#i already feel so weirdly guilty about not having a house to raise them and have a childhood in but idk how anyone can get a house now

[pessimisticprincess]

looking for an apartment absolutely sucks 🥲

[slocumjoe]

companions react to sole crying when they raise their voice at them

The actual, secret prompt here is "which of the companions would not die of shame on the spot"

Cait; Doesnt die, but does achieve a sort of living Purgatory. She's a rough gal. Sole shouldn't be so sensitive. C'mon, grow up! And then she remembers her own life, being screamed at. Astral projects into hell. Will recoil and try to make it better, calm them down. Even says sorry if they look really hurt and it's not just an instinct they have. Slinks around like a kicked puppy after, keeps her distance.

Curie; I really have to question who Curie can upset that much. Can Curie even raise her voice like that, enough to make anyone cry? Curie herself is also bewildered, beneath the immediate regret. Rushes to them spewing apologies, but its short-lived as she’s likely to start crying herself. She's empathetic, she's sensitive, and she feels bad. This is no longer an argument, it is a cry-sesh. Promises to never lose her temper like that again, and keeps that promise.

Danse; The spectrum of reactions this man has here...depends so much on how close he is with Sole. With just another soldier under his command, really disappointed. You are a soldier. He'll back off and let them calm down, then give them a stern recommendation to either work on it, or consider a different career path. A soldier needs to be able to take orders, or discipline, or anything in a harsh tone. That's just the work. But if they're close...the GUILT. The GUILLLLLTTT. Like Curie, tries to fix it ASAP, hugs them if they let him. Apologizes for weeks after. Would dash himself against the rocks if Sole would let him.

Deacon; Panic. Panic. Panic. Switches his mood on a dime, bounces from joking, to still angry, to worried, to guilty, to joking again, to angry again...not because that's what he's feeling, Deacon is horrified, but he just isn't sure what to...do? There's very, very little that could make Deacon yell. Like...something really bad. So he's conflicted. He just made Sole cry. What the fuck, me? But also...Sole, c'mon...Eventually just focuses on de-escalating, calming them down. They can talk—properly, with no raised voices—later.

Gage; Honestly, might start laughing. Not even to be dick. Just...what? This fuck cleans house in the Gauntlet, butchers Colter, takes over Nuka World, but...getting yelled at is what spooks them? Have they...not noticed that when they're killing people, those people are yelling? How are you alive, man? Like Danse, changes on relationship. If he and Sole are close, he shuts up, and walks the fuck away. He's pissed off, he's annoyed, and he's hurt someone that he cares about enough that they're in tears. And this person doesn't crack easily. Him sticking around is bad news. It'll be a while, and painfully awkward, but...he will try to apologize. Keyword, try.

Hancock; Freezes, awkwardly tries to get them to stop and calm down, before slinking off. Hancock is not what one would call "emotionally apt". Where Deacon at least can remember how to be that, Hancock has only really known...casual relationships? One-off things, people he just parties with...not really friends. Or loved ones, even. Besides, Sole probably doesn't want him around right now...he certainly wouldn't. Vanishes for a while, and next Sole sees him, it's with presents and an earnest apology, and a promise to keep his temper in check.

MacCready; Huffs, kind of rolls his eyes, but MacCready is already dropping whatever they were fighting about and trying to patch this up. Takes back whatever he said even if it was true. He doesn't hug Sole, doesn't want to crowd them, but does rub their back or hold their hand. If Sole goes for a hug, they get it. MacCready is, weirdly, one of the more emotionally mature companions; handles it better, processes his own feelings better, and works with Sole to find a solution both to the initial problem, and how they both solve problems together in general.

Nick; It'll be a cold day in hell before Nick Valentine really yells at someone in a way that would warrant crying. So...either Sole has fucked up so much that he no longer cares, sees it as guilt-tripping, or Sole is (seemingly) overreacting to a simple criticism or scolding. First instance, he, again, doesn't care. Sole is probably a murdering jackass. Second instance, immediately concerned. People don't just start crying like that over something that simple. Either Sole is hurting and stressed way beyond what he thought, or there's something in their past that makes this more than what Nick sees it as. He drops everything, has them sit, talks them through some breathing exercises, gets them water. Sees if they'll talk about their feelings, or what they've gone through. Says he'll be more careful if that's a sore spot for them.

Piper; I'm pretty sure I've said this before, but Piper tends to throw candy at upset people. She'll also freeze for a minute, but jumps into action once the shock and shame wear off. Fumbles between saying she's sorry and begging them to stop crying, c'mon, Blue, you know she didn't mean...okay, well, no, she did, and it wasn't fair, and she's sorry, just take the gumballs, they're cherry, they'll make you feel better! No, Piper, they won't. Will kind of coddle and baby Sole for a while, concerned that they might be in a bad place.

Preston; Much like Nick...Preston is not a yeller, and he's not an angry, lashing-out kind of person. He's much more likely to withdraw and get quiet. So like...the fuck did Sole do? If its not a moral failing, but instead just a human slip-up, Preston will back down immediately, go "Okay, we'll talk later, you're not in the right headspace for this," and make sure Sole gets whatever they need. Hot food, water, sleep, maybe a bath. They need to discuss this and Preston is not so soft that crying will deter him. Being too yielding like that cost him Quincy. But he's not going to push something already breaking.

Unless Sole did something fucked up fucked up, like...go join the Nuka World raiders, or whatever. Preston will straight up laugh at them then, and he will do it to be a dick. Really? You went and did that, but can't stomach the consequences? Wow.

X6-88; Also wouldn't raise his voice. He gets curt, and his voice gets...softer, actually. Like...scarily soft. Crying when X6 critiques you is not going to end well. He has shit to do, and discussing the issue was one of them. And now Sole is wasting everyone's time sobbing. Over what, to X6, was nothing more an objective observation. How do you expect anything to get done without a spine? I think it would depend on the kind of crying, but he'll either give up, frustrated, or not care and want to just get it over with. X6 wants the issue resolved or at least discussed ASAP. He can't put everything on hold because Sole is weepy.

