#Kate and that eyebrow should be illegal

[alexismusictrek]

I can’t…I just 🤤

This has the most telenovela feel.

[newtonsheffield]

idk why but i feel that anthony of LH iwould be a very cool sweet man when Kate is pregnant, not too crazy like other fics hahahaha. Just a feeling

I think Lavender Haze Anthony definitely has his crazy side tbh. But I think this Anthony is more sort of… smug about Kate’s pregnancy.

His wife is a very beautiful woman. And she’s smart and strong and a million other things. And she chose him. Out of everyone. Out of all them men who hit on her while she works and who send her drinks when they’re at the pub even after she and Anthony are together: she picked him.

She chose, when a bartender set a drink down in front of her and said

“This is from the guy across the way.”

She chose to slide it back across the bar and say “You can tell him thank you, but I can get my own drinks. And if I get tired of that, I have a boyfriend.”

Kate picked him. She chose to move in with him and they redecorated the living room together. They chose the colour for the paint and made his house their home. She chose to marry him, have kids together. He’s never going to stop being smug about that.

“You don’t have to look quite so smug you know.” Kate sighed, leaning her body against Anthony’s where he stood at the front of the booth during the tattoo convention, taking appointments for her and Sophie.

“I think I’ve earned the right to be a little smug, don’t you?”

Kate raised one eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“You choosing a ridiculous twat like me to marry was probably the most unlikely thing to happen this millennium.” Anthony grinned, “I feel like I’m allowed to wear this shirt.”

“Husband of the artist is a little much.” Kate sighed tugging at the back of it, “And Baby Daddy, should probably be illegal. Especially because we’re married so…”

“I told him it felt like a crime.” Sophie called out, “But no one listens to me!”

[selfignitingimagines]

Derek- For The Better

A/N- Here is part 2 of Maybe You Should. Sorry for the three month wait! Hope it lives up to expectations.

Original Request: can you do an imagine where the reader is a well known vocalist in  beacon hills and one night the pack goes to an underground party(you  know the umm like illegal shows something like that whatever im  sorry😂)and they see her again when their like a following a lead and  they see her there and she's like getting information(she's a hunter)  with like you know slight seduction but nothing excessive but the guy  sees the pack and he runs and reader gets really badass like woah and  can the pairing be with derek?

----

    “Derek! Derek! Hey, let me go!”

    Derek turned at the sound of your familiar voice. You were sprinting up to the barricade that separated the Hale property from the rest of the world. Fire trucks and police cruisers surrounded  his house, which had been reduced to nothing but a burned out shell.

    “Ma’am, stop!” 

You were shoving past a couple of Beacon Hills Sheriff’s deputies, too quick for their pudgy, fumbling hands to grab. Acrid smoke filled the air, making you gag, but you never stopped running.

    Derek had been standing in his front yard, staring in horror as the Coroner began to carry the bodies of his family members, covered in white sheets. They had run out of body bags a while ago.

    “Derek!”

    You suddenly crashed into him, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders. “God, I thought you were-”

    You yelped as he shoved you off, sending you crashing onto the leaf-covered yard. 

    “Derek-” you began, scrambling to your feet. 

    Before you could finish, he was grabbing you by the throat and shoving you up against a nearby tree. 

    “I know you did this!” he screamed in your face. “I know you helped them!”

    “No! I didn’t-”

    “Stay away from me or I’ll kill you! I swear to god, I’ll kill you!”

    Derek sat up in bed with a start. He was drenched in sweat, and he had kicked his covers off in his sleep. They sat on the cold floor of the loft in a jumbled heap, looking sad and forlorn as the first rays of morning light shined onto them.

    He sighed, burying his face in his hands. Derek couldn’t get you out of his head. 

    Since the night at the underground show, thoughts of your reunion had plagued him. You had always been able to hide your feelings behind a hunter’s bravado, but you forgot that Derek knew you better than anyone. 

    It wasn’t just the circles under your eyes that you hid with concealer, or the urgency in your voice when you confronted Lydia that made him think something was seriously wrong. What set off alarm bells inside Derek’s head were your final words before disappearing that night.

    Maybe you should hate me. 

    Admitting guilt had never come easily to you. It was something you would never have done unless you had to. Unless you felt like you wouldn’t have another chance to say it.

    Your words had an air of finality to them, one that sent Derek’s stomach working itself into knots. Something was missing when it came to this whole situation with Kate. He was sure you held that missing piece, but he didn’t know if you would survive long enough for him to figure it out. 

    Yes, you had been reckless in the past, but he had almost watched you launch yourself off of a balcony and onto a werewolf three times your size. That wasn’t just reckless. It was suicidal.

    “She’s spiraling, Dude,” Stiles had told him in the parking lot. “She put a knife up to my freaking throat!”

    They were all crowded around Stiles’ jeep, going over how their plan had failed and what their next steps would be.

    Lydia, who normally disagreed when anyone said something negative about you, was uncharacteristically silent. Her lips were pressed together in a grim line. 

    “Maybe we can reach out,” Scott suggested. “Maybe she’ll tell us what she knows. ”

    Derek shook his head. “She doesn’t trust us.”

    “But she might trust you.”

    Derek glanced over at Lydia. He raised his eyebrows. 

    “Are you serious?”

    As it turned out, she was. 

    That was why Derek was now walking up the stairs of your apartment building, following the directions Lydia has given him. She was the only one you trusted with the location of your home.

    “She’s going to kill me for doing this,” the redhead had muttered to him.

    Derek reached up, knocking softly on the door of your apartment. He tapped his foot nervously, but he could hear you moving inside your apartment. 

    The sound of a television was playing softly in the background, and the fabric of your jeans began to slide across your leather couch. You were getting up.

When you heard the knock on your door, you walked over to peer out of the peephole. When you saw that it was Derek, you bristled. How the hell had he gotten your address?

For a second you considered not opening the door, but you knew he could hear you. It would be stupid to ignore him.

    Derek waited for what seemed like ages. He stood on the other side of the door, listening to your racing heartbeat. You took so long to open it that he began to turn away, sure you weren’t going to. 

    Then the lock clicked and the two of you were standing face to face. 

    “I’m going to kill Lydia,” you stated.

     “It’s not her fault,” he lied. “I insisted.”

    You crossed your arms over your chest. “What do you want?”

    “To talk,” he told you.

    You frowned. “What? Are you here to scold me again?”

    “No. I just…I just wanted to see if you’re okay. Can I come in?”

    You thought about it for a moment, glancing down at the brown paper bag in his hands. “What’s that?”

    “Wine.”

     “I’m listening.”

    “You still like rosé, don’t you?”

    “Maybe.”

    The smug look on Derek’s face was almost enough to make you slam the door right then, but there was something in his eyes that made you pause. 

    He did look worried. He might have been grinning at you, but his green eyes were stormy. Stress lines were forming at the corners. 

You could tell he was just as afraid for you as you were, even though he had no idea what was going on.

“Fine. Come in.”

    —-

    An hour later, you and Derek were sprawled out on your sofa, finishing off the bottle of wine. You were situated at one end with your legs extended next to his. He was leaning back against the opposite arm of the sofa, studying you intently.

    It reminded you of the countless nights the two of you had spent on the Hale’s basement couch before the fire. You and Derek would stay up until 4am, sitting just like that while you talked for hours or watched horror movies. 

By sunrise, Talia would usually find the two of you asleep on the cushions with the blank, fuzzy screen of a finished VHS tape still on the TV.

    The memory made you smile fondly, until Derek broke the silence.

“I owe you an apology,” he began. 

    You waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. You’re right. It was stupid.”

    Derek frowned. “I’m not talking about the underground show.”

    You leaned back against the end of the sofa, setting your wine glass down onto the nearby end table. “What are you talking about then?”

    He took a deep breath. “I blamed you for the fire. I pushed you away. You didn’t deserve that.”

    “We were kids,” you reminded him softly. “You had just lost your entire family.”

    “So did you.”

    A lump began to form in the back of your throat. You blinked hard, attempting to stop the tears that were threatening to spill. 

    “I left you with the Argents,” he continued. “I left you with Kate.”

    You shook your head. “Derek, they would have killed you. That was why I told you to stay away and-and then the fire…”

    You broke off, unable to bring yourself to even speak the words.

    “I should have fought harder for you…and for that I’m sorry.”

    “You don’t need to apologize.”

    You tried to say it confidently, but the tears were coming down now. There was a slight tremor in your voice as you spoke. 

    Derek moved closer, grabbing both of your hands in his own. “I do. I need to. And I need you to know that I’m going to fight for you.”

    “Derek,” you whispered. “I’m not the same person anymore.”

    “Neither am I. Just let me in,” he pleaded. “I want to help. Whatever is going on with Kate, whatever you’re afraid of, it doesn’t matter.”

    You shook your head and reached up to wipe your eyes. “You don’t understand-”

    “I know she killed your parents too. I know exactly how you feel, but you can’t keep running away from the people who are still here.”

    “I-”  You took a deep, shaky breath. Could you really come clean and tell Derek the truth about that night? 

 “I don’t want to talk about Kate.”

    “Okay,” he agreed. “We don’t have to.”

    He watched as the tension melted from your shoulders. Any questions he had about Kate weren’t going to be answered tonight.

    He let go of your hands and leaned back. “Can I ask you something?”

    “As long as it’s not about me and Kate.”

“You know, I’ve never seen you with a...you’ve never had…”

Derek paused for a bit, unsure how to broach the question.

    You let out a disbelieving laugh, wiping the stray tears from your face. “Are you asking me why I’ve never dated anyone?”

    Derek went red. “I just…I haven’t seen you with anyone in, like, ten years.”

     “Dating is kind of hard when your whole life is a secret, don’t you think?”

    He nodded. “Yeah. I get that, but some people already know.”

    “Which reminds me,” you said with a smile. “What happened to Braeden?”

    “Nothing. I mean, she was a great fighter, a great person, but…”

    “But what? She wasn’t good enough for the big, bad Derek Hale?”

    Your voice was teasing, but Derek wasn’t smiling back at you. In fact, he looked pretty grim.

    “No,” he said softly. “She wasn’t you.”

    The words slipped out before he could stop them. The minute he spoke, he realized he had made a mistake. You were staring at him in absolute shock, but now he had told the truth, and he had to keep going.

    “It’s always going to be you,” he admitted. “No matter what I’ve done, who I’ve been with…I’m always going to love you.”

    “Derek, all I’ve ever done is hurt you.”

    “That isn’t true. Y/n, I love you and I know you still love me.”

    You couldn’t deny it. You had loved Derek since you were fifteen, and you always would.

    “Please,” he begged. “Just stop running from me.”

     His green eyes were desperate and pleading. When you looked into them, you caught a glimpse of the Derek you had fallen in love with those years ago. The one who would have done anything, even died for you, if it meant keeping you safe. 

     Maybe it was time to let him try.

     “Okay. I’m done running.”

     You moved forward, closing the distance between the two of you. His lips met yours, and for the first time in ten years, you kissed him back. One of his arms came around your waist and pulled you closer, up and into his lap. 

     You clung to him, to the warmth emanating from his chest. You had ached for Derek for so long, ever since he had ended your relationship. It hadn’t mattered that he had forgiven you years ago. You never let yourself give in to those feelings until now.

 Your love for Derek was something you had kept locked away and hidden with the darkest parts of yourself. Now, as you faced what might possibly be the end of your life, you realized you couldn’t keep it from him any longer.

    “Wait. I need to show you something.”

    Derek followed you as you pulled away and rose from the couch. His brow furrowed in confusion, but he walked behind you as you headed toward your bedroom. 

    “I swear to god,” you told him, as you opened the door. “I’m not crazy.”

    “I know you’re n-”

    Derek froze. His words caught in his throat as you revealed the inside of your room. One entire wall was covered in newspaper clippings, looseleaf note pages and printed out photos. Almost all of them had been scrawled on with sharpie, and some of the items were connected with red string tacked to each piece. 

    You walked over and grabbed a single piece of paper, tearing it from where it was stuck to the wall. You offered it to Derek silently, and he gently took it from your hand. 

    He recognized Kate’s handwriting instantly. His stomach churned as he began to think of the love notes she used to write him, all those years ago when he had fallen for her manipulation.

    The note was short, but the four words scrawled on the paper were enough to make the hair on his arms stand up. 

    “‘I’m coming for you,’” he read aloud.

This was why you had been so desperate to find Kate. You had wanted to get to her before she could find you.

    “I should have told you,” you said softly. “I just…I didn’t want you to get hurt, Derek. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

    Derek had a deep frown etched onto his face. He shook his head and then stepped forward to envelope you in his arms. 

    You stood there for a moment, stunned, but leaned into him nonetheless. 

    “God, Y/n, how do you think I would feel?”

    You didn’t say anything. Instead, you just buried your face into his warm shoulder. He reached up, running a comforting hand down your hair.

    “She’s killing hunters, isn’t she?” he asked. “Everyone from her past.”

    “I think so,” you whispered. “And I’m pretty sure I’m next.”

    He reached up, cupping your face in his hands. “She’s not going to touch you, Y/n. I promise.”

    You nodded, not sure what else to say. 

    “Do you trust me?” he asked softly.

    You took a deep breath. 

    Your relationship with Derek had become so twisted and broken. After the death of your parents and the fire, you had known things could never be the same between the two of you. For years, you weren’t sure if you could even be allies.

     Now, you were beginning to realize that, despite the rift between you, Derek had never stopped fighting for you. 

     “If there’s anyone I can trust,” you began. “It’s you.”

      Derek nodded. He began to turn away, but that was when you grabbed his hand. 

      He smiled against your lips as you tugged him closer. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this happy. 

     Derek walked you backwards until you hit the edge of your bed. Your duvet began to brush against the back of your thighs. That was when he reached down and scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

      He laid you onto the bed and you tugged him down by his shirt, attempting to close the distance between you. You had been apart for too long. You needed him close, and Derek was happy to oblige.

—--

      A few hours later, Derek awoke and rolled onto his side, feeling the cool fabric of your sheets brush against his chin. He groggily reached out for you, but his fingers only found empty covers. The space where you had been sleeping still felt warm, as if you had only gotten up moments ago. 

     A twinge of unease crept down his spine, but, for a moment, he assured himself that  you must have gotten up for a glass of water. That was when the coppery smell of blood wafted toward him. 

     Derek lept from the bed, throwing open the door with a bang. He followed the scent of your blood, only to find you in the living room. You weren’t alone.

     “Hi, Handsome.”

     In the moonlight shining from the window, Derek could see Kate standing there, holding a clawed hand to your throat. 

      Her blonde curls shimmered in the light. Kate looked like she always had, beautiful and blood-hungry. 

      She was grinning at him, revealing her sharp canines. She held a shotgun in her other hand, already stained red with your blood.

     There was a large gash on your head, no doubt the way Kate had subdued you. Blood was still dripping down your face, trickling onto your neck. 

     “Let her go,” Derek snarled. 

     Kate burst into laughter. “Seriously? Could you be any more cliche, Derek?”

     He let out a low growl. Kate rolled her eyes.

      “Let her go, or what?” she asked smugly. “In case you didn’t notice, I’ve got all the leverage here.”

     Derek met your eyes. They were filled with tears. 

     “What do you want?”

     “No, no, no,” she mused. “This is between me and Y/n.”

     She let out a sharp laugh and tightened her grip on your throat. Derek winced as you let out a pained, choking sound.

     “Would you believe that this little bitch has been trying to hunt me down?” she asked Derek. “She was going to try and kill me! After everything I did for her!”

     “Fuck you,” you managed to choke. 

     Kate let out an enraged snarl. In seconds, she was tossing you onto the floor. You hit the cold, wooden floor with a violent thump. 

     Then, Kate was pressing the muzzle of the shotgun up to the side of your head. 

     “Kate, no!” Derek shouted. “If you kill her, everything you taught her means nothing!”

     The Blonde paused. She glanced back at Derek with suspicion. “You’re just trying to stop me from blowing her pretty little head off.”

     “I don’t want you to kill her. You’re right. But you don’t want to kill her either. Everything that you did, everything you taught her…it made her who she is. I can tell that you’re proud of her.”

     You glanced up cautiously. Kate was gazing down at you, past the barrel of the gun. 

     She was wearing an expression that was so foreign, you felt like you had been transported into an alternate reality. Derek was right. As fucked up as it was, Kate was proud of you.

     “She’s the one thing you did right, isn’t she?” Derek continued. “If you kill her, that all goes to waste.”

     “I made you,” she said softly. “And you were going to try to kill me.”

     “I-I was,” you admitted. “But only because that’s what you taught me.”

     Kate laughed. “You’re right about that, Kiddo. See, you like to think that we have nothing in common. But we’re the same…more than he knows.”

     She nodded over her shoulder at Derek. “Or does he know?”

    You were silent. Derek watched as the color drained from your face. Kate let out a sharp peal of laughter. You flinched at the sound.

    “You are exactly like me,” she mused. “So what? You’ve been lying to him all these years?”

    “What are you talking about?”

    Derek glanced between the two of you. Kate’s expression was gleeful. You looked horrified.

    “Tell him,” Kate ordered, leveling the gun at you once more.

    Your voice came out in a broken whisper. “I can’t.”

     “Then I’ll shoot you, and I can tell him after you’ve bled out on the floor.”

     When you didn’t say anything, her finger moved toward the trigger. “Suit yourself.”

     “Stop!” Derek ordered. “Y/n, just tell me. Whatever it is, I won’t care.”

     “I wouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Derek.”

    “Kate, please,” you begged.

    “Tell him!” she snarled, slamming the butt of the gun into your face once more.

    You collapsed onto the floor with a cry of pain. Kate had hit you so hard that white bursts were exploding across your vision.

    Derek had to fight to hold himself back. If he made one wrong move, Kate would kill you without a second thought. He watched, practically trembling with rage as you pushed yourself up on shaky hands. A bruise was already beginning to form across your cheek.

    “Last chance,” Kate told you. She pointed the shotgun at you once more. “Tell him you’ve been lying to him.”

    “Fine,” you whispered. 

    You looked up at Derek, and when you spoke, your voice was thick with shame. “Kate didn’t kill my parents. I did.”

    The stunned look on his face only confirmed that you had been right to keep it from him. 

“What?” he asked. “But you always said-”

    “She lied!” Kate snarled. “And she told you I did it? No. She killed them on the full moon. Not me.”

    “I didn’t want to-”

    “But you still pulled that trigger,” Kate cut in. “That’s why you’re just like me, Y/n.”

    “You locked me in the distillery with them!” you screamed.  “They were going to tear me apart!”

    Derek watched as the tears streamed down your face, leaving streaks in the blood that was already beginning to dry on your skin.

    “You did exactly what you were trained for,” Kate snarled. “Hunt and kill…and that’s all you’ll ever be able to do. Just like me.”

    “You’re right,” you whispered shakily. “I am just like you.”

    Kate smirked. “See? I told y-”

    Before she could react, you swept your leg into hers, knocking her off balance. 

     Kate roared as she fell onto her back, fumbling with the shotgun. When she managed to get to her knees and point the gun toward you, you were ready. 

     You shoved the barrel away just in time. As Kate pulled the trigger, the bullet sailed toward your living room window and shattered the glass. 

     Derek took the opportunity to lunge toward Kate, but she quickly ripped the gun from your grasp. She backed away from you and racked the shotgun. 

     You screamed as the bullet hit Derek in the chest, creating a large, bloody hole in his shirt. He let out a painful, ear-splitting howl, but then his knees hit the hardwood floor. A few moments later, so did the rest of him. 

     Kate began to pull more shotgun shells from her pocket, but you tackled her to the ground before she could load the gun. It spilled from her hands and clattered onto the floor, but she didn’t stop.

     “You stupid little bitch,” she snarled.

She yanked you up by your hair, shoving you into the wall behind you. The plaster cracked at the force.

Kate was pinning you by the throat. You scratched and clawed at her arms, but she was so much stronger than you. A scream was working its way up your throat, but you couldn’t breathe enough air to let it out.

This was the moment you had been terrified of. This was the moment Kate promised would come. 

She grinned at you, and you could tell she knew it too. That was when she thrust her claws into your stomach.

The pain was sharp and immediate. A strangled gasp escaped from your lips. Your fingers slipped from her hand on your throat, instinctively clutching at your abdomen.

“No!” Derek shouted. 

“Say hi to mommy and daddy for me,” she spat, before yanking her claws away. 

You fell to your knees, clutching your bleeding stomach. 

Then, the world suddenly tilted. You found yourself lying on your side with your cheek pressed against the wooden floor. Through blurry vision, you could see Kate climb out of the broken window.

The coppery taste of blood began to well up in your mouth as she disappeared into the night.

“No, no, no!”

Derek was suddenly leaning over you, pressing down onto the wounds Kate had left. Your vision went white with the pain, and you were pretty sure you screamed, but everything was hazy. 

Derek was breathing heavily, barely able to hold himself up as he held pressure to your wounds.

“Y-you,” you gasped weakly. “You’re hurt.”

Derek shook his head. “I’m healing. But you…”

“D-Derek-“

“Scott and the others are coming. They heard me howl.”

The look on his face was still stricken. 

“Not fast enough, huh?”

“I don’t know. I-I don’t know.”

You swallowed, gagging bitterly for a moment on the blood in your mouth. “I’m sorry for…for lying…for everything.”

“No.” His green eyes were welling with tears. “No. No you don’t have to apologize. I never should have believed Kate. I never should have let you go.”

“I pushed you away.” You reached up, grasping one of his hands, which was now wet with your own blood. “I’m…I’m most sorry for that.”

Your grip on his hand began to grow limp, and Derek could tell you were fading. 

“No!” he cried. “No, Y/n, come on. Stay awake. Please. Please!”

This was Derek’s worst nightmare, repeating itself all over again. The thought of losing someone else he loved, losing you, was unthinkable. 

You looked back up at him, but it was a struggle to fight the darkness creeping at the edge of your vision. Soon, the sound of his desperate voice began to fade too.

“Y/n, come on, please. I can’t lose you. I can’t…I can’t…”

His face began to blur, along with the other dark shapes that had entered your vision. You were just barely able to recognize a familiar pair of brown eyes before white hot pain spread through your arm and up your body.

Then, there was nothing.

—--

    You woke to the sound of birds chirping. The incessant chattering was sharp in your ears, almost painful.

When you opened your eyes, you could see bright sunlight shining through a row of large, square windows. You flinched away from its intensity, rolling over onto an unfamiliar mattress. 

You yanked on the fluffy gray comforter wrapped around you, pulling it over your head in an attempt to block the light and sound out. Once you were enveloped in the darkness, you tried to orient yourself.

The last thing you remembered was being attacked in your apartment, but you definitely weren’t there anymore. That was when you felt the bed dip. 

A warm hand came down to rest on your shoulder. “Y/n? What’s wrong?”

“The light,” you whispered. “It hurts.”

“Ah.”

 You felt the bed shift and,suddenly, the covers by your feet were being carefully lifted up. 

He wriggled under the comforter until he had crawled up beside you in the bed. His warm fingers came to rest on your cheek. 

“Hey, look at me.”

You opened your eyes. Derek was studying you carefully. “Do you know what’s happening?”

You thought back to the night before, when Kate had nearly killed you. Your hand came up to touch your abdomen. There should have been pain where Kate’s claws stabbed through you, but there was only smooth, bare skin.

When you pulled up the oversized T-shirt Derek had dressed you in, you saw that the wound had completely healed. 

“Scott bit me,” you realized. 

Derek nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry. I know he would have given you the choice, but…”

“There wasn’t one.”

“Yeah.”

“She would have killed me, Derek. You guys did what you had to do.”

“I’m still sorry.”

You shook your head. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have told you about my parents.”

Derek shook his head. “No. Don’t apologize.”

“But-”

“It wasn’t you. It was Kate. Nothing you told me changes the way I see you.”

He stroked his thumb down your cheek, swiping away the tears that were beginning to fall. “Nothing could ever make me stop loving you. You have to know that.”

“What if I hurt you?” you ask. “What if I can’t control myself on the full moon?”

“You’ll be able to eventually. It takes practice and patience.”

“I’m not very patient,” you muttered. 

Derek smiled. “Trust me, I know.”

You looked up, playfully smacking him in the chest. He caught your wrist, and pulled you closer. His other arm snaked around your waist, tugging you against him until your lips met his.

You felt surprisingly giddy, even though you were terrified at the thought of what would come next. You weren’t sure how you would handle becoming a werewolf, or what that would mean for your relationship with Derek. 

Yet again, the life you knew had been ripped away from you in a single night.  While the idea frightened you, you had a feeling that, this time, it was for the better.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Okay but hear me out - sugar baby getting Bruce something? Like cufflinks or a tie or something and he’s wow so touched bc no one’s ever thought to get HIM something before

When Kate opened the door for him and took his coat, Bruce smiled his thanks.

"She's waiting for you on the balcony, Sir," Kate said, eyes slightly narrowed. Her voice was neutral but he could feel her assessment and couldn't shake the feeling he'd been found wanting. I pleased him, how easily you inspired loyalty in your staff. It meant they were treated well.

"Thank you," he said simply before walking through your townhouse, taking a moment to admire your decor- you certainly cultivated an aesthetic. Elegance and decadence. But somehow also warm and inviting. Right down to the fillers you'd used in the vases.

The artwork was nice- he suspected you'd designed your rooms around it. As you should. You were a talented artist and it deserved to be shown off.

"I see you've settled in nicely," he said, coming to kiss you hello.

You hum and stretch lazily, accepting a kiss hello and giving him a sweet smile as you bask in the late afternoon sun. Bruce smiled, kissing you a little more insistently. You definitely knew how to display yourself to your best advantage. And you weren't shy about it.

The nude lace, artfully covers anything 'scandalous' making this just barely a dress instead of straight lingerie. Your lips painted the perfect shade of red reminding him irresistibly of sweet cherries, tempting him to want a nibble.

"I hoped you'd like it," you murmur.

"I like this dress too," he rumbled. "You're a living piece of art."

"Someone's feeling romantic this evening," you hum, smiling as you reach up to loosen his tie.

Bruce smiled, letting you make him comfortable. Enjoying the feminine fussing of being settled. Given a drink, having you take his tie, and settle yourself in his lap. Your dress riding up on your thigh as you straddle his hips. "You bring it out in me, what can I say," he laughed, nipping your lip.

When you give him the slow smile that made him ache, he exhaled slowly. It felt good, being here. Being close to you. The outside world fell away. Drowned out in the smell of perfume- the one he'd had custom blended for you. One of the first little gifts he'd given you. The feel of you in his lap- nothing else mattered right then. He only had to enjoy you. Enjoy being taken care of. And later, enjoy being in your bed if the evening happened to go that way.

"I have something for you," you murmur.

"Oh?" he smirked, sliding a hand up your thigh, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean that too," you huff, kissing him quickly, "But no. I found it for you when I was out shopping."

"Oh." This time blinking in surprise. He'd had these arrangments before but- none of them had ever bought him a gift. They'd worn lingerie for him. Sure. He liked that. He'd always liked a woman in something scandalous. But no one had ever bought him something. it wasn't something he'd ever expected.

