weren’t together, but she knew how that was bound to hurt—to sting and incapacitate her because it was all still so fucking raw.
Poor Wendy.
He took one of the flowers away from the sparse pile, holding it to his lips, and placed it atop Donna’s casket.
Jax glared over his shoulder, shooting the two guilt-ridden men a look that read fury. He made sure that Isla wasn’t looking at him when he did that, though.
He refused to look at her.
And he didn’t stay, either. He paid his respects for all of thirty seconds before stalking away, and leaving the most egregious of tastes on the tip of each tongue.
The funeral flew by, after that.
Before Isla knew it, she was dismounting Tig’s bike outside of T M—again—and stumbling over her heels when she couldn’t quite find her footing. She’d been in a world of her own for the last fifteen minutes.
“You want me to get you a beer?” She asked, handing him her helmet. “Or did you want some of that wine you like?”
He snorted at her taunt, taking it from her. “Beer—but none of that shit Bobby drinks.”
Isla chuckled, backing away from the bike and Tig.
“You want a drink, too?” She asked Clay when he strode over, hands in his pockets.
He nodded, waiting for her to slip out of sight before turning his attention to his Sergeant.
“What’s going on with you two?” Clay asked him accusingly, snatching Tig’s attention from the blonde who was ambling into the clubhouse.
He waved the pres off, lighting a cigarette. “Nothing, man. She’s just been helpin’ me out—“
“That’s what you’re calling it now, huh?”
“That’s what it is.” Tig shrugged, exhaling the smoke from his nostrils. “Y’know what she’s like. She sees someone that needs patchin’ up, and she does it. That’s all.”
Unconvinced, Clay leaned closer to him—striving for the little moment to go unnoticed by those that shrouded the lot. Jax and Tara, for one.
“That’s Chibs’s kid. You be careful.”
“Ain’t nothing to be careful about, brother.” Tig ground his lips together, squinting upward as he rested against his bike. “We’re just friends.”
“You stayed the night with her.”
“Yeah—“
“Twice.”
“Clay—“
“In the same fucking bed!” He snapped, running a hand over his face.
His desire to protect the women in his life—to assert the dominance he had, or his authority—was remarkably overbearing at the best of times.
Isla and Gemma didn’t particularly need to be coddled the way that they’d always been at the hands of Clay Morrow and his club, but they were.
And the thought of his sleaziest, loathsome, savage brother getting closer and closer to that woman churned his stomach. Because he knew what Tig was capable of—what he did—and would be damned if anything were to happen to her at the hands of Tig fucking Trager.
Chibs would kill him, too.
“Nothing happened, nothing’s currently happening, and nothing will happen.” He guaranteed. “Clay, I swear.”
“Alright.” Dubious, the older man responded. “But, if there is, then you be careful. Jax is onto us, and it’s only a matter of time before Isla puts two and two together—‘cuz she ain’t stupid.”
Be careful. Be careful. Be careful.
How about you shut the fuck up?
“I know she isn’t.” Almost irked that Clay would assume he thought that, he retorted. “But she’s got shit going on too, man, I don’t think she’s gonna be focusing on this right now so you don’t gotta worry.”
“Alright.” Clay repeated himself.
He didn’t think that his right-hand was telling him the truth, but he couldn’t exactly do anything about that until an issue arose.
What he did know, though, was that Tig Trager would’ve had some serious hell to pay if he had ignited something with Isla right now.
Or ever, really.
“Keep Jax away from her.” He told Clay, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “She’s pissed at him for what he did to me last night.”
“What’d he do?”
Tig pointed at the cuts on his cheek, grimacing. “She’s fucked off, and if they talk she’s probably gonna throw something at him.”
“Eh. Let her.” Clay waved him off, hastily shutting himself up when he heeded her heels clicking across the gravel toward them. “He needs to be humbled sometimes.”
The rivalry between the two had only intensified since Abel was born and Jax’s priorities shifted from the club.
His family came first. His biological family came first.
And maybe Clay didn’t understand the implications and responsibilities that came along with fatherhood because he’d never had that bestowed upon him, but Jax did.
He knew that he had to provide for his kid, for the one being that was solely dependent on him, and he would never compromise or jeopardize that.
Things weren’t going to be made easy for the man, however.
“Budweiser for you.” Isla smiled, handing a bottle to Tig. She passed one to Clay, holding onto it a little firmer as she offered it to him. “And one for you—but you need to take this, and go see your wife.”
“Why?” Hesitantly, he accepted the alcohol.
Isla shrugged. “She just wants to see you. Seems important.”
“Shit.” Clay hissed, taking a long swig before striding away.
She watched him stamp toward the clubhouse, heeding the change in his mood, and wondered why Gemma was so determined to talk to him at that specific moment.
It could’ve been anything with that woman, really. It could’ve been something so minor, completely insignificant, that Gemma had to get off her chest.
Or it could’ve been something along the lines of elucidating the bone-crushing lament that she held for both her husband and Tig.
Whatever it was, however, Clay wasn’t excited to face her.
“What’d he chew your ear off about?” Isla asked, struggling to open her beer. She sighed, suddenly remembering why she loved her screw-top bottles of wine so much.
“Pass it to me.” Tig took it from her, using his own bottle cap to pop hers off. He chuckled at her grimace, handing it back.
“Thanks.” She groaned, lifting it upward. “So…What did Clay want?”
Budweiser blanketed Tig’s tongue and lips as he pulled the drink away from his mouth, using the back of his hand to rub at the excess.
Quickly, he wondered whether lying to Isla—fabricating the truth and downplaying his superior’s concern—was in his best interest.
But she was perceptive. There was no doubt that she’d realize he was lying to her.
“He thinks that something is going on between us.”
She rolled her eyes, taking a pull.
“What?” A little nervous—on edge, perhaps—Tig asked her. “Did you already know that he felt that way?”
“No.” Instantly, she retorted. “I didn’t know about Clay, but Gemma feels the same. D’ya think they’ve talked?”
“Oh, definitely.” With a small glower, he told her.
They absolutely talked about the two, and that was what worried Tig.
There was nothing wrong with them colluding against the pair, as a rule. He wasn’t offended at the thought, he felt quite honored actually.
But it was the connotation that came alongside those conspiracies. The idea that Tig was only so friendly—so supportive and loving—toward Isla because he wanted one thing from her.
And, really, Tig hadn’t pondered that thought before. Well, not before last night, anyway.
For the first time—possibly ever—sex wasn’t on Tig’s agenda with Isla. Enticing her, breaking her heart, and sending her on her way was not something he wanted.
But Tig was renowned for that, wasn’t he? He was known for being a hapless bachelor. A man whose priorities were neither here nor there.
Everyone just expected that. They saw him with her, and came to that one conclusion.
Maybe Isla expected it a little bit, too. Because she’d known him long enough to understand the kind of man that he was—or had the propensity to be—and she could hardly lie and say that this version of Tig didn’t confuse her.
He’d always been the same with her, though. Perhaps that’d been the difference between every woman that entered and left his life, and Isla Telford.