[elareine]

If you could, can you please write JayTim or RoyTim (whichever one you want) trying to be romantic and woo Tim (maybe with some puns, I love puns), but Tim is a bit oblivious towards it, because the other is so cool, therefore they must be trying to make friends and be nice with him and nothing more. So when he does finally realize its an italicized "Oh" moment.

Hi lovely!! Thank you for waiting so patiently for this fill. I... ended up making it JayRoyTim, I hope that's okay? It just fit so well, but I can totally write something else with JayTim or RoyTim for you if you want :)

Also, it turned out to be about pick-up lines more than wooing, sorry. I might’ve gone overboard with googling the puns. It's long enough that I put it on ao3, too. What's your username on there? Then I'll gift it to you.

if you were a transformer (you’d be optimus fine)

“Well, here I am.”

Tim looks up, utterly confused. “I didn’t call for you, but… that’s… great?”

Roy waggles his eyebrows. It looks faintly disturbing. Redheads should maybe not do that. Or, actually, Tim revises mentally, thinking of literally every other redhead Dick ever dated—that’s just Roy. “What are your other two wishes?”

“Coffee and some silence to finish working this case?”

Roy looks weirdly deflated at that, but he does get him some coffee. Tim soon forgets about it.

—

(“How’d it go?”

“Does obliviousness run in the family?”

“Yes. Yes it does. Have you met Bruce?”

“…okay, fair. Your turn next.”)

—

“Jason? What’re you doing here?”

Sure, Jason and Roy have been spending a lot more time in Gotham lately. Something to do with a case, Tim assumes. Maybe even with the one that they worked on together in Star City five months ago?

Anyway. They’ve been around, is what Tim is saying. Not at the manor, but at Tim’s apartment and his workspace, cause apparently it’s not worth rebuilding their safe house after it went up in flames, and Bruce and Damian are too often at Dick’s place. He’s not exactly surprised to see either of them anymore. (Pleased, yes. But not surprised.) However, Tim has no fucking clue why Jason is currently grinning at him from the other side of the library desk.

At least Tim has the good sense to check his name tag before he gasps: “Jason?”

“Oh, hey, Tim.” Jason’s grinning. “Guess you figured out my new job, huh?”

“Yeah.” Tim shakes his head. “Color me surprised.” So this is what Jason’s spending his days doing. He’s gotta be shadowing someone, right? Tim’ll ask him tonight.

“I’ve always liked this place.” Jason’s gaze is far away for a moment. Tim badly wants to know what he’s remembering. Then the older man seems to come back to himself and gives Tim a weird—maybe angry?—look. “It’s a good thing I’m a librarian, too, cause I’m totally checking you out.”

“Alright, I can take a hint.” Tim grabs his book and demonstratively walks over to the self-service scanners. Really. How rude.

—

(“Are you telling me he managed to resist you in your cardigan?”

“Apparently.”

“Aww. C’mere, babe.”)

—

So Roy blows things up all the time. No, really, Tim now totally understands why Dick was so happy when he heard the duo is camping out at Tim’s place for a change. His older brother even gave Tim a thumbs-up, for God’s sake. He must’ve known.

Cause yeah, there’s at least one explosion every two days. Or Roy dropping something cause he’s too focused on what he’s thinking to remember what his hands are doing. Or something dropping on��him. Jason seems used to it; he just catches whatever it is or laughs at Roy. Tim… is starting to learn to do the same, actually. Whatever Roy comes up with at that moment is usually worth it, and besides, he’s kinda adorable.

Aaaaaaanyway. (He’s using that word a lot in his own thoughts right now. Almost as if he’s avoiding thinking about something. Hmm.) Tim’s not surprised when Roy walks into a room, stumbles, and slaps a hand over his eyes with a dramatic exclamation.

Tim, in shorts and not much else cause he got drenched in pollen earlier, just raises an eyebrow. “Alright, Roy?”

“Nope.” Roy’s hand is still covering his face, but Tim can still see his grin underneath. “I’m gonna need your name and phone number for insurance purposes.”

“Roy. You have both of these things,” Tim explains slowly, wondering if Roy sustained a brain injury or accidentally dosed himself on something. “And why insurance?”

“I was blinded by your beauty.”

God. Sometimes Tim wonders about the original Titans and their socialization for the two dudes if this is how they think making friends works. Then again, Kori, Donna, and Dick probably appreciated constant compliments about their beauty. It all makes sense. Roy must be so used to it that he even uses those same methods when someone unexceptional like Tim is around.

He smiles gamely. “I’m looking forward to hearing that phone call. Must be almost as great as the time Bruce tried to convince his insurance company that Clark dropping on his car wasn’t an act of God because God is demonstrably not a Kryptonian. Neither was the giant ape punching Clark out.”

Roy drops his hand at that. “…Batman did what?”

—

(“You were doing so well, too.”

“I knoooow. How much more obvious can we get?”

“I dunno, but I intend to try.”)

—

“Do you like Star Wars? Because Yoda only one for me!”

“Haha. No. Star Trek or die.” Tim’s answer is automatic. He’s had these discussions soooo many times with Kon before. Of course Jason also goes for the space cowboy soap opera.

Besides, Jason’s boyfriend is standing right next to him. He doesn’t mean to sound flirtatious with Tim. Or maybe he does, and it’s just good fun? Or maybe teasing him? Tim can’t figure it out, but he knows he doesn’t like the weird hollow feeling he gets in his stomach when he thinks about it, so he changes the topic.

And makes both of them sit down to watch some classic Captain Kirk, of course.

—

(“Should I be insulted by that pick up line?”

“Nah. There aren’t that many lines that imply a polycule, though.”

A kiss. “Alright.”)

—

One of the things Jason and Tim have in common is their predilection for motorbikes and fiddling around with them. Not that makes them unique in the batclan; Tim has never spent days quietly working side-by-side with Dick, though, the way he does with Jason. They started out with separate projects. Then Jason saw this vintage Ducati at an abandoned warehouse he was about to blow up and, well… Would be a shame, right? Tim just happens to have had one of these before—regrettably lost to one of Harley’s exploding baseball bats—so he offers his expertise.