He listens to you open and shut a drawer. Your bare feet pattering back to him as he held his arms out to put you back in his lap. "I found it," you chirp. Presenting him with a tiny little box.

"What's this," he rumbled, taking it. Tiffany. Expensive.

"Just a little something," you murmur, biting your lip. Hopefully he liked it.

He slid the box open gently to find a signet ring. The delicate engraving of his initials intertwined with yours. Illegible to anyone that didn't know. And he smiled, kissing you tenderly.

"It's absolutely beautiful," he said sliding it into place and kissing you again, swatting the swell of your ass. "You shouldn't have."

You shrug sweetly, "Thought maybe it would keep you from forgetting about me," you pout.

"I don't think that'll ever be a problem," he rumbled, nipping your lip.

[mischiefandspirits]

Bernard Figures It Out

Was reading through all the comments on @frostbittenbucky's post and all I could think of was that it was Bernard talking to Tim. Then I got to thinking...

"I've connected the two dots."

"You didn't connect shit."

"I've connected them."

Bernard figures out Tim's a superhero... sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim fidgetted nervously as he waited on the front porch of his boyfriend’s house. Bernard had sounded so serious when he’d called during Tim’s lunch to ask him to come over after work so they could talk about something.

Which Tim had done, after spending an entire board meeting just going over the past week trying to figure out what he’d done.

The only thing he could think of was that he’d ducked out halfway through their lunch date on Wednesday to give Duke some backup, but Bernard had seemed understanding when Tim explained there was an emergency at GRC Labs. It couldn’t have been a tipping point, either, since Tim had managed to only flake on three other dates over the past few months they’d been dating. Kate had been happy to cover for him as often as she could “out of queer solidarity” when she found out Tim was dating a boy for the first time and Tim had managed to trick Bruce into covering a few actual Wayne Enterprises emergencies for him when they came up.

There had to be a reason Bernard was breaking up with him, though. Had he missed something? He definitely wasn’t forgetting an important day. He was good with days and Tam was even better, so she would have reminded him on the off chance that he had forgotten.

What was he missing?

Bernard was smiling when he opened the door, but there was a nervous energy to it that had Tim’s stomach sinking. “Hey, Tim.”

“Hey.” Tim gave his own nervous smile then slipped inside.

They went into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Tim frowned when Bernard grabbed a manila folder off the coffee table. Crud, had he screwed up enough that Bernard had had to make a list? He knew he was new to dating a guy, but he hadn’t thought he’d done that bad. He’d really been trying, especially with how his and Stephanie’s relationship had fallen apart at the end. “What -”

“Just let me speak, Tim,” Bernard said, waiting for Tim’s nod. “Okay, so you know Clark Kent, right?”

Tim blinked as Bernard opened the folder to show a picture of Clark. It looked like one of the employee pictures from the Planet’s website, with his dorky “I’m just a humble country boy” smile and the golden globe from their roof photoshopped in as the background. “Uh, yeah? I think so. He works for the Daily Planet, right? I think he’s worked at a few of Bruce’s events. Not a lot of outside reporters are willing to come to Gotham.”

“Exactly!” Bernard said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Tim.

“What?”

He pulled out the picture to show the next page was an article titled, “DAILY PLANET REPORTER… BATMAN!?”

A wave of relief washed over Tim and he placed his face in his hands. “Were you up all night on the hero conspiracy boards again?”

“No. I mean, I found this on a board and was up all night thinking about it, but I found it reasonably early.”

“One in the morning isn’t reasonable, Bernard.”

“Says the guy who’s always wide awake when I call to infodump.”

“Touché.” Tim leaned against Bernard and gave him a smile. “So tell me, why is some reporter from Metropolis from all places Batman.”

“First of all, living in Metropolis is the perfect cover. Everyone assumes Batman would live in Gotham, no one would consider he could be from anywhere else. Metropolis is outside the GMA, but close enough that the commute is still possible.”

“But it’s Metropolis.”

“And who would think Gotham’s Dark Knight lives in the sunshine capital? Plus, I hear he disappears a lot on the job. There’s gotta be a reason for it!”

Tim made a note to let Clark know he needs to cut back on the disappearing act some since people are catching on.

“And have you seen the guy? He is swol AF, babe.”

“Please don’t call me babe while you’re talking about how hot another guy is.” Especially Tim’s honorary uncle.

“You know I prefer twinks.”

“BERNARD!”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring Tim’s shout. “The guy is definitely hiding something! Besides, Kent is an investigative reporter. He’s gotta know a lot about cases and the underground and detective work.”

Not as much as he likes people to think, but more than he likes people to know Superman does, Tim mused. “But what about the other vigilantes?”

“Well, Kent has a cousin…” Bernard flipped through a folder and pulled out a picture of Kara. It looked like a screenshot of her interviewing Lena for CatCo. “She’s obviously the latest Batgirl. Look at her hair. And the first Batgirl and the current Batwoman were obviously Lois Lane, the red hair is just a wig. Did you see how she kicked butt at that last event she went to? She’s not as subtle as Kent. That means their son is the latest Robin. He’s exactly the right size.”

Oh, Damian better not hear about this, Tim cackled internally. His youngest brother hated being reminded that Jon was the same height as him despite their two years age difference. Damian definitely took after Talia when it came to body type, no matter what he said.

“And Kent also has a brother.” This time he pulled out a picture of Kon. The clone must have been caught by a reporter out shopping with Ma since he was carrying some paper bags and glaring at whoever was behind the camera. “At least, he’s supposedly Kent’s brother, but he was a teenager when he first showed up with the Kents. A lot of people think he’s actually Kent’s son, that Kent got a girl pregnant when they were teenagers and something happened to the mom so Kent had to take him in. Now the Kents are trying to hide it by saying the two are brothers.”

That was… scarily accurate actually. Especially given Luthor and Clark were close friends at the time that Kon would have theoretically been born.

“And that beef would explain why the younger Kent brother went all crime lord on Gotham for a while before reconnecting with the family.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Kent Jr.’s got the perfect build for Red Hood.”

Tim bit back a comment on how Kon was shorter than Jason by a good foot. Timothy Drake-Wayne should not know that. Add Jason to the list of people who can’t hear this theory.

“And then there’s this girl,” Bernard picked up a picture of Lois, Jon, and Natasha Irons walking down the street together. “No one’s sure exactly who she is, but she’s been spotted with the Kents a few times. I think the cover story is that she’s Jon’s babysitter.”

“And the actual story?”

“She’s Black Bat, obviously. That’s why she wears a mask that fully covers her face. She doesn’t want to stand out as the only African American Bat.”

“Isn’t Signal also Black?”

“Yeah, but he works in the daytime so he’s already a standout.”

“And who is Signal in this? And what about Nightwing and Red Robin?”

“Well, Nightwing’s just a Blüd who came to Gotham. He doesn’t count.”

Ouch. Sorry, Dick.

“And Red Robin is obviously an older Robin, the one who was Robin when we were kids. Kent wanted to keep him on, and I don’t blame him. As for Signal, he’s got the same backstory as all the other Robins Kent picked up, he just went the Signal route because he didn’t fit the usual Robin mold.”

“Because the female Robin fit the mold,” Tim snorted. Robin Mold, as if he and his brothers were even the same ethnicity. Or even had the same hair color. Jason dyes his hair, Dick’s is brown-black, Tim’s is pure black, and Damian’s is more a dark brown and it’s only getting lighter as he gets older.

“She didn’t, that’s the point. Kent tried to give breaking the Robin mold a chance by letting his cousin have a go at it, but he realized it just didn’t work so she went back to being Spoiler and he got a new Robin.”

Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Right, and where does he get the usual Robins? Please tell me you’re not back on the secret government orphanages theory.”

“No, no, no. Kent travels sometimes for his job, right? And a lot of the time he’s going to places that have been hit by disasters or major crimes. So he’ll take in some of the displaced children to train as his robins.”

Tim pressed his face back into his hands.

“You see it, right?”

Honestly, Tim was just wondering how his boyfriend could be so close, and yet so far off. “How would Kent even afford taking care of a bunch of secret -- possibly illegally acquired -- children without anyone noticing?”

“Simple. Bruce Wayne is funding him.”

“Bernard, I love you, but what the heck?” Tim blushed and looked up as he realized what he’d said, but Bernard didn’t seem to notice as he steamrolled ahead.

“It’d also explain how he can afford all the gear and how he’d be able to travel to Gotham or anywhere else Batman goes without anyone noticing. He probably has a secret Batplane or something.”

“Why would Bruce do that?”

“Because Wayne cares about Gotham, everyone knows that, and this way he can make sure someone’s taking care of the city without anyone putting two and two together.”

“And two plus two is?”

Bernard gave him a hard look. “I’m not stupid, Tim. Bruce Wayne is obviously Superman. His face is right there.”

Oh, the others are going to love this! Too bad I can’t tell Damian or Jason. Jason especially would have loved this. “Right. Bruce is Superman.”

“He is. Superman is known for being nice and Bruce Wayne’s basically all that’s keeping the city running at this point. That’s nice as hell.”

Oh my god.

“And Wayne does charity for the victims of cataclysms, doesn't he? I bet he first saves people from them as Superman and then builds them new homes for free.”

Oh my god! Why am I not recording this!?

“And the Wayne’s were rich enough to hide the fact they adopted an alien baby.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to tell me this is why Bruce’s parents got killed, you might want to stop while you’re ahead.”

“It’d make sense. There’re all sorts of unanswered questions about their deaths,” Bernard muttered under his breath, flipping through the folder. He pulled out another picture of Kara. This time she was in full Supergirl attire with a bus held overhead. “So if Wayne is Superman, then that’d mean your ex-girlfriend could be Supergirl. They look a lot alike and it’d explain how she got involved with you all.”

“Bernard, she has a human dad. You know, Cluemaster. The supervillain.”

“Yeah, her dad. But we don’t know anything about her mom!”

“Let me guess…”

Bernard pulled out a picture of Karen. She and Helena were suited up and talking to a group of cops, two goons held over each of Karen’s shoulders. “Her mom could be Power Girl! Some makeup and a wig and she could look just like Crystal Brown! And Damian Wayne is obviously the new Superboy! That’s why his background is such a mystery, right? He had to stay a secret until he could control his alien superpowers. That’s why he’s always so mean. It’s a cover since everyone knows Superboy is super sweet!”

Sure, when he’s not helping Damian pull pranks or using his adorable powers to put the blame on Kon and I. “No, Bernard. Damian and Steph are just very human hellspawn. And Bruce and Crystal are human too. I can’t believe you called me over here just to tell me you think Superman is both Batman’s sugar daddy and my adoptive dad.”

“Well, that’s not exactly why I called you over,” Bernard admitted, the nervous energy coming back. He grabbed Tim’s hands. “Tim -”

Tim’s stomach sank. “You are breaking up with me!”

“What? No! I don’t want to break up!”

“Why are you acting all nervous and serious then!?” Tim asked, pulling his hands away to throw them up in the air.

Bernard shook the folder. “Because I’m trying to tell you I figured out you’re Superboy!”

Tim’s brain blue-screened and his hands slowly dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know you’re Superboy. The older one, obviously. By the way, you and Damian really need to figure out separate names.”

Forget Jason and Damian, Kon can never find out about this. He’d never let me live it down. “Bernard, you called me a twink five minutes ago. Su-” Shoot, I can not risk getting Kon’s attention! “The older one might not be as big as Superman, but he’s not a twink.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the shapeshifting at work.”

“The what?”

“Obviously you Kryptonians can shapeshift. Why else would you look so much like humans?”

… Why do Kryptonians look so much like humans? Was there some - Wait, no! Break into the Fortress of Solitude for research later! Reassure your boyfriend that you’re not an alien now! “Bernard -”

“And that explains why your step-mom was so hot.”

“Gross.”

“She and your dad were actors hired by Luthor so you could have a normal life! But now Bruce has custody so he adopted you.”

“No.”

“That’s why you and your dad were so weird with each other when I met him.”

“We were weird because he’d just gotten out of a coma not long before to find that his wife was dead so he decided to actually be a dad for once in his life, but overcompensated and became a helicopter parent to a kid who was mostly on his own for his entire life!” Tim blurted out. “I am not an alien, Bernard!”

“Well, not technically since you were cloned from Superman on Earth.”

“Oh my god! You were just talking about Steph being Supergirl! Why would I date my dad’s cousin?”

Bernard blinked. “Supergirl and Superman are cousins?”

Right, Timothy Drake-Wayne wasn’t supposed to know that. “I thought they’d said something like that before, yeah. Are people seriously saying I’m Superboy on the internet?”

“NO! No, I swear I would have led with that if I thought your identity was compromised. A few people have mentioned Wayne and Damian, but not you or Steph or Jason.”

“Wh-Jason!? You think Jason was an alien too!”

“No, not exactly, but a few times when I’ve visited I swear I’ve seen a guy in the manor who looks like Jason. It’s just been out of the corner of my eye and he’s gone whenever I look so I’ve always thought it was just Dick or Bruce or some picture of Jason that my mind was playing tricks with, but it makes sense now that I know Wayne is Superman. He must have been able to heal Jason with alien tech, but couldn’t say anything because that would give away that he’s Superman.”

Damn it Jason! And damn it Bernard! I’m dating the smartest moron in the world! “Bruce did not bring Jason back with alien technology and none of us are aliens!”

“It’s okay, Tim. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tim grabbed Bernard by the jacket and pulled him into a kiss. When he started to feel lightheaded, he pulled back, “Could someone whose skin is as solid as stone kiss like that?”

Bernard blinked dazedly at him for a moment. “How do you know what Superboy’s skin feels like?”

Tim screamed internally. “He’s saved me from a kidnapping before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can get you the police report if you want.”

“Huh… And the others?”

“Not Supers. I can stab Damian the next time we’re at the manor if that’ll prove none of us are aliens.” He’d rather stab Jason, but that would probably only confirm to Bernard that Bruce used alien technology to bring him back.

“You probably shouldn’t stab your brother if he isn’t an alien.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I won’t stab him anywhere deadly.”

“That’s not the point,” Bernard said slowly.

“He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“So do you believe I’m not an alien now?” Tim huffed, letting go of Bernard’s jacket.

The blond’s eyes dipped down to Tim’s lips. “If I say no, will you kiss me like that again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tim said, but he kissed him anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, but I still say Clark Kent is definitely Batman.”

“Sure, Bernard.”

[rainboq]

“I said no smoking.”

Chloe couldn’t help the groan that escaped her lips. “Shit, why is everyone on my case about smoking?!”

Kate shrugged and leaned against the wall with her. “We’ll get you some nicotine gum or something then. No lung cancer for Chloe.”

“Fuck! Fine. I don’t get why you care so much. Do you like, want to get out of here before shit goes down? This isn’t your fight.”

Kate shook her head, shuffling a bit closer to Chloe. “Yes, it is. I care about the two of you, and I can’t stand by while those... creeps are doing this.”

Chloe pantomimed having a cigarette between her fingers with a twig off the ground. “I can see why you care about Max, why the hell do you give a shit about me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I’m a piece of shit with no prospects and no future.”

Kate spun and stared at Chloe, her jaw set hard and she stabbed a finger at her. Fuck it should be illegal to be this cute. “No! You’re an amazing person Chloe Price. How many people would just accept that their best friend is a werewolf after that person abandoned them for five years? How many people would drop everything to take that friend on a romantic getaway that same day because they needed it? I’m sure when this is all over, you’ll find a way to make it work with Max.”

“And you’re okay with that? Your crush on Max is pretty fucking obvious. I figure you’d just wait around, you both graduate and then you two ride off into the fucking sunset.”

The determination set in her face gave way to pale shock. “W-what?! NO!”

“So, you don’t want to get with Max?”

Kate’s face was filled with disbelief. “I don’t want to break you two up!”

Chloe cocked an eyebrow at Kate and shrugged. “Fair enough, then what do you want? Might as well get it out, we’re up against at least two pissed off, creepy werewolves. We might die.”

Kate bit her lower lip and tapped her foot on the ground. “I-I… there’s a lot I want, especially if I might die.”

Chloe did her best to keep her face neutral, but the hint of a smirk was unavoidable. “Like what?”

Kate froze up for a moment as her face reddened and her voice came out as a tiny whisper. “A first kiss would be nice.”

Chloe took a deep breath and nodded. “Got someone in mind?”

Kate chewed on her bottom lip for a few moments as she fidgeted. Chloe once again had to try and keep a straight face. Her and Max are weapons grade cuteness, I swear to fuck. “Do I get to know who?”

Her answer was Kate turning and getting up on her toes while she tugged on Chloe’s shirt so she had to bend down and into a tentative, tender kiss. She didn’t fight it, letting Kate do what she wanted.

Ohhhhh, Katiecat. My first PriceMarsh kiss, it's been a hot minute.

So to be totally honest, I never intended for this fic to be PriceMarshfield, I just thought it would be cute if Kate was jealous of Chloe, and then whoops, they all gay now. I wanted to solidify that before they had their final confrontation and Kate shot Nathan to save Chloe. Plus Kate getting her first kiss on the eve of what could be her death? Hella yes. Plus her first kiss is with Chloe, so a pretty great first kiss.

It also sets up where Kate's at for the sequel. She knows what she wants, and she's starting to act on it, but well, you know what happens there.

[lactosefreevanillayoghurt]

You Don’t Need To Prove Yourself To Us

yes this is a checkateva fic and yes it is for @aveasorae

hurt/comfort, a lot of fluff and also some nachos (1600 and something words)

"What do you want to do when you grow up?" Kate was sprawled on Chess' bed, legs resting upright against the wall, head digging into Eva's hip.

Eva didn't look up from her laptop. "Teaching."

Kate flung her arms up, smacking their girlfriend in the chest with one hand, almost dislocating Chess' nose with the other. "You're so boring."

"Ow."

"Soz, Checkers, love you really."

"Yeah, yeah, absolutely." Chess pawed at their nose, surprised that Eva hadn't reacted to being literally punched in the boob, jesus christ since when had Kate been so strong? "Also, Eva's not boring, she's just got her shit together better than you do."

"I've got my shit together! Anyway, that wasn't the point, I didn't mean, like, jobs, I meant just things you want to do when we grow up."

"...That is jobs." Chess took one of Kate's flailing hands and pinched her index finger. They told themselves it was to piss Kate off and not to save their nose from another sneak attack.

"Fuck you, you knew what I meant."

"Sure, Kitkat." They let their partner's hand go, regretting it when Kate immediately started picking at the week-old nail varnish on it, black flakes decorating their bed. Eva hadn't moved or even acknowledged the conversation going on around her and Chess placed a quiet hand on her knee. They knew that both them and Kate worried about Eva, though Kate worried about everything so maybe that was a bad example. Still, they knew the other girl perhaps didn't have her shit together as well as they teased.

"Why would you even want to go into teaching though?" Kate's heels thudded against the wall and, as happened every time they met at their house, Chess began to regret letting Kate anywhere near their nice neat room. "I mean, I find it hard to deal with one of me, I wouldn't want a whole class to have to actually teach."

"Eva's good at that, everyone likes her."

"Yeah, 'cause she's an angel," Kate shuffled herself around and wrapped their arms around Eva's waist, her voice now muffled by fabric, "And we love her."

Eva smiled, one hand ceasing typing to brush over Kate's head before returning to her work. Chess rubbed their thumb over her knee, "I think someone," They nudged Kate, "Is getting bored. We should stop for now."

Kate was overly willing to sit up and pack away their books, neatly closing and then rearranging her folders. Chess always marvelled and how someone could be such a chaotic mess but then become so neat when it came to school work. They themselves were a little more haphazard, throwing their books in a pile beside their backpack before getting up and stretching. Kate kissed Eva's shoulder, sent affectionate fingerguns to Chess and walked over to the door, running a hand through their hair as they did so. She paused, one hand on the doorframe, "I want chips. I'll bring a pack up, do either of you want anything?"

Chess shook their head, "I'm all good." They locked eyes with their partner, both raising an eyebrow in sync and then gesturing back to their girlfriend.

Kate bit her lip and nodded, "I'll get a banana as well, okay Aves?"

Eva nodded vaguely and then the door was shut and Kate was gone.

Chess heaved a sigh, wandering over to where Eva was still sat typing on the bed. They ran a hand through the girl's hair, planting a kiss on the top of her head. "Maybe it's time to take a break, V."

Eva shook her head fervently, her fingers only pausing for a second. Chess crouched in front of her, reaching around the laptop to hold her hands. They looked at their girlfriend, properly looked, noticing all the details that got mixed up to create Eva Sanchez. She looked tired, more than anything, and it hurt a little to see someone that they loved so much become so overwhelmed. Her eyes were soft and unfocused, hands cold where they held Chess'. Slowly, so slowly, Chess let go of her hands and pulled the laptop off her lap, saving her work before closing it. They sat cross-legged on the floor, head resting on Eva's knees. "What's going on up there?"

Eva shrugged, nudging Chess backwards with one socked foot and sliding off the bed to sit opposite them on the floor. "Dunno."

Chess hummed and smiled. "I agree with Kate, you know. You're boring because you work too hard."

Eva huffed out a laugh. "I have a lot to do," she protested weakly.

"Yeah, I know." They shuffled around and pulled the other girl close, rubbing one hand in stars over her back.

"And if I don't do it all, I'll fall behind." Chess felt Eva's lips mumble against their collarbone, whispering words they knew that she struggled to admit even to herself. "Chess, I'm scared. I don't want to fall behind because I'll lose the scholarship and I'll lose you and that would fucking suck. And- and I feel bad when I'm not busy all the time, because," She paused, voice hoarse around the edges, pressing closer to Chess. The door opened and Kate slipped in, a bag of chips under one arm, a banana in one hand and three cans of ginger beer balanced precariously in the other. Chess smiled over Eva's head, watching as Kate took in the situation. They placed the snacks down and padded over to the others, sitting down and taking one of Eva's hands to stop her from picking at the hem of Kate's flannel that she'd somehow ended up wearing. Eva continued, "Because if I'm not working or cheering or anything then what am I? Like, I'm not worthy if I can't prove myself, right?"

Chess' heart broke at those words and they held Eva impossibly tighter, kissing her temple. "Oh god, Eva, no." They noticed how both of their partners' hands shook as they held onto each other and pulled themselves together a little. "V, sweet thing, firstly, you never have to worry about us leaving you because we love you because of who you are and not because of your grades or your cheer ability or any of that. We're so proud of you for it, but we love you, not a report card."

Eva nodded hesitantly. Chess brushed the hair away from her face, hand lingering a second on her forehead, taking in the subtle warmth, all whilst looking as sincerely as they could into her eyes.

"You don't need to prove yourself either." Kate drew their attention. "You're wonderful the way you are and, like, even though sometimes it doesn't feel like it, you don't need to push yourself to this point, because you will always be good enough because you're you." She paused. "I don't think that made sense, I think I tried too hard to sound as eloquent as Checkers."

Chess laughed and Eva did too. Kate blushed, hiding their face in Eva's hands. "I mean, you tried, Kitkat."

Eva cackled, "Yeah, A+ for effort."

"Hey! The sentiment's still there, though!"

Laughter dimming, Eva nodded. "Of course. I love you and your confusing monologues."

Chess grinned at the two of them, Kate giving Eva a look of pure adoration before flying into her arms. They fell backwards against the carpet as Kate leapt on the two of them, teasing a mutual, "Oof," from all three.

"What the fuck!! What the fuck is this!!" Kate clung to them in her preferred koala pose. "You can't say that to me!! I am but a hopeless gay and now you have made me flustered!!!!! Illegal!!! How dare you!"

Chess laughed, the kind of laugh that makes you feel like you're filled up with bubbles, all bright and clear. On top of them, Eva yawned, pushing her head into Kate's elbow with a catlike whimper. Kate looked alarmed suddenly, rolling off the other two to lie flat on their back, legs instinctively hooking themselves up and onto the bed covers. "Aves, you okay? Chess, she's warm, is she-"

Placing a newly-freed arm onto their partner's stomach, they cut her off before she could spiral any further, "She'll be fine, she's just a dumbass," Chess lowered their voice, creating brackets with their hands, "(Affectionately), and has overworked herself."

"I am still here."

"Shhhpsspshspshpspshp," Kate placed a hand over Eva's mouth. "We look after you now."

Chess nodded and pulled the other two with them back onto their bed. Eva curled up with her head on their chest, fingers jittering, still tapping out letters into their side. They took her hands and lifted them to their lips. "Love you too."

The bed dipped as Kate returned from a trip across the room, a huge packet of nachos in her hand. Chess once again fondly regretted letting them in their room - first nail varnish, then crumbs, what would be next? "I cannot believe you."

"What?!"

"V was literally about to go to sleep but no, you ruined it with your bloody crunching."

Kate paused mid-crunch. "Oopth-"

Eva giggled between the two, reaching a hand into Kate's bag of chips.

Kate looked practically jubilant. "HA! See, she's actually eating, it was a good thing after all."

"I cannot believe I'm being betrayed by my own two significant others."

Kate grinned, "Love you!!!"

Eva shuffled closer, shutting her eyes, "Yeah, we love you."

Chess stole the bag out of Kate's hand, "If you love me that much, you'll give me some nachos."

"Fuck you. This is gay sabotage." But Kate was still grinning, and Eva's warm little body was shaking with silent laughter and Chess allowed themselves to forgive Kate for the crumbs in the bed. Just this once.

[youngerdrgrey]

the mile don't die club // a Batwoman oneshot

summary: Slight canon divergence for 2x08 where Ryan and Sophie chat post-Coryana, first right after and then again at the clinic. (Some angst but let's have some fun. This was a rough episode.) WildMoore + read on ao3 notes: Pretend with me for a moment that they don't have to think about the Kate of it all for, like, a split second after the Coryana meltdown, okay? Like the news of Kate being dead isn't a thing. We get to have a split second of fun. We open on the plane with Sophie and Ryan-as-Batwoman, while Jacob Kane flies them home.

Ryan winces as the turbulence jostles her again. The heavy shaking reignites the fire in her body. One particularly strong one sends Ryan away from the window and spilling over partially into the empty seat beside her.

Sophie quickly unbuckles and crosses the row to sit beside Ryan. She softly lifts Ryan from the half-bent position and props Ryan against her shoulder.

“Sorry,” Sophie says. “It’s been a while since he’s flown a plane.” She chuckles, but there’s a nervous edge under it. “I think I’ll stick to commercial flights.”

It’s not a good joke, but the fact that Sophie’s trying is a comfort. Why joke when the other person’s dying, right? Plus, talking kind of helps Ryan stay awake.

Ryan swallows around her tight throat to say, “This is my second flight ever.” A labored breath. “I’m glad to have done it before dying.”

“Whoa, Luke has a cure. You’re not dying. And you’re not giving up. Kate was… one of the best people I ever knew, and I’d really like her legacy to continue.”

It’s a more honest side to Sophie than Ryan’s ever seen with her own eyes. They’re shoulder to shoulder for the second time tonight. The view of the burning Desert Rose was definitely better than the inside of this stolen plane, but the warmth and steadiness of Sophie beside her is the same. Still comforting enough that it stops up her emotions like a lump in her chest. Ryan’s breath shakes around it. Sophie takes her hand again over the gloves of the suit. If Ryan has to die on this plane, let it be like this.

