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britishboystm · 4 years ago

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The Goodbye Prank | The Day We Met: A Fred Weasley Mini Series

Inspired by:

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+ (minors dni), oral f receiving, fingering, unprotected vaginal penetration, swearing, lots and lots of crying, deep hand cuts, angst!!

WC: 7k+

Chapter Summary: The boys are ready to move on to bigger and better things. What happens when Y/N finds out?

Series Masterlist

***

March 13th, 1996

“Hold still.” Y/N spoke sternly as Fred jerked his hand away from her, wincing in pain.

George was pacing back and forth in the background, glancing over at the couple every so often, anger filling his entire being.

She had really gone and done it this time. That poor excuse for a professor.

“Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous.” Y/N seethed through gritted teeth as she concentrated on the task at hand.

“It really isn’t that big of a deal Y/N. It’ll heal on its own.” Fred cried out, not wanting his brother and girlfriend to worry about him.

“No, Fred you don’t understand! That bitch has gone too far this time. Detention is one thing... but this,” She placed a drop of alcohol on the plethora of cuts, making Fred cry in pain. Tears welled his eyes and he kept his lower lip beneath his teeth to quiet himself.

He didn’t want to be a bother.

“This is abuse, she can’t keep getting away with this!” She continued to rant.

“Y/N darling,” He spoke assuringly, slipping his hand away from her tending grasp and placing it on her cheek to calm her down. His eyes were soft and pleading for her to settle.

“She will never hurt me. This is temporary, but she will never truly hurt me.” A tear slipped out of her eye. She couldn’t help but feel that this was all her fault, that she was the reason he had gotten detention in the first place.

The day before, Y/N and Fred had been snogging in a dark corner near the restricted section in the library, and while she was doing her daily lurking, Umbridge came across the couple, threatening punishment immediately.

Before she could get a hold of both of them, Fred pushed Y/N away, demanding for her to run back to her dorm.

He himself hadn’t had the time to escape which led to him getting captured by Umbridge’s evil clutches, even if she only stood at a whopping four foot eleven.

So here he was, bleeding from the hand, all thanks to that pink toad's “special” quill.

In Fred’s chicken scratch writing, his hand read;

I will not coerce with mudbloods.

It had been speculated since she began “teaching” at Hogwarts that she was secretly a death eater. This was strong evidence to support said claim.

“This is all my fault.” Y/N murmured, making both twins shoot their heads up in surprise.

“Godric no! Y/N never say that again! I don’t care what it takes to keep you safe. And I also don’t care about your blood status. You are kind and smart and beautiful and a brilliant witch.” His words were full of hurt, hurt that she would think that of herself.

Fred knew Y/N was self conscious of the fact that she wasn’t raised in a wizarding household. That she had to work twice as hard to be where she was in terms of her studies, all because she had to play catch up with her classmates. It took a toll on her and Fred knew this. George knew this. Everyone knew this.

“I’m sorry Freddie I ju-,” He quickly grabbed her cheeks and kissed her to shut her up.

“Just heal my hand love.” He muttered against her lips.

George looked away, feeling like an intruder during a very personal moment.

“Alright.” She sighed out with a soft giggle and sniffle, resting her forehead against his. He soothed her further with a tender caress of her hands. Something she had grown to appreciate deeply.

“Vulnera Sanentur.” She finally spoke, slightly moving her wand and watching as the venomous words began to vanish from his skin.

“Thank you.” He sighed in relief, feeling the pain dissipate with every passing second.

“You’re welcome Freddie.”

April 2nd, 1996

It was the day of the OWL examinations and Fred and George had only one thing on their mind.

Revenge.

After a quidditch incident in which they knocked Malfoy off of his broom for speaking badly about their mother, Umbridge had made the biased decision to ban the twins from ever playing again. And then on top of that, she confiscated their brooms.

Then it was detention for Dumbledore’s Army along with two of his brothers, his sister, his girlfriend and a bunch of his friends and classmates.

Then he and George got in trouble with Umbridge once again for consoling a crying first year who had been a victim to her cruel and unethical detention practices.

Expulsion was a given for what they were about to do. But they didn’t care.

The boys had decided that after Umbridge ruined everything that was good about Hogwarts (e.g, Dumbledore's Army and Quidditch), education was no longer a beneficial part of their lives. Instead, using the money Harry had so graciously given them from his Triwizard earnings, they decided to finally jump ship and start a joke shop in Diagon Alley. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes they would call it.

Now all that was left was what they considered to be their most brilliant prank yet.

And this was where Y/N came into the picture.

The three of them strolled down a corridor towards the great hall where Professor Umbridge was administering the OWL examination for the fifth year students.

Y/N was more than happy to help the boys with their prank, often being used as a siren for their sneaky schemes. She didn't, however, know the exact reason for this prank.

She didn’t know this was goodbye.

Fred and George drew a blank when trying to figure out how to tell Y/N about their plans for the future. It killed Fred to think that this could possibly mean leaving his girlfriend behind, even if it had been a dream of his and George’s for so long to start the biggest pranking empire the wizarding world had ever seen.

So while the twins spent weeks and weeks planning their departure, Fred also tried to think of ways to ask Y/N to go with them and leave Hogwarts for good.

Finally at the entrance of the great hall, they quickly went over the plan in secret whispers. Y/N then waited for her cue to enter the large space to create the much needed distraction.

With a tap on the shoulder, Fred and George gave Y/N the go ahead to start her one woman show. She let out a shake of nerves and ran in, coming to a complete stop at Umbridge's feet at the front of the hall.

“There are OWL examinations happening in this room. What is the meaning of this?” Umbridge spoke in a rather agitated but sickly sweet tone.

“There’s a few students playing around with banned Weasley products outside in the halls Professor. Causing a real disruption.” Umbridge clenched her fists. She couldn’t stand the twins.

All eyes were on Y/N. Most students knew she was Fred’s girlfriend so it was quite amusing to see the confusion on their faces.

Umbridge would have also seen through the act if she hadn’t been currently seething to the core.

“Right well, lead me to them Ms L/N.” She said tugging at the bottom of her pink tweed blazer. Y/N nodded, beginning to walk ahead of Umbridge towards the entrance, all the while, giving the boys the countdown for their surprise.

At one, Y/N noticed a gleam in the twins' eyes as Fred tossed a Whiz-bang right in front of Umbridge’s nose. Y/N quickly got out of the way as the Whiz-bang began to wreak its havoc. Umbridge yelped and screeched as she tried to outrun the now fully formed dragon that had emerged from the sparks. The professor was no match for Fred and George Wealsey, that was for certain.

As everything began to escalate, Fred and George mounted their confiscated brooms with conviction.

Fred took a moment to look over at his beaming girlfriend before placing a quick reassuring peck on her lips. The boys then pushed off the ground and zipped through the large room, their hoots and hollers of adrenaline trailing behind them.

Students cheered as examination papers floated about, all caused by the gusts of wind from the speed of the boys brooms. Then once enough students had gathered on to the balcony, the letter W appeared in the sky in the form of fireworks. It stood proudly amongst the clouds that it almost brought a tear to Y/N’s eye. These boys were legends.

It was quite spectacular to say the least.

———

Later that night, Y/N laid awake, feeling slightly concerned about the twins. Neither one of them had contacted her to say where they were or when they would be back.

Feeling uneasy, Y/N pushed her dark maroon sheets off of her body and headed towards the window hoping to see any sign of the twins returning.

Nothing.

She let out a shaky sigh but became startled when she heard a quiet thump behind her.

Once she quickly spinned around she noticed the outline of her boyfriend standing in the darkness, with just a splash of moonlight cascading over his face. Even in the shadow she knew which twin she was dealing with.

“Fred!” She whispered through a smile before jumping from the window seal and running over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her with a tightness that she had never felt from anyone else. It was almost as though if he were to let go she would simply slip away into nothing. She frowned over his shoulder and pushed back from the hug to look into his eyes, hoping to find all of the answers to the questions she had in them.

“Fred?” She asked, beginning to notice that sick stomach feeling again within her.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you.” His tone was stern and pointed.

She felt an inkling as to what this was all about.

“Fred don’t worry, If Umbridge tries to expel you I’m sure Dumbledore can override it, right?” His expression didn’t shift.

“Right?” She repeated with an unsure tone, starting to think that the worry of expulsion wasn’t why he was here. The flips and turns in her gut became more and more alive. She could hear her heart beating in her ears. Why wasn’t he saying anything god dammit?

“Did something happen Freddie?” Her voice was shaky, almost as if she couldn’t trust it.

“I need to talk to you about something. Something important that could change the rest of our lives.” Y/N could sense his nervousness from a mile away.

“Bloody hell Fred this doesn’t make me feel good.” He quickly placed a hand on her cheek to calm her nerves. She instinctively leaned into his calloused palm.

“Before you say anything, let me explain and then you can tell me what you think.”

“I’m thinking that the other girls will wake up if we don’t have this conversation somewhere else.” He finally looked at their surroundings noticing the other bodies sleeping soundly within the room.

“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the dark dorm and down to the undisturbed common room.

“You’re scaring me Fred. Tell me what’s going on.” She watched him closely as he paced back and forth, clearly thinking about what to say next.

“George and I are leaving.”

“Not if Dumbledore has anything to say about it.” She responded, still very much left in the dark. Fred released a sigh and sat her down on one of the couches. The crackling fire filled the tense void between the two lovers.

“No, Y/N, we are leaving tonight. Getting away from Umbridge, from Hogwarts. We have a storefront in Diagon Alley that we are going to turn into the most wicked joke shop any witch or wizard has ever seen.” Y/N’s face was unreadable.

“Freddie the prank is over now. You don’t need t-” She said with a nervous laugh which he cut off.

“Y/N I’m serious. I know it’s hard to believe, but this time I need you to trust me. We are leaving Hogwarts, for good. George and I are going to be creating one of the biggest wizarding enterprises ever…. and, I want you to come with us…. with me.”

Y/N pulled her hands away from Fred’s. The skin on her neck crawled.

“Fred I- I don’t know what to say.” Her breathing began to quicken. She was panicking. She couldn’t just leave. She had friends, an education, a life here at Hogwarts.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. I just need you to know that I love you and this doesn’t mean that I want us to end.” She shook her head repeatedly, wiping away the tears streaming down her face.

Fred grabbed her cheeks and pushed his lips against hers. He could feel the salty wetness from her eyes transfer from her skin to his, and it broke his heart into a million pieces knowing that he was the cause of it.

Y/N wanted to push him away so badly. He had made the choice to walk away from everything that they had built together. How could she ever forgive him? Instead of conveying this to him, she moved to straddle his lap. He leaned against the back of the couch and placed his hands on her hips, holding on for dear life.

“Please.” He whispered.

She didn’t respond but rather pushed herself deeper against him, slightly grinding her hips.

“I’m sorry.” Was all she said, in a soft shaky tone. They both knew what she was apologizing for.