It’s not because it means bending over the engine with Jason, closer than they ever are, their hands brushing when they hand each other instruments. It’s not.

Roy doesn’t join them. He’s too polite to say so, but he finds normal cars and bikes boring af. Doesn’t stop him from popping his head into the garage and whistling when he sees that they are shirtless and covered in grease. It’s a damn good look on Jason, so Tim can’t fault him for that.

Roy follows it up with a: “Are you a parking ticket? Cause you got fine written all over you.”

Tim can’t help it; he blushes at the suggestive tone. Those two never stop flirting with each other, do they? So far, he has managed to avoid stumbling over them while they’re making out (not that they’re making that easy—the kitchen? Really?), and he’d like to keep avoiding that, thank you very much. He’s already feeling guilty enough for his fantasies as it is.

“Uh. I should clean up,” he mumbles and flees.

—

(“Dammit.”

“…do you think that was a rejection?”

“Nah. He was definitely checking me out before you came and fucked it up.”

“That’s saying something if you noticed it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”)

—

So Tim has magically acquired cat ears and a very fluffy tail. Don’t ask. They’re gonna go away in eight hours, and until then, he’s gonna stay in the cave and work himself to distraction. Jason seems intent on keeping him company, though.

(It’s nice. Tim loves hanging out with Jason—that’s not the problem. The issue is that Tim is looking ridiculous, and Jason is being nice about it, and none of this is helping his stupid crush go away.)

They’re absently chatting about nothing until Jason says: “Kinda a pity you’re a cat, though.”

Tim looks up. Huh? Admittedly, he never pegged Jason as the type to go for catboys (though maybe… he did hang out with Kyle… perhaps it’s just that he definitely doesn’t go for Tims), but that’s still a weird pronouncement.

Jason is grinning. “If you were a chicken, you’d be impeccable.” He pauses. “Wait. Like even more than you already are. Uh.”

Tim sighs. Great. And now Jason is making fun of him again. “Whatever.”

—

(“A chicken?”

“Shut up. I panicked.” A sigh. “He was so cute with these ears.”

“…yeah, he was.”)

—

“You must be tired. You’ve been running through my mind all night.”

“I’m not tired,” Tim says automatically. Why does everyone keep asking him that tonight? Surely the shadows under his eyes can’t be that bad? He used concealer!

Something in Roy’s expression softens. “Aww. C’mere.” He pats the space on the couch next to him, and when Tim sits down, Roy pulls him half of on top of him and into a hug. “Relax for a bit, little bird.”

Tim sinks into the embrace, boneless all of a sudden. Roy just has that effect on him. Tim vaguely remembers thinking of him as his oldest brother’s cool friend and then Jason’s cool boyfriend, kind of a fuckboy but clearly good for Jay.

Now? Now, Roy just makes him feel safe.

—

(“So you spent the night on the couch just so he could sleep in your arms?”

“Yeah. Totally worth it.”

“Duh.”

“I just wish we could do that with him every night. Bet he fits perfectly between us.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“We might have to up the ante or switch tactics.”)

—

They’re talking about their favorite books—Tim doesn’t read as much as Jason does, but they discovered a shared love of sci-fi weeks ago—when Tim says: “Actually, that book kinda reminds me of you.”

“Oh?”

“Overly dramatic but good.”

Jason makes an offended noise, and Tim grins.

“I’m not sure which part I should argue about first.” Jason pretends to think.

Tim is always down to tell Jason that fuck his self-perception—Jason is a good man, one of the best Tim knows; that also feels too revealing right now. Instead, he gets up from their comfortable position on the couch and grabs the first stack on the table, carrying them over to the shelves to replace the gaps. “What kind of book would I be?”

“Babe, if you were words on a page, you’d be fine print.”

“Annoying and no one reads it?” Tim asks without turning around, trying to ignore the babe. That’s. That’s gotta be a slip of the tongue, right? Force of habit from spending so much time with Roy?

“No, fine,” and the emphasis is clear this time. Jason continues before Tim can reply: “Though if we’re talking books…”

Tim whirls around. “Save it. You don’t have to make fun of me just because I—“He swallows down the words.

Jason looks alarmed. “Tim—“

As if he can smell trouble, Roy chooses that moment to enter the room. Tim has barely heard him approach, Jesus. He doesn’t want to have this argument in front of Roy, though, so he just stands there in the middle of the room. Jason, too, has stopped speaking.

Roy, of course, takes one look at the awkwardness and decides to make it worse. Or more confusing.

“Did you just come out of the oven?” he asks.

“As this isn’t Hansel and Gretel, no, I didn’t.” Tim checks his shirt, just in case this is an actual conversation opener and not just a weird attempt at a distraction. “Do I have soot on me?”

“Nope.” Roy shakes his head, and he’s smiling that smile again, the one Tim is startled to recognize, the one he thought is reserved only for Jason— “Because you’re hot.”

And finally, Tim gets it. “Me?”

“Yes, Tim.” Roy’s moving in closer. “You.”

There’s a soft touch to Tim’s shoulder, and Tim whirls around, expecting Jason to be mad, cause his boyfriend is—is hitting on Tim, right, that’s what’s happening, Jason can’t be happy—

Jason is smiling down at him. His hand is still resting on Tim’s shoulder, but it slides down to his collar bone, a gentle presence as he murmurs: “You’re so beautiful that you made forget my pick up line.”

Oh. Oh.

Tim says the first thing he can think of: “Are you a raisin?”

Jason starts grinning. “I’m not even gonna qualify that with an answer.”

Tim smiles back. “Cause you’re raising my hopes for a kiss right about now.”

And he gets one. And then another, and then Roy joins in, kissing Tim’s neck and then his mouth and—Yeah.

They’re too busy for any more pick up lines right now.