Her whole body’s heavy, tired, and she sinks closer to the comfort Sophie’s offering so willingly. “Don’t look.” She’s dozing off, so she can’t fully tell if she says it aloud. “You won’t… like me if you look.”

Sophie stares down at her, and her voice comes out soft and contemplative. “Why’s that?” But Ryan can’t get the energy up to answer. She shrugs.

🦇

Ryan jolts awake with a gasp. She yanks at the cowl when Luke stops her. His hands warm and steady on hers. “Hey, breathe. Batwoman , wait.” His eyes dart towards the door to the clinic hallway. “We’re not alone in the building.”

Her whole face crumples in confusion. “Who—”

“Sophie. She, uh, waited for you… to wake up.” He looks more confused than worried.

Ryan’s adrenaline kicks in for a moment of clarity. “Did she look?” If Sophie knows, then everything gets more complicated. Their begrudging partnership, their very real world problems.

Luke shakes his head. “I-I don’t think so. I feel like your secret’s safe. But she did want to see you so…. Can I bring her in or…?”

Ryan blinks a few times to try and clear her head. Take stock of the room. Luke’s closest to her. Right at her bed. Mary is near the door. Mary saved her. God, she loves Mary. Best friend / roommate / illegal doctor around. Mary smiles at Ryan.

“I’m all for it,” Mary says. Ryan doesn’t remember asking, but it makes sense that she might’ve asked something.

Ryan clicks back on the voice modifier in the suit. “Fine. Bring her in.”

The Sophie who enters isn’t the Crow that Ryan’s interacted with time and time again. This is someone unsure. Someone curious and nervous and worried in a way that doesn’t feel misplaced or condescending. It’s confusing to see the way that Sophie’s face splits up with relief at the sight of Batwoman sitting up in the bed. Also confusing — Ryan recognizes the worry. She’s seen this crinkle around Sophie’s eye, this tension in her jaw that snaps free with a tiny sigh.

How long has Sophie cared about Ryan? And would she look this visibly relieved if she knew it was Ryan under the mask?

Ryan shakes her head to clear the thought, but then Sophie’s crossing a few more steps in to be close to the bed. Mary and Luke stay guard, on either side of the room, and they cut glances between each other like they can’t decide if giving privacy would be better or worse in the long run.

“At ease, guys. I just… wanted to see with my own eyes that you’re okay.” There’s a roughness in Sophie’s voice, a graveled out roughed up core like she’s been worrying herself into a lower register.

Ryan nearly smiles. “Thanks to you. You, uh…”

“Saved your life?” Sophie offers with a grin. “Repaying the favor.”

Right. Ryan had chosen to save Sophie rather than keep the map to Coryana. It’d worked out well in the end, given that then Sophie could get Ryan back out of there.

“Consider us even.”

“I’ll consider it,” Sophie says, a tinge of humor in her voice, “but getting you all the way back here without endangering your identity…”

Ryan cuts her eyes to Luke, as her eyebrows shoot up. He can’t see it with the mask, but Ryan would love to spit an ‘I told you so’ to him. There’s always an ulterior motive with someone like Sophie.

Sophie shrugs. “It’s gotta be worth a drink at least.”

Ryan sputters. Mary squeaks on the other side of the room. As everyone turns to her, Mary quickly says, “She can’t drink on medication. Even with a magical cure all. It’s just, you know, normal… doctor… stuff.”

Sophie nods. “Of course. Another time then.” It’s not a question, but she does turn back to Ryan like she’s waiting for a response.

But Ryan’s stumped. How does she respond to something like that? She’d expected Sophie to be intense. Sophie’s always been this person who favors responsibility and all this stuff over everything. She only makes jokes when she has the upper hand. She literally got Ryan to spy on her ex and cost Ryan the latest take with Angelique. And now, what, she wants to be friends? Or is she looking to add another Bat-shaped notch to her bedpost?

It should make Ryan upset, but honestly, Ryan wonders which version of Sophie would be there if they got a drink. If Ryan were in the Batsuit, then maybe Sophie would be more open, more like… talkative maybe. But the suit would be so uncomfortable. It’d be better out of it. Better at The Hold Up, or on the couch in the loft. Sophie’s raspy voice giving way to a rough laugh, and Ryan could be as warm in front of a very different fire than the wild one on Coryana.

Ryan blinks the images away. Her face burns as her brows scrunch. She doesn’t even have a fireplace. Why would they need it? Where would they have that? On a vacation, just the two of them. No flying this time. A boat maybe. Wind in their hair, some nice bikinis.

Wait. “No.” Ryan shakes her head. “No, thank you.” She needs to clear her head, and having Sophie here right now is not helping. Especially not when Sophie smiles at her after Ryan says no.

Sophie nods. “Copy that. We can pass on the drinks. We’re not done — not with looking for Kate, or this conversation.” Then she turns to Mary and Luke and sort of nods, like giving them her okay to keep going. Ryan can practically hear the ‘Take care of her’ in Sophie’s stare. Mary nods back, clearly accepting the mission. And then Sophie’s gone.

They can hear her footsteps get further and further away. Hear the clinic door shut.

Mary’s got a shit-eating grin on her face. She does this sound that’s somewhere between a squeal and a groan as she crosses over to the bed. “I cannot believe Sophie just asked you out.”

Ryan’s thankful for the cowl still covering her flushed cheeks. “Yeah, well, I’m not interested in eating Crow.”

Luke snorts, which makes Ryan rethink her words. Mary full on cackles. Ryan sits up to throw the closest thing across the room at both of them.

“Eat! I said EAT! Not eating ou—“

“I didn’t say anything!” Luke says, but he keeps laughing. Mary too, and Ryan joins in. Ryan wills her brain not to procure any images to follow that train of thought. The last thing she needs is to start having sex dreams about Sophie. Though, if it’s between that and the kryptonite nightmares…. There are worse ways to go.

🦇

[princecharmingwinks]

Sterek Fic Rec - April 2020. I am a tad late with this one, my bad. Apparently I am busier working from home than when I wasn’t? Not sure what the logic is there. Anyway, stay safe and happy reading!

Derek and the Real Boy by novemberhush (1/1 | 2,646 | Not Rated)

Stiles is going away for a short while, but he’s not leaving Derek all by his lonesome... 

Soulseeker by alisvolatpropiis (1/1 | 9,713 | Explicit)

Sighing, Stiles reaches for Derek’s big hands, cradled in his broad lap, his skin lighting up even more at Derek's touch. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, preparing himself to look for Derek’s soulmate. Whoever you are, he thinks, you better be worth him.

big light by stilinskisparkles (1/1 | 4,703 | Teen)

Stiles brandishes a bunch of daisies at Derek, “Saw these and thought of you.”

Derek looks down at the gas station flowers, lifts his eyebrows, “Because they’re dried out and a little wilted?”

Safe Mind by LadyDrace (1/1 | 4,434 | Teen)

Derek goes missing for a while and comes back full wolf. Only problem is that his mind has gone wolf too, and for some reason the only one he'll allow near him... is Stiles.

spoilers by Thatbookishgirl (1/1 | 9,896 | Explicit) 

Derek is confronted with a girl who accidentally traveled back in time and it throws him a bit for a loop as certain future events get revealed and he struggles how to handle these revelations.

This Story’s Going Somewhere by skoosiepants (1/1 | 5,448 | Teen)

Inside the station, a honey-eyed waif with a shorn head and a long pale throat is clicking away at a pen and swinging his chair back and forth behind the receptionist desk. Derek plasters on his most charming grin and leans up against it, bracing a hand in front of the guy and sliding his sunglasses down to give him a once-over.

The guy blinks up at him and flushes. His mouth falls open a little and Derek clears his throat around the way he kind of wants to press his thumb to it.

“Hey,” Derek says, still grinning. “I’m here for my sister?”

everybody loves good neighbors by stilinskisparkles (1/1 | 7,662 | Mature)

What about an "everything run-down and suddenly a guy falls through the ceiling; now there's a hole in the ceiling of my bedroom"-AU thing? c: - ANONYMOUS

The Teacher and the Deputy by tabbytabbytabby (1/1 | 2,726 | Teen)

Derek teaches kindergarten. Stiles is a deputy. Derek meets Stiles when he comes into his classroom searching for Scott. Stiles just keeps coming back. Derek’s students think they should date. They both agree.

love is war, but sometimes you win by Jmeelee (1/1 | 5,903 | Teen)

Only now does Stiles spare Derek a glance, pitying smile falling short of shrewd, contemplative eyes that sparkle when they catch the dappled sunlight. “The universe engraves a name on our skin, my friend. If it was meant to be private, we’d have the name on our ass.” Derek bristles. They are not friends—at least, not yet. At the rate they’re going, probably never “I’m trying to protect my best friend, dude. Questions aren’t illegal.”

“Has anyone ever told you, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?”

Warm brown eyes lock on his. “Do you want me to sugar you up, Derek?”

“Why are you such an asshole?” With Isaac, Boyd and Erica, Stiles doesn’t act like this. In fact, their two packs have meshed better than Derek could ever have hoped, but Stiles and Derek are still oil and water.

“Asshole’s my middle name,” Stiles snarks back.

“Then your soulmate is lucky it’s only your first name written on their palm,” Derek sneers.

Stiles shrugs, gathering up his supplies and moving along the property line. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Grumpy Cat & Hyper Pup by Nerdy_fangirl_57 (1/1 | 1,526 | General)

The pack have a little run in with a fairy. Derek is not amused.

Stiles on the other hand, is very amused.

princecharmingwinks special mention (this fic took me forever to find again but I found it!):

Three Lost Kids, Two Minute Noodles and One Hot Mate. by MysticEdge (1/1 | 5,853 | Not Rated)

Request 2 by RoscoesCamaro Summary Stiles is leaving a local store and he notices a toddler wandering the parking lot by himself. worried for the childs safety he rushes to him to discover the child had wandered away from his mother’s mini van. Doors are wide open. Upon closer inspection looks like there are 2 more kids in the car crying because the mother is laying face down in the back. Like she passed out after putting 2 of the 3 kids in the car. Frantic he calls his father while checking to see if the mother is breathing.

The mother is Laura Hale. No Hale fire, Derek is still weary with people as Kate attempted to set the fire but was thwarted. Stiles meets Derek for the first time when he’s called to the hospital for Laura and the children.

Please spread the word if you love these works. All the love to the amazing authors on this list and all fic writers in general <3

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

have you ever dressed up for halloween or for like a costume party? what's your favorite thing you've worn? do you like wearing jewelry? do you listen to podcasts?what's an interesting historical event you know a little about? when do you feel the most comfortable? do you have any piercings or tattoos? Are there any you'd like to get? what's one thing you're proud of?

Wow, All in huh??? SO MANY QUESTIONS.

1) Have I ever dressed up for halloween or for a costume party? NNNNNNNNOT REALLY. I wasn’t allowed to do Halloween after the age of like. Five? Because my parents got MORE religious than they’d already been and they decided halloween was evil. And then as an adult I didn’t have a lot of local friends or money so... not really most of the time. BUT! There was ONE YEAR when I was in my mid-20s, that my wife and I went to a Halloween party with some local friends. She was Death of the Endless, we dyed her hair black, I did her eye makeup, there was a cardboard-covered-in-tinfoil ankh necklace and everything. I that year dressed up as Delirium to go with her. I bought fishnets that I tore a couple holes in, had some clompy boots, bought a skirt and shirt at the thrift store, and dyed my hair... like Half of it was red, half of it was just random spots of bleached, blue, and green. (I actually went to a job interview the next day and frantically reassured the interviewer that I was bleaching my hair and dying it a more natural color later that week) It was very fun as a costume tho. OH tho last year for halloween I loaned my wife a purple dress I sewed for myself and we got her some white tights and a white scarf, and I dug out my purple henley and and jeans some bandaids for my face and fingers, and we went as Hawkeye for Halloween. She was Kate Bishop and I was Clint Barton. That was probably my favorite even tho it was so low-effort. 1.5) On its own line, I think this “what’s the fave you’ve worn” was meant to be about the costumes, which I answered above, but IN GENERAL the thing I’ve worn that’s my favorite has been

Do I like wearing jewelry? I do like wearing jewelry! I need to get new earrings bc the ones I had got lost, but I used to always wear like, small gauge horseshoe earrings with the balls that screw onto the ends? I just lost the balls on the ends. I also wear a necklace every day. And I used to have a wedding band but I don’t have one that fits currently and it drives me NUTS bc even years without it I feel  like I should have a ring on that finger.

Do I listen to podcasts? I listen to podcasts off and on! Mostly MBMBAM, The Magnus Archives, The Penumbra Podcast, and Faculty of Horror. We relisten to early WtNV to sleep sometimes, and I keep meaning to catch up on TAZ, but that’s not active yet.

What’s an interesting historical event I know something about? ...Gosh that’s hard. Like, I know some stuff about historical eras or cultures but EVENTS??? Hmmm... I. Fuck. I abruptly cannot think of ANY HISTORICAL EVENT AT ALL. I’m a fucking History Major this is embarrassing. Uh okay so... I can’t think of anything. I’m so sorry. XD

When do I feel most comfortable? When I’m curled up in bed and have Birdie pressed against my back with her arm around my waist. Bonus points for literally any of our other partners in bed as well, but that happens so rarely. :(

Do I have any piercings or tattoos? I DO! Piercings are easiest. I have my left lobe pierced 3 times (though all but the first might be closed) and my right 2 times (tho ditto), and the upper shell of my left ear once (but again, closed). TATTOOS gosh, ok I have, in chronological order: a) a sort of cross between a cross and a peace sign on the inside of my left ankle. I got it when I was 18 and still a Good Christian Girl, my church bff designed it, it stood for peace in Christ, and the only thing stopping me from trying to get a coverup is the fact that it’s REALLY heavy/thick black work, and the location which was really painful. b) the kanji 天使 (which translates to “angel”) on my right inner forearm, over self harm scars specifically. I got this when I was 19 and back living with my bigoted conservative family and suicidal and trying to remind myself that I was loved. I also picked it out of a book and was lucky that book had the right kanji tbh, but I picked it bc my parents wouldn’t be able to read it, and it meant “angel” which was Birdie’s pet name for me at the time, and she was living across the country from me. If I could go back, I would get a different angel-themed tattoo in the same place, but at least I have the proper kanji for it if I’m going to have an ill-advised Japanese tattoo. c) a little curled ivy tramp stamp I picked out of a book in a little tattoo shop on St. Mark’s Place in NYC at like 2am, do NOT ask, it was dumb. Thankfully easier to work into a larger piece if I ever have the money for a back piece. d) text that is now near-illegible (due to the delicate nature of the script and the time since I got it) on the back of my left shoulder. It says “the universe has been waiting for me” in Birdie’s handwriting. It’s a line from Donna Noble’s last episode of Doctor Who, and I had FEELINGS. e) text on the inside of my left wrist that says “alive or dead, the truth won’t rest.” specifically in courier new. It’s a quote from @seananmcguire​‘s book FEED, and Birdie has a matching tattoo on her wrist as well. f) A tattoo of Coyote and the Sun, with color, on the outer side of my right calf. It’s the only colored Tattoo I have. I plan to get a semi-matching tattoo on my left calf that is El-Ahrairah and the Black Rabbit of Inle doing sort of a yin-yang esque circle chasing each other. it’s a Trickster thing, tying animals commonly considered  to be Tricksters with stuff that is meaningful to me. Coyotes have always been important to me, I grew up in Arizona there were always coyotes about and I always loved them, and then Watership Down was a surprise true love of a book when I was a teen.

Are there any piercings/tattoos I’d like to get? Piercings not so much. Maybe an eyebrow one day idk. Tattoos tho, goddamn, I’ve got SO MANY PLANS. I want to get text tattoos - either part of a larger text-heavy design or separately - of “It’s chaos, be kind”, “You are not obligated to complete the work, neither are you free to abandon it”, and “Do good recklessly”. Other quotes I’m sure but those three specifically. Obviously the Watership Down/Rabbit the Trickster tattoo I mentioned. Also a design from one of the tattoos on one of the guards of the Pazyriyk ice maiden. Also ngl I kinda want to get the sigils for witcher signs on the backs of my fingers. Some people get “THUG LYFE” or “FUCK YOU”, I get “I WILL FUCK YOU UP (in symbolic form)” XD

What’s one thing I’m proud of? The fact that I’m alive. ...Seriously, I’m quite proud of that, I’ve had some shit years in my life, and I’ve nearly not made it more than once. I’m proud as HELL that I’m here. I’m proud that I’m in college. I’m proud that I’m writing again.

Thank you for all these questions! So many, lmao, but I loved it, thank you. ^_^

[newtonsheffield]

Could we maybe please see bears reaction to Kate’s tattoo? 🥺

Let's take a look at Bear's reaction to Kate's new forearm tattoo that looks a little something like this. And she adds a tiny set of paw prints for each of their little cubs

Despite what Edwina might have to say on the matter: Kate knew she wasn't stupid. She had seen the look in Anthony's eyes when they'd stood toe to toe desperately clinging to one another before she left. She'd seen the resigned tone of his voice when they spoke on the phone. When he took a shuddering breath as she asked about his day and she could imagine that crease between his brow, his head bowed.

"Um- I saw some deer today. I took some pictures to show you um- and then I remembered you weren't here."

Her heart clenched, tears springing to her eyes, "Can you send me them?"

"I just- You're back in London and I don't wanna bother you anymore."

"I want you to tell me everything." She'd managed to choke out. "I'm not there right now, and I know this is really shit, but I love you and I'll be back soon, okay?"

Anthony had been silent for a very long time before he'd said "Yeah, you'll be back soon."

but she knew he didn't believe her. Anthony believed truly, that one day she'd forget about him. One day she'd call him and sigh Anthony, this isn't working, I'm sorry. Something she knew she'd never do. This was permanent, she knew that. So by the end of their first fortnight apart. She decided to make it so.

"So... You seem... happy." There was so much more in Sophie's voice as she tapped away at Kate's digital sketch, the bear frowning back at her like Anthony's adorable scowl. "The Forest was good for you."

"The Forest was really good for me. I'm... going back there after new years."

Sophie's eyebrows lifted as she moved over the the printer, not asking the question Kate knew she'd wanted to. It had always been like this, since they'd met in Art school, before Sophie had left to get her apprenticeship.

"I met someone and we're really happy, he's the bear."

Sophie paused for a moment, something a little incredulous before she burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, how the fuck did you go to the middle of nowhere and walk away with the love of your life?"

"I have... literally no idea. And you aren't going to believe this but the woman you did a feminist art installation with is in love with a man you chops firewood, is building me a chest of drawers, and checked my tyres for me before I drove home, He put snow chains on them."

Sophie guffawed, tugging her over to the seat. "Okay, I need to hear everything about how this happened. Jesus fucking- does he wear flannel shirts and lumberjack boots?"

Kate hadn't been able to keep the smile off her face as she'd flipped through her phone looking for the photo of Anthony, Newton tucked under his arm. "He does. And he has literally the softest hair, and he washes it with a bar of soap. It should be illegal."

Sophie had hummed, looking at the photo as she'd placed the stencil. "Oh he's a cutie! Jesus christ, only you. When am I going to find a man who'll pluck my dog out of brambles without complaining?"

Kate had laughed, her lower lip caught between her teeth, "Well feel free to bring Geoff out there, I'll invite Anthony's brothers out for Bramble plucking duty."

She hadn't been able to stop staring at it. The image on her skin that meant Anthony, burning a little. And she wasn't sure why she hadn't told him. She'd had no problem telling his mother, while her heart had thundered out of her chest while Violet had been openly hostile, the misunderstanding cleared up in seconds until they sat, amongst all of Kate's packing boxes, two cupsof tea between them.

"Did you already have the tattoo?" Violet had asked curiously, her head tilted curiously as Kate shook her head.

"No. Um- The first time I met Anthony, he was a little... grumpy. My dog had wandered off and he told me if I wasn't careful he'd be snatched by a bear. And... I don't know, Anthony's big and warm, and... he's Bear. It's for him."

Violet had looked away for a second clearing her throat. "You love him."

"I love him. And I'll look after him, Violet. I promise."

Violet nodded quietly, "It's beautiful work. Yours?"

"I did the sketch, my friend from school, Sophie she's the tattoo artist."

"Well Sophie's very talented."

But she hadn't told Anthony, she'd wanted to see his face when he saw it. When he saw how serious she was about their relationship. So instead she'd made sure her left arm was always just out of frame when they facetimed, when she sent pictures of her in lingerie, a ridiculous giggle rising in her throat when Anthony's mouth fell open as he stared down at the pictures she sent.

"Oh um- Thank you. You- you're so fucking beautiful."

He hadn't seen it, when he'd first found her at home, when his eyes had filled with tears and all she could think was how desperately she loved him.

It had only been when he'd carried her upstairs, throwing her on their bed, his hands tugging at her clothes until she was bare in front of him, his hand catching hers to place against his cheek, and his eyes had slipped down to the ink colouring her wrist and his entire body had frozen.

His breath had rattled in his chest as he'd wrapped his hand around her wrist, the huge span of it covering the tattoo completely his eyes fluttering closed.

"Kate is that a bear?"

She'd hummed, pressing herself closer to him, her lips moving against his neck, her teeth nipping at his adam's apple. "It's a very sweet little bear."

Anthony took a shuddering breath in her ear, his arms crushing her against him, she could feel his heart thundering against her chest. "Kate."

"His name's Anthony."

There were tears in his eyes, his hair tumbling around his shoulders, tickling her forehead as he brushed his nose against hers. "I am going to love you so fucking much, Kate. I promise I will. I love you, God I love you."

And she could barely breathe, tears stinging her eyes "I love you too. This is it for me, okay? You and me together."

And finally, when his eyes met hers she could tell he believed it.

But even so, the very last thing she expected to find on Anthony's chest a month later, inked in green, the same colour as the trees was

Kate, Always and Forever

[jesuiscalmedammit]

Blackmail – (4) No Competition || [Alejandro Gillick x reader x Matt Graver]

“Kate, what–” The FBI agent stormed into your room without waiting for an invitation and you were left standing in the door, looking at the spot where she’d been only a second ago. “Sure, come in,” you noted with a roll of your eyes as you closed the door, then turned to look at her.

Kate put a hand on her hip as she ran the other through her hair and only then did you notice the bruise around her right eye. “Did you know that your boyfriend is working for the Colombians?” she suddenly asked.

You let out a long sigh after hearing this. “I did.”

“And you’re still okay with dating him?”

“How long have we known each other? Two or three days? My private life is none of your business,” you informed her, hoping she would understand she had no right to ask you such questions. But then something began to bother you about the situation. Something wasn’t right. “How do you even know about this?”

“I saw something and Matt told me everything.”

“Did he tell you what happened to Alejando’s family?” you asked after you leaned against the wall across from her.

At first Kate was only staring at you, hesitant about what to reply to this question. In the end she nodded and said, “That doesn’t make things right, though. What Matt, Alejandro and everybody else on that team do is illegal!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you let out a small laugh. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m going to tell everyone what they did,” she informed you defiantly.

“You won’t. You can’t,” you pointed out with narrowed eyes.

Now it was Kate’s turn to laugh, this time in desperation. “Or what? They will kill me?”

After quickly thinking about it, you came to the conclusion that even you had no idea what would happen to her. Knowing Matt and his methods there was a very, very small chance that they would really get rid of her if she became too much trouble, but at the same time you knew it would’ve been a far too radical solution.

To change the topic, you cleared your throat and folded your arms over your chest. “Why are you really here?” you asked, hoping she would finally get to the point.

“Honestly, I don’t know anymore. I thought you were different. You’re a doctor, you don’t run around with guns.” Kate stopped because she noticed the way you raised your eyebrow upon hearing her words. “But you’re clearly okay with this,” she then added with an exasperated sigh.

Deep inside you knew she was partly right. In the beginning you had thought the same way, believing that as a doctor you shouldn’t assist to using such methods. But things have changed and after a while they all helped you see the greater picture. “I’ve just spent enough time around Matt to understand that he’s right,” you eventually admitted. “Having only one cartel overlooking the drug trade is our best option.”

“No, it’s not.” The moment Kate understood she couldn’t change your mind, she put up her hands and turned to walk towards the door. “Fuck this.”

You watched her leave and stood still for a while even after the door closed behind her. This situation slightly reminded you of what you’d gone through during the first few weeks you spent with the team. It reminded you of all those vicious fights with Matt about their methods before Steve and Alejandro finally made you understand why this was important and necessary.

Letting out a sigh, you walked out of your room and went straight to the one below yours. After a minute or so spent with knocking, the door finally opened and Matt leaned against the doorframe with a tired look on his face.

“I was trying to sleep,” he told you as he fought back a yawn.

“So was I,” you informed your boss with a shrug, “until Kate showed up.”

This little detail made him frown at first but soon he let out an annoyed groan. “When was that?”

“She left a few minutes ago.”

“And what did she want?” he asked.

“Well, she asked me how I can date Alejandro knowing he works for the Colombians,” you began slowly before keeping a very short pause, “then she told me what you guys do is illegal and that she’s going to tell everyone about it.”

“Alejandro will take care of it tomorrow.” Suddenly Matt looked over at the watch he still had on his wrist and let out a humming sound. “Oh, right, today,” he corrected himself with one of his trademark boyish grins, as if everything was perfectly fine in the world.

Even after all this time, you still had trouble reading Matt’s body language every now and then. “You want her dead?” you asked cautiously.

“No, I just want her to sign a paper that says everything we did was legal. And we also need her to understand she can’t talk about this.”

“Hopefully she’ll get the message.”

Matt let out a heartfelt laugh. “You from all people should know how convincing Alejandro can be.” Before you could reply, he clapped his hands and took a step back, clearly ready to shut the door in your face. “Alright, let’s go back to sleep. I can’t wait to leave this place in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” you told him automatically before turning around to go back to your own room.

You couldn’t really sleep much, though, because all you could think about were the things Kate had told you before she left. Being on the team had really changed you but not for the better. These days you barely bat an eye when someone was tortured, in fact you often helped them out by giving the team new ideas. The more you thought about it, the clearer it became that you couldn’t keep doing this for long.

In the end you only got some proper sleep after you got home, to your real home, finally enjoying the comfort of your very own bed. After a few hours you moved out to the living room, curling up on one side of the couch as you watched some stupid soap opera. At least it could turn off your brain a little bit, helping you focus on something other than your newfound misery.

It was around eight when the doorbell rang and you immediately knew who it was. “Hey, stranger,” you told Alejandro who stood outside in the hallway. He didn’t tell you anything, so you stepped aside and let him in. “So Matt mentioned that you gave Kate a visit today,” you noted as the two of you reached the kitchen and he sat on one of the barstools.

Luckily he knew perfectly well why you’d mentioned this. “I did. But don’t worry, nothing happened. She signed the paper and finally understood she can’t talk about what happened.”

“Good.”

Without thinking you turned around to get a bottle of wine out of the fridge before reaching out to pick up two empty glasses as well. You could feel Alejandro’s eyes on you but for now it was for the better if you just ignored him. You knew him, and knew he would eventually talk when he believed it was time and he was ready.

“Alarcón is dead,” he suddenly spoke up, much sooner than you’d expected.