They took a moment to just look at one another.

Y/N then spoke before she had time to think her words through,

“Show me you really mean what you say. Show me that you truly love me. Show me before you go and forget all about me.” Tears flowed between the two of them.

“I could never forget you.” He said in a hurt whisper. Her eyes trailed down to their connected laps in shame, embarrassed that she was making a huge selfish fuss over his plans of a brighter future. Fred took her face in his hands and made sure to really get a good look at her before swiftly laying her flat on her back against the couch.

“Is this alright?” He asked while softly stroking her thigh. She let out a trapped sigh and nodded as she shimmied herself further into the cushions. Fred gave her a melancholy smile before leaning in and enveloping her mouth with his.

Immediately they began to collectively moan as Fred grazed his hand up and down Y/N’s goose fleshed skin and her clothed pubic bone pushed up against his sensitive groin. Just the feeling of his light feather touch had her trembling to his every will. Once he felt that her legs had gotten enough attention, he removed his lips from hers and moved his hands from her thighs as he looked down at her with a face filled with care and worry.

“Is this okay?” He asked.

His fingers were creeping up her inner thigh and past the fabric of her cotton pyjama shorts. She nodded with a soft hum of approval. She bit down on her swollen bottom lip as he began to circle her clit with his middle and index fingers. Then her hand shot up to grab his forearm at the same time as her legs tensed up with pleasure.

“Please Freddie, m-more.” She whined while using her hand to dictate his speed and movements against her sensitive centre.

Fred watched in amazement as his girlfriend laid submissively beneath him, her hair sprawled out as she shimmed and jerked about, all because of his large strong hand that was currently between her legs.

They had never had sex before. The two of them had talked about it a great deal throughout their relationship, but because they spent so much of their time surrounded by friends during school and family during the holidays, it was difficult to ever get a moment to do so.

Fred never really cared about getting caught or the idea of a quicky. He was Fred Weasley after all. Any way he could feel her skin against his was ideal. Y/N on the other hand, had always wanted her first time to be something meaningful. She wanted it to be thought out, where they wouldn’t be distrubed and could have all the time in the world to express their love for one another.

So never once did Fred imagine that this was how the night would end. In the middle of the warmly lit common room where any insomnia stricken student could walk in unannounced.

Fred wanted her to drop everything. He wanted her to follow in his footsteps. But she was her own person, and she had to make her own choices, no matter how much it pained him. At the very least they were able to say their goodbyes by finally giving themselves to each other, whole heartedly.

“I’m going to put a finger in. Is that alright?” He asked softly in her ear, intentionally making it so his mouth hovered close to her neck. She shivered at the feeling of his breath rolling off of her skin.

“Yes Freddie, more than alright.” She was his to take, anyway he wanted.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t like it, okay love?” She nodded lightly, completely under his spell.

Fred detached his fingers from her hypersensitive bundle and slowly dragged them down to swirl around the wetness that had formed at her entrance. Once she was fully prepped by his digit, he slipped his index finger inside of her. Even with one digit, he could tell just how tight she was.

“Merlin, you’re so fucking tight.” He groaned out his inner thoughts before attacking her neck again with a plethora of horny kisses.

Her jaw slacked open in pleasure and her back arched off of the sticky fabric beneath her. His methodical breathing gave her a pace in which she could thrust herself against his finger.

Fred noticed her clench and speed up her hips movements. Not wanting her to finish so quickly, he slowly pulled his finger out of her warmth, resulting in a whine escaping her lips.

“Freddie, come back. Please!” She cried out, reaching out for him. Instead of giving in to her (no matter how badly he wanted to), he slipped off of the couch and got onto his knees in front of her. Y/N sat up and faced him, looking like the goddess Venus herself.

“Off, darling.” He finally said before tugging at the waistband of her shorts. Y/N happily obliged by lifting her hips up and letting him pull the shorts past the curvature of her bum and down her legs to the floor.

“Can you open up for me darling?’ He asked gently, caressing her knees in a circular motion. Y/N adjusted herself in her seated position, the sound of the leather couch filling their ears as she shifted her hips. She then took a deep inhale before slowly opening her legs more and planting her feet far apart from each other. The draft of the room hit her, making her clench her toes for a moment.

Fred’s face heated up as he took in her glistening inner thighs and centre.

“Absolutely stunning love, really.” He bashfully admitted while stroking her spread apart thighs.

This was not the Fred Wealsey that everyone else knew. The crazy, careless prankster who had everyone wrapped around his finger. The Fred Weasley who constantly told innapropriate jokes and boasted about his pranking achievements along with his party animal ways. As he sat there on his knees, between his girlfriends legs, he came to the conclusion that he was the one wrapped around her finger. He was nothing more than a desperate boy who was hopelessly in love with the girl above him.

“All yours Freddie.” Her voice was like sweet red velvet cake getting sliced into on a warm late spring afternoon. Fred let out a soft groan in response to her inviting words before pushing himself forward slightly, preparing himself to attach his lips to her core. He slowly tilted his head to the side, allowing himself full access. His stomach contracted and he squeezed his thighs together, trying to keep the ache in his trousers at bay.

Once he was able to somewhat pull himself together, he placed a gentle kiss to her clit, resulting in her hole clenching and her hips abruptly bucking forward. She grabbed his short red locks in the process and looked down at him through half lidded eyes.

“Look at me baby.” She whispered seductively. His soft brown irises slowly shifted up along her gorgeous welcoming figure to meet her eyes, a clouded look of lust filling them. Now giving her his full attention, Fred moved on from the light kisses he was administering to fully lapping up her arousal with a new found confidence.

“Fuck.” She groaned out while jutting her hips forward and threading her fingers through his hair harshly. He sighed in contentment as he continued to watch his girlfriend unravel above him. All because of his tongue.

And once more, right before she could finish, Fred removed his mouth from her core, wetness covering most of his lower face, chin and all. Before he could make any witty comments about how spent she looked, Y/N grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him up onto the couch to lay on top of her.

His shoulders rose and fell as he panted, still catching his breath from devouring her seconds ago. His covered torso pressed against hers and they could both feel each other's hearts racing, keeping in time with one another.

“Stay with me. Just for a bit.” She pleaded quietly, sadness evident in her voice and tears sitting in the lower waterline of her eyes. Fred immediately sat up and watched her lay deeper along the couch before straddling her waist. He then unzipped his striped sweater, throwing it behind him absentmindedly. Y/N looked up at the red headed boy on top of her with so much love and admiration, moving her hands up and down his clothed chest and stomach. Fred then pulled off his t-shirt, exposing his bare upper body.

Feeling absolutely feral from seeing his lightly freckled porcelain chest, Y/N yanked Fred down by the neck to press their lips together. Most of the time when they kissed, it would be fairly contained and sweet. Now was not one of those times. Teeth clashed and tongues swirled freely making the kiss messy, sloppy and feverish.

Wanting even more contact, Fred pulled one of his hands out from behind Y/N’s head and tucked it under the button up lounge top she had on. She let out a small gasp as he began messaging one of her breasts. He couldn’t go another second without having them exposed and ready for his tender touch.

Quickly sitting up again, Fred started to unbutton the fabric with shaky hands, prominent pants of lust coming from his throat. Noticing him struggling, Y/N anxiously placed her hands over his and started helping him with the buttons.

Once the final button was undone, Y/N’s supple breasts were finally exposed. The cool air caused her nipples to harden and once Fred had fully taken them in, he brought himself down to her chest, sucking on the flesh happily.

Needy for more of him, Y/N dragged her hand down his stomach, stopping at the buckle of his belt. With a few aggressive tugs of the hand me down leather, Fred brought his hand down to help her unbuckle it, gently grazing her hand in the process.

Once the belt was removed, Y/N feverishly pulled at the zipper of his trousers. She was able to achieve the action on her own fairly quickly and began to feel around his lower section, putting her hand past the elastic band of his striped boxers. When she felt his hardened dick, a multitude of somersaults awoken within her. She was hoping somersaults wouldn’t be the only thing she would feel her gut that night.

She took him in her hand, making sure not to grip his aching member too harshly. He bucked forward and closed his eyes, letting out the most beautiful sound that had ever graced Y/N’s ears. Seeing her effect on the older boy had her stroking him faster and faster. Precome from his red tip began to seep between her fingers.

“Yes, yes!” He let slip out with a gasp, digging his face into her neck. She then slipped her hand out from his boxers and trousers, not letting him finish. It was a small act of defiance for doing the same to her earlier.

He whined quietly, nuzzling his nose further into her skin, begging for any kind of release.

“Lift up love.’ She said sweetly, which he did with very little objection. Her arms came around his waist and she pushed his trouser and boxers down more, giving her a full view of his arse as she looked over his shoulder from where she laid. She couldn’t help but stare.

Getting frustrated with the inconvenience of the material, Fred kicked off his shoes and used his feet to push the constrictive material off his lower half completely, including his socks.

Y/N and Fred were now fully naked and exposed.

“Fred, I need you in me.” Y/N begged, desperate for the feeling of being filled up by the boy above her. Fred brought himself up further on to his elbows and tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear.

“Yeah?” He asked, needing her to be one hundred percent sure that this was what she wanted.

“Yeah.” She responded, eyes full of wonder. He couldn’t deny her what she wanted, especially when she gave him that look.

He moved his gaze down to his swollen member that was just barely hovering over her pubic bone. With a steady grip, he jerked himself a couple times to bring up a bead of precome before shifting slightly, laying the tip of his length against her lower lips.

Looking up one more time for confirmation, he was met with a soft expression on her face and her hand stroking his hair gently, giving him a sense of reassurance.

That was all he needed to continue.

He moved forward, looking down to watch his aching length disappear past the folds of her pulsing centre.

The feeling made him release a shaky breath and he laid himself flush against her naked chest, knowing deep down that he wouldn’t be able to hold himself up for much longer even if he tried. Y/N hissed when he slowly pushed himself further and further inside of her, his member dragging against her contracting walls. To ease the pain she gripped onto his toned freckles biceps. All those years of swinging his beater bat could be felt underneath her fingertips.

“Freddie,” She cooed, indicating that the pain had started to subside. Her soft words sent sharp bolts of energy through his scalp and all the way down to the soles of his feet. The sensation made him want to move instead of this agonizing stillness they were currently in.

“Ca-can I-I m-move? Fuckin’ ‘ell, can I please move?” He begged, shakiness laced within his words.

“Yeah.” She whispered, tightening her grip on the roots of his hair. He groaned at the tugging sensation and began retracting his hips, watching Y/N tense and hiss as he did so. He waited a moment and then pushed forward again, watching as she let out a prominent sigh, releasing all of the stiffness she was holding. His thrusts were small, only moving slightly back and forth so she could get used to the feeling. Every once and a while she would let out these little mewls that made him want to snap his hips. But he had to have restraint.

For her sake.

It was as if she had read his mind because as he continued his methodically shallow pace, Y/N finally spoke up through her moans.