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

Nobody Likes A Divorce Of Course

(Is the title a Parks and Rec reference? No, I have no idea what you’re talking about /s)

pt 2

I Like You A Latte pt 1

Word Count: 2322

Rating: Gen

Pairing: past Loceit (weirdly enough they’re divorced, who’d’ve guessed)

Warnings: divorce related angst, all sympathetic Sides

~~~START~~~

Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep

“Logan,” Janus groaned, burying his face in his pillow in an attempt to block out the incessant beeping. “Alarm.”

Beep beep beep beep

Oh. That’s right. Janus sat up, suddenly very awake as he turned the alarm off himself. Logan’s not here.

He wasn’t in the bedroom they’d called their own for the past six years. He wasn’t in the house they’d bought together to raise their family in. Their children weren’t asleep in their bedrooms down the hall from him.

No, after years of fighting, Janus had moved out, and they’d agreed to get a divorce. Logan wasn’t his husband anymore.

Just like that, eight years of marriage, over.

It was almost weird how much Janus missed him. Years of arguing over the most inconsequential things, of nitpicking the smallest details, of passive-aggressive comments — all of which, Janus could admit, they were both guilty of — and he still missed Logan.

Thomas was always saying that that was normal, that Logan had been so important to Janus for so long — even before they’d gotten married, before they’d gotten together, they’d been best friends for most of Janus’s life — that just losing him altogether was always going to be hard, no matter how poorly they’d been getting along recently.

Besides, Janus didn’t really miss Logan, not the person that he was today anyway. He missed the idea of Logan, the Logan he’d been years ago when they were young.

But Logan wasn’t that person anymore, and Janus wasn't the person Logan had fallen in love with either. They’d both changed so much. They’d grown apart.

The real hard part was the effect the divorce was having on their children.

The twins had gotten it into their heads that one parent was the blame and the other was not. This resulted in Roman being angry with Janus, and Remus being angry with Logan. And, of course, that resulted in the twins being angry with each other!

Virgil on the other hand, didn’t seem to be blaming anyone, but the fear that his family was falling apart — which was only reinforced by the twins’ fighting — had worsened his already prevalent anxiety to nearly debilitating levels.

Some days it almost felt like it would have been better to just tough it out for a few more years until the boys were older and maybe a little more understanding of the situation, but that wouldn’t have been fair to anyone. It wouldn't have been fair to Logan or Janus, who would have continued to be stuck in a mutually toxic relationship; to the twins, who had been taking sides long before the official split; or to Virgil, whose mental health had already been suffering from the continuously mounting tension in the house.

Waiting would have made everything worse; it was better this way.

For everyone.

Janus sighed and got ready for his day.

He was grateful that his brother was letting him stay in his spare bedroom, he wasn’t sure what he would have done without Thomas. He would get his own place soon enough, one that had enough rooms for his kids to stay with him every other weekend, but for now it was nice to be around someone who was sympathetic to what he was going through.

He and Logan had agreed that Logan would get the house as it was significantly closer to Logan’s job than it was to Janus’s. Logan got the house; Janus got the car. Logan put the kids on the school bus every morning; Janus would pick them up after school and take them to the home that was now Logan’s and Logan’s alone. Janus would take care of them until Logan got home; Logan would take care of dinner and put them to bed.

It wasn’t a perfect system, and it definitely made Janus feel like more of a babysitter than a parent, but it did maximize the amount of time each of them got with the kids. That was something they’d agreed on quite early: they would split time with their kids as evenly as they could. Logan would get every major Jewish holiday, Janus would get every major Christian holiday, and neutral holidays would be traded off every other year.

Janus’s day passed quickly and slowly all at once. His morning was filled with paperwork for his upcoming court cases, his lunch break was spent looking at apartments, and after lunch he would return to his office to finish enough work that he could leave in time to pick the kids up from school.

“Hi papa!” Remus yelled, bouncing up to Janus in the parent pick-up area. Roman followed behind him at a much more sedate pace, giving Janus only a grunt of acknowledgement — a greeting Janus was unfortunately used to at this point.

“Hello darlings, how was your day?” Janus asked, giving the nine-year-olds half his attention as he kept one eye out for his youngest.

“Fine,” Roman muttered, glaring at the ground.

“Mrs. Jennings gave me a sticker for finishing all my times tables!” Remus cheered as he pulled a sheet of paper out of his bag to show Janus the sticker.

“That’s wonderful, squidling,” Janus praised. “Did your dad help you?”

Remus's face immediately fell as he mumbled out an answer that Janus took to mean ‘yes’.

Janus sighed. He didn’t want any of his kids to be angry with Logan, but he wasn’t sure what to say to make the anger go away. The divorce wasn’t Logan’s fault any more than it was Janus’s.

At least Remus was letting Logan help him with his homework. That was something.

“Virgil!” Janus called once he’d spotted the purple hoodie and black backpack making its way through the crowd. The six-year-old’s head shot up at the sound of his papa’s voice, and seconds later he’d latched himself to Janus’ legs. “Hello sweetheart, how are you?”

Janus gently pushed the hood off of Virgil’s head so that he could run his fingers through his dark hair. Virgil whispered a mostly inaudible answer into Janus’s leg, making no move to let go.

“Can we go home now?” Roman demanded suddenly.

“Of course, darling.” Janus tried to take a step, but Virgil held tight. “Would you like me to pick you up, spiderling?”

Virgil nodded, so Janus stooped down to lift him up. He was getting a little heavy for this, but Janus still had at least a few months of being able to pick him up —a couple years if he started lifting weights.

Roman and Remus were thankfully able to get into the way back of the car and get themselves buckled up without needing Janus’s help, leaving Janus free to get Virgil settled in his own booster seat.