Once you filled the glasses, you slowly pushed one of them in front of him. “What’s the right thing to say in this situation? Congratulations?” you asked with raised eyebrows as you took a sip of your wine.

“Something like that, I believe,” he told you quietly, tapping his fingertips on the side of the glass.

“Did he at least remember what he had done to your wife and daughter?”

Alejandro hesitated for a moment before nodding. “He did.”

Silence fell between the two of you and you had no idea what to say to him. It was a complicated story, something that felt a little too personal for your liking. You knew it would’ve been the best if he talked about it, but you didn’t want to force him either.

“How does it feel?“ you asked after a while, earning a questioning look from him. "Getting your revenge, I mean.”

“It’s not… as cathartic as you’d expect it to be.”

“Maybe that’s because you know his death won’t bring them back,” you said quietly before clearing your throat. “But at least Alarcón paid for what he’d done to them.”

Alejandro nodded in agreement. “Yes, he did. Look, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.” He stopped and clearly waited for your permission to go on. Once he got it, he asked, “Why are you so comfortable with talking about my wife and daughter?”

As you took a deep breath you walked around the kitchen island and stopped right in front of him. “Because I know they will always be the most important people in your life. But, and I’m terribly sorry for saying this, they’re gone. They’re no competition as long as you come back to me every time,” you explained.

He didn’t say anything and you had no idea what he was thinking about as he watched you carefully. The more time that passed in silence, the more anxious you became, and after a while you were beginning to think that you’d just screwed everything up for good with this answer of yours.

“Are you mad at me now?” you asked nervously.

“No, I’m not,” he quickly assured you as he stood up and buried his hand in your hair, resting his thumb on your cheek. For a few seconds he was only watching you, but then he finally leaned down to kiss you. “If anything, I’m glad you understand and accept this,” he told you as he rested his forehead against yours.

You couldn’t help but notice the sudden change in his behavior. “I love it when you smile,” you informed him with a short laugh. “It suits you.”

“I believe I only do this around you these days,” he admitted eventually.

“I’m honored.” After keeping a short pause you kissed him again, then pulled away just enough to have your lips hovering right above his. “I love you.”

He remained silent. Again. You instinctively took a few steps back, afraid of his reaction. But long seconds passed in silence and his expression still hadn’t changed so you had no idea what to expect.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” you asked after a while.

Alejandro let out a long sigh. “This is the second time you’ve asked me this in less than three minutes.”

“Yeah, but are you?”

“The answer is still no,” he told you with a small smile, reaching out to take your hand. Once he pulled you closer, he wrapped his arms around your waist. "We should do this the right way.”

“What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head to the side before kissing your forehead. “Us. I’m talking about us,” he replied. “We haven’t talked about what we wanted from this relationship.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I didn’t even think it was serious enough to be called a relationship,” you admitted.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, surprising you with his words. “We just need to figure out how to handle this.”

note: this has been in my drafts for ages. || what do you think? feedback is always appreciated. also if you want to be tagged, leave a note.

taglist: @lainternettuale​ @lennonlane​

[ronniesshoes]

Keep Yourself Alive

Previous

Here we are again! It’s been a very long wait but this chapter is both the longest yet and absolutely packed so I hope it’s worth it! Huge thanks to everyone who interacts, I love you & couldn’t do it without your support, patience and encouragement! And thanks to @theseasofrhye for your massive help and for being an inspiration every day 💛 Enjoy!

Brian doesn’t remember how or when he returns from the party, but when he wakes up the next morning, he almost wishes he hadn’t. His mouth tastes like something has crawled in there and died, and his head feels stuffy and achy, though whether it’s from his hangover or the cold he’s still nursing is anybody’s guess. The groan that leaves his abused throat sounds pitiful even to his own ears, and when he forces his sticky eyelids open, Freddie and John, curled up in Freddie’s bed, are looking at him with poorly concealed amusement. 

The pair of them look annoyingly fresh-faced and impossibly cosy, and Brian sends them a hateful look before he forces his heavy body out of bed. He trips over his shoes and is momentarily confused as to what they’re doing in his room. His stomach lurches unpleasantly. 

As quickly as his aching body allows him to, he gets to the loo, but when he crouches in front of the toilet, nothing comes up, and he settles for a morning piss instead. He winces when he catches sight of his pale reflection in the mirror as he reaches for his chewed up bamboo toothbrush in an attempt to remove the taste of death from his mouth.

He doesn’t think he can stomach breakfast so soon after waking up, but he gulps down two glasses of water and samples a vitamin from each of the bottles in the cupboard. Remembering Freddie’s warning on Solaray on an empty stomach, he returns the multivitamin to its proper bottle and swallows down the remaining five pills with a third glass of water. He can’t pretend to know what Damiana is good for, but he probably needs it.

Putting on the kettle, he leans against the worktop but jumps back when pain shoots down his thigh, and he tugs down the waistband of his boxers, revealing a dark bruise blooming over his hip. He carefully prods a finger at it, trying to recall an event from the night before that could have possibly led to it, but comes up short. Sighing, he picks out a mug and drops the last bag of English Breakfast in it, folds up the cardboard and throws it in the bin. He tugs at the sleeves of his jumper in a fruitless attempt to cover his freezing fingers. Now that Christmas and New Year’s are over, there’s nothing to distract him from the dull coldness that seems to have seeped into his bones, robbing him of the ability to concentrate on anything for long. If only it had been raining—or better yet, snowing—but the sky is overcast and mute, the ugly building on the other side of the street barely visible through the heavy fog.

The hiss of the kettle pulls him out of his thoughts, and he opens the fridge, his eyes stinging ridiculously as he discovers he’s out of oat milk. The two cartons of regular milk seem to mock him from their place on the shelf, and for a moment, he rests his head against the cool edge of the door. He could do with a proper cup of tea—black with milk and one sugar—but all the stores are closed today, and even if they weren’t, the thought of putting on clothes makes his head hurt. He stares at the milk until the fridge starts beeping and he peels his forehead off the door and closes it.

Nausea rolling in his stomach, he picks up the kettle and fills his mug with water, idly dunking the teabag with his spoon. Perhaps he really is uptight and in dire need of loosening up a little, but so far the consequences don’t seem to be worth it.

His chair is littered with crumbs when he brings his mug to the table so he opts for Freddie’s usual instead and tucks one foot beneath him. He puts his hands over his tea until they’re damp and warm, then wipes them on his jumper and gazes wearily out the window. He misses summer, misses being able to study in the sun outside uni or hop off the tube a stop earlier and walk the rest of the way. He misses dad and their annual one-day camping trip to go stargazing and he misses not being tired all the time. His thoughts skirt the topic of Tenerife; glittering Lonely Planet guides in Foyles and his bookmarked The World’s Best Stargazing Spots.

Mentally shaking himself, he wraps his hands around the hot ceramic of his mug and keeps them there until they sting. The decision has been made, and even entertaining the idea of changing his mind is a waste of time and energy. He has plenty on his mind as it is, and so does professor Harrison, he imagines—he’s not about to make a nuisance of himself just because he’s feeling a little hungover.

Through the slowly dissolving fog, Brian makes out the already sinking sun. It looks angry, Brian thinks; spilling sickly red over the paling horizon. He swallows down his tea, bitter without milk to sweeten it, and his heart suddenly aches for someone to talk to. He doesn’t want to go back to his room and disturb Freddie and John, and he doesn’t think he can handle the confusion that seems to be ever-present when he talks to Roger. On the outside they’re fine—Roger’s apology seemed genuine enough even though Brian suspects it was not offered entirely voluntarily, but sometimes he’ll look at Roger and remember his words, and petty anger will claw at his insides.

He knows Roger will never understand his relationship with his parents—the fact that he knows his mother had desperately wanted a daughter instead made it complicated from the beginning, but Brian supposes that's his cross to bear. His coming out was another blow, he thinks, and of course his sudden illness not five months later that almost cost him his life. He doesn’t blame his parents for their worrying and their aspirations on his behalf. They’ve always wanted what’s best for him.

Quelling the sting of loneliness, he reaches for his planner and begins flicking through it. Try as he might, he can’t force excitement when he looks at the handful of gigs spread over the months of January and February. And on the 23rd of February, penned in with more force than the others, the lines thick and graphite, the entry only says Tenerife. The rest of the month is empty.

He stares at the page for a long while, then reaches for a pen and slowly strikes it out, once, twice, keeps going until the word is illegible. He closes his planner with more force than necessary and stretches to steal a pink sticky note from Freddie’s pile of sketchbooks and stationery to write himself a reminder to plan his tutoring sessions with Liam, Ben, and Kate for the upcoming months.

Brian leans back in his chair with a sigh. A new year, and if anything, the prospect of dragging himself through it seems even more impossible than it did just a few weeks ago. He can’t for the life of him understand why he’s not feeling more optimistic, why he doesn’t have his resolutions in bold letters above his bed, why the prospect of going on tour fills him with dread. Tomorrow they’re going to evaluate, and Brian doesn’t know how to explain to them that he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care about their performance yesterday, doesn’t care about the upcoming gigs, doesn’t care about anything other than catching a fucking break. If only time could stand still for a little while, give him an hour or two to pull himself together, to sort out his buzzing mind.

John’s laughter from the other side of the wall startles him out of his thoughts. He wonders if Roger is up yet because he fears that if he doesn’t talk to someone, he might genuinely lose the plot.

Filled with sudden determination, he pushes back his chair, cringing at the ugly scraping sound, and makes for Roger’s room.

Just as he passes the bathroom, the door swings open, and Brian almost jumps out of his skin. Roger’s laughter is loud in the empty living room, and Brian glares at him to distract himself from his racing heart.

“How long have you been out there?” he demands, determinedly not looking at the way the water beads on his shoulders or the hair plastered to his forehead, taking years off his face. He briefly wonders if being so caught up his own thoughts that he has failed to notice the water running should be a cause of concern, then decides it’s best not to dwell on it.

Roger shrugs, securing the towel that hangs indecently low on his hips. “40 minutes? Freddie taught me how to make a body scrub using sugar and coconut oil,” he says, holding out his arm to stroke the damp skin, “it’s supposed to scrub away the last year. Load of bollocks if you ask me, but satisfying all the same.”

He drops his arms and smiles up at him. Brian scowls.

“You did it on purpose.”

“What, scared you?” Roger asks, raising his eyebrows in question. Brian nods, not caring that he doesn’t make sense. “Yes, I’ve been standing here for ten minutes waiting specifically for you to pass just so I could scare you. Like I don’t have better things to do. The floor is wet.”

“Do you?” Brian wonders out loud, stepping back to allow Roger to pass.His feet leave wet prints on the floor.

Roger puts his hand on the door handle to his room but doesn’t enter. “Course, I have at least ten New Year’s resolutions I intend to break.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d made any,” Brian says, amused and secretly curious.

“Nothing I intend to keep,” Roger says dismissively, pushing down the door handle, “still, it’s tradition. Don’t let me keep you. Bathroom’s free.”

“Actually,” Brian says just as Roger disappears into his room. He pauses in the doorway. “I wanted to, um, chat. If you’re not too tired. Or busy. And when you’ve got dressed, obviously.”

“Oh,” Roger says, “come in, then.”

Brian hesitates but follows him inside, shutting the door behind him like Roger tells him to. The difference in temperature is staggering.

“Good to know where all the heat goes,” he comments drily. He attempts to determine which messy bed looks the least uninviting, and ends up on the edge of John’s.

“I’m sorry your king-sized beds and lush bedding can’t keep your skinny arses warm,” Roger shoots back, opening his closet doors wide.

Brian snorts softly and then almost chokes on his breath when Roger loses the towel around his waist and starts drying his hair while he studies the contents of his closet.

Roger turns around at the sound. “Alright?”

“I’m fine,” Brian says weakly, silently grateful that the closet door blocks most of the view. Still, that’s a lot of skin.

He shakes himself. It’s not like he’s attracted to Roger, or ever has been. There’s no reason he should be—Roger has plenty of flaws, and as he picks them out—his skinny legs, the dumb mole that’s shaped a bit like a small heart, and the tattoo he spies when Roger reaches for a shirt—Brian feels slightly better. It’s not about looks, anyway, and personality-wise, Roger is annoying at best and constantly driving him to the brink of insanity at worst. As for last week … well, he was just helping out a friend.

“Wouldn’t you say these two shirts are the exact same shade?” Roger asks. His wet towel lies forgotten on the floor and he is stepping out from behind the closet door holding two shorts.

“Uhm,” Brian says. His eyes hurt with the effort of not looking down.

“Freddie seems to think this one goes with my tat and the other doesn’t. I’m pretty sure he makes it up.”

“Roger.”

“What?”

“Please put some clothes on.”

“But I’m not dry yet,” Roger reasons.

Brian’s entire face hurts. “Underwear will do, just—please.”

“Keep forgetting how much of a prude you are,” Roger says, but he does put on a pair of boxers, and possibly the most garish pair Brian has ever seen; tiger-striped in pink and silver. He grins. “I believe you’ve seen it all already. On multiple occasions, in fact.”

“Can we not talk about that?” The question comes out a bit more harshly than intended, and Roger frowns.

He sits down on his bed opposite of Brian and looks him in the eye. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Brian's heart sinks. “No, Roger, it doesn’t bother me, it’s just—” He pauses to drag in a breath, then throws out the first thing that comes to mind in the tangle of confusion that seems to have taken permanent residence in his brain, “look, I know John and maybe Freddie made you apologise to me, and I don’t know if you even felt like you had anything to apologise for, and I just … I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings.”

Roger looks slightly taken aback. “No hard feelings.”

Brian forces himself not to fiddle under his stare.”I just mean that … I shouldn’t have made you fool around with me, and I’m—”

“Hold on,” Roger interrupts him. He leans slightly forward, eyes pinning Brian to the spot. “You—I flirted with you for ages, you did not make me do anything. Come on, Brian, that’s ridiculous. Give me some credit.”

Brian’s mouth feels impossibly dry. His empty stomach aches. “I shouldn’t have said yes.”

“Didn’t you want to?” Roger throws back, and Brian knows he’s gonna regret everything he says in this room, but he presses on nonetheless.

“It doesn’t matter what I wanted or didn’t want at the time,” he says, hurrying to continue as Roger opens his mouth to argue, “it was not your fault and it won’t happen again, I promise. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I know you probably wish it didn’t happen and that’s fine, I promise not to tell anyone.”

“Brian,” Roger says, looking slightly bewildered, “relax. It’s just sex.”

“We didn’t have sex,” Brian reminds him.

Roger scrubs at his hair and grins. “Seemed pretty sexy to me.”

Brian rolls his eyes in an attempt to cover the wave of relief that crashes over him. “So you’re not upset?” he asks, just to make sure. He doesn’t look it, but if the roles were reversed, Brian’s not sure he’d be quite as forgiving.

“It’s fine,” Roger says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I’ve bedded a bloke now, I can cross that off the list.”

“Flatterer,” Brian says drily.

Roger tilts his head. “You said you didn’t fool around with friends, right. I had fun but I’m not asking for your hand in marriage.”

“Right.”

Roger rearranges himself on the bed so he’s lying on his side, head propped up on his elbow. He looks at Brian with drowsy eyes and a lazy smile. “So how’d you find the party last night?”

“I had fun.”  He’s lying, of course—he’d spent most of the night alone in a corner, surrounded by obnoxious art and literature students he didn’t care for and who most certainly did not care for him, but for some reason, he can’t tell Roger the truth. He’s not sure why it matters. “Got chatted up by this bloke.”

“Oh?” Roger says, looking at him with interest, and Brian wants to claw the lie back.

“Yes, in the loos,” he continues, at the same wondering what it’s going to take for him to shut up. 

“Good place, the loos,” Roger says with a grin.

Brian nods. He’s not sure it looks convincing. “And did you have fun?” he asks tentatively.

“Was alright, wasn’t it? Good show, free drinks.” He sends Brian a sly smile. “Clean loos.”

The implication is not lost on Brian, and he forces a smile. 

Before he can think of a suitable answer, Roger throws him off with a new topic. “I can’t believe Fred and Deaks are together.”

Brian shrugs. In all honesty, it annoys him a little—just knowing that the two of them are having a cuddle fest in his room makes him exhausted.

“I’m amazed I didn’t see it coming, really,” Roger continues, “makes sense when you think about it.”

Brian hasn’t. And it’s not that’s he’s not happy for John and Freddie—he is, definitely—but he can’t say he’s put much thought into their compatibility or been dying to congratulate the happy couple. “I suppose.”

“Wouldn’t kill you to show some enthusiasm,” Roger says with a wry smile.

“It might,” Brian says, “and I better not risk it.”

♛ ♛ ♛

He leaves Roger’s room feeling cautiously optimistic. So much in fact that he sits down next to his abandoned cup of tea and pulls a book from his bag.

It’s fine for the first few pages. Then his concentration starts to waver, and thoughts creep in between the words on the page, unbidden.

If he’s honest, he doesn’t feel better at all. Mortifying as his conversation with Roger was, he felt more at ease in his company, was able to forget himself for a few moments. Now that he’s alone again, he doubts they made any progress at all. He knows Roger is a big boy, that he can make decisions for himself, but Brian can’t quell the worry that lingers in the back of his mind. The whole mess is his own fault, and it doesn’t matter that Roger assures him it’s fine—it clearly isn’t.

He presses the heels of his hands against his dry, tired eyes, letting a groan slip out because he’s alone and there’s no one there to judge or pity him.

He just wants everything to go back to normal. He doesn’t like this new feeling he gets around Roger, this feeling of unease, the way his heart beats faster with fear of another argument. And all because he wanted to go to Tenerife. Because that’s the root of it, he thinks, that’s how it all started—suddenly everyone was afraid he would leave, give up the band, his friends.

There’s a tight ache in his chest, and he wants to gather them all and apologise. Tell them he never wanted to go, not really, that it was a stroke to his ego but no more than that. He knows he made the right decision, and he’s sure he would have come to that conclusion even if Roger and the rest had not expressed their concern. After all, the band is what he really wants, and his study … If they do make it, he can put it on the shelf. At least for a few years.

He pushes his chair back and lowers his forehead to his open book on the table. Unbidden, a memory of Freddie’s birthday all those months ago enters his mind. The weather had been unusually warm for September, and they had gone for drinks in a rooftop bar in Mayfair, pretending they could afford the overpriced drinks. He remembers the walk back from the station, the pleasant buzz and the silk-like fabric of Freddie’s jacket brushing against his bare forearm, John’s laughter and Roger’s smile, bright and pleased because he had made his friend laugh.

The liquor they consumed back at the flat had been cheap and dreadful, drunk out of mugs and water glasses, and the contrast between that and their first drinks of the evening had been almost comical, but Brian had thought to himself that he much preferred their own living room and Tesco’s cheapest vodka—there he could listen to the hum of the voices of the people he loved the most, his head pillowed on Roger’s thigh, deft fingers gently scratching his scalp.

For a fleeting moment, he is reminded of a similar occasion, but before he can catch the memory, it’s gone again.

Lifting his head from the table, he rolls his shoulders and gets up. He passes Ziggy who’s asleep in his favourite chair, and he pauses to stroke the soft fur. The cat makes a disgruntled sound, stretches, hops off the chair, and leaves.

The fridge is depressingly empty so he sits down again, drinks his cold tea. The sun has long gone down, but he feels disinclined to get up again and switch on the lights. He thinks about what Roger said, about their hookup not being a big deal. And Brian suspects it isn’t, but at the moment, everything kind of feels like a big deal, and he wonders what’s wrong with him, if this is how he’s going to feel for the rest of his life.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there in the darkness, but when the door to his room opens, he winces. He barely has time to adjust his eyes before they’re assaulted once again when Freddie switches on the overhead lights in the living room.

“Could you maybe warn me next time?” Brian asks, squinting at the pair.

“Sorry darling, didn’t mean to disturb your gloom.”

“Well, you did.”

“What are you doing here all by yourself anyway?” Freddie asks, briefly putting a hand on his shoulder as he passes. He instantly misses the touch.

“I was just thinking,” he says, watching John cross the living room to rap at the door to his own room.

“Terribly unhealthy for you, dear,” Freddie says, and Brian turns in his seat to look at him. “Are we all out of tea?”

“There’s some of your herbal stuff somewhere, I think.”

Freddie stands on his toes to rummage through the contents of the top shelf, letting out a small “ah!” when he finds the brightly patterned box. “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thanks,” Brian says, distracted by the reappearance of John, this time with Roger in tow, playfully draped all over him, arms around his neck.

“Alright, Bri?” Roger greets, and Brian feels his lips pull into an automatic smile. He lets go of John and throws himself on the couch, effectively startling Ziggy. “I’m starving!”

“We’re waiting for you to make the call, love,” Freddie says, pouring boiling water into two cups and releasing fragrant steam into the air.  

“One day you three need to learn how to make a phone call,” Roger advises, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Why would we when you seem to enjoy it?” John asks, accepting the proffered cup from Freddie.

“We’re on first-name basis,” Roger says, but whether it’s supposed to be an argument for or against is unclear to Brian. “Fine. I’m going out for a smoke anyway. The usual?”

“Will you ask if there’s eggs in the noodles?” Brian asks.

“On it,” Roger says, shrugging into his jacket. “See you in a bit!”

Brian looks up at the sound of a chair being pulled out. John smiles at him. “How are you feeling?”

Brian doesn’t even know where to begin.

“You look a bit worn out is all,” John continues after a beat.

“I’m fine,” Brian says with a tight smile.

John says nothing, and Brian instantly feels bad. It’s not John’s fault he feels like he’s spiraling down into insanity, or that he’s fighting just to stay afloat. “Think I had a bit too much last night.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, expression unreadable. Brian decides it’s best ignored instead of attempting to find meaning behind it.

“I think I’m gonna go back to sleep, actually,” he says, scraping his chair back.

Freddie is behind him in an instant. “Oh no, you aren’t. We’re gonna sit down, have a meal, and discuss last night.”

Brian’s heart thuds. He searches his brain for anything he could have done last night that could possibly lead to an intervention from all three of them. “What happened last night?”

Freddie walks around his chair to look at him. “We played a concert,” he says slowly.

“Oh,” Brian says, “that.”

“Yes,” Freddie says, giving him a strange look. “And now we’re gonna evaluate, talk about what can be improved. Like we do every time we’ve played a concert.”

“Right.”

“But if you’ve got any stories, we’d love to hear them,” John chimes in. 

“I don’t,” Brian says tonelessly. 

He doesn’t miss John and Freddie’s exchanged glances. Annoyed, he pushes his chair back and leaves them to their looks and their being in love to sprawl on the couch. 

A few minutes later, the front door bangs open, followed by a small crash and Roger’s shout of “I’m back.”

“We heard,” John says.

“Food should be here in about half an hour,” Roger says, appearing in the doorway, cheeks flushed with cold.

Brian is surprised and slightly alarmed when Roger steers towards him with impressive speed and a manic grin; he doesn’t have time to prepare himself, let alone get away, before pressed against him on the couch.

“Feel how cold my hands are,” Roger says, and before Brian can stop him, he has reached up to put his freezing hands on Brian’s neck. Brian jerks away. “You didn’t feel it.”

“I did,” Brian says, rubbing at the skin of his neck, “and it was highly unpleasant.”

“Are you not gonna help me warm them?” Roger asks, all faux innocence.

“No,” Brian says, edging away from him. “Were the noodles alright?”

“Totally egg-free,” Roger says, getting up to target John instead. 

John rolls his eyes but obediently takes Roger’s hand between his own. Brian looks away.

“Should we watch a movie?” Roger asks.

“Depends on the movie,” Freddie says.

Brian tucks his feet under him. “Seconded.”

John lets go of Roger’s hands and gets up to crouch in front of their impressive DVD collection. “There’s Mamma Mia, of course.”

Roger puts down John’s tea. “I’m too straight to watch it twice within a month.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“I’m with Roger,” Brian says, glancing at him where he’s seated next to Freddie, “not to the straight part, mind.”

“Rocky Horror? Titanic? Mr. Fantastic?”

“Which one is that?” Freddie asks.

“Viggo Mortensen lives in the woods with a bunch of children and teaches them to fight.”

“Isn’t that Lord of the Rings?”

John sends Brian a long-suffering look, and Brian hides a smile.

Freddie leans forward eagerly, almost knocking his tea off the table. “We should watch Harry Potter!”

“They’re so bad,” Brian says, “nothing like the books.”

“Go read a book, then,” Roger says.

Brian scowls. He knows Roger doesn’t like the movies either. 

“How about a Disney movie?” John asks.

“No more Disney movies.”

“I think Harry Potter’s a good idea, actually,” Roger says, putting his feet in Freddie’s lap.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” John says, and Brian can’t help but feel just a little smug.

“Aladdin?”

Freddie covers a yawn. “Fine.”

“You should’ve seen my pull last night,” Roger says, “looked like Jasmin, actually.”

“Roger,” Freddie says, exasperated.

“What? I’m not being racist,” Roger insists. Pauses. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Freddie says bluntly. Brian’s skin crawls with discomfort.

Roger scrunches his nose up guiltily. “Sorry. I’ll do better.” 

Freddie almost smiles. “Was there more to the story?”

“Not really,” Roger admits, moving past his mishap with an ease Brian could never match, “except she had these huge tits.” He cups his hands to illustrate. 

Freddie’s eyes light up with intrigue. “Did you ask her?”

Roger frowns. "I just met her, I can't just ask her that."

"Why not?” Freddie asks, hooking his foot around the ankle of John, who has since given up on the movies and returned to his seat. “You shagged her."

"It's impolite to ask someone you've just met if you can fuck their tits," Roger opines. 

John’s face is a picture of distress when he catches Brian’s eye. "Are your ears also bleeding?" 

"The images in my mind are much, much worse," Brian says, trying valiantly to suppress the disturbing scenario.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," Roger says knowingly.

Brian makes a face. “I think I will.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

“I think it went alright,” Roger says between mouthfuls of egg rolls, “not terrible. I’m almost positive we were celebrating when Veronica drank me under the table. Just wish I hadn’t lost my shoe.”

Freddie folds his hands on his crossed legs. "The crowd seemed pretty receptive.”

"Really?" Roger swallows his mouthful. "Not from where I was sitting."

"It was a subtle eye contact thing," Freddie tells him. 

"Bugger," Roger says with a grin, "can't believe I missed out on that!"

"Better than that concert we played in September," John says, looking up from where he’s inspecting a noodle, "at least there were no drunken offenses this time."

Brian hands Freddie his glass of water, pushes Roger’s feet off his chair, and reclaims his seat. 

"So our audience wasn’t exactly successful," Freddie says, "that doesn't mean we weren’t."

"I thought they seemed to have a good time," John says, and Brian has to agree even though he can’t muster up much enthusiasm, "they made noise. Our friends did, at any rate."

"Ugh," Freddie says, "this truly is traumatising. I'll be glad once we make it and get to play for bigger crowds."

"Let's get signed first, eh?" Roger says, "self-publishing albums is all very well, but it'd be nice to have someone reach out to us."

"Well, they won't," Freddie snaps. Brian suppresses a sigh and pokes at his food. "We've got to put ourselves out there. Did you call that venue in Brixton?”

