#but also grateful to have a bit more warmth against the cold. thanks dan you made the walk home bearable

[klingercollection]

literally got so horny for dan fielding yesterday that i got a bit dizzy

[luciferloveschloe]

50 Cliché Prompts: 27

27. Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second

this is part of my 1k celebration! i invited people to send in prompts.

okay, so, the fact that i need to explain this highlights how long it took me to write it. in my defense, i have never written a longer one shot, and there is fake dating and pining and feelings and a bit of smut thrown in for flare. enjoy!

[deckerstar, 4.5k words, set early in s2, fake dating, first time, porn with feelings]

of holy things

“Ms. Decker?”

Lucifer’s bartender – Patrick, she remembers – slides a tumbler to where she’s taken a seat at the bar, perched somewhat uncomfortably.

“Oh no, I didn’t order any–“

“Ms. Decker, please.” Patrick interrupts her. “You do know you’re at the very top of our guest list, right?”

Oh. Oh.

She can’t help but glance in Lucifer’s direction, who’s currently deep in conversation with Maze, his right-hand-ninja-demon-bartender-whatever, pouring over what appear to be business records. He’s in a dark ensemble today, hair just the tiniest bit ruffled from their work, and he’s smirking at something Maze said. It suits him, all of it.

The very top, huh?

“Well, let me just…”

She makes to scramble for her wallet, but Patrick only shakes his head at her, chuckling softly.

“Do you want me to lose my job, Detective Decker?”

At that, she takes the offered drink with a grateful, earnest smile, tipping it briefly in salute to him before turning in her seat to face her partner’s club in full swing.

The stakeout had been a complete bust, she can admit that, but it had also been in close proximity to Lux. Lucifer had offered his penthouse to regroup and go over the case files again, Dan had Trixie for the night, and Chloe had agreed to his plan fast enough not to second-guess herself.

As she watches the ecstatic dancing, she starts to relax. Tonight’s DJ is clearly talented, the base surprisingly isn’t too overwhelming for her, and Patrick has mixed her a whiskey sour, she recognizes, which is– Absolutely delicious, really. Tart, sweet, perfectly balanced – and probably also ridiculously expensive. But, guest list.

Who knew having a night club owner for a partner came with such perks?

Said night club owner is still talking with Maze, though, and Chloe hopes he–

“Hello, beautiful.”

Oh, no.

The man stands right in front of her, and it’s too late to turn back to the bar again. Someone trying to flirt with her is the last thing she needs tonight. She opens her mouth to say so, but gets interrupted.

Rude.

“I’m George, by the way. I’ve been watching you since you came in. You’re such a pretty little thing.”

George is in his late forties, by her guess, and passably attractive. He’s also condescending, drunk, all but shouting in her ear and standing way too close for her comfort.

“Sorry, but I’m not in the mood for–“

She halts because he’s just put his right hand on her thigh, clammy fingers reaching toward her ass.

No. Definitely no.

“What’s your name, sweetheart? Tell me while we’re dancing, alright?”

Both of his hands clutch at her skin now, insistently, and she’s helpless at the instinctual well of fear inside of her. But not helpless against him.

Her fingers find her badge easily, and she reckons it’ll be enough to scare George into–

“What’s going on here?”

Lucifer’s voice is sharp and cold next to her, and she breathes easier instantly. George’s hands slip from her legs, and his gaze flicks between them in confusion. She knows the look Lucifer has fixed on him right now, knows the deadly calm, disquieting focus of eyes that sparkle for her, and she loves that it makes the other man squirm.

This is so much more satisfying than just flashing her badge at him, and – hold on, jerk – it’s about to get even better.

“Oh, Lucifer! Let me introduce you to George here. George, meet Lucifer, my boyfriend.”

“Boyfr–“

She elbows him to get him to shut up, then leaps from the bar stool and wraps her arm tight around his waist, pulling him to her.

Lucifer tries to sputter more, but when she looks up at him, he swallows and recovers enough to put his arm around her shoulders, the sensation somehow featherlight. Maybe she should be more shocked at how nice his touch feels in contrast, how right.

“I– I… I didn’t realise–“

George’s stammering is ridiculous, the crimson blush on his face betrays his embarrassment, and the way he tries not to cower speaks of how effective Lucifer’s psycho tricks are. Chloe fervently hopes their show will be cringy enough for George to stop him from bothering anyone else tonight.

“Oh, it’s a fresh thing,” Lucifer beams, now clearly onboard with her plan to cause maximum mischief.

She can’t not grin at how giddy he looks, and raises up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He smells of luxurious cologne, maybe sandalwood, and something that’s just inexplicably him, something warm and intoxicating that makes her want to trail her lips down his neck to mouth at his collarbone.

What happened to being repulsed on a chemical level, exactly?