He wasn’t interested in her. Like that.
“Does that bother you?” With an almost undetectable twinge of hurt, Isla asked.
As if it was a basic instinct, Tig shook his head. “Nah. They talk shit all the time. Stuff like that don’t bother me.”
She nodded, refusing to add anything else. Isla sipped her beer, hoping that the ground would open up and swallow her fucking whole.
There wasn’t a single word in the English language that’d ascribe her feeling at that precise time, but ashamed was possibly the closest she could’ve gotten.
And, still, that was a little bit further off the mark than what she would’ve liked. Because she wasn’t entirely ashamed for reacting the way that she had, more so the way that she fucking felt.
Isla’s heart took a blow when Tig told her that.
For why, though? She wasn’t sure.
It might’ve been the nonchalant expression. The complete colorless response that stirred a foreign emotion within her—striking hard against her chest.
Or, it might’ve been what he had said. It was such a casual proclamation. Something that didn’t mean anything, but everything simultaneously.
She didn’t feel anything for Tig. She didn’t particularly want to feel anything for him, either, but that hurt. A lot.
“Same, to be honest.” She lied, forcing her lips upward in a smile. “Gemma is always on my case about this sorta thing. But I just let it go over my head.”
“Always?”
“Yup. Always.” Isla mentioned around the protruding lump in her throat. “If she’s not talking about me and you—like there is a me and you—she’s talking about me and Jax. And if it isn’t that, she’s bitching about Wendy, or Tara, or just anything she can think of.”
Like there is a me and you.
Tig sniffed a little, nodding. He didn’t want Isla to think that bothered him, but it did. A bit, anyway.
“She’s so overbearing, sometimes.” Genuinely slumped, she stated. Isla leaned against the railing beside Tig’s bike, finally looking at him. “Don’t tell her I said that?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He chuckled, taking another swig. “I’d never purposely get you into shit with your mother—“
“She’s not my mother.” Her eyes rolled. “She acts like it, and I love her like one, but she is not my mother.”
Tig knew. He knew all too well just how Isla felt about that, and he wasn’t exactly sure why he said that to her, today.
Gemma was the best woman she knew and the one that, strangely, brought her all of the comfort and prosperity that she’d craved.
But she wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t close to being Diane, and maybe the comparison between the pair hurt a little. Because Gemma Teller-Morrow was nothing like Diane Telford—and the sooner everybody knew that, the sooner Isla could rest.
“I feel bad talking shit about her. All she’s done is help me.”
“And parent you.” He reminded her, tipping his bottle upward. “She parents all of us, but what I mean is she treats you like a kid sometimes. Jax, too.”
“Yeah. I know.” Peeved, she conceded. “But, what can I do? if I wanna keep her around—keep having her so close to me—then, I guess I’ve gotta make a few sacrifices. And, I mean, it’s not all bad.”
“No?”
“Absolutely not. I’m glad that she’s the woman that took a shine to me. If Luann ended up being the one…”
Tig smirked, sizing her up. “You’d probably be doing porn right now.”
“Exactly.” Without shame—not even feeling slightly bashful at the glance she was receiving—she said. “I don’t think I’d hate doing porn, but I don’t think SAMCRO would be thrilled.”
“Absolutely not. Chibs would kill you, for one.”
“And Gemma.”
“Clay, too.” Tig added, withering at the thought.
“What about you?” A little too bold, she asked.
Though their relationship was of the lighthearted nature, Isla wasn’t certain that the habitual riposte was a thing as of late. His response would probably jar her, she thought.
“I wouldn’t hate it.”
She halted, blushing at his words. Her ears prickled with heat, too.
“It’d be hot.” He shrugged, putting his empty bottle against the ground. “I’m sure Juice would love it, too—“
“Oh, get fucked.” She snorted a laugh, throwing the red cap at his chest as he got to his feet. It bounced off the fabric of his shirt, coercing a chuckle from Tig.
“It was only one time.” He taunted, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “That’s still one more time than most chicks ‘round here.”
“He wasn’t awful.” Isla shrugged. “He knew what he was doing, and I had fun. But, like, he hasn’t got any hair…”
“Hair?” Tig began to gesture downward, chuckling when she grabbed his hands to stop him.
“I don’t mean that. I mean hair on his head, Tig.” She calmed her laughter, letting go of him. “I like to tug on it, I guess.”
It felt somewhat illegal, obtaining this information from her.
He already knew that she was a sex fiend, that she liked it rough, and now that she had some kind of hair-pulling kink.
Tig’s chest tightened. So did his pants.
“Duly noted.” Like usual, he quipped. Tig motioned for Isla to head inside with him when he heeded things heating up between Jax and Tara.
She, as always, made a mental note to grill her friend later. Or, maybe, her friends. Because she and Tara were on that level, now, and she felt that things could’ve sailed smoothly between herself and the doctor.
Isla just hoped that she’d open up to her.
“Are you gonna talk to him?” He asked, reading her fucking mind. “I know that you two talk a lot.”
“Probably.” Her shrug was insouciant. “But I’ll leave it a while, I think. Leave the dust to settle over before I approach either one of them.”
Tig’s heart began to thrash. It battered viciously within the constraints of his chest, thumping at an unsteady rhythm the more Isla babbled on as they neared the clubhouse.
It was maiming him, having to keep this to himself.
He knew that concealing it—the weight of it all—was for the best. It’d guarantee peace and conformity within the club and Isla’s life, but it was also a crippling guilt that not even Tig was sure he’d be able to hold forever.
Clay was heartless, though. The nefarious leader hadn’t a single problem with lying through his fucking teeth, and Tig was more than aware that Clay would continue the charade if and when he decided that he could no longer.
He supposed he could thank him for that.
But, then again, he was also the reason that Tig Trager had found himself tangled within yet another web of lethal falsehoods. Thanking Clay was the very last thing that he wanted to do.
“Oh, shit.” Isla stated through partially gritted teeth. She gestured to her father and Happy’s scorned glares. “Why do I keep getting this fucking look from everyone?”
“It’s not you. It’s me.” He snorted another laugh, taking her hand and walking her further into the room after she stopped completely dead.
Really, Donna’s wake was as vibrant as it could’ve been and nobody—aside from Isla’s old man and the Tacoma Nomad—had their sights set on the Sergeant and Chibs’s daughter.
The atmosphere was strangely spirited, hearty and animated as everybody came together to celebrate the life of Opie’s wife…The way that they always had.
But Isla was still on tenterhooks. She loathed the thought of her dad disapproving of her, today, but she didn’t desire the castigation that would’ve come hand in hand with her need to talk to him.
“Tequila?”
“I’ll get back to you on that one.” She smiled at Tig, making a beeline for the bar when she saw Kip. He followed her.
“You’re turning down free alcohol?”
Isla scoffed. “It might be free, but the effects of it would cost me my fucking reputation here.”
Tig’s eyebrows raised. “How so? You don’t not drink, Isla.”