"I did, yeah," Roger says, stealing a spring roll from John's box. Brian makes sure his own is well out of reach. "I'm not gonna repeat what they said because they were not very polite."

Brian lets out a snort, and Roger grins at him. 

"There must be something else we can do," Freddie muses, "all this waiting around is not good for my health."

"These next few concerts will probably help," John says. He's not usually one to offer empty platitudes, and Freddie looks at him with suspicion.

"Why would you say that?"

"The concert went well. If we keep playing like that, it's just a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Someone will discover us, and soon."

"That's not you," Freddie says with narrowed eyes, "that's one of those horrible women speaking!"

"Chrissie told me the same thing," Roger says, "but I was, er, a bit busy. Or about to be."

John groans.

"What did you say to her?" Freddie wants to know.

"That she could maybe come back later."

"Not you! John, what did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything," John murmurs. He taps his fingers against his can of coke, then admits, "I just told Veronica it was frustrating, a bit. That we all feel it. We're so close."

"I heard her and Chrissie talk," Brian offers, "I think it's Chrissie’s project."

"That little minx," Freddie groans, "the last thing we need is someone trying to cheer us up when what we need to do is work."

“Jesus,” John mumbles.

"I think it's nice they support us," Roger offers.

"Do you know how many times I've heard this from Mary? We wouldn’t be where we are if we’d listened to useless shit like that."

"Alright, Fred," Brian sighs, “what do you suggest we do, then?"

"We'll keep practicing, keep making music, keep reaching out," Freddie says, moving his food far enough out of reach that Roger can't get it. John steals a spring roll and sticks out his tongue at Roger. Brian pushes his leftovers towards him. "We have a decent following on SoundCloud, and we got around 30 new likes on Facebook since last night. Did we have some video we can put up?"

"That's pretty good," Roger says, putting his feet in Brian's lap. Brian shoves them away, ignoring Roger’s pout.

“We do have a few videos,” John says, “but I haven’t received them yet.”

"We need to get into the spotlight," Freddie says, apparently too caught up in his vision to hear the answer. Brian and John trade glances. "We need to really utilise this next month where we don’t have classes."

Brian doesn't think now is the time to mention he's already picked up some extra shifts at the bookstore.

"I watched these classes on skillshare this morning," Freddie continues, “and—”

"Morning," Roger interrupts with a groan, "you went home half-past three."

"And I still got six hours of sleep.”

Roger gives him a long-suffering look.

"We seem to be doing much of it already, " Freddie continues, "of course these people are nobodies and we'll surely surpass them once we get going, but some of their tips did stand out to me."

"Let’s hear it," Brian says, failing to put much enthusiasm into his voice.

"Right," Freddie says, launching into a lengthy monologue. 

Brian nods along in an attempt to look like he cares, but he’s distracted by Roger picking up a banana fritter, spilling powdered sugar over his trousers. Brian gazes at him warily as he attempts to brush it off, only succeeding in spreading it further, then shrugs it off and looks back at Freddie. He can’t understand how Roger’s got the energy or attention to be listening, and he watches him as he eats the last of his dessert, tongue flicking out to clean no doubt sticky lips. Brian swallows in an attempt to lubricate his dry mouth, forcing himself to look away when Roger licks his fingers.

"Sounds doable," Roger says, effectively reclaiming Brian’s attention. "I can get Instagram."

"Watch out," John whispers, catching Brian’s eye and smiling. Brian weakly returns it.

"Unfortunately their guidelines prevent too much nudity,” Freddie says, “but I think we should still be able to post our new pictures."

"What a shame," John comments and receives an elbow in the side for his trouble.

"If only we could warm up for someone," Roger says, leaning his elbows on the table, "someone who's good, who knows what they're doing."

"No one cares about the warm-up act," Brian says, beginning to tear up a piece of kitchen roll.

"It’s still exposure," Roger says. "I always check out the band afterward, unless they're shit of course."

"Most bands are," John opines.

"So we want to warm up for a real band so people can talk about how shit we are?" Brian wonders aloud.

"We're different, darling," Freddie says, "you know we are. We have something no one else has. And I think the world is ready for glam again. Just look at people like Adam Lambert and Harry Styles—it's finally in to be fab." 

Brian wishes he believed him.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

Despite the exhaustion weighing his body down, Brian lies awake for long, lonely hours. He can’t seem to quiet the whirring in his mind, and pillow he’s wrapped himself around is cold and shapeless.

At last, he slips out from under his covers and pads across the room, careful to mind the squeaking door handle.

He’s surprised he can’t see his own breath when he enters the living room, and he has his hand on the radiator before he remembers last month’s bill and lets it go with a shudder. There’s a threadbare blanket carelessly thrown over the arm of the couch which he hasn’t seen before, and he picks it up and wraps it around his shoulders. It’s got a bit of a weird smell, but he figures it’ll do. 

Not fancying Freddie’s herbal tea, he rummages through the cupboards and after a bit of a search, he finds a beat-up pack of strawberry tea whose origins are dubious to say the least. At least it’s warm, he thinks as he pours hot water in his cup and a sickly sweet scent arises.

He brings the cup with him to the couch, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. It's not three hours since they all sat there, the living room filled with chatter and brightly lit. Now it's cold and dark, the single lamp he's switched on making the room appear more gloomy than cosy, and he wishes he’d appreciated the company while he had it. 

Drawing his knees up, he takes a sip of his scalding tea, lets the too-sweet liquid warm him up from the inside. This day has been so fucking long, he thinks, just one long train loaded with dread and disappointment and a loneliness he just can’t seem to shake. He doesn’t remember feeling this when they were on stage 30 hours prior; he remembers a thrill and a sense of purpose, of unity, but it seems to achingly far away; a vague, glittering dream.

A door opens, and Brian spills tea all over himself, wets his tee and the front of his pants. He scrubs at his thigh and wipes his hand on the armrest, looking up to see Roger, ruffled and sleepy, eyes squinting against the light. He smiles faintly and yawns, playfully tugging at Brian’s hair as he passes him on the way to the bathroom.

He doesn’t bother closing the door; Brian hears the clang of the toilet seat and the sound of piss hitting the bowl.

Brian puts his empty cup on the coffee table and sinks deeper into the couch until his spine and shoulders create a C shape that hurts his neck. The toilet flushes, the sound so loud in his ears he’s amazed it doesn’t wake up Freddie and John.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" Roger asks as he reappears to settle on the couch, close to Brian but not quite touching. Brian wishes he would.

"Couldn't sleep."

"I think Freddie's got some supplements, some kind of herb," Roger says, picking at his too-big ABBA shirt. Brian is not sure if he's joking.

“Good to know.” 

He wishes he were brave enough to ask for a hug or fingers in his hair, even brave enough to move that inch closer so their arms press together, but he isn’t, is too afraid of what will happen if he gives in again. He’d hoped their trading of orgasms would satisfy his need for touch for a few days at least, but if anything, it has just made it worse, and he wonders if it’ll ever go away.

Roger yawns, wide and obnoxious, sticking a hand inside his collar to rub his shoulder. He looks at Brian with eyes that are more heavy-lidded than usual, lips curving into a smile. “Bored tonight?”

“Tired,” Brian says, and it’s not a lie.

“Not used to you being so quiet.”

Brian forces a smile. “Exhausted.”

“Bit silly to sit out here, then,” Roger says, blinking slowly like he can barely keep his eyes open. “Especially when you’re sick.”

Brian sits up, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his hands around his freezing feet. He closes his eyes. “Going back in a minute.”

“‘kay,” Roger says softly. Brian feels the cushion move when Roger gets up, but he keeps his eyes closed, waiting for a parting touch that never comes. “I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Brian whispers, opening his eyes only when he hears the door handle being pushed down. 

His spilled tea has cooled but not dried, and Brian shivers every time he inhales and his stomach touches the wet fabric.  

At last, he gets up, folds the ratty blanket, brings his cup to the sink, and switches off the lamp. The walk to his bedroom is too short; too soon he’s standing in the doorway gazing at his huge bed, the one mum had lovingly presented him just before he moved out because he was an adult now, and that even though his moving out was to a soon to be messy flat with three other blokes. He’s grateful for it, of course, but sometimes he feels lost there, misses the solid presence of a wall to knock a knee into.

He can’t go back to bed. A knot of fear pulls tight at his chest, and before he can stop himself, he’s grabbing a warm shoulder and shaking Freddie awake.

A soft groan issues, then Freddie pushes himself up on one elbow and squints up at him. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, voice soft and confused. 

The knot tightens in Brian’s chest. “I can’t get out of my head.”

Freddie lowers himself back onto the mattress and scoots back. “Come lie down, hon.”

Brian does as he’s told, crawling into a bed that’s warm and comfortable and smells like home. 

“Just give me a minute,” Freddie whispers, closing his eyes. The words come out slow and thick, like spoken through syrup, and Brian wishes he’d let him sleep.

He tightens his hold of the duvet around him, relishing the heat Freddie’s body radiates. It’s the first time he’s been in Freddie’s bed like this, he thinks, Wonders if it would have made a difference if it wasn’t.

Freddie sighs, brings up a hand to rub at his eyes, and rolls over to face Brian. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m here.”

Brian looks at him, picks out the familiar features in the dark. “It’s all too much,” he whispers, surprised by how easily the words come, “nothing excites me, the band … I don’t care, or I do, just not—what if I’ll feel this way forever?”

“It’s okay,” Freddie says, scooting closer to run fingers through his hair. Brian shivers with pleasure. “You’re working yourself too hard, love.”

“I’m not,” Brian insists, turning away to cough into the crook of his elbow. When he’s settled, Freddie’s fingers return to his hair. “I just need more time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time to think,” Brian says, closing his eyes, “to sort myself out.”

“You don’t need more time to think,” Freddie says softly, “you need to ask for help.”

“I’m not very good at that.”

“I know.”

Freddie is studying him when he opens his eyes again, but it doesn’t feel intrusive. He just feels cared for. Safe, for once. 

“Do you think I made a mistake in hooking up with Roger?”

Freddie’s lips curl into a small smile. “No,” he says, “I think the mistake was all that happened afterward.”

Brian sighs. “I wish everything would go back to normal. I shouldn’t have dragged him into all of this.”

“Brian, I say this with love only, but sometimes you are tragically clueless.”

“Thanks,” Brian murmurs. The touch and proximity are making him feel wonderfully drowsy.

“You need to focus on one thing,” Freddie says, “then the rest will follow.”

“And what do you suggest I focus on?”

Freddie smiles again. “Come on, Brian, you’re smarter than that. You know this already.”

Brian suspects he’s beginning to.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

The next day, it clear to him that he definitely does not know what he should be focusing on.

One thing he does know—it’s not work. He supposes he should be grateful for that realisation.

It’s getting dark when he steps outside the second-hand book store to trudge through the slush filled London streets to the Tube. The Christmas decorations have long since been taken down, but fairy lights still glitter overhead, and a few places patches of white snow stubbornly cling to eaves. 

At the station, he waits nine long minutes for Circle, blowing at his hands and thinking about his earlier interaction with a particularly difficult customer. He hopes John is home—when it comes to complaints about customers, he can always count on him to listen with sympathy and eye rolls in abundance. 

He’s lucky enough to find a seat on the Tube, but drops his bag on the floor so all his stuff falls out. Bending down to pick it up again, he accidentally steps on his book, his boot leaving a streak of dirt on the front cover. Embarrassed, he picks it up and wipes it with the sleeve of his jacket before quickly stuffing the rest of it in his bag, watching as the apple he forgot to eat rolls away from him to disappear under the seat in front of him. His earphones are a tangle of black at the bottom of his back, and when he eventually untangles them, he finds that only one ear is working. 

He's quietly relieved when he steps inside the flat and lets his boots join the pile of shoes on the floor. The flat is unusually quiet, and when he enters the living room, only John is there, sprawled in the armchair, Winnie the Pooh socked foot bopping along to the beat of the record he’s put on.

"Hi, Brian," he greets with a warm smile. "Wanna play a round of Mario Kart?" 

"Not really," Brian says, picking up a stack of window envelopes from the kitchen table. "Does anyone have plans for dinner?"

"Freddie and Roger are out," John says, "but if you want to, we can make some together."

Finding that none of the letters are addressed to him, Brian puts them down again. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"Great! Let's play Mario Kart first."

Brian makes a face, but he doesn’t really mind. "Fine, just let me make a cup of tea."

He hums along to the record as he walks into the kitchen, trying to remember the name of the song. Without thinking, he opens the fridge and is just about to close it again when he notices an unopened carton of oat milk. Mouth dry, he looks over at John, who’s setting up the Wii. 

“Did you—?” He asks, gesturing uselessly to the open fridge.

John looks up. “Yeah. Is it not the right brand?”

Brian nods slowly, words stolen by the ridiculous surge of affection he feels for his friend. John quirks an eyebrow and turns back to the Wii, one corner of his mouth turned up in amusement, and Brian sets about making his cup of tea, unable to wipe the smile off his face. 

Later, when they're sitting on the couch with steaming plates of pasta, the initial exhaustion he’d carried with him from yesterday and his trying day at work has seeped out of Brian. He’s lost two rounds of Mario Kart to John, which came as no surprise, but his competitive streak ensured he didn’t have time to think about anything but winning the game.

He’s looking at John now, licking tomato sauce from his lip, and he looks so relaxed and at ease. He’s wearing one of Freddie’s shirts, and Brian can’t believe how uncomplicated their relationship seems to be—he knows Freddie still blames himself for what happened to Jim, knows there’s a hurt there that never healed, how Freddie for years has engaged in casual sex in an attempt to make the pain go away, much like Brian himself, but perhaps Roger is right. Perhaps it does make sense, the two of them being together. Perhaps John makes Freddie feel anchored. 

Brian wonders if he will ever find someone who makes him feel that way. “John?”

"Hm?"

He doesn't have much more to say that that, doesn't know how to put words to his feelings, wonders if his questions are too intrusive. “Nevermind.”

"How was work?" John asks instead.

"It was quite eventful today actually," Brian says, spearing a piece of pasta on his fork. "Not in a good way of course."

"Never in a good way," John supplies with a grave expression. "What happened?"

"A customer," Brian says, punctuating the air with his fork, "came in today to complain about the fact that the copy she'd bought yesterday appeared to be creased."

"Right," John says, "hate when that happens. Don't want my used books to have been used by anyone before me."

"It gets worse," Brian says, "because this was a first edition, not a book I was familiar with but of course it'd been quite expensive still. Usually we check the books beforehand and price accordingly but she was very adamant about this apparent crease."

John nods, a painful expression on his face. God, how he loves John sometimes. No one seems to get it quite like John.

"So I asked her where the crease was, and lo and behold, when she opens up the book, there was nothing. I swear, not a single crease, no spots, no nothing. So I ask her very politely what the problem is—"

"I would've told her to fuck off," John interrupts.

"That's why you don't work behind the counter."

"No, thank fuck for that."

Brian laughs. "Anyway, this lady is really insistent now, you know how you can just feel when a customer is about to throw a fit? And she points to, and by God, I wish I were kidding, she points to the stitching."

John buries his head in his hands. 

"She points to the stitching," Brian repeats, unable to hold back a smile at the absurdity of it all, "and she tells me she hasn't paid for these to be here, that it makes a crease appear, and I tell her that this is what holds the book together, and she gets offended! She wants me to remove them because she thinks they're ugly. Honest to God, John, I'm quitting."

"Oh I would've," John says, “I hate customers so much, but this might just be the worst."

"Worse than 5 pence Petra?"

John drags his hands away from his face, helplessly laughing. "How could I forget 5 pence Petra?"

"Didn't she ask you out once?"

John groans. "You promised you would never mention it again!"

"Don’t tell me if you don't want me to remind you," Brian says with a shrug-

"I should probably take your advice, but at the same time, I need to share with someone who understands the pain. Freddie claims he’s never had an annoying customer, can you believe that?” John says, and Brian looks at him in disbelief. “By the way, did I tell you what happened last week?"

"No, what happened?" Brian asks, curious. He scrapes the last of the sauce onto his fork.

"This very drunk lady, she was Scandinavian I think, came in, bought a birthday card and asked if I could keep an eye on her plastic bag which contained at least a dozen bottles, and tried to pay me in cigars."

"You're joking.”

"Oh I wish," John says, putting his plate down.

“Did you accept it, then?”

“God, no. Might have if she’d offered one of the bottles instead.”

“She sounds like someone who’d be open for negotiation, I’m sure you could’ve just asked,” Brian says with a grin.

“Always miss my chance with those ladies,” John sighs.

Brian kicks him lightly, and John smiles wryly. “Better luck next time.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

He's stretched out on the couch a few days later, still caught up in the disappointing ending of the book he just finished, when the front door opens followed by a shout of “busy?”

Brian twists around to watch Roger kick off his boots and step out of his snowsuit. "Not at all," he says, "why?"

"I've had this riff in my head all day,” Roger says, kicking the snowsuit closer to the wall. When he steps into the living room, he’s red-cheeked and slightly out of breath. “I want to use it for one of my songs."

"Oh," Brian says, interest piqued, "sure, let's see what we can make of it."

"Great," Roger enthuses, "now?"

"You're very energetic," Brian says, stretching lazily. 

"I'm afraid I'll forget it! Do you know how difficult it is to keep a song in your head when you're trying to make people care about human rights?"

"No," Brian says, amused, "but do tell me."

Roger sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Have you done something with your hair?” he asks, thinking Roger looks different somehow.

“No,” Roger says, looking puzzled. 

“Oh,” Brian says. He studies him for a moment—the fringe that falls into his eyes in quite a charming way and the hair at the back of his neck that brushes the hood of his hoodie—and wonders how he has failed to notice how much his hair has grown in less than two months. “Nevermind.”

Roger sends him a curious look, so Brian gets up from the couch and opens the door to their makeshift studio. “Coming?”

The smile Roger sends him is strange, and Brian hides his confusion by leaving Roger to himself and going inside.

Roger follows shortly, starting to rifle through a pile of loose sheets on top of his drums. Brian picks up his guitar to tune it but finds that he can’t help glancing at Roger. 

"Right," Roger says, stepping closer with a piece of paper in hand. Brian instantly spots one of his trademark Ys. “These are the lyrics so far. Could use some improvement, but here's so you get the idea."

Brian looks at him, surprised. Roger never shows anyone his lyrics before they're done—Brian knows he scraps double the amount of songs than he ever shows them.

He looks back at the sheet in Roger's hand, scans over the lyrics. Tries to ignore the warmth from Roger's shoulder pressed against his.

"The melody is quite simple," Roger says, handing him the paper to plug in the keyboard, "well, at least until the middle part." 

Before Brian can think of anything to say, Roger has sat down in front of the keyboard and started playing. The words on the page swim before Brian’s eyes.

“It’s nice,” Brian croaks when he’s done. He clears his throat, musing that this cold may never leave him. "What are you thinking with the drums?".

"Quite energetic," Roger says, twisting in his seat to look around the cramped room. "Where'd I put my sticks?"

Brian looks at him wordlessly. He really does look … quite handsome today. 

“Oh, here's one," Roger says, getting up to collect a drumstick from behind his kit. "Where's the—oh, it's behind you."

"What?" 

"My drumstick. Right behind you. Chuck it over here?"

Bewildered, Brian turns around, and there it is, next to John’s bass. Not trusting Roger's ability to catch it he steps over to where he has settled behind his kit. Their hands brush when he hands it over, and there's an odd tingly sensation in his hand afterward. He wipes it on his trouser leg. 

Roger starts a quick beat, and Brian forces himself to join. It doesn’t sound right. When Roger stops, he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. 

"So for the riff, "Roger says, "it would sound something like this."

He vocalises the riff, and Brian tries to copy it, but he can see it’s not what Roger’s after. Brian feels warm—usually he prides himself in being able to catch on quickly, to be so in tune with the other three that he can easily translate their ideas; after all, that’s what makes their playing together so special.

"Bugger,” Roger says, wiping his brow. “Wish I had my guitar."

Brian hesitates, swallows the annoying lump in his throat. He pulls the strap off his shoulder. "You, uh. You can borrow mine."

Roger looks at him, surprised. His fringe gets in his eyes, and he pushes it away. "What?"

"You can use it," Brian says, feeling silly, "I mean, if you want to."

He hands it over to Roger, who wordlessly accepts it. He looks up at Brian, eyes searching, and something tugs painfully at his heart. Has he been so distant that his best friend is surprised he hands over his guitar willingly? Ridiculously, he wants to reach out to touch Roger, but then Roger is smiling and pulling the strap over his shoulder, adjusting it a little before he experimentally runs his fingers over the fretboard.

Brian watches him, face a picture of concentration, and suddenly, it makes sense; he gets it now, anticipates each note almost before it’s played. Every once in a while, Roger looks up as if to check in with Brian, and each time, it startles him just as much. He tries to remember the lyrics, but can’t bring himself to look down at where he’s holding them in a too-tight grip, can’t look away from Roger. 

He breathes in deeply, desperate to get air into his lungs.

"What do you think?" Roger asks. 

The question startles him. He can’t recall a time those words have ever been directed at him inside this room—he knows the others talk about him when he's not there, knows they think he's being a pain, and Roger in particular is not afraid to voice it. Freddie will ask for his opinion occasionally, but not the other two. Never Roger.

He could tear him down if he wanted to, Brian realises. He's asking for it, almost. But the way Roger looks at him, guarded but with a glimmer of hope, makes something expand inside his chest, press against his insides until he forgets to breathe.

He breathes in deeply, exhales messily. Smiles tentatively. “It definitely has potential.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

Inspired by their jamming session, Brian sits down after dinner with pen, paper, and a vague idea he hopes to turn into a song. Freddie is making his own dinner and John and Roger are in their room so it's quiet enough, and the dining table has much better lighting than their small shared desk in their room. 

The melody he gets down quickly enough, but he struggles to find words to go along with it, and pauses to chew at the end of his pencil. He watches Freddie put his instant soup—organic and supposedly healthy, but instant soup nonetheless—in the microwave, then stares hard at his sheet of paper in an attempt to force the words. 

A moment later, Roger and John appear, and Brian listens with half an ear to their discussion about garlic bread until suddenly, inspiration strikes him, and his handwriting becomes a messy scrawl as he attempts to keep up with his brain.

When he looks up again, hand cramping from the tight hold on his pen, the others have gathered around the dining table as well and seem to be halfway through their meal. 

”You're quite a good kisser, though," Freddie says, removing his elbows from the table so John can reach over to clean his empty soup bowl with a piece of garlic bread. 

“How can you tell, you’ve been piss drunk every time,” Roger says, “but you’re right, I am a good kisser. Years of practice, kids.”

“You make me sound so unromantic,” Freddie says. John snorts softly.

Brian looks between them, trying to process what he’s just heard."What?"

Roger glances at him. "Hm?"

"Did you—” He starts, then catches Freddie’s eye. “How do you ... How would you know?” 

"I talk from experience, darling,” Freddie says, “I would never make guesswork of something as serious as that."

Roger lets out a soft snort.

"You've—Freddie and you? You’ve kissed?”

"Er," Roger says. “Yeah?”

"How can you—doesn't this bother you?" he demands, turning to John.

John shrugs. "Not really. I already knew."

"You knew?"

"Brian, they're not exactly subtle. Surely you've seen them kiss before?"

Brian sits back. "When?"

“It’s not like I stuck my tongue down his throat just yesterday,” Roger says, “it’s months ago.”

Brian stares at him, trying to formulate a response. He can’t picture Roger and Freddie together; it’s not right. His brain won’t go there. 

“Still,” he says, mind whirring, "how can you talk so casually about this in front of John? That's bad form."

Roger glances at Freddie and John. “He just told you he doesn't care. It didn't mean anything. We were drunk."

Three pairs of eyes turn to Brian, and he glares back.

"Have you really never seen us kiss?" Freddie asks, looking at him with a curious gaze.

"No," Brian says, crossing his arms. "When?"

Roger shrugs. "At parties and such.”

"So what else has happened? John performs strip teases in public?"

"Didn't the last time checked, but he's got the body for it," Roger says. Freddie nods energetically.

"These hips don't lie," John deadpans.

"I just didn't know you were that kind of friends," Brian says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Ah, he's jealous!" Freddie says. "Are you sad you're the only one who hasn't got a taste of the famous Freddie Bulsara, darling?"

John dissolves into helpless laughter. 

Brian rolls his eyes and says, with as much dignity as he can muster, "I was just surprised, is all.”

"Aw, darling, don't be like that,” Freddie says, leaning forward, “we're only joking!"

Brian frowns, then makes a show of ignoring them as he stares sullenly at his paper. He can’t say he cares too much about John’s feelings on the matter, but hearing them talk so casually about it makes something bitter and unpleasant rise in his throat. 

He knows there’s no such thing as a casual kiss, and it’s not that he’s jealous, but he thinks Roger could have told him that he was into kissing other men—a public service announcement, really, so Brian doesn’t end up looking like an utter tit when it’s inevitably sprung on him. 

A light kick to his ankle makes him look up. Roger’s smile is tentative, and something like confusion bubbles in his chest.

"Alright?" 

Brian nods slowly. 

Roger drags his chair closer and pokes him in the side. "You're all quiet."

"I was just thinking," Brian says, squirming away from Roger's prodding finger.

"We were just having fun," Roger says, letting his hand fall to his side. "You're not gonna leave, are you?"

Brian glances at Freddie and John, but they seem to be deep in conversation and are not paying attention to him at all. He lowers his voice. "I’m not leaving. It was just a surprise."

"What, me and Freddie?" 

"Yeah," Brian says, hating the way Roger says it so casually. "I didn't know."

"It didn't mean anything," Roger says, expression earnest. "We were drunk and silly. You know how it is"

"I'm not sure I do,” Brian says, because he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to kiss his friends, drunk or not.

Roger smiles. "Hm, no, I can see that. But you gotta admit kissing is nice." 

Brian's eyes drop to Roger's mouth entirely without his permission. He swallows. "Perhaps," he allows, "if one is into that sort of thing."

Roger puts his elbow on the dining table and rests his chin in hand. "You never told me why."

Brian looks away. "I did."

"Remind me again?"

"It makes me become attached."

"And is that so bad?" Roger asks, eyes searching Brian’s face.

Brian laughs, a strangled, bitter sound. "Are you never afraid to burn your fingers?"

"Sucks the fun out of life, doesn’t it? Being afraid."

He’s suddenly very aware that Freddie and John have fallen silent, and when he glances at them, they are watching their conversation with interest.

“Do you mind?” he asks them. When he turns back to Roger, he’s gazing calmly at him, and Brian takes in the familiar features, lets the trust and safety that come with years of friendship wrap around him. His voice is weak when he says, “I don’t know.”

Roger’s eyes soften. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

Brian closes his hot, stinging eyes. He wishes he could believe him.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

 Despite the light from his bedside lamp, a soft blue glow still emits from the bottom drawer of his nightstand when he sits down on his bed and opens it. He can’t help but let out a soft snort—he’d almost forgot about it. 