Her kiss probably turns out less chaste and fake than she intended, and when Lucifer’s smirk slips off his face and his eyes find hers, fingers hovering over where her lips were, she fumbles.

“Babe, let’s… Grab our stuff and head to the penthouse, yeah?”

She turns to gather her bag and the casefiles without waiting for an answer. When she’s facing Lucifer again, he nods at her, a cheeky little smile curling his mouth for her eyes only. They only spare George a glance when they leave, walking closely. Lucifer’s palm rests at the small of her back, barely touching, warm, soothing.

It stays there until they arrive at the elevator, when Lucifer withdraws it to punch in the code. Chloe immediately mourns its absence, but the doors slide open for them and Lucifer gestures for her to go in first.

His eyes are intent on her, his expression uncharacteristically open, almost insecure. There’s wonderment there as well, and awe. She smiles at him in return, unguarded and joyful because she wants to, and maybe because she’s just a little awed herself.  

–

Chloe’s smile warms him like the sun, but he’s still apprehensive, and he can’t shake the image of that dullard’s hand on her thigh from his mind. The doors close behind them, and Chloe sags against the wall across from him, relieved. Or deflated, rather?

“Detective, are you alright though? I should have noticed that insolent, boorish nitwit sooner, I apologise­–“

“Lucifer, no. I’m okay! There’s nothing to apologise for. I was just about to show him my badge, actually, but when you showed up… Well, I hope what we did will be more effective.”

Oh.

What they did.

Nothing, really. But he still feels a band of warmth where she’d pulled him into her side, and his skin still prickles where she’d pressed her lips to his cheek. It never felt like this before. Why does it feel different? What is she doing to him?

And why, why can’t he stop thinking about how her body felt underneath his hands?

(Soft, bare ivory instead of blazers and jeans and suits. His fingers wander, and her body yields to his, breathless sighs taking the place of clever quips and banter. She’s his Detective, she’ll always be, but here, in the gentle darkness of sins and holy things, here with him, she’s only Chloe. They’re wrapped around each other, flesh and bones and soul, and she moans in his ear. His name has never sounded sweeter than on her tongue, and he groans and he kisses her and–)

“Lucifer?”

He clears his throat, and it’s too loud in the small space, jarring. She’s studying him with her sea foam eyes, curious, and she has no right to be so beautiful in her simple white blouse and black jeans. His heart still thumps in his chest, and he needs to touch her, to be touched by her again, so very badly.

The Devil, tempted.

“Well… Well, I’m sure it was. Effective, that is. But I’ll text Maze to chuck him out anyway. There’s no room for miscreants like him in Lux, after all.”

He unlocks his phone to do just that, and he’s glad for the task, the distraction it provides him.

“Oh, that’s… That’s good. Thank you, Lucifer.”

He pauses and nods, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably.

There’s that rush coursing through him again, this exquisite high he’s never quite managed to recreate since, no matter how many of his favourite substances and bedfellows he’s been combining.

And it’s… It’s just her, he realises with sudden, aching clarity. Her, and how she… The way he feels when–

“Lucifer, are you okay? I hope I didn’t overstep earlier. I mean, I…”

He wants to claw at his collar, flee, needs to kiss her until he can’t breathe anymore.

Chloe…

How come she knows him so well already? How come she sees right through him when he’s spent literal eons perfecting his masks, his charades? All the walls he built in loneliness and despair, the last defences meant to protect him from more hurt and pain, they crumble and give easily before her.

Why does he want them to?

The elevator dings, and he’s saved by the bell.

“Nonsense, Detective. You know me, always up for some good old-fashioned roleplay! Now, tell me what drink I can pour you, darling.”

–

He’s oddly quiet next to her. So far, she’s counted several excellent opportunities for a bit of Luciferish commentary, but he’s used none of them. His contributions to the conversation are thoughtful, but clipped, any attempts at jokes half-hearted at best.

By now, it has worry eating at her insides, the unsettling feeling slowly replacing the strange euphoria from before, from when he’d touched her.

Although the question is on the tip of her tongue, she doesn’t ask him if he’s fine. Again.

He is focused on her though, there’s no doubt about that. His eyes follow the movements of her hands where she spreads and rearranges the evidence on the coffee table in front of them, and every so often, he nods in agreement to something she has said.

When he takes a sip of his brandy, she doesn’t acknowledge the slight tremor of his fingers.

“So, that’s why I think you were right, yesterday. We tailed the wrong guy after all.”

A statement as rare as this should earn her a gleeful, exuberant “Detective!” at the very least. Instead, he only smiles distractedly, barely even looking at her, and gets up from the chair across from her abruptly.

O…kay?

He starts to pace in the open space of the penthouse, and although she should probably gather her things and leave so he can sort out… whatever this is, she feels compelled to watch him. To stay with him.

He doesn’t seem to notice her concerned staring at all, his graceful long lines tense in a way they usually aren’t, his eyes distant and his mouth set in a hard line. It’s such a far cry from his bubbly joy from earlier, and she doesn’t understand.