“I know.” Her lips pursed, watching Kip pop the caps off of six beers. “But I never drink tequila. It makes me…uh…it makes me feel a little hot—“
“Tequila turns you on, is what you’re saying.”
“Well, yeah.” A crimson blush bled over her cheeks, her nose, and even across her forehead as her entire face burned red. “It’s no big deal. Just something I discovered after getting black-out drunk when I’d barely turned twenty-one.”
If Tig wasn’t feeling aroused before, then he definitely was at her admission. He had to think of anything to throw his brain off of that mental image.
“I don’t tend to drink the strong stuff.”
“Unless it’s whiskey.”
She pointed with a smile, nodding her head. “That’s right—“
“Hey, what did you want?” Kip interrupted sheepishly, gesturing to the half-empty bottle she had between her fingertips. “Another Bud?”
“Yes, please.” Again, she smiled.
“Same for you?”
Tig nodded.
“Kip,” she began, “and you take something, too. You’ve dealt with these assholes for long enough, now. Take a break. I’ll man the bar if you’d like.”
“Oh, no, I can’t do that—Gemma’ll kill me—“
“With all due respect, fuck Gemma.” She heard Tig chuckle beside her, shrugging when the prospect glanced at the pair nervously. “She won’t say anything if I tell her that I’m the one that told you to take ten minutes away from the bar.”
“Yeah.” He backed her up, grinning. “She never gets mad at Isla.”
It was completely uncharacteristic of him. But she brought something out from the very chasms of Tig Trager’s cold, black heart, and he lauded that.
Not many people had managed to scrape beneath the surface that way, not even Colleen.
God.
Tig shook himself out of the daze he’d slipped into, watching Isla and Kip trade places as she stepped behind the bar, and he made a beeline for a stool.
He’d been standing for a while, now.
“Are you gonna join me behind here?” She asked, drawing Tig’s attention back to her. Isla held up another bottle for him, twinkling underneath the yellowed light above the liquor shelves.
She looked, almost, angelic.
“Sack—“ Tig grabbed at his arm when he tried to leave his seat, feeling the prospect go rigid under his grip.
Isla’s eyebrows bunched together.
“Take two beers for Hap and Chibs.” He released the grey shirt, grinning as he saw the man sweat—clearly anticipating something more than just doing a simple favor.
“Oh, sure.” Kip breathed a sigh of relief, taking the two bottles that Isla had slid toward him. “That all?”
“Yep.” She added, gesturing for him to get on his way and enjoy the break that he’d been appointed.
He headed toward the two men beside the pool table, handing them their beers and pointing toward Tig. He waved with a small smile—hoping to come off as genuine, rather than scheming.
Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Giving the two men a couple of beers to throw them off the scent—or, at least, to distract them from making a fuss—was just a ploy to defer attention from the two nestled amongst the alcohol.
And it seemed to work, too.
As Tig walked around the bar to join her on the other side, Isla popped a few bottle caps, mixed a few drinks, and talked to every person that stopped off in front of the oak, without being so much as glanced at by her father.
Gemma hadn’t noticed the change, either.
“You want anything?” She asked Tig, mindlessly pouring a glass of whiskey for one of the Tacoma guys. “Some tequila?”
Indifferently, he shrugged.
“Okay, well that was helpful.”
“Alright,” he chuckled, grabbing two shot glasses, “I’ll take one, if you do, too.”
“Tig.”
“Isla.” His tone was deriding, though she couldn’t help but smile.
She pushed the whiskey toward the unfamiliar Son, thanking him for showing his face today, and turned her attention back to Tig.
In the thirty seconds in which her focus had been diverted, he’d poured two shots, grabbed some salt, and two lime wedges from underneath the counter.
She swallowed thickly, hoping to god she’d be able to play off the effects of that liquor.
Because it was only the one, wasn’t it? She was only going to have one single shot of tequila and, surely, that wasn’t enough to intoxicate her…
Right?
“Aw, fuck.” She slurred, pushing the empty bottle aside. “I really—“ she hiccuped. “I really need to stop drinking.”
“Why?” Just as garbled, he responded.
“‘Cuz I feel like I’m gonna puke.” She snorted a laugh, pushing all of the limes strewn across the redwood into the bin. “And my breath stinks of tequila.”
He waved her off, looking at his chest as he wiped the alcohol from his leathers. “Tequila don’t smell that bad.”
Isla blushed, though she fished around her purse for some gum, regardless.
And her heart fucking plummeted to the pit of her stomach when she noticed the bottle of antidepressants in the smaller compartment, suddenly realizing that her excessive alcohol consumption tonight was for sure going to mess with her.
Shit.
“Water?” He asked, holding two empty glasses. He heeded the dread in her expression, how she looked like she’d seen a fucking ghost.
“Please.”
Tig handed her one of the glasses, slinging his free arm over her shoulder—mainly in an attempt to stabilize her—and padded over to the kitchen.
The clubhouse was a little more sparse, now. Jax and Tara sat alongside Juice, Chibs, and Happy, meanwhile Gemma and Clay were meters apart from one another.
But nobody seemed to notice the lack of manpower behind that bar, which was a wonderful thing. Because Isla feared that she might’ve collapsed had she not hydrated herself.
She feared that she might’ve said, or done, something that she might’ve regretted, too.
Tequila did make her feel “hot”, after all.
“God, I need this so bad.” She practically moaned, twisting the cold water tap, haphazardly holding her glass underneath it.
Isla didn’t even shut the water off, she just chugged that slightly lukewarm—strangely beautiful—liquid like her life depended on it.
“Fuck.” She gasped for air, putting her glass atop the draining board. “Oh my god, that was so fucking good.”
Tig watched in awe.
As droplets of water trickled from her lips, and chin, to her chest, Tig subtly groaned to himself. He stifled a reaction, however.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, hell yeah.” She nodded.
Tig held her glass underneath the tap again, filling it half way. “You want some more?”
Isla took it from him, cocking her head a little when he didn’t let go of the glass. “What?”
“How’d that tequila make you feel?”
“What?” She repeated herself, forgetting about what she told him earlier. “Oh…”
“How’d it make you feel?” He pressed, releasing his grip though lifting his hand to brush his thumb underneath her glossy lips.
“Good.” Isla stumbled over her words, watching his eyes flick over her features. She gulped, though she put the glass straight back down. “Really, really good.”
Tig jolted, though relaxed when she let her hands rest against his shoulders. He hadn’t expected this today. Or ever, really.
“How good is really really good?” He asked, twisting a couple of ringed fingers through long, loose curls.
Her heart was no longer sinking to the pit of her stomach, but fluttering wildly within her palpitating chest.
“Pretty good.”
“Right.” He caught her bluff, nodding. “I could think of something that’d make you feel really, really, really good, y’know?”
“You think?” Isla leaned into him when a hand pressed into the small of her back, and the other holding onto the nape of her neck. She shivered. “Because I think you could.”
Confidently, he bobbed his head. “Oh, I could.”
She was a bundle of nerves, frankly. Tig was so nonchalant, so breezy, and she was just so fucking fraught.