“More Freddie. I need more.” He lifted his head from the cozy spot he had created upon her chest to look her in the eye.

“Are you sure?’ The last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

“Christ Freddie, you’re being too gentle! Please just fuck me like you mean it!”

He was dumbfounded by her words. Her begging and pleading awoke something within him and he went to grab her thigh, placing it against his hip. He then set his forehead against hers making sure their eyes stayed connected.

“Like this?” He asked confidently with a tinge of a smirk as he began to roll his hips hard against hers. She let out a loud whine and nodded before looking down to their connected bodies, biting her lip as he continued to slowly and deeply fuck into her the best way he could.

“Yeah just like that.” She responded softly, rubbing her hand along his toned and flexed upper back.

Moans and pants filled the room. Y/N was fully laid back, pulling Fred down with her. With their bodies so intimately entangled, Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing her heels against his tailbone, allowing for a new angle to emerge. He was now hitting her g-spot in this position, though she didn’t know that. To her it just felt euphoric.

It just felt right.

After a while she made it so she was fully wrapped around him when she flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him almost as though she were a koala.

“Oh my merlin, you f-f-feel so fu-fucking amazing Fred!” All he could respond with were low grunts of pleasure.

Fred began to quicken his pace when he started to feel his orgasm creep up like a distant sneeze. This had Y/N holding on to him for dear life, also feeling her own climax slowly approaching.

“I-I think I’m go-going to cum.” He spoke in broken words.

“Me too.” She replied through a gasp, gripping onto his shoulder blades that tensed up every time he pushed forward into her now overly sensitive core.

After a few more deep and needy thrusts, Fred began to pull his hips back so he could finish on Y/N’s stomach.

“No.” She breathed out, tightening the grip she had on him, digging her heels deeper into his sweaty lower back. He looked down at her with a confused but blissed out expression, still thrusting sporadically.

“Finish inside me, so I still have a part of you with me when you leave.” He stopped, completely caught off guard by her words. She wanted him to stay with her that badly. It killed him inside, especially as he watched a single tear run down her flushed cheek.

“If that’s okay.” She continued, beginning to retract into herself. She started to think that she had made him uncomfortable and had ruined the moment with her loose words. She covered her face in embarrassment, wishing she could disappear. It would be difficult though with Fred still very much buried inside of her.

Y/N was about to apologize for stepping out of line when she felt him begin to thrust into her with more vigour than before. She took her hands off of her eyes to see Fred concentrating heavily, his face turning into a light shade of red.

“ ‘m close. Gonna fill you up so well love.” Her heart swelled at his words. He was going to do it.

“Fuck, me too Freddie.” With a few more passionate and hard thrusts and a plethora of I love you’s, Fred let out a guttural groan while sloppily painting her jaw with wet, salvia ridden kisses. Then he finally spilled his seed deep inside of her. She gripped on to him roughly, jutting up against his now partly soft member as her legs shook along with her orgasm.

Fred could watch her do that all day.

They had both mostly come down at this point as Fred collapsed on top of Y/N, their sweaty bodies finding a perfect rhythm through their erratic breaths and heartbeats. No words were spoken. Instead they stared off into space, finding a sense of peacefulness in their collective blissed out state. Only the crackling fire made itself known.

Amongst all this, Y/N drew hearts over Fred’s naked back absentmindedly with her fingers. He had almost fallen asleep at her soothing touch. It was what he would miss the most. The silent recognition of love that the two of them shared.

“Freddie?”

He hummed in response, far too gone at that point to give her a coherent sentence.

“I hate that I’m asking you this but, when are you leaving?” Fred’s eyes widened and he quickly shot up to check the time.

It was one-thirty in the morning. He was supposed to meet George at the front entrance half an hour earlier.

“Shit!” He yelled as he jumped up and ran around the common room, resembling a chicken with its head cut off. He frantically collected his clothes that were scattered on the floor.

“Get dressed and grab some shoes.” He said while hopping around, attempting to get his long lower limbs through the leg holes of his trousers. Y/N didn’t ask any questions as she quickly slipped her pyjamas back on and rushed upstairs to grab an old Gryfindor sweater her aunt passed down to her, along with a pair of worn in white converse.

Once she made it back down to the common room, Fred was lacing up his shoes. He must have heard her come down because once she got to the bottom of the stairs he looked up at her from his crouched position, watching her intently as she sat on the bottom step and concentrated on getting her own shoes on.

This moment reminded him of the night of the Yule Ball and how beautiful she looked when she came down those very same steps.

She took his breath away.

Now sporting a ratty old sweater and wearing no makeup whatsoever, his breath still caught in his throat.

She had always been so beautiful.

After a moment of soaking her in for what may be the last time for a while, Fred walked over and grabbed her hand, leading her out of the common room.

“Where are we going?” Y/N whisper yelled as they stealthily ran through the dark ghostly halls of Hogwarts. The only light source they were gifted came from the full moon that could easily be seen through the plethora of archways adorning the castle’s outer walls. The only sounds being the echo of their shoes slapping against the cobblestone beneath them.

Every once in a while when they came to a turn, Fred would abruptly stop and peak around the corner to make sure Filch wasn’t creeping around in the shadows. A habit he picked up when he first became a student at Hogwarts.

“Almost there.” He stated while swiftly moving around a corner, making a non verbal announcement that the area was clear of any caretaker activity.

Y/N helplessly wanted to tug Fred backwards and have them retreat back into the common room for a second round of passionate love making. Possibly even use the Room of Requirements to spice things up. But unfortunately, things don’t always go the way you want them to. Instead she tried her best to keep up with Fred’s lanky legs as he maneuvered them through the halls of Hogwarts.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally made it to the large grand entrance of the school, surprisingly not having gotten caught in the process. Y/N could feel her legs almost give out as they stopped to look out to the vast land of grass, forest and bodies of water, partially due to the large stretch of running she had just done and partially due to the activities that took place in the common room not that long ago.

Her lungs felt cold and sore as she gasped for breath.

“What are we doing here?” She choked out, not paying much attention to her surroundings. She then stood up fully and noticed a few meters away, the other half of her lover. He turned around, travel bag in hand and Angila behind him in all her bright blue glory. The fact that the car still ran was an absolute miracle. Especially after what Harry and Ron had put her through in Ninety-Two.

Fred took her out of her thoughts as he grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him. George had a beaming smile on his face. He initially thought that the plan had worked and Y/N chose to go with them to help bring their dream to fruition. Then he noticed his older twin shake his head sadly. George’s smile disappeared and his shoulders dropped once he realised what his brother was trying to tell him.

This was goodbye.

“I hear you boys are dropping out?” Y/N called out to George as they got closer and closer to him, an attempt to lighten the mood. He let out a sad laugh as he stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets.

“Yeah, was thinking about it.” He responded leaning against the passenger door. Y/N snickered softly as they finally came face to face. She dropped Fred’s hand and pulled George in for a hug, rubbing his back to console him, feeling bad that she had gotten in the way of their perfect plan.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” He asked, words filled with hope.

“I can’t. I need to finish the year and graduate. But this isn’t goodbye Georgie Poorgie.” She said before pulling away from the embrace. He smiled at this and playfully rolled his eyes. He always hated that nickname.

“Will you write?” He didn’t want the last seven years to just go to waste. Neither did she.

“Of course I will.” She moved in closer and whispered,

“Keep an eye on him will you? You were always the more reasonable one of the two.” He chuckled lightly and nodded before leaning in for one more bone crushing hug.

“Bye Y/N.”

“Bye George.” And with that he retreated back into the dodgy Ford to make sure everything was in order for their journey to Diagon Alley.

“So.” Fred said breaking the awkward silence, kicking the stone beneath him, his hands shoved in his sweater pockets.

“So.” Y/N repeated in a light mocking tone. So much had happened in the last few hours that neither one of them really knew what to say.

“I’m never not going to love you, you know that right?” He finally said stepping closer so they were only a couple inches apart from each other.

“Yeah I know. Still wish you weren’t just going and deserting your education but it’s not my place to stomp on your dreams you know.” Y/N let out a sniffle, collecting a couple tears with her fingers.

“I’ll wait for you.” He blurted out. She looked up and gave him a sad smile, taking his hand into hers.

“No you won’t. You will work and work and one day some beautiful girl will walk in and sweep you off of your feet. She will be the perfect girlfriend and one day the perfect wife who will help you and George run the shop and raise your kids while you live out your dream. I know you love me and I love you, more than anything in the world, but Freddie, I cannot and will not hold you back from what I know you can achieve. Be great, focus on that. I’ll always be here for you. But I can’t be who you want me to be. I can’t be a shop owner's wife.” Tears began to trickle down both their faces by the time Y/N had finished her little speech.

“Is this you breaking up with me?” His voice was cracked and hoarse. He had thought about this being a possible outcome but chose to push it to the back of his mind, not wanting to face it.

“Yeah...I think it is.” She replied weakly, feeling absolutely guilty and awful. No, this was what was right. He needed to move on.

“You are the only woman I’ve ever loved! No one else!” He said, his voice raising.

Y/N flinched slightly, not used to seeing him this genuinely angry, not even on the quidditch pitch. How could she? The only other time he got this mad was when she was passed out cold.

“Freddie, please. Not here.” Her voice was quiet and shaky as tears streamed down her face. She then noticed George watching from inside the car with a face full of remorse. Under normal circumstances he would have intervened to protect her but he knew she was safe and this conversation needed to happen sooner or later.

Seeing her scared demeanor, Fred pulled back immediately. He hated to see her frightened and vulnerable.

Slowly, he walked towards her and gently brought her into his chest as she sobbed, placing a plethora of gentle kisses on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry Fred, I just can’t I-” She rambled as her small frame shook with tears.

“Shhh. It’s okay, no need to apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled”. His eyes closed with frustration as he let out a sigh. He was angry at himself for getting so cross with her.

“Fred?” She asked once her tears had finally subsided and she could gather her thoughts.

“Yes love?’ He kept his hands around her waist as he leaned back a touch to look down at her.

“One last kiss? Before you leave?” Both of their hearts broke for what felt like the millionth time that day.

“Y/N please don’t.” He felt as though he could cry now.

“Fred, I don’t want to argue. Just do it” She was tired, emotionally drained and not in the mood to negotiate. He let out a shaky exhale and gently took a hold of the back of her neck, leaning down to capture her lips with his.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen with desperation. It felt nice and warm, but also painful. Fred moaned into Y/N’s mouth and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. In response she placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed her thumb gently back and forth against his soft freckled skin. His hand then came up to lay gently over hers. The size difference of their hands always made his heart swell.

“I love you.” He said against her lips.

“I know. I love you too.” She muttered. And with that, they separated and embraced for a couple more seconds. Neither one of them wanted to let go, but they had to.

“Bye.” She said with a weak wave once he had finally pried himself from her grasp, backing away further and further before getting into the driver seat.