A predator, she thinks, but scared and backed into a corner.

What could possibly unnerve him like that?

He drags a trembling hand through his hair, the hair that’s always meticulously and perfectly styled, and it’s all wrong.

Maybe she can get him to talk by dragging him back to their case? A little bit of projecting never hurt nobody, either.

“So, Lucifer, what did you think about–“

“Can I touch you?”

“What?”

–

No. No, no, no, no, no.

“I… I’m sorry Detective, I didn’t… I‘m actually not feeling so well tonight? We should… We should go through the files at the precinct tomorrow. Alright, see you then!”

“No Lucifer, wait. What did you mean by that?”

Her eyes are bright and sharp when she’s focussed on him like she is now. Detecting mode on. She’s raw and unbridled energy, always hunting for the deeper truth, ready to pounce, ready to deliver justice, ready to bring whoever stands in her way to their knees.

She doesn’t know that before her, he’d sink to his knees willingly.

Chloe arches her eyebrows at his silence, and it’s a visceral effort to tear his thoughts away from her beauty.

“I– I just… When you–“

He has to stop and releases a shaky breath, feeling unsteady and disturbed by all this want, this pathetic longing that Chloe surely will have no need for.

“Lucifer, it’s alright, talk to me. We both… You make me vulnerable as well, remember? What do you need?”

He can’t lie to her.

“I– I want to touch you again, Detective. It felt… I know we only made believe, but I just–“

“Okay.”

It’s his turn to gape, now.

“What?”

Chloe tilts her head, considering. This can’t be a smirk she’s trying to hide. Can it?

“Wellll, I seem to have slept with my neck at a terrible angle last night, and my shoulders and back have been killing me for weeks now. I think… I could do with a back rub, actually. So…?”

She beckons him with sparkling eyes, smiling knowingly, and he’s helplessly lost.

“I– At once, darling.”

He crosses over to her, and tries to joke about massage oil and his comfortable bed, but it all gets stuck in his throat. He settles gingerly behind her on the couch eventually, his heart beating wildly and his stomach in knots, feeling as though he has never even touched a woman in his entire life.

And is this… Is this really what she desires? He has no way of knowing, will probably ruin things between them, and–

Chloe cranes her neck to look back at him, nothing but warmth in her gaze.

“Stop overthinking and worrying, okay? I want– I want this, too.”

He nods, completely enthralled by all her mercy, but she turns to face forward again, lifting her hair away from her shoulders. Just like that, her soft skin is bared before him, and he drinks in the graceful lines of her exposed neck and back. Without even intending too, his fingers card through her hair, carefully smoothing it to one side.

She sighs, and he brushes his fingertips over the expanse of her back, his hands coming to rest lightly atop her shoulders.

He knows it’s no small gift to have earned the trust of his Detective, and he’s not sure if he deserves it, but fuck, he’ll give his all to be what she needs, to give her everything she could ever want. He doesn’t understand his feelings, any of it, but he understands desire, and it has never been clearer to him what it is that he desires. Uncaring Devil façade be damned.

He starts with gentle pressure, massaging her with all the care and skill he possesses, and it is exactly as exhilarating as he thought it would be. She’s melting into him, her body welcoming and pliant under his hands, and he can’t quite believe she allows him to touch her like that.

When he tries digging his knuckles in a tad more forcefully, her surprised, pleased moan sends blood rushing towards his groin. He shivers, does it again, and–

“Yes, Lucifer, just like that. Right there, yes.”

This unfamiliar, all-consuming need is clawing out of him again, and it’s all he can do to clench his jaw, flex his fingers, and comply with her demand.

It’s not just that he can finally touch her, either. He can smell the nuances of her perfume, her shampoo, even her fabric softener. He feels her warmth and the rush of her blood, the vibrancy of her soul against his fingers. She should be just one simple human, but her life is more precious to him than he can even fathom, and everything about her calls to him like nothing, like no one before her ever has.

He continues to sweep his hands over her body, kneading down alongside the vertebrae of her spine, and her sounds of pleasure get him more drunk than all his booze ever managed.

When he’s arrived at her waist again, he stills her hands on her body and lets his forehead rest gently against her back. His breathing is heavy by now, but so is hers. He’s still not sure what they’re doing, but he has to ask before he goes insane. Slowly he moves his hands so that he’s cradling her waist, embracing her more fully. Surely she’ll flee now?

“Is this okay?”

To his surprise, Chloe covers his hands with her own, even pulls his fingers under her blouse suggestively.

“Yeah, Lucifer.”

He swallows hard, and finally dares to press his lips to her neck, peppering the skin he kneaded earlier with soft, open-mouthed kisses. There’s a small intake of breath, then Chloe sighs and arches her back as if to give him more access. He’s dizzy from it all, high on the sounds he can elicit from her, finally.