But he didn’t seem to notice—or care—while he surveyed her face, grinding his lips together in anticipation. He lowered his head a little to meet her height, though she still stood on her toes.
“Make me feel really good, Tig.” She whispered, the citrusy scent of tequila permeating his senses, quickening the rate of his pulse.
Isla’s sweet, soft lips ghosted over his own as she exuded a satisfied sigh, loosening up at the feeling of their noses brushing over one another.
It was so gentle. She hasn’t expected a man of such stature, such hunger and animosity, to be capable of something so soothing.
An unmistakable burst of desire started to seep through her, humming against his lips as she opted to wrap both arms around his neck while he backed her up against the sink.
With the support against her lower back, Isla wound a leg around his waist as the kiss amplified and Tig began to grind his hips into her whilst simultaneously moaning.
She didn’t know how badly she needed this tonight.
Pink nails wound into his unruly curls, mindlessly nudging through the hair—pushing him to hasten. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, then. Lauding the flavor of tequila and cigarettes.
But Isla promptly froze at the sound of footsteps—heels, precisely—clicking across the tile.
“Tig, wait.” She jerked her head a little, urging him to stop. “I can hear Gemma—“
“You can see her, too.” The matriarch stated, rounding the corner and immediately coming into Isla’s line of sight.
Both Tig and the blonde shifted to look at her.
“Am I interrupting something?”
#tig trager#tig trager x oc#tig trager fic#tig trager fanfiction#sons of anarchy fic#sons of anarchy fanfiction#sons of anarchy fandom#sons of anarchy#jax teller#jax teller fanfiction#jax teller x oc
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hey!! i love your writing sm💕 idk if you’re still taking requests or if you’re comfortable w a like platonic or father figure yandere. But how about yan! Steve Rogers where he kidnaps a teenage girl to be his daughter then shields her from the world to “protect” her kinda like rapunzel. if you don’t want to that’s no problem at all tho💕
Hi, sweetie! This is a very peculiar request, and I really, really like it! I guess I’ve made Steve a little softer than I expected, but here he is. Hope you’re going to enjoy this!
The one he cares about
Pairing: adoptive dad!Steve & Reader, Peter Parker x Reader (if you squint)
Warnings: yandere, obsession (non-romantic!), stalking, kidnapping, death of minor characters (but nothing too scary).
Words: 1870.
P.S. Just to clarify this is NOT an incest story, Steve does not harbor any romantic feelings for the reader, he loves her like a parent does.
__________________
Pacing up and down nervously like a caged tiger, Steve threw a glance at the clock on the kitchen wall, ready to take out his cellphone and give you a call. It was just 10 pm, but he felt something wasn't going quite right. Was everything ok at that party? Were you enjoying yourself? Did you finally confess to that silly guy Steve didn't like at all? What if he had already got you, Steve's precious little daughter, into bed?
Breathing in deeply, the man tried calming himself down. You were an adult. At one point you would start dating people, and it was perfectly alright, Sam reminded him the other day. You weren't some princess locked in a tower with Steve guarding you like an angry dragon. You had the right to love and be loved, create your own family, for God's sake. When he thought of you leaving him Steve was ready to break that kitchen wall.
No, no, no, it was alright. You loved him with all your heart, and no stupid guy could take it away from Steve. He was your father. Adoptive father, of course, but he did everything he could to make you trust and love him as much as you true family. You were calling him dad, after all. And even if you eventually married someone, Steve would always stay close to help and support you - and your kids, if you ever decide to have any. At the thought of him kissing the cheeks of his cute little grandchildren Steve had finally relaxed.
Oh, was it the sound of the front door opening? As much as he wanted to rush to meet you, the man quickly put on his apron he ironed this morning and turned to the heated stove to put a meat pie in it. Alright, alright, you were already home, it was perfect.
But why so early? Steve was really generous this time and gave you till 1 am - of course, if you took a taxi, not go walking the streets in the night. Did something go wrong? Did the guy reject you? Did he take advantage of you? Did he... do something he shouldn't have?
Steve felt his blood boiling. In a second he was ready to storm out of the kitchen to beat the shit out of that bastard who was stupid enough to hurt his child.
"Hi dad! I'm home!"
As you walked in, carrying your beaded clutch in your arms and yawning tiredly, Steve put a smile on his face momentarily, assessing whether you were hurt within a couple of seconds. No, apparently, you were alright: you moved just like before; your hair wasn't ruffled, and your makeup wasn't smeared eather. He had overreacted again.
"Welcome back, sweet pea." Steve moved closer to you, giving you a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead as you giggled softly, throwing your arms around his broad back. "How did it go?"
As your face turned gloomy for a fleeting second, he knew his sixth sense wasn't lying to him: something didn't go well.
"Nah." You brushed it off as you sat on the chair, carelessly leaving your clutch on the table and stretching your legs with a loud sigh.
"What is it, sweetie?"
Furrowing his brows, Steve sat across from you, his hands folded as he stared at you with worry. Shit, did this guy try doing something funny? Did he offend you? Oh, Steve was going to have a nice talk with him, a moron who thought he could do this to his little girl and it would never come back at him. Should he call Natasha? Maybe Bucky? He knew they were still in town. No, no, he would take this matter in his own hands and go have a nice talk with that stupid ungrateful ba-
"It's alright, I swear." You muttered and forced a smile, drawing his attention back to you. "He just... well, just didn't return my feelings."
"Did he reject you?"
For a second Steve felt both relieved and ready to go murder that kid in a cold blood. Rejected you? The prettiest and smartest girl in the town with a heart of gold? Who did that little shit think he was, rejecting Steve's precious daughter?
But it was better than him forcing you to do something you didn't want. At least that asshole didn't do anything inappropriate to you, probably too scared to face your angry dad who could crack his skull with one hand.
"Not like reject in the full sense of the word, but... um, I feel like he was a little scared of me." Your smile turned bitter, and you leaned onto Steve, pressing your forehead into his chest as you exhaled loudly.
Well, it wouldn't be the first time it happened. Everybody around knew you were the daughter of retired Captain America, and people were treating you with such caution as if you were some time bomb, clearly unwilling to make the world's first Avenger angry. Partly, it was a good thing since no one tried messing with you. However, you were also left pretty much alone, ignored by the majority for the sake of their own well-being. Although you had found several friends, dating someone was a completely different thing: guys were running away from before you even spoke to them.
"I'm so sorry." The man said quietly, rubbing your back and gently caressing your head with his other hand. "This is my fault."
You sighed, lifting your head and looking at Steve so tenderly he suddenly felt like he was the happiest man in the world. What, weren't you upset?
"Come on, dad." His heart sped up when you called him that, and he was ready to lift you up in the air, kissing his little girl's nose. "I thought he's different, but he's just a chicken like all other guys. I'll get over him soon."
"Hard to live up to our standards, I guess." Steve smiled and pinched your nose a little, making you laugh again. "But you need to know I am really sorry, sweat pea. I swear I wouldn't stand in your way if you decided he was the right guy for you."