He couldn't even look her in the eye as he started up the bunged up car, it would just be too painful. Merlin knew if he did, there was a good chance he would run back out to her and forget about everything he had worked so hard for.

The headlights shawn brightly, creating a stream of yellow light against the gravel in front of it. The sound of low rumbles, occasional putters and clanks drowned out Y/N’s re-emerging sobs as she watched the boys begin to drive down the path and up into the night sky. The old beat up Ford swiftly flew further and further away. Then it rippled into oblivion.

Gone.

Y/N held her sweater tightly to her shaking body as her teeth chattered, the only sound being the chilly April wind passing by. The wetness of her fresh tears brought an extra sense of coldness to her face. She stood in place far longer than necessary, secretly hoping that piece of junk car would reappear.

It never did.

#Spotify #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley smut #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter #fw

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blackmissfrizzle · 5 years ago

Text

Sanctuary

Summary: The reader gives Spooky an ultimatum when he abandons Cesar.

Pairing: Spooky x black!reader

Warnings: Mention of smut & language.

Bacon was sizzling in the pan, the potatoes and eggs were being kept warm in the oven, and you were flipping tortillas while dancing to your Spotify playlist.

“Good morning,” Spooky greeted you, his voice full of sleep.

Still mad that he didn’t care that Cesar had nowhere to go you ignored him and the one thing Spooky hates is being ignored.

He caged you in between him and the stove. “You still giving me the silent treatment, ma?”

You wanted to bump him out of the way, but you didn’t feel like hearing him yell, so you actually spoke to your boyfriend. “Can you please move? I need to get the eggs and potatoes out of the oven.”

Stepping back, Spooky moved and took a seat at the table. Bending down you got the food out the oven and you could feel him admiring your ass.

Silently, you made his and yours plates, slightly slamming his plate down. Oscar always led the prayer and the only time he heard you spoke was the amen.

Halfway into breakfast, you broke and told Spooky what’s been on your mind. “I’m gonna let Cesar stay with me.”

Oscar put down the taco that was halfway to his mouth and just stare you. To others it was supposed to be intimidating, but to you it didn’t mean shit. “Run that by me one more time.”

“I’m gonna let Cesar stay with me,” you repeated yourself, resuming to eat your food.

“No, you’re not. He’s not allowed on Santos’ streets and no girlfriend of a Santo would do that.”

“Well, one of those could easily change.” The threat of y’all breaking up is what caused Spooky’s usual calm demeanor to change. He backed out his seat, causing the chair to scrape across the floor, grabbed your seat to face him and leaned over you.

“You threatening to break up with me?”

Pulling his face closer to you, you kissed him aggressively. First, he was shocked because Spooky was the aggressive one, but once he was over the shock, he got used to it until he wanted to dominate you. Remembering that you needed some air and you had to tell Spooky something, you broke the kiss. “That’s exactly what I mean,” you whispered against his lips.

Oscar pushed off the chair and started pacing. “What do you want me to do? The cuchillos made that call, not me.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe put your family over the Santos,” you say sarcastically.

“The Santos are my family!” Oscar yelled back.

Unfazed by his outburst, you began cleaning up. Spooky eyed you warily, knowing you could go off at him at any moment for him yelling at you, but you never did. You continued cleaning the kitchen, then headed to the room to change.

When you came back out, you had your overnight bag in your hand. “You can throw away the rest of my things. I don’t need em.”

Spooky tried to snatch the bag out your hand but you were faster. “Y/N, quit your shit and put the bag down. Now!” He ordered you.

“No! I tried to reason with you last night and you blew me off. I tried again this morning and you still won’t budge. I’m not gonna let an innocent kid, a kid I consider a like a little brother live on the streets. So, if you and the rest of the Santos have an issue with it, y’all can kiss my black ass!” You walked towards the front door, but Spooky blocked your exit.

“You think you can do whatever you want because you’re the so-called Princess of Freeridge? You don’t even know how hard it is to live in Freeridge!”

Princess of Freeridge was a nickname that you believed you didn’t deserve. Your dad was the one, who was born and raised in Freeridge, and he was respected by all. He wasn’t affiliated with either the Santos or the Prophets, but both gangs knew not to mess with him, he was dangerous on his own. Eventually, he got out of the hood, got a football scholarship, and made into the NFL.

Once, your dad was big time, your grandma refused to leave her house in Freeridge and being a big momma’s boy, your dad made you and your brothers visit Freeridge frequently. You must’ve been just like your dad, because you took to Freeridge instantly. It was like you were meant to thrive in that neighborhood. Even your dad noticed, and he always said he felt more comfortable with you in Freeridge by yourself than your three older brothers. Also, it didn’t hurt that your uncle, who your dad could barely stand was a Prophet.

With street cred from your dad and uncle, you were practically untouchable in Freeridge. Whenever you were in Freeridge, you somehow always ended up hanging out with Spooky, which eventually turned into a romance.

As you got older, you tried to help the community. You organized various block parties against gun violence, built a community center named after your dad, and helped ex-convicts find legal and sustainable income. But eventually, you would go back to your home in the hills and live your ‘rich girl life’ as Spooky would describe it.

A knock on the door alerted you. When you reached for the doorknob, Oscar slapped your hand away and pushed you behind him, being his overprotective self.

One look out the door and Spooky rolled his eyes. “Oh, you called this pendejo?”

The man he was referring to was your bodyguard, Ray. Even though you could hold your own and no one would be stupid enough to try something with you (except them young’ins as your dad claimed), your dad insisted that you have a bodyguard especially since you came from a famous family.

Ray ignored Spooky and turned his attention to you. “Y/N, you ready? Everything at your grandmother’s is ready.”

Ray and Spooky never liked each other. Spooky swore up and down that Ray had a crush on you and would put the moves on you if he had the chance. Ray, a veteran and an ex-convict himself said Spooky was too small-minded. If he was gonna be a criminal, it better be to make his life better and he believed that it wasn’t and that Spooky was gonna drag you down, not elevate you.

“Yeah, I’m ready Ray. Can you take my bag to the car? I just need to speak to Oscar real quick.” Hesitantly, Ray stepped off the porch to the car.

Grabbing each of Spooky’s hands, you pulled him into a hug. “I love you and I will always love you. Just when you come to your senses, let me know, Oscar.” You kissed him goodbye and hoped with all your heart that he would change his mind.

—

Weeks had passed since you saw Spooky, but you never really had the time. You had to take care of Cesar, listen to his own relationship problems, make sure your play cousin Jamal didn’t get in anymore trouble, and work.

A girlfriend of another Santo bumped into you at the grocery store and told you about the party the Santos were having. She insisted you go because all the hoes would be on Spooky since he was single.

Jealousy reared its ugly head and that’s how you ended up at the party. And homegirl was right, girls were all over Spooky. You were about to go in on him when you saw a very underage person by all the liquor.

“Ay, Ruby what are you doing here?” You questioned one of Cesar’s best friends.

The endearing but annoying teen looked up to you with low eyes. “Your ex-boyfriend dragged me here. And by the way, may I mention that your post-breakup glow is phenomenal.”

Leaning down, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. Just for that I won’t give you any shit about drinking, as long as you can hold your liquor.” Even if he didn’t compliment you, you wouldn’t have snitched on him. It wasn’t too long ago when you were the one drinking underage.

Taking a drink of your own, you roamed around the party, mingled with some folks until one of the girls in Spooky’s lap decided to say something. “What are you doing here? Didn’t Spooky drop your ugly ass?”

Choosing to ignore her for the sake of the party, you turned around and walked away, but homegirl didn’t get the message and pulled you by the shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me, you Prophet bitch?” Her words barely registered in your head, because all you could do is stare at the hand, she decided to touch you with.

Everyone else got quiet to watch the showdown, but Spooky rushed to intervene. He knew once you got that glossy look in your eye it wasn’t long before you started swinging and there was no way Bianca could hold herself against you. Even Spooky was scared to try you.

“Bianca, yo, chill!” Spooky tried to warn the girl, but she was too dumb for her own good.

“No, fuck that! This little rich girl thinks just because her dad grew up in Freeridge, she can do whatever she wants, but she ain’t one of us! She’s more of a Prophet because of her bitch-ass uncle and cousin. She doesn’t deserve a Santo like you, Spooky.” Then the dumb bitch decided she could kiss Spooky in front of you. When she finished, she let Spooky go and smirked at you like she just won him. If she had any social awareness, she would’ve noticed he was disgusted by the kiss.

One look at you and Spooky knew he couldn’t stop you. He slyly stepped out of the way and let you do your thing.

You weren’t one for talking, so you let your fist fly and connect with Bianca’s jaw. She was out cold with one punch. People thought you were soft because you grew up privilege, but you always proved them wrong. They seemed to forget that you had three older brothers, all in professional sports, and one was a mma fighter. Hell, you basically grew up fighting.

Bianca’s friends tried to jump you, but none had hands like you. “Don’t you even fucking dare, Spooky,” you warned him against trying to get the girls off you.

Eventually, they gave up because of the embarrassment of getting beat up by one girl. Leaning over a semi-conscious Bianca, you told her and the other girls surrounding, “Leave Spooky alone and keep my name out your mouth or I won’t go easy on you next time.”

You gave her one good kick and turned to grab Spooky, tonguing him down in front of everyone, marking your territory. The hoots and hollers from everyone alerted you that you weren’t alone, so you stopped kissing him.

Spooky had that lustful look in his eyes and you knew your drought was about to end. He threw you over his shoulder and led you to his house while everyone else cheered you on.

Once inside the house, Spooky set you on your feet and tried to kiss, but you moved out of the way. Hurt that you rejected him, Spooky threw a photo of you and him across the room. “What the fuck are you doing here, Y/N? You gonna claim me in public and reject me in private? What do you want?!”

The pain in his voice caused you to cry. Never in your life have you ever heard Spooky this emotional and to know you were the cause was breaking your heart. “You,” you whispered in between hiccups.

“You got me, baby. Come back home.” He opened up his arms, inviting you back.

Shaking your head, you countered, “I can’t. Not unless your taking Cesar back.”

Spooky ran his hands from the back of his head to the front of his face. This woman was going to drive him crazy. “Come here.” He ordered, taking a seat on the couch. You followed his instructions and instead of sitting next to him, you sat in his lap. Snuggling into him you smelled the beer, weed, and mesquite wood making an intoxicating scent that described him.

Gripping your chin hardly and staring deep into your eyes, Spooky began to speak. “You gotta keep this to yourself. I mean you can’t tell anybody. Not even your pops, understand?”

Sitting up straighter at the seriousness Oscar’s voice you nodded your head yes. “What’s going on, Oscar?” You asked, only using his government name when you were serious.

He began telling you of his and Cesar’s plan of getting him back in the good graces of the Santos. They planned on setting up the Prophets and he even ensured that it didn’t involve your uncle getting caught up.