The cock ring is smooth and cool in his palm when he picks it up, and he turns it in his hands as he thinks back on how angry and, for a second, humiliated, he’d felt when he unwrapped it in front of Freddie and Roger. Perhaps he should’ve seen it coming—Roger’s like that, he knows, always taking his jokes too far—but right after their awful hookup? If touching him hadn’t been the last thing he wanted at that moment, Brian would have strangled him. And then his eyes had dropped to the certificate, and he’d hated Roger, hated how he couldn’t even stay angry with him because he wasn’t just a regular prick, he had to be a thoughtful prick. 

Brian puts the cock ring down on his nightstand and reaches for the certificate, scanning the coordinates and his name in big letters on a glittering, starry background. He hasn’t visited his parents since Christmas, but when he does, he’ll have to set up his telescope and see if he can find his star. 

No one but Roger could come up with something so at once ridiculous and thoughtful, and it makes Brian ache when he thinks about it, so it’s rare that he does. He can’t help it now, and he unbuttons and pulls off his trousers and crawls into bed.

He thinks about their time in the studio earlier, how it had felt like a punch in the stomach when he’d watched Roger play, the strange feeling in his chest that’s been there all day. And he thinks that maybe he wants Roger, and the thought makes him feel warm and prickly. He can’t recall the last time he’s allowed himself to want something and he’s not about to start now, not when his friendship with Roger is at stake, not when he knows Roger’s only looking to experiment.

He thinks Roger’s curiosity has been sated, that those two times were more than enough, but maybe he’ll decide he wants to go further one day, and Brian can’t bear the thought of it, is afraid he’s going to hook up with a stranger in a club, somebody who doesn’t care he hasn’t been with man, who doesn’t know him like Brian does.

Stomach tightening with sudden anxiety, Brian is halfway out of bed before he remembers himself. He can’t just go in there and tell Roger not to hook up with other men. He’s a big boy, Brian knows that, but he’s also chaotic and reckless and far too nice. 

If only he didn’t care—it’s not like Roger cares about Brian’s hookups, and maybe if Brian put more energy into finding someone to blow off steam with, he wouldn’t have to think about any of this.

By the time Freddie lets himself into their bedroom and starts undressing, Brian has almost calmed down enough to go to sleep.

He closes his eyes, returns Freddie’s goodnight, and listens to the sounds of Freddie crawling into bed; the rustle of the sheets and the click of the lamp. 

It’s quiet for a moment, then comes Freddie’s “where the fuck does that light come from?”

Brian opens his eyes, momentarily confused by the soft, blue light coming from his nightstand, before he suddenly realises what it is. Struck by horror, he grabs the cock ring, throws it into the still open drawer, and forcefully closes it.

“Was that—?” Freddie says, losing a splutter of amusement.

Brian’s cheeks burn, and he turns to his other side. “Goodnight, Freddie.”

♛ ♛ ♛

The next morning, Brian wakes up from a vague dream that leaves him confused and impossibly horny, mind whirring and dick aching.

It’s inconvenient, to say the least—he doesn’t have time to be horny, nor does he have time to analyse why his subconscious thought it a good idea to put him in weird, uncomfortable lingerie at Roger’s request. 

Quietly horrified with himself, he gets out of bed and puts on his robe. He fully blames the unfortunate incident—trauma—last night for his fucked up dream, but he’s still hard, and finding the cause does nothing to soften it.

Securing his robe, he slips out of his bedroom, mind filled with strong hands in his hair and a bright smile that makes him ache. He’s disappointed to hear John dueting with Bonnie Tyler in the bathroom, and is just about to go back to his bedroom for a long, luxurious wank, when a door opens and Roger appears in old man slippers and the Marlboro windbreaker John got him for Christmas, eyes small with sleep.

"Are you heading out?" Brian asks, even though the question is quite obviously yes. 

Roger nods, holding up his lighter and pack of cigarettes as a way of explanation.

"Mind if I go with you? I could do with some fresh air."

"Sure," Roger says, throwing glances at him like he's grown an extra head. Brian doesn't blame him; if he's not going to work or uni, he prefers to stay inside.

“Let me just put on some trousers,” he says, hurrying back to his bedroom to pull on trousers and two woolen jumpers.

Logically, he knows no good can come out of this, and he almost pauses, but then he remembers Roger’s words from the night before, and he doesn’t want to be afraid, not anymore.

And if he’s rejected, well. At least he’ll know.

Outside, Roger shakes out a cigarette and puts it between his lips, turning toward Brian to shield the flame from the wind. There’s a small furrow between his eyebrows as he flicks the lighter and his eyelashes seem impossibly long. Brian can't help but stare.

"Slept well?" Roger asks conversely, rubbing the crust out of his eyes.

"Um," Brian says, distracted by Roger’s eyes on him. He really needs to just go for it. "I did, thanks. Listen—" 

He takes a fortifying breath, racking his brain for a way to word his proposal that doesn’t make him sound like a loon. Considering that he hasn’t spent a minute thinking it through, he’s not too optimistic. 

"What's up?" Roger prompts.

"Right," Brian says, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket, "I've been thinking and ... I'm sorry if this is blunt, but ... I was wondering ... Do you maybe want to fool around?"

"What?" Roger lets out a laugh, and when Brian looks at him, his face is a picture of disbelief.

"Do you want to shag?" He's not sure that's much better, but at least now it's out in the open.

Roger rubs his face with the hand holding his cigarette. It makes Brian nervous. “Uhm,” he says. “I suppose..?”

“Right,” Brian says, stomach dropping, “convincing.”

“No, I just—I suppose I don’t need to remind you of last time. I’m a little apprehensive. I don’t know what you want.”

“You,” he says before he can stop himself, “for real this time.”

Roger swallows. “Why? I mean … I thought you didn’t—”

“I do,” Brian urges. He pauses, scratches the side of his nose with his middle finger. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday.”

Roger takes a long drag of his cigarette. “It’s unlike you to make a decision so fast.”

“I know,” Brian says. The conversation feels surreal. “It’s been a long time coming, I think.”

“You want to have sex,” Roger says, “with me.”

Brian chances a step closer. He reaches out to brush his thumb over the back of Roger’s hand. Roger looks down, then his eyes snap to Brian’s. 

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Brian admits. “I want to know what it feels like when you fuck me.”

He doesn’t think he imagines the hitch of Roger’s breath. “That’s a lot to process this early in the morning.”

“You don’t have to decide yet,” he says, touching Roger’s arm and wondering just when he became this fucking bold. He steps back. “I’m going back inside. See you in there?”

Roger’s voice is hoarse when he replies, “see you.”

Brian turns around and walks inside, mind spinning. He doesn’t think he’s ever been that blatant before, but as he replays their conversation in his mind, he has a sneaking suspicion that he might have been missing out.

♛ ♛ ♛

As it turns out, Roger is quick to decide. 

"Please, John," Roger is saying not 10 minutes later, "it's a tiny favour I'm asking you."

"I'm not doing it," John says, hanging his wet towel over the back of a chair. "It's freezing outside, and besides, it's your crap."

"John!" Roger's voice has taken on a decidedly whiny tone, "just this once."

John folds his arms over his chest. "Give me one reason."

"You'd get to spend the entire day with your boyfriend!”

"No, give me a reason why you want me to do it."

"I'm—" Roger's eyes flick to Brian. "I'm getting a cold." 

"You're never sick," John says with narrowed eyes. "Though God knows you should be suffering from horrible vitamin C deficiency."

"Well, you go out for a smoke in your underwear, see how you fare," Roger says, adding a sniff at the end of his sentence.

“He does look a bit pale,” Brian says, thinking he should probably attempt to help.

John ignores him. "Unless you have a fever, I'm not even gonna consider it," he says, picking up his tangle of earphones from the dining table and walking into the kitchen to start on the dishes. 

"I do have a fever," Roger insists, "come, feel my forehead, I'm burning up!"

"I'm not gonna feel your forehead," John says, "take a couple of paracetamols if it's so bad or talk to Freddie, I'm not going."

"I can't believe you hate me," Roger says sullenly.

John puts his earphones in.

Roger turns to Brian, an exasperated look on his face. He does a little toss of his head towards his room. Brian follows him. 

"Sorry, really thought he'd go," Roger says when they’re inside and he’s closed the door behind them.

“It’s okay,” Brian lies, disappointment mingling with the slow slide of arousal in the pit of his stomach. "We'll do it some other time." 

Roger steps closer until Brian is pressed against the door. He lifts his hand to trace Brian’s jaw, then latches a soft mouth over his pulse point. 

Brian closes his eyes, greedily inhales the sweet scent of Roger’s hair. He wants to say something, but no words leave his mouth.

“Really want you,” Roger murmurs into the skin of his neck, his hands low and tight on Brian’s hips.

Surprise unsticks his throat. “Really?”

“You’re funny,” Roger says, looking up at him as he presses closer, a delicious hardness against Brian’s thigh. “Wanted you for so long, I don’t think I can—please don’t change your mind again, I can’t—”

“I won’t,” Brian promises, gasping as Roger smiles and sucks a line of kisses up the column of his throat. 

“Good,” Roger says, breath catching as Brian grinds against him. “I wanna fuck you.”

“Don’t,” Brian groans, his hands coming up to push against Roger's shoulders. "If you don't stop, we'll do it here, I don't care. Freddie and John can watch."

“Kinky,” Roger says, smiling up at him. His hands stroke Brian’s sides, and Brian’s exhale is messy. He wonders if Roger can feel it on his face.

His eyes drop to Roger’s mouth entirely without his permission, and he wants to give in so, so badly. He wonders what he tastes like, wonders how their mouths fit together, but he can’t, knows that if this is going to end well, he has to keep himself in check—Roger clearly doesn’t have any qualms about tempting him into things he’s surely going to regret later.

“Freddie will wonder where you are,” he whispers, hands sliding down to rest on Roger’s upper arms. 

The disappointment he expects on Roger’s face doesn’t come, and Brian feels a strange drop of his stomach when he merely squeezes his sides and steps back.

Brian thinks he should be able to breathe again but for some reason, it’s harder without Roger pressed against him.

"Are you gonna think about me?" Roger asks, annoyingly charming grin in place as he puts his hand on the door handle when Brian steps away.

Brian swallows. He doesn’t trust his voice to lie so he says nothing. 

Roger presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

The blood in Brian’s veins thrums in approval.

♛ ♛ ♛

When the front door slams a few minutes later, Brian unpeels himself from the door and slips into his bedroom to collect a towel. He sends a weak smile John’s way when he passes him in the living room and tries not to look like he’s up to something when he hurries to the bathroom. 

Making sure to lock the door, he strips off his clothes, giving his cock a quick squeeze as he waits for the shower to warm. He doesn’t think—he lets out his breath when he steps under the spray, lets the water warm him up as he reaches for his shower gel. Catching sight of the bottles, he hesitates, and then, quelling the spike of guilt, takes Roger’s instead.   

He has a vague memory of Roger saying he'd stolen it somewhere because it smelt so good, but Brian is not sure he believes it, and if it is, he really doesn’t want to know. His soapy hands slide easily over his skin, the honeyed scent of the lather flooding his senses with images of Roger pressed against him, of strong hands on his hips. Closing his eyes, he trails a hand down his torso and closes a fist around his cock and groans, recalling Roger's expression as he'd sucked him off, the sounds he’d made, the quiet inhalation. The tiles are shockingly cold against his back, and he wonders what would have happened if Roger had convinced John to go, if he'd been on his stomach right this moment, and he can't stop the stuttering moan that leaves his mouth. His hand speeding up, he grinds back against the wall, needing to feel the solidity of it, and wishing it was warm and soft flesh instead of cold, wet tiles.

Roger's words run through his head; of want and need and wanna fuck you, and Brian feels the build in his groin, lets his head fall back against the tiles while he slows his hand, panting softly. He looks down as he comes, on his flushed cock, on the come that is quickly rinsed away by the spray of the shower, and he can barely believe what he’s just done.

He waits for the guilt to come but oddly, it doesn’t. Catching his breath, he pushes himself away from the wall, uncaps his shampoo and works it into his hair, thinking about Roger and Freddie at the stall and wondering whether Roger has thought about him at all. 

It scares him how much he wants now that he's allowed himself to, but he does, and he supposes there's no use in denying it anymore. He wants to feel Roger's mouth on him, wants to get fucked into the mattress, wants a lot of other things he's not allowed to think about yet.

He can't stop picturing Roger's smile, can't stop thinking about his words. He thinks about it as he rinses the shampoo out of his hair, thinks about it as he dries off and puts on clothes. He's still thinking about it when he waits at the bus stop, is reminded of it again when he opens a message from Roger after his tutoring, thinks about it when he goes to bed at night.

When three days have passed, Brian thinks he might actually, genuinely go insane. He can’t pretend he’s not bothered, not when Roger is there, not when he knows, when he uses every excuse he can to touch or brush against him. The whole thing is endlessly frustrating, and Brian has resorted to wanks in the shower—he might’ve worried about using too much water, but has found that he finishes embarrassingly quickly lately.

His cock stirs at the thought, and he shifts on the couch; the movement causes Roger to look away from the television screen and up at Brian, a soft smile on his lips. 

Glancing at Freddie and John curled up in the armchair and finding that their attention is on the screen, Brian slides his fingers into Roger's hair and doesn’t think he imagines the sound of Roger's breath hitching a little. Unthinkingly, he scratches his scalp lightly, and Roger presses into the touch, cheek pressing against Brian’s thigh.

Heart in his throat, Brian extends his thumb and tentatively brushes over the shell of Roger's ear, causing him to still. He turns slowly, enough to look Brian in the eye, and Brian feels suddenly shaky with want. Mouth twisting, Roger turns back to look at the screen, and Brian tries to relax, to enjoy the movie and the company of his friends, but the only thing he can think about is how close his cock is to Roger's head, and how good his mouth felt around him. 

"Right," John says half an hour later, getting to his feet with impressive ease considering the depth of the chair and the fact that he’s got one Freddie Bulsara wrapped around him, "I should be going."

"What time is it?" Freddie asks, following John with his eyes and hugging a pillow to his chest.

"A quarter past, and my shift starts at noon."

Freddie pouts. "I'll miss you."

John smiles. "I'll keep that thought for when I'm about to commit arson."

"You're exaggerating," Freddie says, getting up to follow him to the door. Brian knows he most likely isn't.

He listens to their quiet bickering in the hallway, trying his best not to squirm, but Roger’s head seems to have moved from his thigh to his crotch, and his dick has unfortunately taken an interest.

The front door clicks open, and Roger waves in the direction of the hallway even though Brian doubts he can see anything from his reclining position. "Bye, John," he shouts, "don't kill anyone!"

"I make no promises," John yells back. The door slams, and they both listen for a while for Freddie to return, but he appears to have followed John outside. 

"You've got to move," Brian whispers, "you're driving me nuts."

Roger smiles, slow and sly. "I'm driving you nuts now?"

"Stop it," Brian says, pushing at his shoulder, but Roger just grins, easily resisting.

“Am I turning you on?” he asks, looking very, very pleased.

Brian scoffs. “Of course not.”

“Liar,” Roger whispers and grabs his wrist.

Brian’s pulse thrums against Roger’s fingers.

“You’re not—” Roger begins, but Brian doesn’t get to find out what he isn’t, because just then, the door opens, and a moment later, Freddie enters the living room.

“Don’t the two of you look cosy,” he comments, picking up his iPad from the dining table.

Brian flushes. 

“Oh, we are,” Roger says, stretching out on the couch. 

“I’ll let you get on with it, then,” Freddie says, an amused glint in his eyes.

Brian swallows. "Don't you wanna stay and watch the movie?"

Freddie wrinkles his nose. "It's dreadful."

Roger snorts. "See you later, Fred."

The second the door to their room has closed behind Freddie, Roger sits up, bringing his face close to Brian’s. "Wanna come to my room for a cuddle?" 

Brian swallows. He can only think of one way this could possibly go, and suddenly he's afraid. Roger leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin tingles.

"Okay," Brian whispers, and follows him into Roger's room.

He almost regrets it when he discovers the floor is barely visible underneath clothes and uni books, but then Roger is bouncing on his bed and gesturing for Brian to lie down. 

Brian does, stepping over piles of clothes to press their bodies together, to line kisses up Roger's throat. Roger sighs and Brian reaches for his belt.

“No,” Roger says, and Brian stills, almost thinks he’s misheard.

"What's wrong?"

"Not in here."

Brian stares at him, uncertain. "What's wrong with in here?"

Roger picks at a loose thread on Brian’s jumper. "It's not fair to John."

"That we have sex and he doesn't?" Brian ascertains, just so Roger can hear how ridiculous it sounds.

"No, that he'll have to start thinking about whether he can enter his own room or not. I promised him long ago I wouldn't bring people home."

"It's not like we're doing it on his bed,” Brian says, desperate now, “he’s not even home.”

Roger shakes his head. "Brian, I don't want to do it in here."

Brian suppresses a groan. Where else can they go? Rent a hotel room? "We might not get the chance again."

"I promise you we will," Roger says, brushing his hand over Brian’s cheek. 

Brian closes his eyes. He can’t stand Roger this close, can feel the pull of his lips and is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to lean in and kiss him, and it startles him a little. He wonders if it would make Roger change his mind. 

He opens his eyes again, presses his cheek against Roger’s palm. “Okay,” he says. Sighs, knowing he can’t possibly stay. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

♛ ♛ ♛

On Thursday afternoon, it finally happens. There’s a gorgeous sunset outside their window, shining large blocks of golden orange on the couch Roger’s stretched out on, and Brian is sitting at the kitchen table, valiantly trying to pay attention to the book he’s reading. So far he’s not succeeding.

The door to his room opens, and Freddie appears with John in tow, both heading straight for the hallway. Roger looks up from his phone to peer curiously at them. 

"Behave, darlings," Freddie says, popping his head in again a moment later, now dressed in fur coat and heeled boots. John appears behind him in a charming windbreaker in pink and blue. 

"Are you leaving?"

Freddie lets out an exaggerated sigh. "We told you this, dear. Remember that play Chrissie’s in? Or not in, she works there. I’d wanted to go anyway, but then she invited me along, and Deaky darling was kind enough to offer his delightful company."

"That's very kind of you, John," Brian says, remembering absolutely no such thing and deciding to focus on the one thing he understands. John's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Are you gonna be home for dinner?" He aims for casual, but his heart is beating fast suddenly.

Freddie looks to John. "I think we're eating at theirs, yes."

"Right," Brian says, voice faint.

He doesn't dare look at Roger. Thinks he might combust if he does. 

"Say hello to Chrissie from me," Roger says, sounding decidedly cheerful, "and Veronica if she's around."

"We will," Freddie promises, waving at them over his shoulder. John grins at them and follows. 

For long, painful seconds, neither of them move. The front door closes, and Brian listens as two pairs of feet descend the stairs, then hears the creak and slam of the other door. His heart thrums painfully as he reads the same sentence over and over, his body tense and alert.

The couch creaks when Roger shifts, but Brian keeps reading, more desperately now. He tries to ignore the soft padding of Roger's feet on the hardwood floors, tries to control his breathing, but it's not until Roger is standing next to him, warm hand on the back of his neck, thumb lightly caressing the skin until the fine hairs stand on end that he stops pretending. 

He exhales long and slow, closes his eyes against the caress. It's like warmth spreads from that touch, leaving his whole body tingling and desperate for more. Roger kicks out a chair, lets his hand slide off. 

Brian looks at him. 

"Do you still want this?" Roger asks, expression open and genuine. 

Brian swallows. "Yes."

A gorgeous smile spreads on Roger's lips, one that makes his heart beat faster in his chest. His lips feel heavy and hot. 

"I don't know what to do now," Roger admits, scrubbing at his hair.

This makes Brian snap out of it. Sex is something he knows, something he can relax into, and that no matter if it's a stranger or his unfairly good looking friend. 

He grabs Roger’s wrist, thumb brushing over the inked skin. His pulse thrums. 

"My suggestion would be the bedroom," he says, "depending on how adventurous you're feeling."

Roger laughs, a bright, startling sound. "Not very. I prefer the bed."

Brian smiles. "Me too."

When they enter his room, he’s embarrassed to note that his bed is unmade and there’s a pair of boxers that didn’t quite make the hamper, and he casts an envious glance on Freddie’s half of the room, on his huge, pristine bed. He opens his mouth to apologise, but before the words come out, a gentle push from Roger makes him sit down on the bed. 

“Don’t apologise,” Roger says, looking down at him with amusement.

“I wasn’t going to,” Brian lies, his hands moving to Roger’s hips on their own accord. He can scarcely believe he’s allowed to touch now, and he experimentally lets them slide down further, over Roger's backside. 

The hitch of Roger’s breath makes his own stutter in his throat, and his fingers are clumsy and uncooperative as he reaches for Roger’s zipper. Warm hands on his face steady him, and he pushes Roger’s trousers down, runs his hands up his thighs, stares, dry-mouthed, at the semi visible through the thin cotton fabric. 

Roger's fingers caress his cheek, run over his lips. He smiles.

Lowering his gaze, Brian pushes his hands under the hem of Roger's jumper, lets his hands slide over the warm skin. He presses kisses to Roger's stomach, mouths at the edge of his boxers. Roger's hands slide into his hair, and Brian doubles his efforts, kisses the visible bulge, and Roger cants his hips forward, exhaling messily. Brian's own cock twitches at the sound, at the thought of taking him into his mouth, of finally getting fucked, and he has to force himself to remain seated, to not let Roger take him right then and there. 

“Fuck,” Roger breathes, pulling at his hair. Brian’s breath catches. “Been thinking about your mouth.”

Brian removes his mouth from the damp fabric and looks up at him, at his flushed cheeks and blown pupils. He can't stand it much longer. 

"Yes," he rasps, and Roger's hands slide down his neck; a warm, solid weight there that sends shivers down Brian's spine. 

Mouth filling with saliva, Brian swallows and lets go of him, unbuttons his trousers and pushes them down over his hips along with his underwear. Pulling off his socks, he glances up at Roger again, stilling when he finds he’s just standing there, staring. It makes Brian feel warm all over, and he’s quick to scoot back on the bed, pulling off his jumper and his tee and shivering slightly as he’s exposed to the cool air. 

As their eyes meet again, Roger seems to shake himself and follows quickly, ridding himself of socks, jumper and boxers. Once he’s naked, he slowly lowers himself onto the mattress, and lifts a hand to skim down Brian's side. Brian suppresses a shiver as it follows the curve of his arse.

A faint smile on his lips, Roger dips down his mouth to kiss him, and Brian is just about to jerk away when he stops himself, places an apologetic hand on his arm.

“Sorry,” Roger says, “it’s just—I don’t know how to go about this without kissing. It’s so impersonal.”

Brian scoots back to look at him properly. “Does it have to be? It’s not a problem if we don’t make it one.”

Roger looks like he’s going to argue, and Brian feels a spike of annoyance. Then Roger idly swats his arm. “You’re such a prostitute.”

Brian relaxes. “You couldn’t afford me if I were.” He imagines it’s the kind of thing Freddie would say, and feels a bit silly, but it has the desired effect when Roger laughs.

“Because I’m dirt poor or because you’re that good?”

“Because I’m that good, of course.”

Roger runs a hand up his thigh. “Sounds very promising.”

Hiding a smile, Brian turns to his nightstand to retrieve lube, condoms, and baby wipes. The condoms and wipes he carelessly throws on the bed, but the lube he uncaps and squeezes onto his palm before passing the nearly empty bottle to Roger. 

“So you do this a lot, then?” Roger asks as Brian is slicking up his fingers, turning the bottle in his hand. 

Brian snorts gently. “Have sex? Occasionally.”

“No, I mean—” Roger waves the bottle uselessly.

“I didn’t know you were so prissy.”

“Shut up,” Roger says with an embarrassed grin. It’s a good look on him.

“Hurry up, then—no, grab me a pillow first.”

“I have tried anal before, you know,” Roger says. Brian looks at him doubtfully.

“With girls,” he clarifies.

"Hopefully this will feel a bit better for both parts,” Brian says, suppressing a laugh when he sees Roger’s put-out expression.

He takes the pillow from Roger and lies down on the bed, lifting his hips to push it underneath him. When he’s settled, Roger scoots closer to sit between his bent legs.

“Move,” Brian says, slick fingers hovering over his entrance, “I need more room if I don’t want to bump my hand into you every time.”

“Sorry,” Roger says, scooting back a bit, “I’m not wearing my contacts.”

This strikes Brian as terribly funny, and he can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes him. The expression on Roger’s face doesn’t help matters, and Brian dissolves into helpless laughter.

“Have you quite finished?” Roger asks, going for unimpressed but ending up with a grin stretching his lips.

“Sorry,” Brian says, even though he doesn’t feel sorry at all. Then his eyes drop to Roger’s erection, and, inhaling deeply through his nose, he slowly works himself open. 

Roger watches him, enthralled, and a warm hand drops to Brian’s thigh, the other wrapping around his own flushed cock. It’s intense and impossibly arousing, the way Roger is looking at him like he’s a delectable treat while he fingers himself open. 

“God,” Roger breathes, “you’re so fucking gorgeous. Can barely contain myself.”

The words make Brian’s head spin, and he chokes out a moan as his fingers press against his prostate. He feels desperate to be filled, and the fact that he can see the tight fist around Roger’s cock doesn’t help matters.

Carefully, he removes his fingers, and Roger drops a kiss to his bent knee. Brian returns the caress with his dry hand and rolls over on his stomach.

"What are you doing?"

Brian twists his neck to look at him, surprised. "I'm getting ready for you to fuck me."

"No."

"No?" Brian repeats, incredulous. He suppresses the urge to grab Roger by the shoulders and shake him.

"I don't want you on your stomach," Roger says, flushed but determined.

Brian sits up again. "It's much easier this way," he says, aware that “pull yourself together and fuck me” probably isn’t the best way to go about it in a situation like this.

"No."

"Roger, come on."

"No."

"Stop repeating yourself and give me a proper answer," Brian says, losing patience. "Why don't you want me on my stomach?"

"It's too impersonal," Roger says, "we're not strangers, are we?"

"You're putting too much into this."

"If it doesn't matter to you, why don't you want to be on your back?" Roger says, crossing his arms. Brian thinks he looks ridiculous.

"Because it really isn't the ideal position for anal sex!" he says, and it's no lie. Missionary is just weird, besides.

Roger picks up the pillow he used before. "Let's just use a pillow underneath your hips."

"You can tie me up if you want to," Brian says instead.

"I don't want to tie you up! Why are you being so weird?"

"Why are you so stubborn?" Brian snaps, stung.

"I'm not doing it if you're on your stomach," Roger says, face set.

"Christ," Brian says, dragging a hand over his face. "You lie down, then."

Surprise flickers across Roger's face. "What?"

"On your back," he says, pushing gently at Roger's chest, "I'll be on top."

"I—"

"I'll ride you, alright?" he says, "Christ, you do know how to kill the mood."

"What, because I want to see your face?" Roger says, but he scoots back on the mattress, his hands skimming over Brian's sides as he climbs on top of him.

"You really are a sap," Brian says.

"And you're impossible," Roger says, but his hands are warm and sure on Brian's hips. "Not complaining about the view, though. Or the fact than I can just lie back and watch."

Brian lets out a snort. "Of course you don't." 

He grabs hold of Roger's cock then, and Roger inhales sharply through his nose. He lifts his hips and guides the tip to prod at his entrance, balancing precariously on his knees on the mattress. 