His fingers drift upward over her ribs of their own volition, but just below the temptingly full swell of her breasts, he hesitates.

“Chloe… Please, please tell me to stop when you need me to. I– I don’t want you to regret anything.”

To regret me.

Almost abruptly, she turns in his arms again. Her eyes focus on his for a second, intent and searching, then she drops her gaze to his mouth. She wets her lips, cradles his face with both of her hands, and claims his mouth with her own.

He groans against her lips, helplessly, and finally, gently cups her breasts. As if she set out to drive him mad specifically, she wears a simple lacy T-shirt bra under her blouse. He can feel everything through its material. When he flicks his thumbs over her stiff nipples, Chloe whines against his lips, nearly breaking off their kiss, and fuck, has he ever been harder in his life?

He takes his time to explore her, thoroughly, committing her shape and feel to his memory in case she decides never to grant him this again, and laughs when Chloe bites down on the swell of his lower lip.

“Lucifer,” she breathes against him, and it sounds even better than it did in his fantasy. She looks as dazed and unbelieving as he is, but her eyes are frantic with need. He wants nothing more than to please her, in whatever way he can.

“Let me take care of you, love. Please.”

She nods, and he slowly turns her in his arms. She leans fully against him now, not an inch of space between their bodies, and he notices the way her heart races.

He dreads the second she’ll leave him.

Almost timidly he lets his hands trace over her body until they’re resting at the tops of her thighs. When his hands hover over her fly, his resolve wavers again. Chloe saves him, pulling her zipper down quickly and wriggling, adorably, to give him more space.

She couldn’t state more boldly that she wants this, now, and the Devil might just come in his pants like a horny teenager.

Only their breathing fills the quiet as he slowly reaches to cup her over her panties, and they groan together at the first connection, as he realizes how drenched she is from what they’ve been doing.

“You kill me,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, then pushes her underwear aside because he has absolutely zero restraint left.

He’s allowed to touch, and she’s swollen and dripping wet. For him. He mouths at her neck, wraps his hand around her throat lightly when she throws her head back, and it’s intoxicating, all of it.

It would almost certainly be embarrassingly easy to get her off in this state. (Hell, he can barely keep himself in check, and he has eons of practice.) A few determined strokes, a handful of precise circles around her clit, and she’d be gone, he reckons. But this is not at all what she deserves, not at all what he wants to give her, now.

Instead, he takes his sweet time, caressing every inch of her, spreading her wetness with fingertips and knuckles, worshipping her silky skin. He keeps his touches deliberately featherlike, as if anything more would shatter her, but he knows it’s him that’s fragile, and he finds he’s not ashamed of it anymore.

She’s restless in his arms, writhing against his body, and he’s sure he bruises her hip with his left hand, but she doesn’t mind, keeping it there by pressing her own above it, linking their fingers together tightly.

Like this, only teasing and exploring, he brings her to the edge.

He senses when she’s almost there, and it’s glorious. She’s trembling and twitching, gifting him with quiet little whimpers he will treasure forever, and grips his thigh with enough force he has to bite back a grunt. (It hurts, and isn’t that marvellous in itself?)

But this is not how he wants to do this, and so he withdraws his fingers at what is possibly the last possible moment before she reaches her peak.

“Fuck, Lucifer– Why did you stop?!”

He almost feels sorry at the desperate lilt of her voice, almost. But pleasure is one of the few things he’s good at, and he knows this will be worth it in the end.

“I know, I know. Fuck, you feel so good, darling. Trust me when I say I know what I’m doing. I’ll stop your pleasure one more time and then I’ll make you come, I promise. If you don’t think it was worth it after that, you can throw me out of my own house, you have my word.”

She chuckles weakly, thankfully, then throws her head back again when he wastes no time and pushes one finger inside her.

“Ugh, Lucifer… More like you’ll do– Fuck. You’ll do my paperwork for a month.”

He smiles against her skin, both because of their banter and at the thought of him actually doing paperwork. He’s glad she doesn’t make a real deal out of it, but then, he trusts his abilities, doesn’t he?

She gasps when he finds her G-spot, and the way she clenches around him makes his eyes roll back in his head. He’s not sure which colour they are anymore. But all that matters is her pleasure, and he lets himself get lost in it.

He brings his thumb to massage her folds, all the sensitive spots he discovered earlier, but is careful to avoid direct contact with her clit. She keens in his arms, moaning openly, and he watches every beautiful reaction play across her face. He never wants this to stop.

A second finger follows the first, and he grazes sensitive nerves over and over, makes her grind against his fingers inside her. She pulses rhythmically around him, and the feel of her heat and strength maddens him.

“Lucifer, please, it’s so good…”

She almost sounds delirious by now, and it’s a conscious effort not to come just from this, just from seeing her carefree and lost in pleasure like this.