When he finished explaining, you stood up from his lap and began pacing. Your silence was making Spooky nervous, he grabbed your hand to stop you. “Baby, you good?”

Slapping his hand away, you stood over him and began yelling. “Hell no! You mean to tell me I’ve been moping around about your ass for weeks and almost fucked another guy, for you to tell me you’ve been playing me?”

“Who you almost fuck?” Spooky disregarded the rest and wanted to know who was dumb enough to mess with Spooky’s girl.

“Nah, don’t worry about that. Did you fuck any of those bitches, Oscar Diaz?” You were hovering over him, pointing your index and middle finger on his temple, not caring that he didn’t tolerate that type of disrespect.

Spooky smiled up at you. He was happy that you were just as possessive over him as he was over you. “No, quierda.” He pulled you into his lap, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I love your crazy ass too much to do that.”

“I love you too,” you muttered against his lips before kissing him. Spooky’s hands went from your hips to under shirt to your bra strap. To help him out you shrugged your shirt off and once it was off it was like he sobered up. Spooky pushed you off his lap and he stood up looking for your shirt.

“What the hell, Spooky?”

“This plan ain’t happening until a couple of weeks and for no one to suspect anything we need to keep up appearances.” Spooky explained, trying his best not to continue what you started.

“Which means you’re still not talking to Cesar and we’re still not together,” you finished for him. “How are we gonna explain tonight?”

Spooky waved you off and smacked his lips. “Man, Julio and his girl breakup and fuck all the time. It ain’t far-fetch for us to be doing the same.”

Smirking you reached out for Spooky’s belt to undo. “We haven’t fucked yet.”

To stop you, Spooky grabbed your wrists and turned your back against his chest. “And we’re not until all this is over, because if I get one taste of you, I’m not stopping.”

He was right, both of you could be insatiable. Reluctantly, you put your shirt on and began making your way to the door. You wanted to stay the night, but the temptation was too great.

“I’m sorry, I lied to you for so long. I didn’t want to involve you with all this.”

Caressing his cheek, you replied. “No, I should’ve known better. Under all that roughness, you’re a good man, Oscar Diaz.” You reached up to kiss him on the spot where your hand was.

Turning the doorknob, you were about to open the door when Spooky stopped you. “Aye, who’s the fool that’s dumb enough to try to fuck you?”

“No one important,” you rolled your eyes at him.

“Just let him I’ll shoot him if I need to.”

“Stop it!” Hitting him in the stomach to reprimand him. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

As soon as you opened the door there was a bunch of cheers for Spooky. All of his friends hyped for him ‘getting some.’ To put on a show, he smacked your ass when you turned to walk to your car. You glared back at Spooky to let him know he would pay for that, but it didn’t faze him. Instead he smiled and mouthed ‘I love you.’ And at that you couldn’t be too mad, because despite all the ups and downs Spooky always had the best intentions and was the man for you.

Tags: @soufcakmistress @chonisberonica @marvels-gurl @veryfastspeedz @bananasandhoney @badbitchtingzs

#black!reader #spooky #oscar diaz #spooky x reader #spooky x black!reader #oscar diaz x black!reader #oscar diaz x reader #spooky fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfic #on my block #on my block fanfiction #on my block fandom #frizzlesfic #frizzlefic

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voteforintensepuppets · 7 years ago

Text

The Robicheaux-Rocks Home for Wayward Boys - Part Two

With help from @geekyelvenchick and @rosecreeksashes.

Part Two: Another Night Lost Crawling the Walls

2006

When Goodnight arrives home, Billy is hunkered over the kitchen counters, furiously scrubbing at what Billy only knows. Even after a meal, the place is never less than tidy, but Billy has the type of soul where restless energy and idleness simply can’t coexist.

“Sam came by and…what is that,” Billy says the moment Goodnight comes into the kitchen. Goodnight puts down the squirming puppy in his arms just as the thought that maybe it's a bad idea comes to mind. The puppy, small and brown with feet too big, skitters over the polished floors towards Billy, who reels back as though scalded when it raises up against his leg, his fist squeezing a pool of water from his sponge onto the counter.

“Stress cleaning again, cher,” Goodnight asks, his mouth quirking in the offer of a smile, as if he’d given an appropriate response.

“This isn't a fucking joke,” Billy spits back, with real venom creeping at his voice. Goodnight startles and hurries to reclaim the puppy before it can do any real damage besides existing. He loves Billy, really, he does, but he'll be the first to admit that Billy Rocks can be a frightening man, and right now, Billy is scowling something fierce. “I sent you a message an hour ago, and you come home with this.”

“It was a surprise. I was on my way, you know how traffic gets—”

“I called you. Multiple times.”

“I know, Billy, I heard you all the way down South Claiborne,” Goodnight insists, heat creeping at his voice before he can check it, and he feels guilty as soon as he hears himself. Billy’s jaw twitches in a sign Goodnight is on the brink of a royal screw-up, and while he tries to remain impassive, there's too much of a snap when he asks, “I'm here now, so what's the problem?”

“What's the problem,” Billy repeats. His eyebrows disappear into the hair that today hangs un-styled in his face. “What's the problem? Take a look for yourself.”

Suppressing a huff, Goodnight follows the path of Billy’s hand, out of the kitchen and through the dining room, fully expecting nothing impressive.

He should have known better than to doubt Billy.

Goodnight’s hand that is stroking the puppy’s velvety ears involuntarily stops alongside his heart when he glances into the living room. The television displays underwater scenes of the Titanic while on the couch opposite the television, a boy huddles in the corner, his knees drawn to his chest. For a moment, Goodnight wonders if he’ll leave a spot on the couch before he wonders why there is a child on the couch to leave a spot in the first place.

Goodnight moves out of the doorway, hoping the boy won't notice them discussing him, and says, “What is—ah...I’m not sure I understand.”

“Sam just dumped him here. Said his name was Joshua, his mom was in trouble, and he'd be back for him in a few days.”

His stomach jumps at the name, yet for whatever reason, Goodnight asks, “Why is he watching the History Channel?”

“How should I know what kids like,” Billy hisses, squeezing his sponge that, from his grip, should have been long dry. Goodnight watches the water drip and then takes another glance into the living room. His heart twists, though he doesn't know if it's from the sight of a child, or if it's that the child is so disheveled, so out of place in their home. He assumes it's a combination because any child that they would have had—if they'd had any—would have had better than that. They could have given a child everything.

If they'd had any.

This is a disaster. Smoke, gunfire, loss of limbs—Goodnight can handle those disasters, or at least he knows how they’re supposed to be handled. The truth of the matter is that he probably couldn’t handle even one of those disasters now, which is why he’s so grateful for Billy, who could add Disaster Handler to his resume. And that would be all well and good if the biggest part of this disaster wasn’t Billy himself.

There’s a part of Goodnight that’s afraid to turn back around, lest he find Billy seated at the counter in three-day-old clothes and red eyes, hurt and scared, a sight Goodnight had never expected after ten days with no sign of Billy. With a determination that far outweighed their hesitancy, Goodnight and Billy had pieced themselves back together and left those ten days in the hell where they’d belonged, and they hadn’t looked back since. Billy started saying I love you more, and Goodnight started to believe him again, maybe with a little more conviction. That’s how they made it here.

Here, where Billy isn’t sporting dirty clothes and bloodshot eyes, but where instead he’s watching Goodnight with that same face from a year ago when he’d watched the storm roll in: his face tight, mouth open just slightly as though to stop himself from biting his lip, eyes watching Goodnight for his reassurance the storm will be fine. Setting down the puppy once more with a payer it doesn't pee, Goodnight steps closer to Billy and runs a hand through his hair, letting it linger on his cheek. The anger that had burned in Billy's eyes has died out, and he now meets Goodnight’s with a faraway gaze, brows halfway knitted together and jaw determinedly clenched. “I'll talk to Sam, ok? I'll call him right now, and we'll work this out.”

“Thank you,” Billy says softly, dropping his gaze.

Goodnight steps onto the back porch and dials Sam’s number with a deep breath. He doesn't understand what Sam is doing—or at least, he doesn't want to understand—but Sam never does anything without motivation. It's cruel, he thinks, for him to have done this to Billy knowing what had happened before.

Sam answers on the fourth ring. “Hey, Goody.”

“I told you we'd talked about getting a dog. This isn’t a dog,” Goodnight sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, wishing the day Billy and Sam got along would come sooner than later. Wishing he maybe hadn’t gotten the dog either.

“This is better than a dog. Doesn't need help going to the bathroom.”

“You're a real hoot, Sam, and half a holler too,” Goodnight says without bothering to hide his frustration. He wouldn’t mind so much if Sam didn’t sound so damn smug with himself, if he showed any kind of consideration, but instead he sounds perfectly aware of what he’s done and could care less about it. On more than one occasion over the years, Billy has tiptoed around the fact he doesn’t think Sam is a good friend; it’s occasions like this where the fact he could be correct creeps into Goodnight’s mind. “Sam, Billy is fairly upset about this.”

“Billy is always upset—”

“Billy is never upset.” It comes out harsher than Goodnight intends, but he isn’t quite guilty because Billy stopped being a topic for criticism after that first Independence Day. And it’s the truth, mostly. Billy isn’t a warm person, not outwardly, though it would be a lie to say he isn't easy-going, more flexible and unwavering than anyone Goodnight has ever known. There’s a pause while Sam evaluates the snap, while he strategizes how to cover his tracks, obviously realizing Goodnight is going to stand his ground after an attack on Billy—a sloppy move, really, on Sam’s part.

“It’s just for a few days, Goody, like I told him. From the way it sounds, his mom should see the judge and be out after that. It’s better than a foster home,” Sam says, none of his smugness in his voice anymore. Goodnight hates to admit Sam is at least right about that.

“Billy called him Joshua.”

“That’s right. Joshua, Joshua Faraday.”

This time it’s Goodnight’s turn for silence as the statement, so casual, hits him like a freight train and sends his words rushing out breathlessly. “Sam, we’ve already gone through this once.”

“Do this for him, not me,” Sam answers, and then says, “I’ll talk to you later. We’ll get lunch next week,” before hanging up.

Goodnight shudders a breath at the click. It has to be a coincidence, nothing more, and a coincidence that lasts just for a few days. Just for a few days it’ll be more than just Billy and himself in the house, and after that, things will return to normal. He can’t decide if that’s a punishment or reward.

“Well,” Billy asks when Goodnight opens the door, “is he coming back?”

“Billy…” is all Goodnight gets out before Billy’s shaking his head and sucking on his teeth, eyes rolled towards the ceiling. If it’s a perk, it’s also a downfall how well they know each other: on the one hand, he doesn’t have to explain; on the other, Billy doesn’t have to say a word for Goodnight to know how disappointed he is. Goodnight’s stomach drops at the sight, how Billy finally turns his face to him with a thin mouth and a hard swallow. Billy is rarely upset, and never at him.