The ride home was surprisingly quiet save for the Disney hits CD Janus put on in an attempt to get Roman to loosen up a little. Usually, the ride home at the end of the school day started off with the twins having an argument and ended with Virgil crying in his booster seat, but today was quiet. The twins seemed content to ignore each other, and Virgil was busy watching all the buildings pass.

Virgil didn’t need to be carried in from the car once they’d reached the house, which left Janus free to unlock the door and turn the alarm off. The twins brushed past him as they ran to the kitchen to try and sneak some sugar before Janus came in and made them eat something healthier for their after-school snack. Virgil hung back, clinging once more to Janus’s pant leg.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” Janus asked, kneeling down to give Virgil a proper hug.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back today,” Virgil whispered into Janus’ shoulder.

“Oh Virge, I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Just because daddy and I aren’t together anymore doesn’t mean that either of us love you and your brothers any less, okay?”

“…okay.”

“Good.” Janus placed a kiss on Virgil’s forehead. “Now, let’s go stop the twins from eating their weight in sugar and calling it a snack.”

“Cookie!” Virgil yelled happily, taking off toward the kitchen.

“Only one!” Janus called after him.

One cookie turned into two when it became apparent that the twins had helped themselves to more than one. Then each kid was given a small bowl of banana chips, four apple slices, a stick of string cheese, and a drink of their choosing (chocolate milk for Virgil, pog for Roman, and grape juice for Remus).

After their snack, the kids were allowed to watch half an hour of TV before starting on their homework. Virgil, being a first-grader, didn’t actually have that much in way of homework, so he spent most of homework-time coloring a picture of a spider in his coloring book.

Once most of their homework was done — Logan could help them with math after dinner — Roman went back to ignoring Janus’s very existence in the living room. Virgil stayed at the kitchen table with Janus, which wasn’t strange as he’d gotten much clingier since the divorce.

What was strange was Remus stayed behind too.

“Papa,” Remus said quietly, staring at his nearly empty glass of juice as though it held the secrets to the universe. “I don’t want to be mad at dad anymore.”

“I don’t want you to be mad at your dad either,” Janus said softly.

“But he hurt you.”

“We hurt each other, squidling. We got divorced because being together hurt us both, and that was hurting the three of you, too. It’s no one’s fault; not your dad’s, not mine, and definitely not any of yours.”

“I want things to go back to the way they were before,” Remus whimpered. “Before you started fighting.”

“Honey, your dad and I have been fighting since the day we met. But over the years, the fighting stopped being playful, and I’m not even sure when it happened.”

“Do you still love him?”

“I do,” Janus answered honestly. “And it’s because I love him that I know we made the right decision.”

Remus nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Virgil continued to color, the only sign that he was listening being the slowly expanding black scribble obscuring three of the spider’s legs.

After a few minutes, Remus wordlessly got up from the table, and left to join Roman in the living room, leaving Janus to wonder what kind of decision he’d come to, and if Remus was ready to take the first step in healing his relationship with Logan.

By the time Logan got home, all three kids were enthralled in Mulan, and Janus had found the time to send some work emails.

“I’m home!” Logan called from the front door, prompting all three kids to leap from the couch to greet him — even Remus, who hadn’t greeted Logan at the door in weeks.

“Daddy!”

“Hi Dad!”

“Dad! Look at the sticker I got on my times tables!”

Janus smiled sadly to himself as he packed up his stuff. It was time to leave, and go back to Thomas’s apartment. An apartment that didn’t have his kids in it…

“Alright, well it looks like it’s time for me to go,” Janus announced, joining Logan and the kids in the foyer.

“NO!” Virgil yelled, letting go of Logan in order to reattach himself to Janus’s legs.

“You’ll see me tomorrow, spiderling,” Janus reassured him, making no move to make Virgil let go yet. “I promise.”

“Pinky promise!” Virgil demanded, sticking his pinky out with all the seriousness a six-year-old can muster.

“Pinky promise,” Janus said solemnly, wrapping his finger around his son’s.

“Boys, might I talk to your papa alone for a minute?” Logan asked. Roman and Remus shrugged and wandered off. Virgil reluctantly nodded and followed behind his brothers slowly. “Remus greeted me at the door today,” Logan marveled.

Janus smiled. “He told me he was tired of being mad at you.”

“And Roman?”

“Still upset.”

“I’m sorry.”

Janus waved him off. “It’s not your fault. He’ll come around.”

“Still…” Logan trailed off and the two of them stood in awkward silence for a moment. “I’m working nights this weekend; you can stay here if you’d like; Dot is allowing me to use her guest room.”

“Thank you. I’m working late on Friday, but Thomas can pick the kids up from school. It might be good for them to spend some time with a mostly neutral party.”

Logan nodded in agreement, lapsing back into another silence for a moment. “How is the apartment search?”

“I believe I’ve found a place; would you like to see it before I sign the lease?”

“No, I trust your judgement.”

“It’s only two bedrooms, so I hope the kids won’t mind all sharing a room.”

“I’m sure they won’t.”

Janus nodded again, wondering if their conversations had always been this stilted and he just hadn’t noticed before.

“I think we should consider putting the kids in therapy,” he said, breaking their third awkward silence of the day. “Or at least Virgil.”

“Yes, that seems reasonable. How shall we pick a therapist?”

“The same way we always do,” Janus chuckled humorlessly. “You do your research, I do mine, and then we compare our findings.”

Logan nodded and their fourth silent stretch began.

“I should be going,” Janus said.

“Of course.”

“Goodbye kids!” Janus called. Remus and Virgil both ran over to hug him goodbye, Roman did not.

“Bye Remus, bye Virgil.” He made sure to give both of them a big hug that would have to serve as their goodnight hug. “Goodbye Roman!”

He received only a grunt in return. It didn’t sting a little. It didn’t.

It stung a lot.

Just a couple more days until Friday, he reminded himself as he left the house and returned to his car. Two more days and I can spend the weekend with them.