Roger’s eyes flick over his face. Brian pauses. "Are you alright?" 

Roger shakes his head, tightens his hands on Brian's hips. "A little nervous. You look so fucking good."

Brian’s not sure what to say—he can't imagine Roger being nervous about anything, and especially not something as simple as sex. Concerts, maybe, in the form of an obnoxious amount of jokes and tapping on every available surface, but sex? 

"No need to be," he says, and impales himself on Roger's cock, slowly, and God, how good it feels to be filled. 

"Fuck," Roger says, stroking his sides with strong, sure hands.

Brian stills for a long moment, reveling in the light touch and the feeling of fullness. It feels like he can breathe again, like he can finally relax, which is ridiculous when he thinks about what they’re about to do. 

Once he’s adjusted, he experimentally lifts his hips, and the hard flesh of Roger’s cock slides deliciously against his sensitive inner walls. 

“Gorgeous,” Roger says as Brian lets him fill him up again. 

It’s not long before Brian’s panting and his thighs are starting to ache, and he folds himself over to catch his breath. He's almost forgotten how much work it is.

"Your hair is getting long," Roger says, brushing it away from his face, and Brian’s heart squirms uncomfortably in his chest.

As if feeling Brian’s discomfort, Roger starts kissing up his neck, along his jaw, presses a kiss to his chin, to his cheek. Brian jerks away. 

"Relax,” Roger mumbles, “I’m not doing anything." He lifts his hips, thrusts into him slow and shallow. 

Brian moans and grinds into it, causing Roger to swear. He's panting already, and Brian doesn't think he's ever looked better. His chest is flushed, hair sticking to his forehead, and his pupils are blown. He's also smiling, and really he shouldn't look that good when fucking someone, and Brian tightens around him just to have his face contort. 

"Fuck, do that again," Roger says. His hands tighten on Brian's hips, run up his back to lay possessively behind his shoulder blades. 

Brian does as he’s told and is rewarded with a particularly deep series of thrusts that steal his breath away. He's awash with sensation, and he has to slow down, save his thighs and the orgasm that is nearing with alarming speed. 

Sliding his hands up Roger’s chest, he rocks gently back and forth, leans forward to suck kisses up the line of Roger's throat, to the corner of his jaw. There he pauses, nose almost touching Roger's. He can feel his breath on his face, and he wants to lean in, he really does, but knows he can't let it happen if he wants this to stay a one-time thing. Chest tight, he slowly straightens, starts a slow roll of his hips in an effort to coax grunts and swears out of Roger to distract him from the tangle of feelings that seems to have taken permanent residence in his stomach.

“Hold on,” Roger says, hands tight on his hips. “Let me sit up.”

Brian’s heart hammers. He knows what it means, and he doesn’t think he can contain himself if he does. He shakes his head, puts on a smile he hopes looks sexy. “I think I rather like you on your back.”

Roger frowns slightly. Not so sexy, then.

He hates that Roger has this much power over him, that he makes Brian doubt what he wants, and it almost makes him want to start a fight.

Focusing on that frown, he opens his mouth to snarl at him, but then Roger grins, almost embarrassed, and the irritation seeps out of him at once. “Yeah?”

Brian trails his fingers over Roger’s chest, brush over a peaked nipple. “Very much so.”

“I don’t think I’ll last long,” Roger admits, “but I want to, because God, you’re so lovely.”

Brian thinks they both deserve for it to last if this is going to be a one-time thing, but he’s impatient, has wanted this for days now. 

“Me neither,” he whispers, “but it’s alright, isn’t it?”

Roger nods, strokes his sides, and Brian thinks he’ll miss it. He lifts his hips again, this time aiming for his prostate, and moans thinly when he hits it. 

Roger meets him halfway, hits his prostate with pinpoint accuracy, and Brian hurls towards his orgasm with alarming speed. 

It’s rare that he’s on top, and this time, there’s a chance he gets to come first. The thought spurs him on, and he wraps a hand around his cock, making Roger swear and his mouth falls open.

“Brian—” “No, don’t come, don’t come,” he chants, one hand braced against Roger’s chest, the other tugging at his cock. He’s so close, his orgasm within a hair’s reach, and he so badly wants it, just this one time—

His hips come down again, and he chokes out a moan, the double stimulation too much, and then he’s bending over, spilling his load over his hand and Roger’s stomach.

Completely spent, he rolls off him and lets himself fall back on the bed. He doesn’t want to move in a million years. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Roger pull off the condom and throw it in the waste bin. Brian lies still, heart slamming against his ribcage, and Roger settles next to him, one leg thrown over Brian’s hips. 

“Brian,” Roger whispers between kisses to his neck. He starts a slow grind against Brian’s side. “Brian.”

“In a second,” Brian says, sighing as Roger nips at his earlobe.

“No,” Roger says, getting up to straddle his chest. He nudges his cock towards Brian’s mouth. Brian laughs tiredly and bats him away. 

“Alright,” he says, sliding his hands over Roger’s arse. “Wanna try something fun?” 

“Are you joking?” Roger says, crawling off him to give space to get up.

“Lie back, then,” Brian instructs, searching between the sheets for the bottle of lube, “where’d you put the lube?”

Roger stills, his eyes searching Brian’s, and Brian is reminded of his own first time, of the reassurance he needed but never got.

“Relax,” he soothes, briefly touching Roger’s arm before uncapping the found bottle. “You remember how much I was into it, don’t you?”

“I doubt I’ll ever forget that!”

Brian slicks up his fingers. “You won’t forget this either.”

Nodding his head once, Roger grabs a pillow and places it under his hips. His legs instantly fall open, and Brian kneels between them.

“I know it feels weird at first, but try to relax,” he says, rubbing a slick thumb over Roger’s entrance to test how tight he is. Roger lets out an appreciative moan. “Feels good?”

“Mhm.”

Brian pushes his finger past the ring of muscle. Roger stills. 

“Okay?”

Roger looks like he’s not sure what to think. He meets Brian’s eyes and huffs out a laugh. “It does feel weird, a bit. But in a good way. You can go on.”

Surprisingly, Roger doesn’t tense up, and Brian slides his finger in easily. It’s been a long time since he’s had a finger up somebody’s arse, and it’s gloriously hot and tight. He checks Roger’s face for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he slowly fucks him with his finger.

“Uhh,” Roger breathes. Brian lightly tugs at his balls. “Feels so good.”

Brian’s cock twitches. Roger bites his lip.

"More," he says, and Brian adds another finger.

He can't stop watching him; the light lashes and colour high on his cheeks, the twist of his mouth and how he rocks into it, and it scares Brian how easily he gives into it, how open and trusting he is.

He keeps his pace achingly slow, longs to prolong the moment even if it feels like something is breaking inside of him. Roger's knuckles go white around the sheets.

"Do you want lube?" Brian asks, voice dropped low, hand already hovering over the bottle. 

"Please," Roger says, gasping and empty when Brian removes his fingers. Brian knows how he feels.

He squirts a bit of lube out in Roger's outstretched hand, and Roger envelopes his dick in a loose fist.

"I've never been this strung up," he says around a breathless laugh. Brian runs a thumb over his twitching opening. "I feel like I'm falling apart."

Brian looks at him then, really looks as they begin a slow rhythm. Roger is hot and tight around his fingers, his cock heavy and glistening in his hand, but it's his eyes that draw him in, and Brian can't look away.

Roger falls to pieces with a quiet noise, and Brian helps him through it until he receives an accidental knee in the side and Roger slumps back into the sheets, completely spent.

Brian very carefully removes his fingers and locates a box of baby wipes from his bedside drawer, cleaning first himself and then Roger. He feels slightly dazed which he thinks is good because otherwise, his emotions would threaten to overflow. Discarding the used baby wipes in the wastebasket, he carefully lowers himself onto the spot next to Roger.

Roger's chest is still moving a little too fast but his eyes are drowsy and his smile looks like it could give way to laughter at any second. 

Brian leans in and kisses him.

Roger stunned noise gets lost between their mouths, but Brian feels the vibrations in his throat where his hand has moved to on its own accord, feels the slide of Roger's thigh against his own, the chapped lips and a tease of tongue. 

Roger smiles into the kiss, which is a ridiculous thing to do, and one that Brian can’t help but mirror.

"So you do kiss on the lips," Roger says when they break apart, followed by the less romantic, "I would murder for a smoke right now."

Brian skims a hand down his side, buries his nose in Roger's shoulder. "You're so dramatic," he murmurs against warm skin. "Crack the window open."

Roger lets out a soft snort and slides out of his embrace. Brian watches him as he saunters towards the door, completely unbothered by his state of undress. He throws a pillow after him.

"Put something on," he says, "it worries me how comfortable you are walking around naked. Idiot."

Roger sticks out his tongue and slips out the door.

When he reappears a moment later to settle in the windowsill with his smoke, Brian has curled up in bed. There's a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach, and he knows he should have thought this through, knows he shouldn't have rushed into having sex with Roger, and he definitely shouldn't have kissed him. It's not like Roger hasn't had girlfriends before, but Brian knows he loves being single, loves the freedom and the adventure of it, loves knowing he can get anyone he wants. That Roger has decided to live out a fantasy with Brian is lovely, is a stroke to his ego, but no more than that, and he thinks he needs to hear that, even if it hurts.

"Roger?"

Roger looks down at him, eyes warm. The winter sunshine spills over his naked, goosebumped skin. 

Brian just looks for a moment, tries to find comfort in the familiar features of his friend. He doesn't know what to say—he feels like he should apologise, or ask what this all means.

"It was a really shitty thing to say about my parents," is what leaves his mouth instead.

Roger’s eyebrows rise in surprise. He takes a drag of his smoke and looks out the window, shivering slightly in the cold. Glances back at Brian. "I know," he says. 

"I was pretty shitty, too."

"Is that an apology?"

"I don't know how to navigate this,” Brian says, smoothing a hand over the duvet. “I know you were only looking to experiment, but—”

“What?” Roger lets out a sound of disbelief. “I never said that.”

Brian looks up, surprised. “You did. Before Christmas. We were in my room, you asked if I knew someone.”

Roger stares at him. Then he drags a hand over his face and lets out a small groan. “That was a come on, Brian.”

Brian looks down at his hands. “Oh.” 

He’d suspected, of course, that it might be, but it’d felt good to have the upper hand for once, to tease, and he hadn’t put much thought into it. Still, now that they have slept together and Roger has surely had his fill of experimentation, Brian can’t think of anything more he can give. He takes a fortifying breath. He might as well ask. 

“Will you want more?"

Roger looks out the window again. Brian’s hand tightens on the duvet. 

There's silence for a while. Roger takes a last drag and stubs out his cigarette, depositing the butt on the pavement. "I do."

Brian’s heart thrums madly in his chest. "What sort of things?"

"Whatever you want to give me." Roger hops down from the windowsill. “Just don’t shut me out again.”

Brian lifts the duvet so Roger can crawl in. The smell of fresh smoke hits his nostrils and he wrinkles his nose.

“Sorry,” Roger says, “I smell.”

“It’s okay,” Brian says, allowing Roger’s freezing, heat-seeking limbs to wrap around him. He shivers. “I won’t shut you out. But I’m scared.”

“What for?”

"If I become attached and it doesn’t work out, what’s gonna happen then?”

Roger rubs his thumb over Brian’s spine. “You’re so much in your head,” he says softly. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Of course it would,” Brian snaps, frustrated that Roger doesn’t seem to understand the seriousness of his concerns. “It’ll ruin our friendship, it’ll break up the band—”

“Freddie and John seem to be doing alright.”

“Freddie and John are very different people,” Brian says. “Come on, Rog, you’ve got to admit this would never work. We’re too different, we don’t have time to make this work. I have my work and my studies and you have yours, and besides, you love single life. And I couldn’t—we should stop this now. It’s gonna be a mess, I know it will.”

“You don’t know anything,” Roger says, but his voice is soft. He removes his hand from Brian’s back to thread their fingers together. “You’re getting ahead of yourself again. I want this, and I think you do, too. We’ll find a way to work through it.”

“You’ll get bored with me,” Brian whispers, shutting his eyes briefly, “you’ll miss being single, you’ll miss women, you’ll—”

“Stop telling me how I feel,” Roger interrupts. “You don’t know. Just relax. Why are you so afraid of getting hurt?”

Brian withdraws his hand and shifts onto his back, eyes finding the ceiling. “I don’t know. Suppose I’ve always feared it.”

“Inevitable, isn’t it? Getting hurt,” Roger says, voice soft. “What is it you think will hurt you?”

“Losing people.” Roger slides a hand over his stomach, pauses to trace the scar there. “It only got worse after what happened to Freddie.”

“That was a terrible, terrible accident,” Roger says, “but the risk of something like that happening is practically non-existent.”

Brian knows that’s not true, but he doesn’t argue. “I wonder how he’s doing,” he says instead, thinking of the many months after the accident where Freddie had been almost unrecognisable, guilt eating him up like poison. “Does John even know?”

Roger’s hand stills. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you think he’ll tell him?” Brian doesn’t blame him for keeping it a secret—he’s certain he would, too.

“Eventually.”

They’re silent for a while. Roger resumes his idle caress, and Brian looks at the ceiling, mind wonderfully silent even though he has thousands of things to think about. Then Roger speaks.

“Brian,” he starts, clearly hesitant.

Brian turns his head. “What?”

“Have you thought about … have you ever considered therapy?”

Brian’s stomach tightens. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He’s not sure what there is to say.

“I just don’t want you to feel this way,” Roger says softly, “I worry about you, and—maybe if we’re gonna try this, now would be a good time to start. Might help you with your worries.”

“I’m sorry,” Brian whispers, shutting his eyes to avoid Roger’s concerned expression.

“Why are you sorry?” Roger says, lips brushing over his jaw.

“I’m sorry I’m like this—God, even talking about this is …” He trails into silence.

“I care so much about you,” Roger whispers, pressing himself impossibly closer. “All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I know,” Brian says, and almost means it. 

“Just think about it,” Roger says, taking his face in his hands and gently tipping it so he can press a kiss to his lips. 

Brian’s heart stutters, and he opens his mouth around Roger’s, kisses him long and indulgent.

“Do you really want this?” he asks when they break away. His whole body is thrumming, and he wants nothing more to press their mouths together again, to reach for Roger’s hardening cock, but he knows that this conversation is an important one. 

“I do.” Roger’s eyes are bright and honest. “But keep in mind that it’s all new for me, this. You did say I’m comfortable enough with my sexuality to fool around with whoever takes my fancy, but I do have feelings, too.”

Brian winces. “I know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You’re not wrong per se,” Roger says. “But there’s more to it this time, isn’t there?”

Brian looks into pale blue eyes. “We'll fight a lot."

Roger cracks a smile. "I think we'll fight no matter what." He works a hand into Brian’s hair, and Brian closes his eyes and hums. “I don’t want us to, though. Not about the important stuff.”

“Me neither,” Brian says. He’s not sure it can be avoided, no matter their intentions, but he keeps that to himself. “Don’t you think it’s too easy, though? This?”

Roger’s hand stills. “It took me two months to get you in bed and you think taking it further is too easy?” 

He sounds so incredulous that Brian can’t help but laugh. He opens his eyes and draws Roger in for another kiss. 

“We don’t have to rush,” Roger speaks between their mingling breaths. He finds the inside of Brian’s wrist. “But I think this could work.”

“Yeah,” Brian whispers and brings his hand up to cup Roger’s face.

♛ ♛ ♛

The next morning, Brian gets up early to take a detour to uni before work. A recent graduate agreed to meet up and sell their used books for the upcoming semester for cheap, and by the time he stops by one of the coffee vending machines, books secured under one arm, Brian feels wonderfully accomplished.

He's just put his coin in when someone taps him on the shoulder, and he turns around to find Tim looking slightly harassed but with a friendly smile on his face. 

Brian instantly returns his smile. "Tim! What are you doing here?"

Tim's smile turns wry. "Study group."

"Already?" He's not even surprised. Where university is concerned, Tim's work ethic has always impressed him. Brian feels a spike of worry—classes are still four weeks away, but the upcoming semester is going to be a tough one from what he’s heard. He suddenly feels stupid for not having begun studying yet.

Tim shrugs. "I like to get ahead, you know." He peers at the books under Brian's arm. "New books?"

Brian punches the button for a cappuccino. He suspects it doesn't make much of a difference—all the variants contain too much milk sugar and a minimal amount of actual coffee. "Yeah, got them pretty cheap. Got time for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure.”

The machine is unusually slow today. Brian pushes the button again.

“How’s Freddie?” Tim asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “And … everyone else?”

“Good,” Brian says distractedly, pushing buttons at random now, “they’re good—the machine took my coin!”

“There’s a Starbucks nearby,” Tim offers, drumming his fingers on the side of the coffee vending machine.

Brian resists the urge to kick it. “I’m not gonna pay 6 pounds for a coffee when I can get it for 50 pence here!”

“Right,” Tim says.

“What’s wrong with it?” Brian asks, getting increasingly frustrated. He’s paid for it, god damn it.

“You know what?” Tim has pulled out his phone. “On second thought, I am in a bit of a hurry.” He claps Brian on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around. And, eh … good luck with your coffee.”

When Tim has turned the corner, Brian gives into the urge and kicks the machine.

♛ ♛ ♛

“Hey, babe." 

Brian looks up at the sound of Roger's voice and finds a warm smile for him. He closes the door to the store behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Roger smiles brightly. "Thought you might need some company on the way home." He holds up the two to-go cups he’s holding. "I brought you coffee!"

Brian feels warm with gratefulness. Then a thought strikes him, and he hesitates.

He doesn’t want to be rude, he really, really doesn’t, and it’s not Roger’s fault, but he thought of drinking milk again makes him sick. He can’t do it. But at the same time, he can’t not drink it when Roger’s gone through the trouble of buying and bringing it.

“You look like I just handed you a cup of poison,” Roger says. “It’s just coffee, don’t worry. I got it with soya for you. No animals harmed, I promise. Look, the cup is even made from recycled cardboard!”

“Thank you,” Brian says, weak with relief and suddenly shy. Their fingers brush when Roger hands the cup over.

“Do I get a kiss for the trouble?” Roger grins. “When we get home?”

Brian rolls his eyes, doing his utmost to control the smile that tugs at his lips. He covers it with a sip from his coffee, which is scalding hot and foamless, just as he likes it.

“Maybe,” he allows, starting to walk towards the bus stop.

Roger smiles as he falls into step with him. "You seem happy today.”

"Sorry," Brian says, "won't happen again."

Roger gives him a light shove. "Come off it."

Brian laughs and almost spills his coffee.

They’re lucky enough to find seats opposite of each other on the bus, and their knees knock together until Roger loops his legs around Brian's and pulls.

"Behave," Brian warns him, sitting back in his seat but allowing Roger's legs to press against his own; a wonderful, solid warmth.

He looks out the window but can feel Roger's eyes on him.

“Would you quit staring at me,” he says, covering his self-consciousness with a scoff. He’s not used to this much attention, and while it's not exactly unwelcome, it’s vaguely unsettling all the same. 

"Can't help it," Roger says, "you're so bloody gorgeous."

"Well, do something about it, then. Therapy or something. It freaks me out."

Roger laughs but relents. "Wonder what Fred&Deaks are up to," he says after a moment. "John told me Fred wanted to take him to this strange gallery."

"Good for him," Brian says, distracted by an email notification on his phone.

"Reckon you'd hate it," Roger continues, seemingly unfazed by his less than enthusiastic reply, "full of paintings of ladies and that. Not exactly your thing. Seems to be Freddie's at times."

"Just because he doesn't want to shag them doesn't mean he can't appreciate them," Brian says, "you're so black and white at times, it’s astounding really."

Roger nudges his knee. "I'm black and white, huh?"

Brian gives him a withering look. He suspects it’s not entirely working. "Whatever it is you're implicating ..."

Roger grins. "You're so suspicious of me."

Returning his smile, Brian leans onto his elbows, balancing on his knees. "I can't stop thinking about yesterday,” he confesses. “Reckon it's the best I've had in ages."

"You weren't too bad yourself," Roger says with a grin, "but my memory's terrible, I might need a repeat performance before I can give you a proper review."

Brian lifts an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Roger leans back, looking pleased. “Yeah.”

♛ ♛ ♛

Brian looks up from his attempted songwriting at the sound of a soft but fervent “yes”. He glances at the screen of Roger’s phone and is not surprised to see he’s still playing Candy Crush. Perhaps he’s finally reached next level after being stuck for two days. 

Shifting slightly on the couch, Brian puts his hand on Roger’s thigh and exchanges amused glances with Freddie, who has paused his sketching to curiously peer at Roger. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the armchair, one of John’s legs at his side. Roger, too engrossed in his phone, doesn’t look up.

As Freddie returns to his iPad, John's hand drops to his hair, his fingers lightly scratching his scalp as he reads Lord of the Rings for the umpteenth time, and Freddie closes his eyes, his face a picture of wellbeing. Smiling to himself, Brian removes his hand from Roger’s thigh to pick up his hand instead, idly playing with his fingers as he tries to come up with the next line of his song.

In his peripheral vision, the corners of Roger’s mouth turn up, and Brian swipes his thumb over the Leo constellation on the inside of his wrist, follows its pattern of stars. Unthinkingly, he picks up his uncapped pen and carefully marks down the stars of his own Cancer constellation next to the tattoo. Roger’s smile is closer to that of a smirk when he turns his head to inspect the new addition to his wrist, and Brian is mortified with himself. 

"Sap," Roger simply says, dropping a kiss to Brian’s hair before he resumes his Candy Crush.

Brian doesn't dare look up, but when he does, a mischievous pair of grey-green eyes is trained on him. Catching his eye, John slowly lifts an eyebrow, looking very, very pleased. Brian promptly flips him off. 

A moment later, Roger pockets his phone and yawns widely. "Gonna go out for a smoke and some groceries," he says, putting his newly decorated hand on Brian’s knee to lever himself to his feet. "John, you ready?"

Brian can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips as John and Roger disappear into the hallway to put on their coats and boots. “Don’t forget the shopping bag,” he says, listening to the creak of the floorboards and accepting a kiss from Roger on the way out.

At the sound of the front door slamming, he stretches out his legs, glad to have the couch to himself. Freddie covers a yawn and gets to his feet.

“Cup of tea?” he asks, and Brian hums in reply, closing his eyes as Freddie gets up to clank around with cups and spoons. 

Brian is not sure when he last felt this happy and relaxed, and quietly resolves to do what he can to hold on to this feeling. He’s beginning to suspect that how he felt over Christmas and New Year’s is not entirely normal or healthy. 

He feels around for his pen between the cushions and picks up his notebook from where it’s ended up on the floor, and manages to get a few more lines down before Freddie presents him with a steaming, perfectly made cup of tea.

Brian thanks him with a smile, greedily inhaling the fragrant steam, and watches him take his own cup to the dining table to sit down with a loose sheet of paper, presumably inspired by Brian’s own songwriting.

Brian finishes his tea around the same time he finishes his song, and has just got up to get his book when the phone rings, mum’s name flashing on his screen.

"Hi, mum," he says, glad she called on a day where he feels as good as he does. He should visit them soon. "How are you?"

"Brian." Something in her tone of voice makes Brian pause. His heart thuds against his chest.

"Hi, mum," he repeats, uncertain. The line is silent for a while. "Mum?"

"Do you want to come have dinner with dad and I, honey?" She sounds strange, and Brian swallows a sudden sting of fear.

"I'm sorry, I already planned to eat at home." He pauses. “Mum, you sound so strange. Is everything alright?"

"Nothing's wrong, honey," she assures, voice slightly hysterical, "nothing that can't wait. Are you free tomorrow?"

"Mum," he says, putting on his best stern voice. "Something is wrong and I want to know."

"I really shouldn't tell you over the phone."

"Mum." He resists the urge to stomp his foot. Anxiety thrums under his skin.

"Alright." She sighs, and Brian doesn't think he imagines her shuddery intake of breath. "Brian, you remember how dad's bronchitis has been worse lately, don’t you?"

"Yes," he says, voice coming out as a whisper. He tightens his grip around the phone. It's nothing, he tells himself. Bronchitis is not dangerous, mum is just overreacting as usual. "Did he see a doctor yet?"

"He went before Christmas, we just got the results." Her voice breaks now, and Brian feels sick.

"Mum."

"It's not bronchitis," she says. She's crying now. "It's cancer."

[donaldresslerfanfic]

Fixer.

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 3195

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Fifty-Nine.

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Maggie

"It's funny and disturbing to see you conflicted"

I'd been staring at Don for maybe half an hour, he was pacing around the living room where I hadn't seen him, then he walked into the kitchen with a look on his face like he wanted to tell me something but stopped himself.

Now he was trying to make it seem like everything was normal but he was bobbing his knee up and down whilst sitting on the couch.

It was funny because I'd never seen him nervous, and it was disturbing for the same reason, I'd never seen him nervous.

I sat in front of him, but leaning back on the couch because this little thing called my baby and the love of my life was slowly making it's way out of my body.

"What happened?"

He immediately shook his hand

"Nothing, I'm fine" he shot me a quick glance, then stood up and walked away from me.

"Don, you know there's nothing you can tell me that will impress me at this point" I stood up to chase him, but he stopped in the kitchen door and looked back at me.

"I know, but I really can't tell you what happened"

I bit my tongue, looking at him. He gave me a little look, begging me to not push forward.

"Okay" I nodded, he looked away and turned around walking to the stairs "actually, can I ask you a favor?"

He turned around and looked at me.

"Can you run to the store and get me a few things? I need to keep working on a thing and I don't have time"

I simple nodded, then took his car keys and made a little motion.

"Text me the list, I'll be back in a few"

I didn't need anything urgently, but I guess he would've given me an excuse to leave for a while anyway.

The next day, I got a good idea of what might be troubling him when I was going to work, I had the news station on the radio and they were informing about the National Security Advisor's death, Laurel Hitchin.

He had something to do with that, either him and Raymond, or just Raymond. I had heard Don complaining about how he had to pick up his badge from her house, how he didn't wanted to go because he didn't wanted to see her, because he was angry about her getting away and him doing nothing about it.

I was baking a cake when he showed up at the house, he didn't know that I was here and frankly I didn't know I would be home so soon either.

"What are you doing?" I asked from the kitchen. I saw him show up in the door frame with a frown.

"What are you doing here?" He questioned. I motioned at the mess I had on the kitchen.

"Baking"

"And what about work?"

I gave him a little twist of my eyebrows.

"I could be asking the same Agent Ressler"

I saw him clench his teeth, making his jaw move uncomfortably.

"I'm here to pick up some money"

"Mmm" I dipped the spoon I was holding on the batter and tasted it. "How much do you need?"

"About 20 grand"

I gave him a funny look and motioned upstairs.

"Well, you know where the safe is" because of course we had a safe for that amount of money, along with other random valuable things. When he walked out of my sight and headed up the stairs, I began cleaning the mess on the countertop while the cake continued to cook behind me, the filling and such was what I was working on when he arrived. "That's an expensive hooker you've got there Agent Ressler" I said when I heard him make his way down.

He walked to where I was again, adjusting his suit.