Actually, Steve pretty much would, but you wouldn't know about it. Happiness of his only child was the only thing that mattered to him now: what was the point of being a parent if you couldn't make your kid happy?
"It's okay, really, dad. I wouldn't change the things as they are now. When I think what could happen if you didn't see me on the street that night... uh-huh." You didn't finish the sentence, not that you needed to.
If Steve didn't find you that night desperately searching for food on the streets of New York, you'd probably be dead now.
You were born to a good family, and you spent the first 11 years of your life in a nice place, having loving parents, the roof above your head and food on the table. You were just one more happy kid among thousands of others, neither better nor worse than all of them. It all changed when your parents were killed by two robbers who had broken into your house, and soon you ended up in an orphanage - you still had nightmares about this place. You spent a year there before you escaped, choosing the streets over an orphanage. Silly you, thinking it would be better.
When Steve found you, you were 13. Dirty, always hungry, acting like a little wild animal, you were no more pitiful than any other homeless child, ignored by the majority of people, but Steve saw you. He took you with him - forcefully, of course, because you fought him like a little angry cat, frightened to the core he was going to take advantage of you like all those people pretending to help you. But he didn’t. He was the one who had truly cared.
It took him months to get you accustomed to living in a house again with someone close to you. Steve spent even more time trying to make you trust him, make you believe he was your friend, somebody you could rely on, trust, see as a parental figure. You couldn’t even name all those people he hired to help you: countless psychologists and psychiatrists; doctors and nurses of all kinds; visiting teachers and tutors. Despite liking to live alone, Steve brought so many strangers to his house it felt like living in a royal palace with tons of court attendants. All of this was for you, the only person he cared about, his little child.
When you were 15, you started calling him dad, and that was the day neither Steve nor you would ever forget: he scooped you up and kept swinging you around till your head was spinning while he laughed and shouted how much he loved you, the best daughter he could ever had.
You never knew the extent to which Steve cared about you, following you secretly when you finally agreed to leave the house - he needed to know you were safe and sound. Of course, he was always there when he supposed someone wasn’t treating you right, and he did everything he could to keep his only child happy. Unfortunately, you were lonely until Steve found a couple of good friends for you, but it was alright. You were perfectly okay now.
“I love you too, sweet pea.” He smiled, caressing your head gently. “But you know what? Don’t worry about that guy. I actually have someone who I want you to meet, and he’s a really sweet kid.”
“Whoa, what? What kid?”
“Well, you know. Kid from work.”
“Dad, what work? What kid?” You rolled your eyes at him, giggling. “How old is he, at least?”
“A little older than you, but he’s alright. He’s been wanting to meet you for some time.” But before Steve wasn’t sure kid was the right guy for you, considering that he was still very much an Avenger and was involved in all kinds of dangerous situations.
“Dad, what kid? Are you talking about your superhero colleagues or something?”
“... yeah? I promise, you’ll like him. Peter’s a good kid.”
“Peter? Peter goddamn Parker?!” You exclaimed loudly, realizing he was talking about Spider-Man. “Are you joking?!”
“What did I tell you about swearing, sweetheart?” Furrowing his brows, Steve shook his head in disapproval, but laughed in the very next second, watching your guilty expression. “Alright, alright. I’m not joking. If you’d like to meet him, I’ll ask him to come tomorrow for dinner, ok?”
“Yes, please!”
As he took the pie out of the oven with you waiting at the dinner table, Steve thought about giving the kid a big lecture about what he was and wasn’t supposed to do to you, but he was more or less sure Peter knew what was right and wrong. Steve could spot that familiar glint in kid’s eyes when he was looking at your photo that Steve had been showing him proudly.
It would turn out alright. Your father was ready to do anything it takes to make you happy.
___________________________
Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @iheartsebastianstan @lovelydarkdaydream @sarge-barnes-sir
#steve rogers#dark steve Rogers#captain america#yandere#mcu#mcu fanfiction#requests#peter parker#peter parker x reader
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15x20: Carry On
Warning: Boris is a salty, sad fangirl right now so the first part of this recap might be more bitter, reductive venting than is necessary. Please skip ahead to enjoy Natasha’s far more nuanced and enjoyable second half of the recap.
The Road So Far: Cue Carry On Wayward Son
Then:
Salmondean Winchester, the boy with the demon blood and daddy’s blunt little instrument, finally defeats Chuck and gets a taste of true free will
Now:
*Fun domestic montage*
Sam Dean gets a dog! (Okay, fine, Miracle is super cute, and a complete stand-in for Cas --but that thought just sends me on another anger spiral.)
Dean squeezes the shit out of that dog, and I hurt for that touch-starved man.
Sam goes for a run, so like, I guess his life is the same. (thanks to Dean always protecting him and allowing him some normalcy in life) (I’m bitter, remember?)
Dean Sam makes breakfast! Dean brushes his teeth! Sam is SHIRTLESS one last time!
*Shirtless Sammy Alert*
Dean’s room is INEXPLICABLY messy! I do get what this whole montage is doing, and it’s nice, but I’m pretty sure when Becky said the fans like the domestic stuff, it was supposed to include CAS AND OTHER FAMILY. Basically, overlay the Where’s the Angel? gif all over this sequence for me.
And finally, we find the boys are still hunting. Because freedom is just a length of rope.
Dean finds a case, but first they have to stop and get pie! Yay! Dean loves pie, and women, and fast cars. Grumpy-faced Sam humors his big, dumb brother. Yay!
Dean Sam thinks about Cas and Jack. Dean brushes off the thought with a Wherps, gotta keep moving attitude, and I already WANT TO SET THE WORLD ON FIRE. Sam then pies Dean in the face, so we have that.
In suburban America, a mother starts to ready her children for bed. There’s a knock at their door and the father answers it. There’s nobody there, and as he turns around, he’s knifed in the back, his wife looking on in horror.
Skull masked killers enter the home. The mother and children run upstairs. The mother is quickly dispatched, and the kids soon follow.
Agents Singer and Kripke check out the crime scene.
They learn more about the parents: exsanguinated and throat ripped out father, tongue ripped out mother. The children are missing. The cop shows a drawing of the killers. Dean (in a wildly out of character move!) uses his photographic memory to remember a case his fucking father botched back in the day. Dean pulls out the journal (MY GOD THERE’S BEEN NO GROWTH)
For TFW Science (because Cas is the tree):
They determine they’re dealing with a roaming band of vampires.
At night, a couple of vampmimes arrive at a house. Dean beheads one right away. Sam shoots the other with dead man’s blood. Dean removes the mask to reveal a normal looking vampmime. Why the masks?? Dean wants answers, and Dean “I’m not a killer” Winchester threatens the vamp with a quick death or slow death (with a spoon). The vamp spills the kids’ whereabouts.
*Much Anticipated Barn Scene Alert*
(Psych! Don’t get your hopes up, what lies ahead is bullshit.)
The masked vamps are crawling all over the joint, but Dean and Sam Winchester can handle it! This is a milk run! They get the kids free and face the big bads.