“Hold on for me, love, once more–“

He removes his hands from her body, and she whines and whips her head around immediately, crashing her lips to his with a fierce intensity that takes his breath away.

“Make me come already,” she demands against his mouth, and he groans helplessly.

He keeps her like she is now, wanting to watch when she finally falls apart, and returns his hands to her. With his left hand, he cups her breast, teasing a nipple with insistent, back-and-forth-strokes that earn him an exhale and hands fisting in his hair.

Two fingers of his right hand slip inside her again, snug against her G-spot, and he’s holding back nothing. Finally, he presses his thumb directly against her clit, in rough, dirty circles, just the way she needs now, and never lets his eyes leave hers.

After all the build-up, she’s completely lost in it, her face soon scrunching up in sensation beautifully and her fingers bruising his skin. He lets his forehead fall against hers and gasps with her, committing everything to his memory.

Her orgasm starts in little tremors and ripples across her body. Tangled up with her as he is, he feels them all, feels her clench around his fingers like a vice grip. Her mouth falls open, her eyes press shut, and finally, with his thumb circling her relentlessly, she freezes up in his arms and comes with a wail that cuts right through him.

He swallows it with his mouth, and he kisses her tenderly, smiling against her lips as she rides his hand through her peak, clinging to his body and whimpering softly.

Only when she goes limp and boneless in his arms he carefully removes his hands from her, breaking their kiss and opening his eyes to take her in, flushed and euphoric with pleasure. It’s the most beautiful, rapturous sight.

He brings his fingers to his lips because he has to, and he groans at her taste in his mouth, revels in the breath she sucks in.

“Fucking– Shit, Lucifer. You really had every right to brag all this time, didn’t you?”

She’s breathless and gorgeous and happy, and he always wants to be the reason she is.

“Course I did, darling,” he retorts automatically, but he can’t help the shit-eating grin, and he can’t help how not-unaffected he sounds.

Her smile dims a little, though, and it’s ridiculous how fast he panics. If she leaves now, he’ll be ruined forever.

“I– I know this is maybe not the right time, but I just… I guess I need to know if I’m just another notch in your bedpost, you know? If I am, if we are, I don’t know­, more than– Ah shit, forget I said anything.”

She leans in to kiss and distract him, but he stops her with a finger, understanding perfectly for once.

Chloe couldn’t be farther away from being just another notch in his bedpost, he realises. She is light and everything good that’s been missing from his existence. His heart stutters inside his chest, but the thought that someone could hold power over him loses its terror when he’s looking at her, when her emerald eyes shine like they do now.

“You are, Chloe. We are,” he vows, and it’s the absolute truth.

Voicing it aloud lends his devotion a shape, and he knows the word humans would use to describe his feelings. Some dark part of him still scoffs at the notion of him ever being able to love someone, much less being loved in return, but nevertheless, he knows it’s love that spreads like fire in his veins, that settles like a comforting weight in his chest, that floods his battered heart with life and his soul with hope.

“Really? Oh, thank God,” Chloe mumbles before she kisses him again, and not even the mention of his father can take this giddy happiness away from him.

This is new. This is terrifying. But it is good, and this time, he cannot wait to fall.

“Lucifer,” Chloe breathes against his lips, and there is nothing but her.

[botanistlester]

Sweet Pea (14/34)

Summary: A nickname that goes bitter in your mouth. Cries for help that no one listens to. Gentle hands that make you quake on the ground you’re standing on. When Phil first met Nico, he thought he was a gift from the heavens. But behind the mask lies something daunting, something unnerving, that Phil never foresaw. Through his journey, he finds solace in Dan, the regular at his workplace, who seems to be the only one who sees through Nico’s mask to the darkness underneath. Warnings: Abusive relationship, violence A/N: So i had to split chapter 14 into two different parts because otherwise this chapter was going to be literally 8k words long and I didn’t want that, so that means that I had to bump up the number of chapters yaaay (uggghh). thanks to @snowbunnylester for editing this for me! The lyrics at the beginning of this fic are from the song Misanthropic Drunken Loner by Days N Daze!

I have started a patreon account for those of you who would like to support me and my writing endeavors! You can find my patreon account here, and also find more information about perks of this here!

Previous | Masterlist

Read it on AO3 Read it on Wattpad

-

Chapter Fourteen

I feel like we're playing tug of war and i'm the rope and i'm stretched to the limit but you keep on pulling it. I'm gonna lose my god damned mind.

-

Three days passed before Phil decided to suck it up and go back to his own apartment. By then, the swelling of his tongue had gone down enough that he could finally talk properly, and his phone already had another twenty-two missed calls.

It had been four days since Nico had left. Four days since he had told Phil that he had three days to make a decision. Four days since Nico had left Phil crying on the shower floor with a bruise on his cheek and a shattered heart.