“Billy, it’ll all be fine, you know, nothing will change, it’ll be all right.” He’s babbling, he knows, but he can’t stop himself, and he can’t stand the look on Billy’s face. Surely he can say something to get it to change. “We can go out and such, we’ll have fun—”

“I didn't even make the kids menu,” Billy hisses, “what do I know about kids?”

“We wanted them, Billy.”

“Wanted. Past tense. We gave that up.” At the weight of his own words hitting him, Billy’s scowl falters into more of a snarl, and he shakes his head once more, his shoulders dropping in defeat. His face loses its hardness. “Goody.”

It’s achingly low and wavering, and Goodnight is drawn to it just as he is always drawn to Billy, whose chest rises and falls quickly, his knuckles white on the countertops. Goodnight wedges his way between Billy and the counter and turns his face towards him, pressing their foreheads together. “Hey. We’re fine, Billy, we’re fine.”

Billy trades the countertop for Goodnight’s shirt, for which Goodnight is grateful. More than anything, he wants their roles to be reversed as they usually are, wants Billy to hold on tightly and reassure him that their world is right and he is there, but even Billy has his breaking points. After so long and so many sleepless nights and restless days, he can do this for Billy. He’ll stand there with his own soft reassurances for the rest of the night if it helps.

“We can do this. You can do this. All those times you pulled me out of the dark, I’d think a kid would be the least of your troubles. And you know what? Eight years I spent in the army, and you’re still the toughest sonovabitch I know.” Goodnight kisses Billy’s lips as they flicker into the ghost of a smile.

“We’ll be just fine,” he says, wrapping an arm around Billy’s shoulders and pulling him closer. There’s a huff of air into the crook of his neck, which Goodnight assumes is Billy laughing, just slightly, as he lets go of Goodnight’s shirt to return the embrace.

“I love you,” Billy murmurs into his neck, and Goodnight relaxes against him. That’s all they need.

With a real grin on his face, Billy is pulling away and closing the gap between their mouths when they both falter at the sound coming from the living room. It's light and happy and so utterly out of place that Goodnight’s hand slips from Billy’s hair down his back, his eyes blinking quickly as he tries to place where he knows the sound. And he doesn't, not really; in his childhood, there had been no laughter in the house, not from him or his parents. It echoes in the stillness and leaves them reeling, and both he and Billy move, dreamlike, to find it.

In their carelessness, the puppy had wandered into the living room and made his way onto Josh’s chest, lapping excitedly at his face while his tail shakes his entire backside. Josh laughs again when the puppy’s tongue slips up his nose. “Stop—stop it, Jack!”

“I'm going to finish dinner,” Billy mumbles, and suddenly Goodnight finds himself alone in the doorway, staring into the living room that has gone silent except for the Titanic.

Josh had gone from smiling to stoic within a blink of an eye, his hand on the puppy’s back like it might save him. There's a twisting in his heart again as he regards the child and the child regards him, wary, waiting. He's fair-haired with a pair of green eyes Goodnight would swear he's seen before—but he's imagining that because a fair-haired, green-eyed Joshua Faraday is nothing but the world’s cruelest coincidence.

“Sorry it's taken so long to introduce myself, but we weren't—we weren't quite prepared for this,” Goodnight says, his hands slung into his pants pockets, desperate to break the silence as much as he doesn't really want to talk. “Name’s Goodnight, Goodnight Robicheaux. I see you've met…you've met my husband, Billy.”

If the fact Goodnight calls Billy his husband is a surprise, Josh doesn't let it show; he squeezes the puppy, though it doesn't seem to mind, just stands limply in his grip, tail beating back and forth lazily. Josh looks down at it, then back up at Goodnight.

“Sorry I put him on the furniture,” he says, despite showing any inclination towards getting him off the furniture.

“Oh, I don't mind,” Goodnight shrugs because he doesn't mind, and the kid is probably nervous enough as it is. “He’s never been here before either, so I'm glad he's making friends. Why’d you call him Jack?”

This time Josh shrugs. “Seemed like a Jack. Like Captain Jack. I like him.” Goodnight snorts but recognizes the reference; a dumb movie, but Billy had laughed at it, as surprising as that had been. He supposes kids would like Captain Jack.

“Well I like it too. Reminds me of Jack London. Have you read…” The look on Josh's face says no, he has not read Jack London, nor does he know who he is, nor does he particularly care to know. “Well, he was an author, got famous for writing about dogs.”

Josh’s face says he cares very much.

Goodnight snorts again, feeling utterly out of place and almost abandoned. Eighteen years of Varina Robicheaux’s good breeding, her charms and eloquence she had worked so diligently to instill in him, seem to have vanished the moment he took sight of the boy on the couch, and he has no idea what to do. His every pretty word has left him, and he finds himself unable to ignore the uncomfortable air.

But Josh seems just as uncomfortable, if not more, and Goodnight wants so badly to help him. It isn't fair for him to be like this. Though lots of things aren't fair.

“I talked to Sam—Officer Chisolm. He thinks your mom will be out soon,” he says, watching Joshua tense at the mention of the elephant. Goodnight dips his head; Sam shouldn't have done this. “I know none of us were expecting this, but you're more than welcome here. We've got plenty of space, we’ll get you whatever you need. We can figure this out together. You'll be—you'll be safe here.”

Doubt it, Josh’s face reads, but he vocalizes, “Ok.”

000

When Billy appears just long enough to tell Goodnight dinner is ready, Josh reluctantly slides off the couch. He thought he’d rather sit in that same spot for however long it took for that stupid cop to come back for him, but whatever Billy’s cooked smells better than anything he can ever remember. Shoving his feet into his shoes—Jack will definitely eat them, and then what will he have—he scoops Jack back up and follows Goodnight into the kitchen.

Whatever he was expecting is not what he gets. The kitchen alone is as big as the entire front half of his house, sparkling white from cabinets to ceiling, white everywhere except for the floors and countertops. He’s never seen anything so clean and shiny, not even after the janitor waxes the floors at school, and he’s afraid to touch anything. As for Billy, Josh isn’t sure it’s the same man who answered the door, judging from the way he and Goodnight are laughing about something over the pots on the stove, relaxed and happy, completely oblivious to him whatsoever.

So they don’t like him either. No surprise there.

Josh stands in the doorway and squeezes Jack to his chest. Jack likes him. Jack has never been here either and he’d licked his nose, so he figures they’re in this together. Captain Jack and Joshua Faraday in their greatest adventure yet.

“Come on in and fix you plate,” Goodnight says, breaking Josh from his daydream. It’s friendly enough but daunting nonetheless, and taking a deep breath that he hopes they don’t see, Josh lets go of Jack. Goodnight is nice enough and Jack is still in the room and the food smells so dang good. It’ll be fine.

Except for the way Billy goes back to frowning.

1995

They had taken one look at the master suite, and, upon seeing Varina Robicheaux’s beloved country-blue, floral wallpaper, decided they would not be sleeping in there until they had new walls at the very least.

Goodnight refills the roller pan. Two weeks later and they finally—thankfully—have the room cleared with plastic on the floors and the first coat on the walls, the first goodbye that hadn’t felt so much like a farewell than a good snub. When they’re done, there will be no sign of Augustin and Varina Robicheaux, no sign of his grandparents or third cousins or great-great-aunts; it’s going to be just Billy and him, and this house is going to be theirs.

“Maybe we should do one of the other rooms next,” Billy says, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and still managing to leave a streak of gray; somehow he still looks flawless, like that streak had been destined to feel the grace of Billy’s temple. “Yellow would be nice, or maybe green. Or pink. What do you think of pink? Pink or blue?”

“I think it sounds like we’re going to end up with striped walls,” Goodnight jokes at Billy’s indecisiveness. They’d spent hours deciding on this gray alone; at that rate, it’ll take them an eternity to get through the other bedrooms, much less the downstairs that holds a bit more social importance. Not that Goodnight cares. There’s no other way he wants to spend his time.

“There are no more colors,” Billy says seriously, then adds, “Pink or blue?”

Back to Billy, Goodnight freezes with his roller hovering over the pan, glad for the excuse he’ll have later that he was letting the paint drip. Suddenly his mouth is dry, his mouth, the sultry summer air, everything is dry and crackling, his hair standing on edge. When bombs go off—and this is certainly a bomb—there's a moment of blindness followed by silence and then ringing, and he feels like he's picking himself up off the ground to that very same ringing. Billy must have lost his mind.

But if he has, Goodnight wants so badly to lose his too.

2006

Despite a dinner filled with lingering touches and long looks and an evening spent pressed into Goodnight’s side while the other man murmured reassurances into his ear, Billy lies awake that night with his head reeling.

He watches the fan swish overhead, blades turning so quickly that they all run together, even in the dark. In the bed next to him, Goodnight shifts restlessly, and Billy wonders how he's really feeling. Goodnight displays his heart more than any of his medals, but if he's distressed, Billy thinks he's done one hell of a job hiding it. Billy hasn't hidden his distress at all. Really it's a miracle Goodnight is this put-together.

Maybe that's why Billy loves him so much. He’ll admit Goodnight and put-together usually only go in the same sentence when describing his clothing and classes, but when he has to, he grabs his bootstraps and drags out this battlefield mentality that Billy can only awe over. It's a mentality Billy is thankful for, and if he’s being honest, it's a mentality that kept them together the last time. Billy isn't proud of that time—proud of Goodnight, absolutely, and thankful too, but not proud of himself.

He can't stop thinking of it now. He keeps waiting to find himself suddenly at the restaurant, not sure how he got there, dressed in wrinkled clothes that have smelled better, and when he finally struggles home, no one will be here, not Goodnight, not even Josh. No one. It'll be his fault.

Now here they are with a child down the hall, and Goodnight is sleeping beside him, and it’s so much like how everything should have been that Billy aches, though whether it’s from fear or longing, he doesn’t know. Both? It’s probably both.

In the bed next to him, Goodnight stirs more than just restlessly, his forehead creased and jaw clenched. Billy runs a knuckle down his temple, hoping it will calm him, but Goodnight only mutters something under his breath. Billy lets him alone; he'd read once that touch can make it worse, and he doesn't want to make it worse, even as it seems to grow worse.

000

In the third bedroom off the staircase, Josh watches the fan blades and thinks they’re churning his stomach instead of the air.

The only light filtering into the room comes from the moon and maybe the streetlamp a few houses down, sending shadows over the walls and floor that he swears would grab him if he moved, and the house creaks and groans every so often like it’s getting ready to swallow him whole. He wouldn’t put it past the house to do that, considering he’d never really thought houses like this existed; sure, he’s seen them a few times in passing, but he never expected there to be anything inside them, much less people.

His stomach churns and churns, and he’s going to throw up, but he’s too scared to touch the floor or even come out from under the sheet. He hopes he doesn’t throw up because their food had been so good and they hadn’t stopped him from eating as much as he’d wanted, so he’d gone to bed with a full stomach that is now ready to betray him. He’s going to throw up, yet he’s both terrified to get out of bed and at the thought of what they might do to him if he throws up in their fancy bed.