Fight! Chop! Slice! The boys are overwhelmed. Sam gets knocked out one last time. Dean’s held down to the ground so OMG GUYS!!! JENNY IS BACK!??!?!!? I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THEY GOT HER BACK!! (This joke is so old by now and it’s only been 3 days, sigh.) I did not remember her at all (but then I’m a TFW purest and tend to not watch the early seasons ---and I NEVER HAVE TO AGAIN!) (Natasha: coughs and points at our recap list.) (Boris: shit.) Dean remembers though, and talks just long enough for Sam to wake and chop her head off. See ya, Jenny!
More fighting!
Sam takes out another vamp and Dean tussles with the last one ---and is pushed backwards right into the rebar hook in the wall. So that happened. (I’m trying to stay calm, but I’m a ROILING CESSPOOL OF ANGER AND CONFUSION AND BITTER RIGHT NOW.)
Sam kills the vamp. He’s ready to find the kids and leave. “Sam, I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”
Dean pulls Sam close. HE’S BEEN IMPALED! Poor little snowman. Dean makes Sam promise not to try to resurrect him. He tells Sam that he’s proud of him and that he’s always looked up to him. That he was scared to be rejected by Sam in that very first episode when he went to get him from college. “I must’ve stood outside your door for hours. Because I didn’t know what you would say. Tell me to get lost or to get dead.” JESUS SHOW JUST LET DEAN LIVE AND BE LOVED. (Boris: In the alt version where Cas is there too, he’s instead telling Cas about watching him outside the Gas ‘n Sip. why do I do this to myself?)
Sam cries, afraid to go through the world alone. Dean tells Sam to always keep fighting, tells him he loves him, and DIES. He dies clutching his chest and the whole season we think we’ve been getting heart and chest imagery as a symbol of love but instead it was just? Foreshadowing? Of getting impaled through the chest cavity and dying?
Dean dies, and Sam is wrecked, and I call up 911 to inform them that I have been ROBBED of one Dean Winchester finally getting to live his life. (This is indeed, a beautifully acted scene. I just...wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing about it.)
Sam burns Dean on a lonely pyre, with nobody else around but the dog.
For Sam Gets a Dog but at What Cost Science:
Sam wakes alone, in mourning. There’s no dialogue - only a Sad!Sam montage of remembering the people he’d lost in the bunker. (Was this script only like 5 pages?) One of Dean’s cell phones rings. It’s a sheriff who’d been referred to Dean by Donna. (DONNA DOESN’T KNOW FML) There’s a case, so Sam takes off. He shuts down the bunker and it goes dark.
We cut to Dean in Heaven. It’s beautiful - a wilderness of mountains. Dean’s greeted by Bobby sitting at the quiet Roadhouse. Bobby tells Dean that he’s free - and Heaven’s free. Jack opened Heaven and tore down the walls before he took off for places unknown. I am GLAD ABOUT THIS. It’s about time for Heaven to be a true reward, but this show took Dean TOO SOON. “It ain’t just Heaven, Dean. It’s the Heaven you deserve.” Bobby drops one last reveal: “Cas helped.”
They drink together. “it’s almost perfect,” Dean says.
“He’ll be along,” is Bobby’s quiet response. (Our hearts rise thinking about Cas.) Time’s different in Heaven, Bobby explains. (Boris: Jeremy Bearimy, baby!) “What are you gonna do now, Dean?” Dean decides to go for a drive. He gets into Baby and drives away to the tune of “Carry on my wayward son.”
Cut to a montage showing Sam raising a child with “Dean” on the coveralls. (To quote a friend of mine: That goes against basic child safety, Sam!) While Dean drives, Sam raises a son.
In Sam’s house, the portraits only show pictures of the original Winchesters: Sam, Dean, Mary, John. Me to set dressers: EXTREME SIDE EYE - way to show Sam’s “full life.” Sam kept the Impala in storage, and possibly sits in it and weeps from time to time, as one does.
Much later, Sam dies in his home of “old age disease,” as someone on Tumblr put it. “It’s okay, you can go now,” baby Dean tells Sam, mirroring Sam’s words to his brother. AAAAAND Sam out. Remember, words can kill, kids!
Dean stops on a beautiful bridge and gets out to survey the world.
Dean smiles and the camera pans out. “Hey, Sammy,” he says. The boys are wearing the same outfits as the first episode because SYMBOLISM. (Boris: Symbolism? Like there was no growth or change or...Boris will stay out of your mentions.) (Natasha: Exactly.) They hug, and I do get emotional, because I’m not the burnt and broken shell of a fan that I may appear to be.
We get a “thank you” from Jared and Jensen on the bridge, and then the camera pans away to show the crew. We send them a giant box of MASKS FOR FUCK’S SAKE. And then we set this episode aside as unfulfilling fan fiction and move on with our lives.
Am I sad to see this show end? Yes, I am! Were there things I liked about this episode? Sure! Were there things I so viscerally disliked that I’m still sleeping poorly? Absolutely. That’s love, right? We’re still raw, but we WILL BE BACK on Monday with a new recap of an old episode. See you all then!
Quote on My Wayward Son:
I don’t have a choice. This is my destiny
It’s like running into somebody from high school, you know? Somebody you don’t want to see
Stay with me, please
I’m not leaving you. I’m gonna be with you right here, every day
Cas helped
Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!
#spn recap#spn spoilers#spn 15x20#carry on#dean winchester#sam winchester#bobby singer#unbelievable I can't tag Cas in the very last episode of this show#supernatural season 15
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meeting the fam
where y/n meets the peters second family (the avengers)
pairing: peter x fem!reader
status: just started dating
its been 3 weeks since peter and y/n started dating, they've been friends since august and after 5 months of knowing eachother, he FINALLY asked her out in new years, which couldn't be any perfect than what y/n imagined.
Peters been talking to Mr Stark about y/n the minute he had the chance to, one day Sam heard Peter not so subtly talk about his new girlfriend to his mentor.
"oh Mr Stark, she told me that she NEVER watched Star Wars because she never had somebody to watch it with, she said she knew she'd like it but she needed someone to fangirl with" Peter explains with his hands in the air while tony is fixing a device.
"and my stupid ass said I can fangirl with you, coz I'm like a Star Wars geek, and after I blurted that out, I thought she'd ditch me for good, but she didn't, YOU KNOW WHAT SHE SAID? she said she likes a man who's not afraid to say what he likes! I knew then that we would be somethin-"
"yOu lIkE a gIRl?" Sam blurts out cutting peter off.
and suddenly Thor comes behind Sam "since uh *puts a finger up* when?" *A/N: see what i did there ;)* peter looked at Thor confusedly.
"no guys, they're dating keep up" Tony says not looking away from his work
"ThEyrE DaTiNG??" they both scream, eyes wide, and mouths parted slightly.
"is it that hard to believe I have a girlfriend?" peter asks suddenly offended
"who has a girlfriend?" Steve finally entered. Sam and Thor wanted to explain the what they call 'miracle' but before they could say anything:
"peter, you old Capsicle" Bucky out of nowhere buts in.