The fact of the matter was that Phil didn’t actually feel ready to go back home. He didn’t want to see the place where Nico had spent hours per day lounging on his couch or sleeping in his bed. He didn’t want to see the items Nico had forgotten, strewn across his floor. He didn’t want to lay in his bed and smell the musky, flowery scent of Nico left on his sheets. He didn’t want to arrive at a place where Nico had promised him he would find someone else if Phil didn’t decide to come back to him in three days.

His mum had kissed him on the cheek and sent him off with a bag of freshly-baked cookies, completely unaware of his inner turmoil. She had told him to call her if he needed anything and to let her know if or when he decided to drop out of class (little did she know, he had already done so the night he had suggested the idea).

When he’d left his mum’s, though, he’d thought he could do it. He’d thought he could unlock his door and walk inside as if it were nothing. He’d thought he could lay on the couch with a bag of crisps and horrible reruns of New Girl and forget that the last year with Nico had ever happened.

But he soon found out that he just couldn’t do it.

His apartment building loomed over him, tall and seeming like it was just waiting to eat him up. He hadn’t even gotten to his own door before he’d begun to shake, his feet glued to the spot. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried to. There was a bitter taste raising in his throat, his forehead was beginning to sweat, and he was certain that he was going to puke.

Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he drew it out with quivering fingers. Dan’s name flashed across his screen, and he didn’t even think about it before he unlocked his phone and dialed Dan’s number.

The phone rang once before Dan answered, voice both urgent and concerned. “Hello? Phil?”

Phil took a deep, shaky breath. He didn’t know if it was a good idea to call Dan yet, but it was better than nothing. He just hoped Dan didn’t hate him enough to deny him company in this trying time.

“I know that you probably hate me after everything that’s happened, but I just got home and I’m standing outside of my flat and I can’t- I can’t do it,” he rambled, his words coming out in a quick succession of breath. “I keep thinking about how much time Nico has spent with me there and I feel sick and I want to go inside but I physically can’t. I want- I don’t-!” He cut himself off because he was breathing too hard to formulate any other words. It was like his chest had suddenly restricted and he couldn’t breathe.

“Phil? Phil, take some deep breaths,” Dan said quietly, his voice sounding tinny and detached through the phone. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. I’m not mad at you, I’m still here for you whenever you need me, okay?” Phil nodded, even though Dan couldn’t see him. He tried to breathe, to get himself to settle down, but it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life. “Do you need me to come over? You don’t have to tackle this alone.”

Phil nodded again, a tiny sob escaping his throat. “Y-yes ple-ease.”

“I’ll be right over, okay? I’m gonna get off the phone now so I can get over there.”

“No!” Phil shouted before he could stop himself. He shivered, taking another deep breath before he could start hyperventilating again. “Can y-you stay on the phone w-with me?”

He heard Dan let out a sad sounding chuckle that wasn’t really a chuckle at all. Instead, Dan sounded rather sad when he laughed. Phil didn’t like that at all. He felt as though he was the cause for this. Or even worse, he felt as though maybe Dan didn’t even want to talk to him anymore, and that’s why he’d done such an awkward laugh. “Of course. I won’t hang up the phone.” Phil was grateful for that, even though he probably didn’t deserve the amount of kindness after everything he’d put Dan through.

But true to his word, Dan stayed on the phone with him. Even if they weren’t speaking the entire time, Phil enjoyed his company. The sound of Dan’s breathing calmed him down a considerable amount, made it so Phil’s quivering ceased just slightly. Phil kind of disconnected. He could see, could hear, but he couldn’t really focus on anything. The only thing he could truly focus on was the door to his flat and how it was so close, so familiar, but with a strange darkness that he couldn’t really put his finger on it.

Before he knew it, Dan was there beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders. He was a warmth amidst the coolness of the morning breeze, the safety net that Phil wasn’t entirely sure he deserved. It was with that that Phil came back to reality, shaking his head and looking up at Dan to see that Dan was smiling softly at him.

“We can do this,” Dan told him.

His voice a promise, and the words were the first and only words Dan had spoken to him in person since Phil had kicked him out. He didn’t mention the past, Phil’s new piercings, or even why Phil was having a break down in front of his flat. Instead, he was soothing, trying to coax Phil into tackling this hurdle. Together.

“You ready to do this with me? I won’t leave your side.”

Phil hesitated, Dan’s assurances ringing through his ears. Dan wasn’t leaving. Dan was right there. He didn’t have to enter his home by himself. Dan was there.

Slowly, he nodded his head. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he breathed, feeling a bit dizzy.

Actually going inside was a slow process. Phil cried. A lot. Dan had to rub his back and tell him that Nico wasn’t inside, that Phil didn’t have to see him anymore. He didn’t know whether he was glad or sad that Nico wasn’t there. He didn’t know whether he wanted to even see him, but something in him yearned for Nico.