~~~END~~~

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@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple

[vivianweasley]

Pride and Prejudice (Chapter 2)

Summary: Your father is Lucius Malfoy’s cousin, and after the war, it was really difficult for you to find a job because of your last name. So your mother and Mrs. Weasley came up with a crazy idea. A fake marriage between you and Fred Weasley.  

In this chapter: you became friends with the twins, and you took Fred to an amusement park to celebrate finally receiving a job offer.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Malfoy!Fem!Reader

Warnings: mention of food, Ferris Wheel, slight mention of rollercoasters (the amusement park usual)

Word count: 2.3k

disclaimer: all the pictures used in the header are from Pinterest. Credit goes to the original owners.

Please do NOT repost or translate my work! Thank you!! Reblogs and comments are always welcome:)

Prologue // Chapter 1 

“No! This is not happening!” Fred shook his head furiously when you informed him that you were actually going to stay at his place for as long as your fake marriage was going to last.

You didn’t want to do this either, and you made sure to stay at your parents’ house until the house-elves decided to move your stuff outside for you. “Please! A year isn’t even that long,” you tried your best to look at him with the most sincere eyes, “You won’t even notice me! I will try to stay at my friends’ place as often as possible!”

“Okay, fine!” Looking at your puppy eyes, Fred found himself beginning to cave in, “You can sleep on this couch. Good night!” 

He tried to slip back into his room before making any further sacrifices, but George’s voice stopped him, “Couch? Surely you’re not going to let our guest sleep on the couch?”

Fred glared at George, for he knew his brother was just trying to mess with him. “She’s not our guest. She’s also family now, so she will understand.”

Fred tried to escape again, but George was silently judging him, and you were putting on those puppy eyes again. He sighed and finally decided, “Fine. You said you could do three things for me, right? Okay, the first thing I want you to do is to sleep on this couch.”

“You sure?” You raised your eyebrows, for you were surprised that he would use the first wish so quickly and on something so small, but you saw him nodding. “Fine. Reckless, though, but I accept.”

A smug smile appeared on Fred’s lips as he turned to George, “Problem solved. Good night, family.”

You sat on the couch after unpacking everything. If getting a marriage certificate still didn’t make you realize that this crazy fake marriage was actually happening, you sure realized it now. You and Fred Weasley were on the same team now, and you had to find a way to get along with each other. It’s only for a year, you thought, shouldn’t be difficult. 

Fred lay in his bed, tossing and turning. It started as a joke, a crazy dare, but now there’s a woman sleeping on his couch. Was the couch even comfortable? Fred suddenly felt guilt rising in his stomach, but why should he feel guilty for not giving up his own bed to you? You were the one who was intruding. But it wasn’t your fault though...Fred groaned as his conscience fought this battle that he believed to be unnecessary. This shouldn’t be this difficult.

George was the only one who slept well in this house tonight. In fact, he fell asleep with a smile, knowing that his brother’s life was about to change. This should be fun!

~

Fred woke up the next morning to the smell of breakfast and the sound of laughter. He walked outside and almost jumped when he saw you in his kitchen this early in the morning. Oh right, he just got married.

You and George were cooking breakfast and chatting, and weirdly, this made Fred feel left out. He cleared his throat, and you two finally noticed him.

“Oh, morning!” You and George said in unison, which caused a small frown on Fred’s face. 

“You know how to cook?” Fred blurted out. He wanted to say good morning to you too, but this question came out first, for this scene shocked him. Didn’t you grow up having house elves do everything for you?

“It’s just scrambled egg, genius,” you replied bitterly, “and good morning to you too.”

Then you and George continued cooking and chatting about potential product ideas. Fred was not surprised that you had so many great ideas. After all, he’s had his pranks backfire on him when he tried to prank you before. But he was surprised that you sounded so excited and interested when you were talking about the joke shop. He always assumed that you would think it wasn’t a serious or mature career choice.

Fred wanted to join the conversation, but there was simply no opportunity for him to chip in. He found himself speechless and sitting awkwardly at the table. He also noticed that you sounded friendlier and softer when you were talking to George, and that made him think. If George didn’t have a girlfriend, would he be your fake husband instead? Would that be a better option for you?

Fred felt weirdly defeated. There was something about you that could always make him admit defeat, and he’s definitely not a fan of this feeling.

~

For the next few days, you had nowhere to go and nothing to do while you wait for the result of the interview, so you decided to help at the joke shop. You were staying at their place after all. This was the least you could do.

You had to admit that aside from having to sleep on the couch, living and working with Fred and George wasn’t so bad. Your everyday life was never dull, for they always had little jokes and pranks here and there. You were even beginning to think if you were friends back at Hogwarts, how fun would it be?

And to your surprise, Fred was a completely different person when he was at work. He knew his products well, and he sounded so passionate when he was introducing them to his customers. He’s also surprisingly good and patient with kids. This was nothing like the irresponsible and immature troublemaker you assumed he was. 

Plus, he looked pretty good in his business suit. The shirt fit his body nicely, and the rolled-up sleeves perfectly showed off the line of his arm muscles. For a moment, you even felt proud to have him as your fake husband.

“Are you staring at me?” Fred’s voice almost made you fall off your chair.

“No, I’m not!” You panicked and raised your voice to cover for the fact that you were indeed drooling over your fake husband.

“Yea, you are. I saw it,” Fred leaned forward and teased, “Aww Y/N, are you in love with me now?”

You tried to stay calm and stared back into his eyes, but you could hear your heartbeat growing louder. “You wish.”

“Y/N! It’s here!” George’s voice made both of you jump and pull away from each other immediately. You were still trying to figure out how to act normal, but the letter in George’s hand just made your heart beat faster. 

You recognized the logo of Whizz Hard Books. This was it. This was the letter that contained the result of the interview and your fate. You tore open the envelope as soon as George handed it to you and read the letter immediately.

After re-reading the letter for the third time, you finally looked up with your eyes wide open and eyebrows furrowed. 

“Well, what does it say?” Fred had the same expression as you.

“It says...I’ve got the job?” Those words sounded even stranger when you said them out loud. It took you a good minute for the news to finally sink in. “I’ve got the job! I’ve got a job!!”

You waited for this moment for so long. The overwhelming joy washed over you, and when you finally regained your senses, you realized you were cheering and hugging Fred, and your faces were only inches away. You pulled away, coughing awkwardly. 

“So...What do you want to do to celebrate?” Fred spoke first, breaking the awkward silence.

“I have an idea!” You said as you grabbed Fred’s arm. You were still overjoyed that you weren’t fully aware of what you were doing, but Fred’s breath hitched when your fingertips touched his skin.

You held out your hand to George, “George, you coming with us?”

“Sorry, I’ve got a date tonight,” George came up with an excuse. How could he interrupt when he noticed that little change in Fred’s expression when you invited him too?