"how'd you know?" Sam asks
"lets say the walls between the lab and mini kitchen is verrrry thin" Bucky replies stretching the 'really', peter looked at the floor blushing madly, walking slowly about to leave the lab
"now where do you think you're going, tell me more about your little Juliet, Romeo"
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Peters POV
so last Saturday I was LITERALLY being harassed with questions regarding me having a girlfriend, and to shut them up about it I had to introduce them to her, which is a bit nerve-racking, but hopefully y/n agrees.
I was in the elevator trying to figure out a way to tell y/n about the news. The elevator dinged and I kept whispering different sentence trying to find the right one to use.
I took the keys out of my pocket which makes a loud jigly sound since the floor is empty and makes every noise echo, but before Iunlock the door, it swings open revealing a very happy y/n jumping at me crossing her legs around my torso and smothering me with light kisses all over my face and neck which makes me laugh.
"well hello to you too" i laugh, kissing her nose and she laughs.
"we can use words later, now i want AFFECTIONNNN and CUDDLESSS" she screams running to my room.
"use words later huh?" I smirk putting my keys and wallet on my desk.
"not like thaatttt, what happened to the innocent shy peter?" she says slapping my arm.
"he became more comfortable with his girlfriend?" he replies shrugging his shoulders, which made y/n/n smile, knowing I'm more comfortable with her now then before.
after taking my jacket off, she immediately grabs me and pulls us to my bed. I snuggle to her side wrapping my arms around her lower stomach while she plays with my hair and kisses me once in a while.
"happy?" I mumble since my face is close to the fabric of her, well my hoodie.
"very" she mumbles in my hair
y/n's POV
I lowered myself so I can cuddle peter more, I swung my right leg over his torso and snuggled my head to his chest more, so now he would prep me with kisses all over my face or whisper things to my ear, after a few minutes of silence peters calls my name
"yeah?" I reply looking up to see him clearly, his lightly freckled face, and brown doe eyes shining from the little light coming from his lamp, he looked...nervous? I tilted my head confused to why he would be nervous right now
"babe what's wrong?" I ask, both of us sitting now
"uhh" he would still blush and stutter when I give him a pet names, I giggled softly which made him focus again.
"I was talking to Mr Stark the other day..about..you and I didnt know Sam heard me, but he did then basically the whole compound knew I had a girlfriend, I-I tried to make them stop bombarding me with questions about us buttheywouldonlystopifiintroducedyoutothemsonowtheyexpecttoseeyoutomorrow" he blurts out nervously, he obviously looked scared of what I would say but then he continued "AND I know we've only dated for 3 weeks now and its too soon but I couldn't stop them-"
"PETER! its ok I'd love to meet your second family" I say smirking in the end and he blushed. I was obviously nervous, its the AVENGERS for Thors sake, but he was too nervous I didn't want to cause more pressure for him.
"o-ok! so you're ok with meeting them tomorrow?" he makes sure.
"yess, definitely" I say smiling, he looked at me happily and lunged at me kissing all over my face.
"you *kiss* are *kiss* the *kiss* best" he says looking at me adoringly, and then we carried on cuddling which lead to me sleeping at his place.
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I woke up to peter humming a song while touching my hair ever so lightly, I opened my eyes and saw probably the most handsome morning face I've ever seen.
"good morning" peter says with his raspy morning voice, he hates his morning voice he says its 'too manly' but I think its pretty hot.
"morningggg" I reply with a cheery tone, I wiggled out of his grasp which only made him hug me tighter, "pete, I need to stretch my limbs are stiff from the same position all night!" I giggle, then he finally released me from his comforting embrace.
suddenly peter had a sugar-rush-like energy and lunged out of the bed, did a couple of stretches in a funny way and went to greet his stunning aunt with a kiss on her head, before I went to greet aunt may I changed to something lighter than his hoodie, HIS SHIRT!
After changing, I went to the kitchen, greeted aunt may, and hugged peter from behind "you lookin sexy today" I whispered to hiM trying to make him blush, which worked!
"y/nnn" he whisper shouted, and hid his face.
"now would any of you like to explain why my nephew is very happy today? or is it just because his girlfriend spent the night?" may smirks. oh she definitely knows how to make peter blush.
"oh *laughs* I'm meeting the avengers today!" I say jumping slightly, may was freaking out with me and we started actually jumping up and down, while peter stared at us laughing
"well c'mon we're eating breakfast there!"
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while we were walking to the compound peter sensed my nerves and held my hand reassuringly, I gave him the 'thank you' look and he smiled in return.
once we entered the compound, the cool air brushed my face lightly, there were little squeaks coming out from our sneakers while we're walking, but then peter stopped and looked at me smirking.
"F.R.I.D.A.Y?" peter asks softly.
"yes Mr parker?" the A.I replies and I was completely blown away.
"where's Mr Stark and the others?"
"Mr Stark is in his lab and the rest are in the main living room"
"ok thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y...OH and meet my girlfriend y/n" he says
"well hello there Mrs Parker" F.R.I.D.A.Y says, I looked at peter confusedly and he had the same expression and cheeks turned crimson red.
"uh hey F.R.I.D.A.Y" I say waving awkwardly to no one.
"uhm F.R.I.D.A.Y? who programmed you to call y/n M-Mrs Parke-er ??" peter asks clearly embarrassed.
"mister stark did, along with Natasha and Sam" she replies.
"god I'm gonna kill the-"
"Pete its ok" I laugh, rubbing his arms lightly.
once we entered the main living room everyone stopped what they're doing and looked at us
"h-hey guys..uh this is my girlfriend, y/n y/l/n" peter awkwardly introduces me, the room went dead silent, no one was talking they just stared right into my soul the suddenly after a few seconds everybody spoke loudly at the same time trying to introduce themselves first.
"oh my god hi hun! I'm Wanda"
"hello there lady y/n, I am Thor the god of thunder, its a pleasure to meet you"
"oh Don't go all princely on her, she's our cinnamon rolls girlfriend, I'm Nat by the way" she winks
"the name's Clint, also known as Hawkeye"
"James Buchnan Barnes, but you can call me Bucky, doll"
"Steve Rogers *shakes my hand* welcome to the family"
once everybody introduced themselves, peter kept searching around the room, looking for someone, everybody was trying to get to know me more, asking more intimidating questions, but I couldn't pay attention because he looked worried.
so I took his hand softly and rubbed my thumb over his knuckles trying to get his attention, once he looked at me I gave him the 'what's wrong' look.
"hey guys, do you know where Mr Stark is?" Peter finally spoke, bingo he wanted to introduce me to one of the most important people in his life, pressureee, hopefully I could live up to Tony's expectations and he would approve of me,
"he's in his lab" Bruce spoke, pointing at the third door in the hallway.
Once we got to the door, Peter looked at me reassuringly and kissed my head trying to ease my nerves, I gave him a nod telling him I'm ready and he opened the door.