He wondered what would happen if Nico showed up on his doorstep; if he would run away screaming or fall into his arms. For some reason, Phil reckoned he would do the latter.

Phil put the lock into the doorknob, but he didn’t twist it yet. He took some deep breaths. In, out, in out. He swore he could already smell the lingering scent of Nico in the air. His mind was playing tricks on him, telling him all about the time where Nico had pressed him against the door and kissed the fuck out of him, at least until their neighbour had walked past and told them to at least go inside. They had laughed so much then, but now, Phil’s lungs felt restricted, like he could hardly breathe, and he swayed a little on his feet as he finally turned the lock to get out of his headspace.

As soon as he entered the flat, Phil’s chest got tight. He could see memories of Nico all the way from his front door. There was a shirt on the couch that belonged to Nico, there was a dish of banana bread they’d baked together sitting on the counter, even a framed picture of he and Nico wearing matching Pokemon shirts. He could smell the musky scent of Nico lingering in the air, as though it was never going to go away, and Phil went to light a candle before remembering that Nico had given him the Pumpkin Pie candle sitting atop his window sill, and he stopped himself in his tracks.

There was too much. It was too much.

“I’m going to be sick,” Phil gasped before he was bolting to the bathroom, Dan hot on his tail.

He didn’t throw up.

For that, he was thankful. Instead, he was sweaty, and cold, and he couldn’t stop spitting up in the toilet, trying to expel something from his stomach. Dan rubbing his back the whole time and held a cold towel to the back of his neck, but it only helped slightly. How pathetic could he be, nearly puking because he’d walked into his own home?

“I’m sorry,” Phil whimpered into the toilet. He was practically hugging the appliance, his arms resting on the seat and his forehead resting atop his arms.

He didn’t have to look to know that Dan was shaking his head. Perhaps Phil just knew him that well now that he could predict his actions before he did them. He could also guess Dan’s next words, which were, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

But the fact of the matter was that Phil did have to be sorry. Dan didn’t deserve this. He deserved better than Phil. He shouldn’t have to spend his weekend taking care of a twenty-year old man who was just going through a bad break up. It was just a break up, for God’s sake! They happened all the time, and yet Phil was acting as if he’d just been shot!

Phil wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and attempted to stand up. He didn’t know how long he’d been on his knees in front of the toilet, only knew that it must have been a long time from the way his knees cracked

“Alright. Okay. I think I should be fine. Let’s just… watch the telly or something.”

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” Dan asked quietly, brushing Phil’s hair out of his face. He didn’t flinch when Phil slapped his hand away, didn’t even look phased. Maybe he understood Phil better than he’d originally thought.

“I want to be normal,” Phil told him, putting the damp towelette on the counter and beginning to walk to the lounge. “I want to go back to how things were before he poisoned my home.”

Except Phil didn’t remember how things used to be. He could only remember vague things; he liked to sing even though he was horrible at it, he enjoyed school and had wanted to be an English teacher one day, he liked to write stories, he liked to wear v-necks and tank tops because he liked the way they felt against his skin...

He didn’t really sing anymore, not even in the shower. He’d dropped out of school and honestly didn’t see much of a future for himself, so he didn’t write much anymore either. And he certainly didn’t wear v-necks or tank tops, instead sticking to unflattering band shirts, baggy jumpers, and jeans.

Why had he changed so much in such a short period of time, and why couldn’t he remember how he acted before all of this? Why couldn’t he remember how to be himself? Why couldn’t he remember what being happy without Nico was?

Dan didn’t argue anymore. He merely nodded and helped Phil get back to the living room with one hand hovering comfortingly behind Phil’s back but never actually touching. It was both uncomfortable and nice, so Phil didn’t say anything, merely collapsing on the couch the second he and Dan reached the front of it. Of course, that’s when a loud knock sounded at the door. Phil gave Dan an alarmed stare, his heart sinking to his knees. He hadn’t been expecting anyone else.

Only a single thought ran through his head as his heart started pounding so loud he could feel it thrumming throughout his body.

He hadn’t locked the door.

Standing, Phil shifted to move quickly towards the door, to lock it, to lock out whoever was there, afraid to find out who it might be. He didn’t want to deal with anyone, especially if that someone was someone he didn’t welcome here. Because the thing was, he knew exactly who it was. The only person who didn’t let him know ahead of time before showing up was Nico, the same Nico who made Phil’s entire body shake, who made Phil’s head so loud he couldn’t think.

But before he could get to the door, the knob turned, the door was pushed open, and there in the threshold stood the angriest man that Phil had ever seen.

Nico.

Rage was coming off of him in the form of flames. His green eyes held venom that choked Phil, making him unable to breathe. His curly hair was wild, more out of place than Phil had ever seen, and his muscles were practically bulging through his shirt, even though he wasn’t even that fit. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides and his nostrils were flared, and Phil completely shrunk under his gaze.