Once he accidentally wet the bed, and when his dad had found out, he hadn’t been able to sit down for the rest of the day. Josh doesn’t remember anything else from that day except his fists in his mom’s hair as she said over and over, “Dry your tears, baby, it’s ok.” And while they’re nothing like his parents, Josh isn’t sure how Goodnight and Billy would react to a soiled bed. Where John Delacroix had done nothing but snap and bite at quiet Maggie Faraday until the moment he was shot, Goodnight and Billy had laughed and played and touched all evening. They’re weird, Joshua thinks, and it’s the only way he knows to describe them.

As his stomach rolls more violently, Josh’s distrust outweighs his fear, and he swings his feet over the side of the bed and hurries as quietly as possible to the door. Two doors down and across the hall, Goodnight had said when he’d pointed out the bathroom, next to his and Billy’s room. When the floor creaks under his feet, Josh’s blood runs cold, and he waits for them to yell at him for being out of his room after bedtime—which is something that only leads to trouble. But nothing happens, so he closes the bathroom door, turning the lock and dropping to his knees just in time.

His mouth fills with the taste of salt, and there’s a beat before he chokes, his body lurching over the toilet and emptying him of his dinner. Mouth burning, he wonders if his eyes are stinging more from the vomit or the fact the first genuine meal he remembers having is gone. He waits another beat to see if there’s more, but he’s left kneeling at the toilet with only a bad taste in his mouth.

Josh wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then the back of his hand across his shirt. That was the first time he’d ever sat down at a table with other people and ate food that he’s almost certain didn’t come from a box—at least, it hadn’t tasted like any boxed food he’d ever had—and now it’s all gone. Suppose they find out and don’t let him have dinner tomorrow, suppose they eat without him…

He’s mourning his lost meal when, from the room next door, the silence is cut by a shout, choked and panicked, and then another, louder this time. “Don’t go, don’t go,” it calls, taking on real words instead of simply pure fear, slowly turning into more of a sob. After a moment of listening, Josh reaches a shaking hand to flush the toilet. He’s not waiting around to see what else happens.

With an ache in his throat, Josh crawls under the covers and pulls them to his chin. He swipes furiously at his eyes; first his stomach—or rather, first that stupid cop—and now this. It’s going to be a long few days.

000

In the morning when Goodnight comes back inside from letting Jack out, he makes straight for the coffee pot and doesn’t bother to ask Billy if he wants more before he’s grabbed his mug as well. Billy would be grateful under any other circumstances, but as it is, this makes Goodnight’s second refill, and it doesn’t feel like it stems from Goodnight’s love of coffee so much as a need for a vice to get him through the morning—a vice for which Billy has his own desperation.

“Class lets out at two tomorrow. I can be home within the hour, if you’d like,” Goodnight says, his voice is lower than usual this morning, not so chipper and bright, though his face isn’t so chipper and bright either, not unexpectedly. He sips from Billy’s mug, adds another spoon of sugar, then sips again before handing it back to him.

Billy tests it, not surprised when it tastes the same as when he makes it himself. “I’ll see if someone can open for me, find a few extras for the lunch rush. As long as there are no detours this time.”

Goodnight rolls his eyes, not missing the grin Billy offers, and says, “I should have known you’d one-up me with a surprise.”

It’s only then, as they savor their coffee and the silence, that it feels like their usual mornings where Goodnight meditates life through the steam of his mug and Billy spends more time watching him than he does actually cooking. For him to rain down praise upon Billy’s appearance, it’s obvious that he’s never seen himself in the early-morning light, his hair pillow-tussled, glasses hanging from his neck, humming along absently to the radio.

“No,” Billy says as Goodnight breaks from his reverie and heads for the coffee pot again, aborting Goodnight’s refill. “If you drink any more, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“I’ll pour you another mug too. We’ll make the bathroom into a revolving door.” Billy snorts, mainly at Goodnight laughing at himself, and it feels so normal until Jack goes skittering across the floor, followed by Goodnight’s suddenly chipper, “Good morning!”

It feels so normal until they’re looking at a scraggly kid watching them from the doorway, puppy tucked in his arms like a lifeline. With equal parts, Billy wants to swat it away and pull him close, reassure him there’s no need to be wary of them, though he hasn’t been the most welcoming. He wants to pull him close, but instead he makes for the breadbox.

“Sleep well?” There’s no verbal response, meaning Josh either shrugs or Goodnight isn’t waiting for a response when he says, “Well you’re just in time for breakfast. What is—looks like Billy’s making toast. Is that what we’re having? If it is, you’re in a for a real treat.”

Way back when Goodnight and Billy were first starting to tiptoe around each other, it was this quality that made Billy feel comfortable around him, how he would talk and talk and talk but not necessarily expect a response, and Billy could just listen and listen and listen until he found himself responding without realizing it. Maybe it’s what he’s doing now, and if it is, it only reaffirms his belief that Goodnight is better at this than he could ever imagine to be. It only reaffirms his belief it was stupid of him to think that this could be their normal.

As Billy turns on the range, Goodnight slides out the island stool next to him with his foot, and Josh reluctantly sets down Jack to join him. “Since Sam wasn’t exactly thoughtful enough to leave you with any sort of personals, I thought we could maybe do some shopping today. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, I guess. Whatever,” Josh says with a shrug, his eyes darting around the room, anywhere except another person’s face.

“Well fantastic! Jazzy,” Goodnight exclaims, but Billy side-eyes him. Half the time, he assumes Goodnight isn’t aware of what’s coming out of his mouth. “What say you, Billy? Sound like an outing?”

When Billy startles to face him, Goodnight is perfectly aware of what he has just said this time and is waiting almost expectantly, if not tentatively, and Billy knows exactly what he wants. He thinks they can pretend this is normal, or at least wishes they could, but that’s just foolish. Just a few days, Sam had said, and that’s what Goodnight and Billy had agreed to. In a few days, it’ll be back to either one of two ways, both of which don’t include Josh and one of which doesn’t include even Goodnight.

Shaking his head, Billy drops his head, saying, “I have to work today.”

“That’s fine. Want me to make dinner tonight,” Goodnight asks. He tries for nonchalant, but Billy can hear him asking, Are you going to be here for dinner?

“I’ll help you finish up,” Billy promises. Goodnight holds his gaze for a long while before he nods.

000

That everything can change without a moment’s notice is a lesson Goodnight spent eight years learning, and it’s a lesson he never thought he’d forget. Somehow though, he’s still surprised to be where he is when only twenty-four hours earlier, he’d been griping at the news and sharing a coffee with Sam. Although somehow...well, he isn’t sure he’s complaining too much. Yet. He isn’t complaining too much yet.

He and Josh had walked with Jack to Sucre, a little sweet shop tucked away a few blocks from the house, and now sit outside watching the tourists and enjoying the rare summer breeze. He looks better in new, clean clothes, a mess of honey curls trying to dry in the summer humidity; there’s ice cream circling his lips, but at least he doesn’t look like they’d pulled him out of the gutter anymore.

“Me and my mom went to an ice cream place once on my birthday,” Josh says suddenly, looking at Goodnight with wide eyes. “Dairy Queen. They have burgers and everything, and she took me on my birthday. You ever been there?”

Goodnight’s first instinct is to laugh, but that quickly dies when he realizes Josh’s excitement is genuine. He swallows his laugh with a fear of crushing that excitement and shakes his head. “Oh yeah, I’ve been to Dairy Queen, long time ago though, back when you could still just walk right up to the window. But with Billy, you know, you kind of want to support locals."

Despite Goodnight’s efforts, Josh loses his excitement and frowns around his ice cream cone, saying through a bite, “Billy’s kinda mean.”

“Billy isn’t mean. He’s just—Billy’s shy,” Goodnight says automatically before he can think, and he can only imagine Billy’s indignation at being called shy. If Goodnight were a child though—or if he didn’t know Billy at all—he would probably be put off as well. He’s cold to the passerby and he has a face of stone, but Goodnight knows the light in his smile and the warmth of his arms, and he knows it’s there for Josh too. Somewhere. “It’s like...you know how you said your shoes felt funny when you put them on, but they’re fine now? Well, that’s what it’s like with Billy. He takes some getting used to. You two’ll get along.”

Josh gives him another doubt-it look, but it doesn’t seem quite as harsh when he doesn’t look ready to beg to Mr. Bumble. Maybe Josh knows that because he frowns at his ice cream again. “Why’re you and Billy...like that?”

“Like what?”

“You know.” Josh wiggles the fingers on his free hand at Goodnight. “You’re all touchy and stuff."

This time Goodnight does laugh; that was not what he’d been expecting, but he’ll take it over anything else. “Well we do happen to love each other.”

There’s a beat, and then, with as much frankness and offhandedness as Billy gives, Josh offers something that leans more towards an observation than a critique: “Guess no one’s ever loved my mom.”

Suddenly Goodnight’s ice cream doesn’t taste so sweet. No, he supposes no one ever has loved Maggie, but that’s a good part of the problem. He searches for any answer that isn’t stuttering or cliché, but thankfully, Josh saves him by asking, “Hey, you think Jack likes ice cream?”

“Here,” Goodnight says, spooning out a small bite of his own and holding it out. “Can’t say I want mine all that much anymore.”

Josh looks at Goodnight’s cup as though bewildered at so much going to waste, but in the end, his curiosity trumps bewilderment, and he lowers the spoon down to Jack with that same wide, toothy grin.

Goodnight doesn’t have memories like this. If he’d been at an ice cream shop, it had been with friends and the terrifying threat of behaving. His father had been more preoccupied with Korea and Vietnam, and then with local politics than he had with his wife and child. There are more pictures of them in newspapers than there are in photo albums, save for the family portrait that had been booted to the attic when he and Billy moved in, but Goodnight doesn’t mind anymore. Less to forget this way.

But this is nice, Goodnight thinks, leaning back in his chair. Josh is different, unpredictable and rough, more good in him than he’s willing to let on, and Goodnight has enjoyed being on his toes for the day—Josh has done a better job at that than a good majority of his students. He looks at Josh in the seat across from him, grinning while Jack licks at his sticky fingers, and imagines Billy between them, watching Josh with a smile in his eyes.

1989

It's the new year, time to start over, time for change. Time for Billy to realize he could do so much better than a veteran with a messed-up mind. Goodnight wouldn't blame him, and he wouldn't be surprised if they last the week. He'll be more amazed it took Billy so long to come to his senses.

Though he thinks he’s spent the better half of the past year doing nothing else, Goodnight can’t help but look at him, sprawled out on his stomach with one arm slung haphazardly over Goodnight’s chest, hair that he’ll insist be cut soon falling just over his eyes. He’s beautiful in every light, be it a hazy summer sun or a pale winter moon that falls through the cracks in their curtains. Some days he looks at Billy and sees the rest of his life, and some days he wonders just when their show is going to end.