~

When Fred opened his eyes again, he gasped, “Muggle amusement park?” A Malfoy brought him to an amusement park? A muggle amusement park?

“Yea, this is my favorite place!” You realized he was surprised because a stereotypical Malfoy shouldn’t be interested in anything in the muggle world, but you didn’t want to waste your time arguing with him when you saw the booth ahead. “C’mon!”

It doesn’t count as going to an amusement park if you didn’t get a cute headband, and you were finding this cat ears headband in front of you absolutely adorable. But what fun would it be if nobody was wearing it with you?

You soon picked out a bunny ears headband for Fred, but when you turned to him, he was already looking into the mirror, wearing the same cat headband.

“I think it looks better on me, don’t you think?” He winked at you.

You rolled your eyes, “No, I don’t. I’m claiming this one. You have to pick another one.”

“No, if anyone has to change today, it’s you.”

“I’m not changing!”

“I think the lady wears it better.” You and Fred looked down, and it was a little boy who complimented you.

“Oh, thank you!” You beamed at the boy and turned to look at Fred with a smug smile, “You heard that, now go change.”

But the little boy asked again, “Is he your boyfriend?”

“What? Oh, no! He’s not my boyfriend,” you answered quickly with an awkward laugh.

But Fred chimed in, “I’m her husband, actually.” 

The boy left with a disappointed face, but Fred was smiling at you like he just won a competition, and this successfully made your cheeks heat up. “Why do you have to say that to a kid?” 

“Cause it was on your contract, remember? The fewer people know, the better, right?” he smiled innocently, “I’m just trying to follow the rules.”

“O..kay.” You squinted. Fred Weasley trying to follow the rules? What day is it today?

“So, do I still have to pick another one?”

“No, keep it. You look great with it.” You finally admitted.

He raised his eyebrows at your answer but soon beamed at you, “You look pretty good with it, too.”

Your heart skipped a beat when he looked into your eyes. Luckily, the queue not far from you caught your attention and saved you from doing anything embarrassing. “C’mon, hurry up! The queue isn’t too long now!” you grabbed his arm and started running. 

Fred was surprised that no matter how many times you’ve done this, your fingertips could always send electro waves up his body. And he had to admit he was starting to like that feeling.

You dragged him everywhere, going from rollercoaster rides to the carousel. Fred was amazed to see you this happy and excited. You were nothing like the stuck-up, cold, pureblood princess he thought you were. Not to mention that every time you smiled at him, he could feel his heart skipping a beat.

~

Your amusement park adventure ended with the Ferris Wheel. It was your favorite way to end the night. From above here, you could see the entire park and the city. You knew flying on a broom could give you a broader and better view, but the Ferris Wheel had a more romantic tone to it. 

“What’s your favorite today?” Fred asked.

“Hmm...I loved that ride for kids because you were so scared,” you joked.

“No, I was not!” Fred protested, “but you have to agree that was a really creepy ride.”

“Agree. Don’t know why they had to make things so creepy for kids,” you laughed and finally answered his question seriously, “It’s actually now. The Ferris Wheel is my favorite part, and you will know why in a minute. What’s yours, though?”

Fred was about to answer, but the sound of fireworks stopped him.

“Ah! Right on time!” you exclaimed as the fireworks exploded into flowers of fire in the night sky, and the Ferris Wheel had the perfect view for it.

Fred’s eyes widened as butterflies in his stomach were completely out of control. The city lights and the fairy lights of the park twinkled as the fireworks continued to bloom. And you looked so beautiful when you were smiling and gazing at the firework outside. Everything was so perfectly romantic, and Fred found himself helpless when he answered your previous question, “Mine’s actually the Ferris Wheel, too.”

~

When you finally got home, you just wanted to jump on your couch and sleep. But before you could do that, Fred stopped you.

“You...You could sleep on my bed if you want. I will sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Are you sure? But I thought you-”

“Yea, consider this as a gift for getting a job.”

You were surprised. Didn’t he love his bed so much that he used one wish to keep it? But he looked sure, and a smile appeared on your lips, “Well, then I will gladly accept your gift. Good night, Freddie!”

“Good night, Y/N,” Fred replied, couldn’t help but smile when he heard you calling him that.

“You fancy her, don’t you?” George finally walked out of his room after you went into Fred’s room.

“Pff, no,” Fred rolled his eyes when he could basically hear George’s smirk without even looking at him, “I just...think she’s pretty cool.”

“Yea, right. Good night, brother.”

After George went back to his room too, Fred was lying awake on the couch, trying to find a way to fit himself on this uncomfortably small couch. When he was tossing and turning, he realized he wasn’t regretting wasting his first wish and giving up his bed to you, but feeling guilty that he made you sleep here for more than a week. 

You were all he could think about now. Just a few days ago, you were no different from the other obnoxious Malfoys to him, but now you were a real person. Someone who would pout when he refused to change the headband with you. Someone who would laugh at his endless bad puns about amusement parks. Someone whose smile could make his heart flutter.

Oh Merlin, he thought, maybe George was right.

Chapter 3

~

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[platypanthewriter]

The Devil Looks After His Own (Ch.1)

Little Steve Harrington is so lonely he tries summoning a demon with a ritual advertised on TV--but luckily, it doesn't work, and a buff, non-human nanny hired by his mom shows up minutes later.  Years later, they're best friends, and Steve still doesn't know the truth.  For @magniloquent-raven​!

When his dad finally locked him out of the office, Steve spent the morning sitting in the hallway playing with his Legos.  When his stomach growled, he knocked quietly, and his dad’s voice on the phone continued, so he went in the kitchen to forage.  He found Cheez-its, and olives, and a tightly wrapped triangle of gooey cheese that tasted good in the middle, but had gross, chalky skin, so he licked the middle out and stuffed the rest down the side of the garbage. 

He walked back into the front room and flipped the TV on, just to make some noise.  “In the future,” came the syrupy voice of the man on the screen, “—we’ll have robots to be our helper-friends!”  He chuckled to himself, leaning back in his leather chair, and folding his arms on his huge wooden desk.  “But that doesn’t work for us now, I hear you say.”  