He could see Dan get up out of the corner of his eye, could see the way Nico’s eyes immediately flicked over to Dan, his face getting ever angrier. Phil didn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t have come back. He should have stayed at his mum’s for much longer, until Nico had forgotten who he was, until Phil couldn’t remember the way his name sounded coming from pretty pink lips.

Pretty pink lips that had the power to destroy him.

Nico shut the door behind him. The sound made Phil wince and cave in on himself a little bit. He was shivering, quaking in his shoes, and he didn’t really know when he had gotten so afraid of Nico, but suddenly he couldn’t stop. When Nico laughed, his head thrown back, his voice booming through the unfamiliar familiarness of the room, Phil’s lungs nearly collapsed.

“So this is what you’ve been up to, huh?” Nico asked, his tone quiet and icy cold. His eyes flickered between Phil and Dan, his lips screwing up in a nasty frown. “As soon as I leave, you find another man to fuck? I suppose that’s what sluts do, though. They just fuck and fuck until they can’t anymore.” It seemed then that Nico zeroed in on the piercing in Phil’s nose, one that was suddenly so heavy that Phil imagined he could barely lift his head up anymore.

Nico made a disgusted noise. “A septum piercing? Seriously? I didn’t think you could get even more ugly, but I proved myself wrong.”

Phil’s eyes burned at the words, and he sniffled. He felt filthy, disgusting. How could he have ever believed Nico thought he was beautiful? Of course he wasn’t, but Nico had loved him anyway, and Phil had been so lucky... He clenched his teeth shut so he didn’t open his mouth and show off the other piercing hidden inside. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself do something like this, that he’d knowingly gone behind Nico’s back to get something that Nico obviously hated.

Now Nico would never want him again.

Phil didn’t get a chance to speak up and reply, however, as Dan spoke up before him. For once, Phil actually let him speak. He didn’t want to kick Dan out again. He didn’t want to let him go. For a single moment, Phil wanted to cling onto him, to never let him go.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” Dan said coolly, crossing his arms over his chest. Phil couldn’t look at either of them anymore, so he just stared at his socked feet, at how one sock had hot sauce on it and the other had lemons. “You can’t just barge in here and badmouth Phil like that. You’re not welcome here anymore. Phil’s allowed to do what he wants now. And I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t want you here.”

Phil didn’t need to look at Nico to know that he was probably preparing for murder. He didn’t need to look to know the exact expression that showed on his face right then. The way that his eyes narrowed, how his mouth screwed up in a nasty snarl, how he seemed to loom over them despite his short stature. Phil kept his eyes on the ground, even as Nico spoke.

Phil’s vision began to swim a bit. He hated himself. He hated that he was so scared of the man that he was so in love with. He hated that he was considering abandoning Nico just like Nico’s father abandoned him. He hated that he felt crazy, like he was torn between two feelings - longing and fear - and it was quite literally making him question his own sanity. He was a mess, and anybody could clearly see that.

“Is that so?” Nico asked, his voice strangely calm to anybody’s ears but Phil’s. To Phil, that tone was menacing. That tone meant he was planning something. “Then why don’t you let him tell me that?”

Phil flinched. He couldn’t see the ground anymore through the tears welling in his eyes. His throat felt like it was clogged with cotton wool and there was no way he would be able to speak.

“Well, Phil?” Nico asked him, and he stepped closer, much to Phil’s dismay. “Are you gonna tell me to leave? That you don’t want me anymore? That you don’t love me anymore?”

Before Phil could stop himself, he was shaking his head no. It was like his body had a mind of it’s own, one that he couldn’t control or sway in the slightest. As soon as he heard the word ‘love’, it was like his body went on autopilot and he automatically wanted to scream at the top of his lungs how much he loved Nico, how much he wanted to be with him.

He turned to Dan, keeping his eyes low. “Can you let us have a minute?” he asked quietly, a tremor in his voice that shouldn’t have been there. What was he afraid of? Why was he afraid? It was just Nico. He just had to prove to Nico that he was good, that he was worth continuing to love.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Dan murmured back, putting a soothing hand on Phil’s shoulder that Nico scoffed at. “I don’t want him to ruin you.”

Phil shrugged.

Too late, his mind whispered.

“I’ll be okay,” he said out loud.

For a moment, it didn’t look like Dan believed him. He studied Phil’s face carefully, intently, eyes soft but piercing. Phil refused to look at him, shoulders hunched forward, body curled inward, and he knew he didn’t look convincing, and yet, still, Dan finally sighed, and agreed with a short glare sent Nico’s way.

“I’ll just be in the other room,” Dan declared, watching Phil for another moment before he turned and made his way into the other room, leaving Phil alone with the love of his life and his worst enemy.

Phil was completely unsure of how to act around Nico now, like an empty shell, so he just stood, and he waited.

Chapter Fifteen