"M-Mr Stark?" peter said, which grabbed Tony's attention, he looked at Peter then his eyes landed on me, he stared at me for a couple of seconds like he was analysing me, then a small smile formed on his lips, That's a good sign, right?
"y/n, its great to finally meet you" he says shaking my hand.
"hello Mr Stark" I say, not knowing what to call him yet so I just decided to be respectful and call him 'Mr Stark' like my boyfriend.
"oh please not you too, call me Tony" he says.
"Tony, love birds breakfast is ready! c'mon Thor's already eating half of the pancakes- wait THOR THOSE ARE FOR Y/N GODDAMNIT" Sam shouts, panicking which makes me laugh a little, tony looked at me, then at peter like he's telling him he approves, which gives me a sense of relief.
when we got to the LARGE dining room everyone was sat in their seats waiting for us three, "finally! the son got his approval from his father!" Sam joke in his awfully attempted baby voice.
"Our baby's all grown up" Wanda says giving him grabby hands to hug him, Peter was madly blushed from embarrassment but still gave Wanda her hug
"wait I want a hug!" Nat interrupts.
"me too!" Thor said, trying to embarrass peter more, which definitely worked. I couldn't help my self from grinning, I loved how the avengers, showed him this much affection.
"well, *stands up from his seat* I wanna hug y/n" tony says in a matter-of-a-fact tone, moving from his chair and hugs me, I obviously hugged back smiling.
"wait- I WANT TO HUG Y/N"
"ME TOO!"
"guys guys, *giggles* stop harassing my girlfriend with affection I think tha'ts MY job" Peter says giving me big hug, kissing my head, I hid my red face in the crook of his neck.
"thank you" I whisper softly
"for what ?" peter replies
"for trusting me to see the most important people in your life, Aunt may, Ned, MJ, and now the Avengers! thank you" I say kissing his neck.
"oh no its the PDA! please don't tell me you guys are THAT type of couple" Bucky says making fake gag noises, which is later interrupted by Steve
"what's PDA?" he asks genuinely curious, Peter face palms and shakes his head
"welcome to the family"
have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night!
-quacksonlover
#spiderman#peter parker x fem#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker#peter parker fluff#ned leeds#may parker#aunt may#the avengers#mcu#michelle jones#marvel#sony pictures#imagines#peter parker x reader#fluff#peter#parker#avengers
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PINK
A small Gerskier fic because I need it 😉
“Jaskier, open a fucking door!” shouted Gerald and continued to aggressively knock on the poor wood. Damn, he would get the whole building up, somebody would definitely call the police on him and he would be in trouble. “Jaskier, for God’s sake!” the man banged again and then used a doorbell. He was hoping he wasn’t late.
They had a fight on the phone about an hour ago. Jaskier lost the keys of Geralt’s flat AGAIN and he was so angry that he would have to change locks again. So yes, he screamed at Jaskier a little… well, maybe not a little. But he had a really shitty day at work, his car broke, and… ugh, who was he trying to fool? Jaskier just caught him at a bad time and didn't deserve to be treated this way.
In any case, his boyfriend is not timid. So he said, “If you don’t stop yelling at me, I'll do something to myself.” And Geralt realized the seriousness of this threat only when Jaskier hung up and stopped answering calls.
The man wasn’t sure what his boyfriend meant but Jaskier is a sensitive, impulsive, reckless, and bipolar person. He is on medication tho but Geralt couldn’t be sure that his boyfriend didn’t mean the worst option the man could think about. Geralt would never forgive himself if Jaskier tried to kill himself because of a stupid quarrel over the lost keys.
Finally, he heard footsteps and the door opened. The man choked on air. It was Jaskier. He was definitely fine, a little bit surprised and with BRIGHT PINK HAIR.
“Geralt, what are you...”
“Damn, you meant dying your hair,” said the man and hugged shocked Jaskier tight.
“Of course! What do you think I… oh. Oh. Fuck, I’m sorry,” he started but then remembered what message he actually sent and immediately felt guilty. Why the hell did he decide to choose exactly these words? He was so stupid. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to,” Jaskier hugged his boyfriend back, burying his face into Geralt’s shoulder.
“You scared the shit out of me, Jask. Never do that again,” said the man, feeling his heart still beating faster than it should.
“I won’t.”
They just stayed like that for a while. Geralt was trying to convince himself that the love of his life was fine and just a little bit dumb while Jaskier was just enjoying the hug. He always was a “give-me-as-many-hugs-as-you-have” person so he felt completely comfortable.
As quite a lot of time has passed, Geralt pulled back, “I’m so sorry I was an asshole. I shouldn’t have shouted at you and you have all the rights to be offended but I want you to know I’m really really sorry.”
Jaskier smiled, “Don’t worry, we’re good. Apology accepted.”
“You changed your image, I see,” Geralt smiled back and slightly ruffled his boyfriend's hair.
“Well… it was a stupid experiment but I like how it turned out. What do you think?”
“It looks good on you.”
“I can dye your hair too,” suddenly they heard a voice from inside the apartment. Priscilla went out into the corridor a couple of seconds later with a spray can in her hands. “Hi, Geralt. I’ve wanted to check if you are both alive here or not. And you are definitely alive so what do you say?” she shook the can lightly.
“I’m not sure…” Geralt began, but then made a fatal mistake and looked into Jaskier's eyes which lit with delight. He sighed and said, “Okay. What colors do you have?”
“Well… pink, pink, and also pink,” Priscilla smiled. “You are free to choose. And don’t worry, they are temporary and will wash off in a couple of days.”
***
“It’s been a week. Can you stop laughing at least now?” Geralt sighed wearily and looked at Lambert.
“I’m sorry I can’t. You look toooo cute,” the man chuckled. Geralt sighed again. It went a little bit different than he expected. Quoting Priscilla, “Oops, it looks like white hair stays pink a little bit longer.”
“At least Jaskier likes it.”
“I bet he is. And why wouldn't he? He lives with such a charming princess.”
“I will kill you someday.”
Lambert waved his hand, “You only promise.”
“Don’t be mad at him, Geralt,” Yennefer smiled, sipping her coffee. “And you can’t deny you look cute. Thanks to you and your hair, we have successfully passed the audit and were recognized as the most creative unit of the company.”
“It was not because of my hair.”
“Keep telling yourself that!” Lambert laughed.
“I just had a thought,” continued Yen. “We have another audit in two months. Maybe you can dye your hair blue or something so that we will definitely pass it?”
Geralt rolled his eyes.
“I hate you both so much.”
💜
More of my works you can see here 😉: Twitter and ao3
#geralt of rivia#geraskier#gerlion#geralt z rivii#geralt/dandelion#geralt/jaskier#jaskier#the witcher#fic stuff#witcher fic#geralt#dandelion#witcher fanfiction#slash fanfiction#slash fic#geralt and jaskier#geralt and dandelion#geraskier fluff#geraskier fic#geraskier modern au#gerlion fanfiction#geralt x jaskier#geralt x dandelion#julian alfred pankratz#modern au#ao3 stuff#ao3 fic#fanfic#ao3
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