"It's not money for a hooker, I'm not cheating on you"

"You can just tell me then" I shrugged. He ducked my gaze, turning around and heading to the door.

"I'll see you tonight" he didn't let me respond, he just left.

Two hours later I was walking into a motel, cake in hand, heading to the pool.

"You're not making yourself hard to find"

Raymond perked up on his chair and turned around, he gave me a smile and stood up.

"Ah Maggie, what a wonderful surprise" I left the cake on the table and received a hug from him. He then laughed and looked down at me "and what's this?" He cautiously pressed his hand on my stomach.

"Yeah, this happened" I said touching the base of it.

"How far along are you?" He motioned at the table where he was sitting, I joined while he retrieved a fork and knife from the nearby recreation room next to the pool.

"I'm almost 15 weeks" I said, he gave me a smile as he sliced the cake.

"And what's this?"

"It's a bribe" he hummed and tasted the cake, falling back on his chair

"This is an almost perfect replica of Chui's pecan pie" he savoured. I gave him a smile and also fished a fork to eat. "I accept the bribe" I gave him a chuckle as I took a full bite of the cake. Damn it was good.

"So, Ressler, what are you guys up to? Why's he so upset?"

"Donald?" He asked frowning "Maggie darling I have no clue"

"You must know something, about Hitchin? Is that it?"

"Laurel?" He asked again.

"Yeah, she's dead, did you do that?"

He left the fork on the table and held his hands on his stomach.

"Maggie my dear, my entire operation was decimated by Kate, I have no money, no business transactions, no associates, no information worth having. And because of this I have no names for the blacklist, which means, it's not a case Donald is worried about. And no, I didn't dispose of Laurel"

I frowned and sat back myself. I absentmindedly began touching my stomach, is something I did a lot, it was like i was trying to calm down my baby from all the thoughts swirling on my head.

"Then I guess if you don't know what's wrong it must be a real problem"

He gave me a little sad look.

"Sadly I'm in no position to help" he motioned at the building. Yeah, I knew this motel, he truly was in no position to help.

"I don't think Don would want your help either way" I assured him.

I sighed and shook my head.

"What do I do? Do I keep pushing him to tell me? Or do I deal with this on my own?"

"On your own?" He asked doubtfully "like that?" He motioned at me. I gave him a twist of lips.

"Seems like you forgot that I used to work for you, if I wanted to I could find my way to get information. I know your associates"

"That's not wise Maggie."

I staid silent, maybe I was getting to up in his business.

"There should be no secrets between us" I said, I saw him nod with a little twist of lips. "I mean we've literally been through so much, why would he hide stuff from me, knowing that I could help him?"

"He doesn't want to worry you"

"Yeah, well, mission failed" I said a little angry. I gave my watch one quick look before standing up "I should get going. He should be home any minute now" I moved and patted his shoulder "thanks anyway Ray"

"When I can lend a helping hand Maggie I will delightedly do so" I nodded with a little smile and walked back to the car.

When I got back home Don was already inside, he gave me a look when I walked in, sneaking his hand on his pockets and waiting for me.

"Hey" I saluted.

"I'm sorry about earlier" he lamented.

"It's okay" I shrugged. He gave me a nod, then walked around me to head upstairs "I'd like to think-" I said turning around and following him "that there are no secrets between each other. And I meant what I said, I don't think there's anything you can say to me that would surprise me." I walked to stand in front of him, he looked down at the floor "is this about Hitchin? It has to be, what happened?"

"I don't want to implicate you" he said looking up at me.

I moved my hands to grab his wrists, fishing his hands out of his pocket and taking it in between mine.

"Listen Don, if you don't implicate me, I'll implicate myself. I will one way or another find out what you're up to, and I will do anything in my power to keep this family together. So we better do this together" I said in a serious tone.

"Mags-"

"Just tell me" I insisted "what am I gonna do? Turn you in? No way" I shook my head "tell me, or I will forget we ever had this conversation, we will move on with our lives like nothing happened, but I will find out on my own. Because Raymond doesn't know what you're up to and it's not a case so it's definitely something very illegal."

"We had a struggle" he said immediately "with Hitchin, when she gave me my badge, she grabbed me by the arm, I pulled back, she fell and hit her head on the countertop. That's what happened"

I gave him a frown.

"It was an accident" he clarified.

"Of course it was an accident, Donald, and anybody who tells you differently clearly doesn't know you" I bit my lip and pressed my hand to my chin "and the body?"

"I called a fixer"

"A fixer? Where did you get the number for a fixer?"

"I got it from Reddington and Reven Wright, he was holding her body."

"And what?" I made a motion with my hand "he just got rid of everything?"

"The body's still at her house, all the information on the crime scene is going to be processed tomorrow, that's when I'll know if he's not lying to me"

"Okay" I nodded "see, was that so fucking difficult? Did I panic? Did I look at you any differently?"

He just rolled his eyes in defeat and looked down again.

"But now you know"

"Yeah, now I know and I know what to expect from this situation. From now on we share our burdens do you hear me?" I threatened pointing at him. He gave me the faintest of smiled and pulled me in, I circled my arms around his neck and sighed. "Listen" I pulled back "Liz has gotten past a murder charge, she got past the district attorney murder charges, she got pardoned, Aram got past a grand jury investigation, if you get charged because of this, you still have the get out of jail free card"

He turned around and held me by the hand, leading me back to the kitchen.

"I just can't believe I did that"

"It was an accident" I assured.

"No, not the Hitchin thing. I can't believe I called a fixer, that's not the way I deal with things, that's not the right thing to do. Now I'm just digging myself a deeper hole"

"Listen" I stood in front of him and moved my hand on his neck  "I know you feel like you've backed out of your own principles. I know it's tough but you did it, and don't be scared to say you did it because you wanted to be out of jail. Listen I did it too, I haven't forgotten it and I live with that, we just-" I shrugged "we just need to focus on other things, right? This will pass"

He gave me a little nod, leaning in to kiss my lips.

"Thank you" he whispered over my lips, I just shook my head against him and kissed him again.

"Don't thank me for anything, we're in this one together"

Ressler

It felt surprisingly relieving to tell Mags about the whole fixer situation. I felt slightly bad because she was getting herself into things that were my fault, I shouldn't have dragged her into this. On the other hand she was right, I couldn't lie to her or keep things from her, when she found out she would be angry and disappointed that I hadn't trusted her when I had to.

I'm pretty sure Keen also shares her burdens with Tom, and I'm sure they've probably intentionally killed more people than I.

I was relieved when Cooper told me that in fact Hitchin's death had been ruled an accident, and I couldn't wait to tell Mags so she could help me bury this in my mind and never think about it again.

I was not relieved when Prescott got in my car at the end of the day and told me he knew me. He'd found out about me through my prints, and now he was blackmailing me with the evidence of Hitchin's house.

"Mags are you home?" I asked when I closed the front door.

"Yeah I'm up here" she said from the office. I made my way to her, untying my tie.

"He found out" I said, walking across the hallway and into her office. She was sitting in the desk chair, leaning back on it and holding a bag of cookies on her hands, she left it on her lap and fished one out whilst looking at me.

"What?" She frowned.

"He found out about who I really was"

"The fixer?" I nodded and pulled a chair from the side of the room to where she was sitting. "He didn't know who you were?"

"Reddington introduced us, and I kept the charade. He ran my prints and found out I was in the FBI"

"Oh shit" she lifted her eyebrows and fished another cookie. She made a motion to take one, but I couldn't pass a bite. "And?"

"He said he never destroyed the evidence he had on me. He has it and he's blackmailing me with it. Told me I was going to be doing him some favors"

"What a bastard" she muffled, then extended her hand to me "give me your phone. Has he been calling you?"

I fished it out of my jacket and handed it to her.

"I called him yesterday to meet and give him the money. I guess it's the same he will be calling me from"

I busied myself with watching her take a burner from the last drawer of her desk, plug it to the charger and when it turned on, she presses a few buttons and held the phone to her ear.

"Benji, it's me Maggie. Yes, I need you to track a number for me." She dictated the number, and I moved for her to see me and to question her with a look. She just took another cookie and ate it. "Mm hm" she nodded and extended both her hands to her computer, she typed an address on Google maps "yes please, and thank you" she hung up and motioned at the screen. "That's where he's at"

"Okay, first of all, why do you have a burner?"

"Raymond" she replied

"And second-" I continued "why do you have the number of a tracker, who is that guy?"

"He works at the local phone company, and he searches for the numbers and locations of the devices as part of an anti-theft program his company has. He can search any number you give him, it really doesn't matter if the phone was stolen or not, he can do it at any time" she motioned at the screen again "that's a lawyer firm." She opened the business page of the firm and ran through the names "none of these ring a bell?"

I gave the list a quick look and shook my head.

"Mmm" she took another cookie and her can of soda "so either he hasn't given you his real name" she concluded "or he doesn't work there, maybe he's just passing. But he is a lawyer, or knows one in that firm" she looked at me. She got a smile out of me.

"Yes, that's right, those are our two options" she smiled victoriously.

"Okay, so, if you've seen him, you can ID him, we need CCTV from this firm"

"I can't put up a warrant just because on a CCTV camera, I'm going to get questioned"

She rose her eyebrows to me and lifted her lip in a little smirk.

"And who said you would be doing it?"

"Oh, so you know someone that can do that too?"

She stood up from her chair and walked to a framed whiteboard she had, it was full of dates, numbers, post-it notes, drawings. She turned it around to the other side and began writing.

"We'll write down what we know about him, and you'll get me posted if he calls you again or what he's going to ask you to do."

She'd written on the whiteboard only his name, and the location of the last call.

When she finished she turned the whiteboard around and tapped it with the marker.

"We have the next ultrasound next week. And hopefully" she stressed "we can see what it is" she rubbed the base and the side of her stomach, which was a lot more noticeable now, it was round and perfect.

"Are you going to do the gender reveal thing?" She walked to me and I pressed my hand to her stomach, she took it in hers and moved it around.

"I'm too impatient, I want to know the same day, but my sister said absolutely not, she was going to take care of it, just us" she made a circle motion with her hand "and we'll do like a picture sayings 'it's.....'"

She looked at me, waiting for me to finish the sentence.

"A baby" I finished. She slumped her shoulders and gave me a look.

"Yes, but what gender, what do you want?"

"What do you want?" I replied, she looked down at our hands pressed against her stomach.

"I want a girl, like a 51% more, if it's a boy I won't be mad. But girls are cuter and there's so many clothes for them, and they're so sweet"

"You jinxed it now" she rolled her eyes and I chuckled, she sat on my lap and I held her by the waist. "I want a girl too, I'd love to have another you in the house" I leaned in to peck her lips, she smiled against mine and held me tighter by the shoulders.

She pulled back after a while and smiled at me.

"From 1 to 10, how good is my sleuthing?"

I rolled my eyes playfully at her and stood up with her in my arms, leaving her on the floor and walking her out of the office.

"You're like Aram, except I actually like to hear you ramble"

[seven-oomen]

If you find yourself needing a temporary distraction from the angst for a while, again, for the Ship Headcanon Meme thing: 1-5, 9, 12, 13, 21-29 (or really any combo there of, doesn't have to be all of them) for Peter/Noah (for preference), Chris/Noah, and Chris/Peter (also acceptable). Because the TW DILFs always need more love, and it's always fun to see how other people's thoughts/headcanons compare to my own. :D

Truth be told a distraction is very welcome today and I’m very happy to answer each and every one of these. So here we go for Peter/Noah:

1. Who makes the first move and how?

Canon verse: Noah was a young deputy who kept having to arrest a teenage trouble maker Peter. And Peter kept trying to push himself onto the older man, though naturally, Noah didn’t respond to any of it while Peter was underage and merely ignored him. When Peter’s 20 though, and Noah 25, he caves and eventually asks out the young college-bound Hale by asking him out on a date to the place where he first arrested Peter.

Once Upon a time verse: Noah moved first, surprisingly. Yes, Peter flirts and gets in Noah’s space and smiles at him like that, but he’s respectful about it. If Noah gives him a vibe he needs to back off, he does, and he doesn’t try to push himself on Noah too much. Eventually, when they’re about fourteen, Noah gets a bout of courage and corners Peter against a locker during lunch and pushes a wad of paper into his hands. When Peter reads it, one eyebrow up, it merely reads; will you go out with me? Peter only has to smile at the paper before he suddenly gets a peck on the cheek from the young druid and a “See you Saturday at 6 at Sal’s.”

Red Dead Redemption verse:

Peter returns to Beacon Hills after years of mayhem and running around West and Noah’s not sure how to handle him and his crew. But somehow he finds himself aligning with the outlaw king and sees how his way has merits. (Though he does try to get Peter on the straight and narrow, and succeeds for the most part too.)  Eventually, though,  Peter makes a move when they’re alone by the river. They’re out on a bounty hunt together, who was an old associate of Kate Argent and someone who had to do with the Hale fire. And they’re standing there by the river, the sun bringing out the gold in Noah’s graying hair and Peter can’t help himself, he moves in and captures Noah’s lips in a searing kiss. A make-out session near the burning fire and running river ensues.

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

 once upon a time

Noah’s the most insecure between the two of them, which is a result of what he went through at his father’s hands. The one thing Peter does to make him feel better though is wrapping him up in something, his arms, his jacket, a blanket and he just holds him close and lets Noah bury his nose in his neck. 

canon

I’d like to say Peter is probably more insecure as the younger of the two. He looks pretty confident and suave but really, he’s quite insecure when it comes to their relationship and what Peter’s role is in it. Noah is a patient man though and always makes Peter feel better by reminding him just how much he saved Noah. He does that by pulling him close, by talking and by letting Peter know just how much he’s loved.

3. Who is the most romantic?

Both of them are romantic in their own way. Peter’s more the type for grand gestures like I rented a restaurant or bought you a car or I flew you to Paris. Where Noah is far quieter like, I cooked you your favorite dinner or I lit candles all around the room and have a single red rose for you as you come home. Or even simpler, I bought our favorite ice creams and rented our favorite movies and have two blankets and a couch. It’s all about the small gestures for Noah.

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

Peter. I feel like this goes without saying but Peter is a very tactile person and he constantly wants to run his hands all over his sheriff. That the sheriff lets him is just icing on the cake, really.

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first? 

Noah, it comes out of nowhere, they’re just hanging out but at some point Noah just blurts it out and surprises even himself with it. But yeah I feel both of these boys wouldn’t say it easily but Noah would be the first to break. IMO.

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

Noah definitely squirted soda out of his nose in front of Peter because he thought Stiles was coming through the door and almost choked on the illegal soda he was drinking.

Peter once had to walk butt naked through the sheriff station because he tried to surprise Noah and was instead caught by a very upset Parish. Noah had to watch Peter being marched through the station in his birthday suit with only his own hands for moderation.

  12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

The way they act in public, before that there’s always a barrier. A very serious tone to their interactions. Once things get more serious though, that barrier starts breaking down and they get more light-hearted with one another, more open in public. And occasionally are even shown holding hands or kissing one another while dropping each other off at work or dropping the kids off at school together.

13. When do they realize they should get together?

For Peter, it’s when Noah shows that he has Peter’s back through hard times. That whenever he’s in trouble in court cases, or in some verses, with the law itself or other factors, Noah’s there and he has Peter’s back. After the scuffle of the day is over, Noah is also there to take him home and Peter knows he doesn’t want anyone else in his life but this quiet idiot.

For Noah, it’s when he first sees Peter interact with kids and sees there’s a much softer side to the tough Peter Hale. He sees how absolutely caring Peter can be and what a good parent he could be if given the chance. For a man like Noah, who seems to be about domesticity, I’d say that’s a very attractive quality.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

Their respective families. They’re not really the type to bring someone home and the mere prospect of doing so gives both of them an aneurysm. Everywhere else is something that they might be able to handle together, but family, yeah, that’s a major hurdle.

22. Where does their first kiss happen?

I tend to imagine their first kiss somewhere in nature. They’re either standing near a river, a lake, looking up at the stars, at the base of the Nemeton (OUAT verse), etc. But they’re completely alone and only surrounded by nature.

23. Where is their favorite place to be together?

Either in nature or in their own homes. I like to imagine these two love to go hiking and camping and just being one with nature. Where Peter can run free in his evolved form and where Noah is free to perform his elemental druid magic.

Or in their own homes surrounded by lots of blankets and pillows and with their kids curled up beside them. That’s where I’d envision them to be happy.

24. Where do they first have sex?

In OUAT verse, it’s at the base of the Nemeton when they’re fifteen. Later that’s also the place where they bring Chris and where Peter is gifted with Chris’s virginity. Coincidentally it’s also the place where both sets of twins are conceived in that verse.

In the outlaw verse, it’s in Peter’s tent back at the outlaw camp. Of course, the entire camp hears them and it’s the talk of the camp for several days after.

In canon, I’d say it’s probably at Noah’s house or a motel room Peter booked for them while on a romantic getaway. But there’s some serious candle action going on and a lot of thought put into it. Or on the flip side of that, it could also be hot and fast in the back of the sheriff’s cruiser or on the hood.

25. Why do they fight?

Over stupid little shit like why are there a pair of socks in the middle of the room. Or why is the laundry next to the hamper. Or can you never put your dishes in the fucking dishwasher? Because Noah is a bit of a slob and Peter’s pickier about what goes where and how. But also over more serious things, like criminal activity, lying about whereabouts or activities or each other’s insecurities.

26. Why do they need to have a serious chat?

Because Noah won’t stop asking Peter where he’s been and with who and it’s driving Peter insane. He gets it, Noah’s insecure about being left behind or that Peter will find someone better, someone younger or someone with fewer problems. But Peter needs Noah to trust him.

On the flip side, Noah and Peter need to have a serious chat because Peter has a jealousy issue and a money spending issue. (Yes, Peter has the money, but that doesn’t mean he needs three expensive cars.) And also because Peter absolutely cannot show up buck naked at the sheriff station again.

27. Why do their friends get annoyed with them?

Because when these two agree on something, they’re a force to be reckoned with. You will not sway their mind, they will not keep their hands off of each other and while they will listen to your opinions, they will always come up with a better argument for theirs. It’s very annoying to be faced with ‘ that couple’.

28. Why do they get jealous?

Peter gets jealous because Noah smiled at someone or laughs at someone else’s jokes. He also tends to get a bit jealous when other people comment on how hot Noah is in his uniform. Because that is his officer, dammit. Get your own.

Noah gets jealous when Peter flirts with other people. He doesn’t show it when they’re around others, of course not. But once they’re alone he feels an inexplicable need to show Peter just who his ass belongs too.

The only time when Noah absolutely claimed his turf was that one time while on vacation in Italy and they were at a hotel bar with a rather annoying Spanish tourist who wouldn’t stay away from Peter. He may have kissed the wolf in public, put his hand in Peter’s back pocket, and called him darling while maintaining eye contact with the tourist.

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Because Noah bites his lip when he’s concentrating on a case and taps his nose with a pen or pencil while he’s doing crossword puzzles. And he looks so smart and young and irresistible that Peter just wants to stare at him all day. He falls more in love with every smile, with every wrinkle that develops over time and every small gesture that Noah does for him. 

Noah falls more for Peter because Peter has a knack for calming him down when he comes home from a difficult case. He falls for the patience Peter has around kids and how wonderful of a parent and uncle he is. He falls more for Peter’s smile and youth every single day. He falls for his intelligence and the way he keeps surprising Noah and keeps him on his toes. 

He falls for the many, many cuddles, both in human and wolf form. And he falls for the way Peter naturally falls into step beside him while they’re walking together. He falls for the way Peter runs his hands over his when Noah’s upset and for the way those arms wrap around him to keep him safe. He falls a little more every single day.

[chuffyfan87]

Hiding. Part 80e

“What problem? Talk to me? I miss you talking to me about what’s on your mind.”

"I keep telling myself that I'm safe that you'd never dream of harming me but I can't stop my mind from running away from me." She sighed regretfully.

He moved closer to her, “Be honest with me. Do I treat you like a piece of meat?”

She lowered her head, a shameful expression on her face. "I panicked, I lashed out."

“It’s ok.” He replied and took her hand in his. He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “I love you. Sometimes I just don’t know what to do or how best to support you.” He admitted quietly.

"And I don't know how to ask for help." She admitted.

“Do you need help right now?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

“I think you do.”

"I hate feeling like this."

“How do you feel?”

"Lousy."

“That’s probably because you haven’t eaten for a few days.”

"I didn't mean to do that. Everything just got on top of me." She sighed.

“I understand.” He continued to stroke the back of her hand. “We need to work on this together, I don’t want this to destroy us.”

"Neither do I." She paused. "When you left earlier it really scared me."

“I wasn’t leaving. Not... forever.”

"I thought I'd finally pushed you too far."

“I won’t lie, it’s crossed my mind a few times.”

"You were thinking of leaving me?" Her voice was tiny and broken, her eyes filling with tears.

“It crosses my mind...” He admitted quietly, “But then I realised I couldn’t live without you. I tried it once before and look what happened. I’m just... I don’t know, you’re not the only one struggling darling.”

"We can get through this together can't we?"

“I promise we will.”

"I can't do this alone." She whispered, holding out her arms towards him.

He moved into her arms, “You’ll never be on your own while I’m by your side.” He kissed the side of her head and hugged her.

"You and me against the world." She reminded him softly, the beginnings of a weak smile on her face.

“You and me against the world.” He repeated, running his hand through her hair.

"I love you so much Charlie. Never forget that."

“I love you too.” He said quietly, a tear rolling down his cheek.

She caught the tear with her fingertip, gently wiping it away.

Another tear fell. “Sorry,” He said quietly.

"Its OK, its OK." She soothed as she pulled him into a tighter embrace.

After a couple of minutes, Charlie spoke again; “We should go and rescue your mum and Megan from the rugrats.”

Duffy nodded, reluctant to let go.

Charlie went back to the children. They had a meal together, Megan and Kate included, but things were still slightly strained between Charlie and Duffy. There was definitely an noticeable atmosphere.

Of the children, Peter and Emily were struggling the most with the atmosphere. Peter was agitated and snappy whereas Emily had retreated into herself, barely uttering a word all evening.

Once the younger children were in bed, except Emily who wouldn’t leave her mum’s side, Charlie took Peter aside. “What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing.”

"What the hell is going on with you and mum?"

“Nothing, it’s fine.”

"Then why was she screaming that you'd left her for good earlier?"

“She was confused and upset.”

"You must of said something to make her like that."

“I said I was going. I meant out, going out.” Charlie sighed, “Your mum and I are fine.”

"Bullshit dad." Peter shot back.

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

"Someone's got to stick up for her when everyone else treats her like total shit. She needed you and you fucked off!"

“Don’t start!” Charlie snapped, “You have no idea ok? No idea whatsoever!!”

"Just coz you don't smack her about doesn't mean it's OK to behave like an asshole til she cries."

“I don’t treat your mum like shit!” Charlie walked away from his son.

Duffy had finally managed to convince Emily to settle and was making her way back downstairs when Charlie came storming past her. "What the..? Charlie?!"

“Just leave it.” Charlie replied and went to their bedroom. He sat behind the door.

Spotting Peter in the hallway she continued downstairs. "Fancy shedding any light on that?" She asked him.

“I just told dad he’s not right been an arsehole to you.”

Duffy sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Peter... Not every man in my life is an arsehole."

“You sure about that?” He shrugged, “He treats you like dirt sometimes.”

"Is this because I got upset earlier?"

“Yeah and he walked away.”

"He's struggling too Peter. We all need to be a bit kinder to each other sometimes."

“Whatever.” He shrugged and went to his room.

Duffy sighed and went into the kitchen, finding Megan clearing up from their earlier meal. Jake was in the lounge attempting to teach his gran how to play his latest computer game.

“Are you and Charlie ok?” Megan asked as she looked up.

"Yes!" Duffy snapped then sighed. "No... Oh I don't know!" She sat at the table and placed her head in her hands.

“What’s wrong, pet?”

"I fucked up again."

“How?” Megan sat beside her.

"I pushed him away."

“Oh.” Megan sighed, “Charlie’s still here, isn’t he? He’s probably just giving you space.”

"I don't want space. Oh I don't know what I want." Duffy admitted.

“What’s bothering you?”

I'm scared something is going to go wrong and I won't be able to stop it."

“Between you and Charlie?”

"There's a woman at work..."

“Right...”

"She's trying to get her claws into Charlie."

“Is she? And how is Charlie reacting to all this?”

"He says he's not interested but I know that's not true."

Megan rose an eyebrow, “You think he’s going to cheat?”

"He's done it before."

“But that was different.”

"Really? How?"

Megan shrugged, “You and Charlie were always destined to be together. Do you really think he’ll cheat on you?”

"I don't want to lose him."

“And you feel you will lose him to this other woman?”

"She's exactly his type."

“What’s she like?”

"Slim, dark haired, a doctor..." Duffy sighed.

“She isn’t you though.” Charlie’s voice said from the doorway.

Duffy's head shot up, she hadn't heard him come back downstairs.

“I’m going for a walk.” He paused, “Don’t wait up.”

"Charlie!" Duffy called after him desperately.

“What?” He stopped in the hallway.

"Please! I'm so sorry!" Tears were streaming down her face once more, her desperation and fear palpable.

“Me too.” He swallowed, “I’m going to go for a walk and then I’ll be back.”

"Where are you going?"

“I don’t know. The pub?”

Duffy bit back an angry reply. That wouldn't help either of them right now.

“I’ll be back...”

Duffy sighed, admitting defeat.

He kissed her forehead and left.

After the door closed behind him Duffy slumped against the kitchen doorframe and sobbed.

Megan consoled her. “You just need to give him space, pet. He’ll be home before you know it.”

"Will he?"

“Yes. You and Charlie have a unique bond, I don’t think anything could destroy that.”

"What if that's not enough?"

“It is enough.”

"I just wish everything would stop being such a mess and go back to normal again."

“It will. It’s always hard having a new baby, you’re both adjusting.”

"You think that's what it is? Because he didn't want the baby?"

“No. I’m just saying that having a baby is difficult for both parents.”

"Its not like we don't have enough practice." Duffy rolled her eyes.

“No but that doesn’t mean, it’s not hard for Charlie.” Megan sighed. “Do you want me to wait until he gets back?”

"Please." Duffy replied, leaning her head against Megan's shoulder.

“Ok, I will.”

True to her word, Megan stayed until Charlie came back. Kate had gone home earlier that evening, giving up on the video game Jake was trying to teach her.

Megan let herself out quietly when she heard Charlie arriving back at the house. She knew they needed some time alone.

Duffy sat wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, her legs curled up under her.

He was tipsy, borderline drunk. He stumbled into the hall.

Duffy sighed, unsure if she'd get any sense out of him any time soon.

There was blood smears on the sleeve of his shirt. He stumbled into the lounge after hanging up his coat. Not aware Duffy was there.

She stayed quiet for a while simply observing him in the low light of the lamp that stood in the corner of the room.

He scratched his arm and sat down on the chair. He took something out of pocket and chucked it onto the table with a large sigh.

Without moving and drawing his attention to her presence Duffy struggled to see what the item was.

It was a packet of pills, illegal prescription drugs. He stood up and began to search the room.

Duffy held her breath.

He spotted her and jumped. “How long have you been sat there?”