When it does end, if it ends, Goodnight tells himself that it will be fine. Billy deserves the absolute world that even Goodnight can’t buy, and when he leaves, if he does, he’ll be one step closer to it. Goodnight isn’t certain he’ll make it through that ordeal. He’ll try, and he can comfort himself with the fact he spent half a year with Billy, by his side and able to touch him.

It’s what he does now, unable to keep his hands off him.

“Goody,” Billy slurs with a yawn, and Goodnight feels him stretching his toes against his leg. Billy's beautiful when he's just waking up, all half-opened eyes and feather-light smiles.

“Sorry, cher, I didn't mean to wake you,” Goodnight says. He presses his lips to Billy's to receive one of his feather-light smiles. “Do you still love me?”

There's a pause, and Goodnight thinks Billy has fallen asleep again until his eyes crack back open. “Yes, but I might not if you keep waking me up.”

Billy rumbles something akin to a laugh, and while Goodnight lingers on the fact that he might not, Billy edges closer to him, trading his pillow for Goodnight’s chest. Automatically, Goodnight wraps an arm around him, eyes closing to Billy's fingers flitting at the hair of his temple, though they then turn Goodnight’s face to look at him.

Still lingering at the edge of consciousness, Billy blinks a few times before asking in his gentle way, “Can you sleep?”

“Yeah.”

Billy smiles then, fingers leaving a hot stripe down Goodnight’s cheek, and raises up just enough to kiss him before settling back down. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Goodnight whispers, so quiet he almost doesn't hear himself; Billy is still in the bed next to him, unmoving and silent, his head on Goodnight’s chest, one leg slung between his, their fingers winding together like clockwork. Goodnight breathes him in before turning onto his side and tangling their legs together, the arm around Billy’s waist holding him tightly. Billy's hair will tickle his nose the rest of the night, but that's alright.

2006

Tuesday turns into Wednesday, which then slips to Thursday and suddenly Monday again with no sign of Sam, and when he doesn’t call the following week either, Billy starts to think Sam lied. Go figure. They gradually fall into a routine. Billy watches Josh during the weekdays, and Goodnight cuts back the time he spends in his office so Billy can go to the restaurant for the dinner rushes. Goodnight takes him out on the weekends, sometimes stopping by the restaurant, where Josh can do little to hide his amazement, but they leave when the staff’s stares and whispers become too obvious. And on Monday evenings, which had been reserved as date night before Sam intervened, all three go out around New Orleans. For all his initial distrust, Josh is easy enough to please. They go to the parks with Jack, and he likes the zoo and aquarium, where he’d never been despite living his whole life in the city, and while he isn’t one for museums, they manage to keep his attention with the Mardi Gras one, with its feathered masks and flashy floats. Billy sees the way Goodnight looks at him, at both of them. He’s happy—not relaxed, but happy, and that makes Billy feel worse because he knows that he’s the cause of the unease. When he walks quietly beside Goodnight, sometimes watching Josh, sometimes seeming to be lost in his thought, he can feel Goodnight’s eyes on him as though waiting for him to vanish from sight and as much as he hates it, he doesn’t want to miss it. Goodnight reaches for him in those moments when even though Billy is beside him, he must seem so very far away. And maybe Billy is. Maybe he’s lingering in the alternate dimension where none of this ever happened, where it was just Goodnight and Billy until the end of their days; or maybe he’s in the one where this is their normality, Goodnight and Billy with everything they had planned for. It’s not fair, Billy knows. This is what he had wanted, and when given the chance, he’d left Goodnight to balance on a paper-thin bridge between them. It’s just not fair.

“You know,” Goodnight says, “for as lackluster as this group was, I’m genuinely impressed by the thought that went into these.”

“So you’re ready for bed now,” Billy asks, closing his laptop quicker than expected as Goodnight shuffles away his stack of essays.

“You could have said you were waiting on me.” He could have told him, they both know that, but they also both know that one way or another Goodnight would have finished grading the essays by morning. He said he’d have them back by the final, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t.

Billy stretches, long and lean and catlike, and waits only for Goodnight to fasten his briefcase before he’s taking his leave, certain Goodnight will follow along. And he does, admiring Billy as he goes, graceful even in his stupor. Billy is funny. He speaks deliberately and moves like a dancer, and if he’d only been as pale as Southern cotton and a woman, Varina Robicheaux would have loved Billy more than her own son. But that’s the part about his parents that hurts the most, Goodnight supposes—unconditional love was only given to the worthy.

He’s so lost in familiar thought that he doesn’t notice Billy stop in the hall until he bumps into him. “What…” he starts to ask, and then he hears it too, the muffled sniffles so accustomed to that room.

“Josh,” Billy calls softly, tapping on the door. There’s no worded response, so Billy turns the knob. Inside is just how Goodnight remembers. The four-post bed too heavy to be moved with any sort of ease, the imported French rug that wasn’t really meant to be walked on, the curtains too sheer to block out any real light if there’d been any light in the first place. It’s a good thing he hadn’t been scared of the dark as child, though maybe Josh isn’t so lucky. He’s flattened himself against the headboard, pillows in the floor, sheets knotted around his feet. His breaths come in sharp shudders that leave his small frame heaving, and sweat soaks his wild curls to his head.

It feels surreal, like Goodnight is watching himself, when Billy reaches for Josh and brushes a hand down his tear-streaked cheeks, saying, “Come here,” so softly that Goodnight almost doesn’t catch it. Josh hesitates, eyes flashing with that same panic that Goodnight knows must look so familiar to Billy, but Billy calls his name in that low, peaceful lull that calms him enough for him to realize, at least partially, where he is.

When he moves, Billy meets him halfway, scooting closer and holding out his other hand so that Josh can tuck himself fully into Billy’s safe hold. And then it’s all soft touches and gentle words as Billy rocks them back and forth, holding Josh’s head to his chest. “Listen,” Goodnight knows Billy is saying, “and make it match.”

“I saw it, I saw it, I saw it,” Josh gasps, to which Billy soothes, “It’s not here. You’re ok.”

Goodnight leaves them like that, Josh clutching at Billy and his safety, Billy murmuring his reassurances. After all, Billy doesn’t need his help.

The bedroom door opens more than an hour later, just as Goodnight’s book is starting to put him to sleep, as if he were truly reading. Billy doesn’t say a word as he closes it behind him, just heads straight for his side of the bed and tosses back the covers with a roughness that from him looks like great finesse. “Billy?”

“He’s just a kid, Goody,” he says, higher than usual, and when Billy finally looks at Goodnight, there’s anger in his eyes desperately trying to overshadow hurt. Sometimes Goodnight thinks Billy has too much heart because it gets him in trouble—not that Goodnight has any room to talk, when his own too-big heart keeps him right beside Billy.

“I know,” Goodnight says, “but what can we do?”

Billy only looks at Goodnight with his jaw tight. There’s nothing. They can’t do anything because he’s not their child, and Billy knows it. He reaches across to turn out Goodnight’s lamp.

“It’s not fair.”

000

The house is quiet in the morning. The house is quiet and the fancy bed is so very soft, and he rolls onto his back, turning bleary eyes to the fan blowing on his face, keeping him just cool enough beneath the duvet. Maybe he’ll stay in bed all day. Or all week. He doesn’t remember sleeping so well in a long time.

He thinks he’ll stay in bed until he smells something that might be heaven. Billy may not be good for—

Oh.

So, he doesn’t remember sleeping so well in a long time after that.

Now that he remembers what happened last night—which really isn’t anything more than just another night—Josh isn’t sure he wants to get out of bed for even whatever is cooking because it’s undoubtedly coming from Billy, and he really doesn’t want to face Billy this morning. Billy’s hardly spoken more than a dozen words to him in the two weeks he’s been there, and last night he’d been...stupid. Just stupid.

But good Lord, that smell is fantastic.

“Good morning,” Billy says when he comes into the kitchen. He’s mixing batter in a bowl, and for once, he actually looks up. It’s sudden and awkward, and thankfully, for both their sakes, it doesn’t last long. “I was about to wake you. I’m making pancakes.”

“Where’s Goody,” Josh asks, climbing onto one of the island stools. He hopes the answer is on his way home because he really doesn’t want to be stuck in the house with Billy. Not today. Jack won’t even be able to save him today.

“At the office. This afternoon starts his summer finals,” Billy says. He gives Josh another sudden look, longer this time, and seems as though he has more to say. Then just as suddenly, he drops his gaze and pours the batter into the skillet. He watches his pancake pop and sizzle, leaving an awkward silence between them, before saying, “I have chocolate that I can put in them. If you want.”

“Yeah, ok, I don’t care,” Josh shrugs. He hopes if he’s going to be stuck here that Billy will at least put chocolate in his pancakes because Billy’s food is so good and his mom rarely has chocolate.

It’s quiet then as Billy dribbles chocolate chips onto the pancakes and Josh watches, unmoving from his seat in case Billy decides to let him have some of the bacon on the stove. He does, but only when he dishes out pancakes for each of them and slides one plate towards Josh.

“I thought we could take Goody lunch later. Unless there was something else you would rather do. You like...you like movies.” It comes out indistinguishable from a statement or question, and neither seems able to know how to move on from it.

“Yeah, they’re ok,” Josh says with another shrug. He shoves another piece of bacon into his mouth. It’s a double win: delicious and he doesn’t have to talk.

Judging from the mouthful he inhales, Josh guesses Billy has the same idea. Which is fine. They’ll just eat in silence. If Billy’s going to be like that, he’ll be like that too, he wouldn’t want to talk to Billy anyway, even if Billy wanted to talk to him in the first place. Billy can just be his mean self. Except Billy hadn’t felt mean last night. He’d felt warm and nice, and Josh had fallen asleep listening to his low hum in a language he hadn’t understood. But whatever, it must have been an accident or something.

When they clear away breakfast, Billy lets Jack into the backyard, and then they walk the two blocks to the St. Charles streetcar stop at the corner of Jackson. Billy grabs his shoulder as the streetcar rumbles into motion before they’ve taken a seat, and Josh keeps looking ahead, pretends like he didn’t keep him from falling. Rolling his shoulder from his grip, Josh takes the window seat and waits for Billy to make him move, though Billy just takes a quiet seat next to him, leaving him free to mash his face against the window as the city rolls by.

“Look,” Josh says later without realizing, and he’s turned to Billy before he can stop himself. He expects Billy to be frowning like usual, or whatever it is he does, but he’s not. There’s a grin on his face as his eyes follow Josh’s pointing finger out the window where there’s a funeral procession marching up the street, trumpets and trombones blaring, the second line in full, raucous swing. Still with his grin, which makes him seem not nearly as tough, Billy glances down to him, and something about it makes Josh grin back.

#the robicheaux-rocks home #ding dong ditch #magnificent seven #mag7 #fanfic #Goodnight Robicheaux #Billy Rocks #Joshua Faraday #and that asshole sam chisolm

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