The camera zoomed out, and he waved to a woman with curly hair and long fangs, sitting on the edge of his desk.  She was wearing way less clothes than the man was, and Steve frowned, wondering whether she was cold.  “Our summoning spells are assembled by real lawyers, and airtight!” the man said, and the woman nodded, smiling, and holding up a picture with a lot of numbers and lines.  Steve squinted at it guiltily—he’d seen the man’s ads before, and he mostly remembered the picture, probably.  

The helper-friend lady looked nice, he thought.  

“Too good to be true?  We even include offerings!  Bat eyes, tears of the innocent—” he said, smiling and holding up jars, as ‘ethically sourced from internment facilities’ scrolled across the screen.

Steve frowned around, and then grabbed his LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, the most complex set he owned.

“Honey,” the man told the woman on screen, and she opened a can of soda, and poured it over her own head, still smiling.  “Perfectly compliant,” he said.  “And just wait, there’s more!  Any purchase comes with a matching, complimentary summoning sigil for a protective home guardian!  Just drip a drop of fluid—” he winked at the camera, and it showed something red splashing across the page, as his voice suddenly screamed “Augh-no!  Don’t—”

Steve had already grabbed the remote and hit the fifteen-second replay, and began drawing out the picture.  He hit it again and again, coloring in different colors, and wishing people in commercials didn’t always yell.  He drew the circle carefully with a piece of thread from the long fringe on a throw-blanket he wasn’t allowed to mess up, then folded it carefully again, grimacing.  He colored in the crosses with a different color so it looked nicer, and drew the little castle wall-looking-bit.  He added a horse.  

When it came time to drip fluid on it, he clicked the TV off, and got a juice box from the fridge, figuring apple juice was way less gross than blood, and it wouldn’t ruin his picture.  

Steve stared at the picture, holding the juice box, and thinking.  He imagined not eating alone.  He imagined the nice lady smiling at his Legos—maybe she’d like the castle set, he thought, like in her picture.  He’d just summon her for a little, he thought—just a few minutes, enough to make them both a PB&J.    

His stomach growled—again—and he frowned at his dad’s office door, sighed, plonked the Camaro in the middle of the picture, and squeezed the juice box to spray over it all.  

Nothing happened.  Steve stared at the picture for a long moment, his eyes welling up with tears, and then kicked the couch.  It felt like his foot broke from the impact, and he spun around in a circle, muttering a lot of words he wasn’t allowed to say in the house.  He hopped into the kitchen, sniffling, and got out the peanut butter, jam, and a spoon—but instead of getting the bread, he sat on the floor in front of the sink.  

He felt a sinking sensation of guilt as he stuck the spoon right into first the jam, and then the peanut butter, sticking the whole spoonful straight in his mouth and licking it off.  Once he’d licked the spoon, he stuck it back in the jar, his heart pounding.  The peanut butter was crunchy and salty, and the strawberry jam was stickily sweet.  He wondered whether his mom would check the bread and know, and cried harder as he chewed, hugging his knees.

The floor in the front room creaked, and he startled so hard the spoon jabbed hard between his upper molars.  He scrambled to his feet, fumbling the lids back on the jam and the peanut butter and shoving them under the sink, his heart thudding in his chest, but nobody came in.  

The couch squeaked softly, and Steve edged to the doorway, the big spoon hanging forgotten from his mouth, to see a tall man with horns and no clothes at all lying across the couch, right up against the forbidden throw blanket.  He raised his eyebrows—they had shiny jewelry in them—and breathed out smoke, indoors, as he looked up at Steve.

He then yelped and scrambled to fall with a thud over the back of the couch.  “The fff—what are you doing here, kid,” came his voice, from behind the couch.  “Where the—where on earth are your parents?!”

“Unhm,” said Steve, who hadn’t ever seen a man wear so much jewelry before, and wondered how much it hurt to have jewelry in your dick.  He took the spoon out of his mouth.  “Uh.  Dad—dad is—in there,” he pointed vaguely toward his dad’s office, his eyes still fixed on the horns sticking up past the back of the couch.  “Do...do you want me to...get him?”  

The naked man popped up behind the couch again, looking kind of mad, and Steve stepped further back, watching the golden chains and jewels glint in the light from the window.  “...you look very pretty,” Steve said politely, and the man groaned, grabbing the blanket as he stood, and wrapping it around his waist like a towel.

“Why the—why are you here,” he hissed, and Steve swallowed.

“I’ll go in my room,” he tried to say, but it came out kind of a weird whisper, and he realized he was starting to cry again, so he turned away, and the man scrambled from behind the couch.

“Wait!  Kid,” he said, and Steve stopped to see him step and spin kind of gracefully around the glass coffee table without catching the blanket on it.  All his nails were pointed, and painted black.  “I’m sorry—” he cut off, staring down at Steve’s picture, and the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28.  

“...what’s this,” he asked, like maybe he was mad again, and Steve wondered, suddenly, whether his mom had forgotten to lock the door, and the man was a naked burglar, looking for clothes to steal.  

“I wanted to meet the TV lady,” Steve admitted, trying to take it, but the man snatched it up.  “Um, are you—are you a burglar?”

“Am I—” the man glared at him—his eyes looked like fire, weirdly, the blue fire on the stove—but he didn’t look mad at Steve, yet, so Steve just bit his lips together.  “...you drew this?” the horny man asked, more quietly, and Steve nodded.  “Why?” he asked, and Steve knew he was in trouble—even if the man wasn’t supposed to be there, grownups always told each other when Steve did something dumb, like steal the TV man’s picture, which was the point Steve realized he was a stealer, a thief, like on TV.  America’s Most Wanted, he thought, his heart pounding.  

“Why draw this?” the man asked softly, crouching down, and Steve sniffled again, wiping his eyes.  

“He said a friend would come,” he admitted, wondering whether kids had their own jail, or whether he’d be in the one with all the guys from movies, who chased teenagers with chainsaws and knives.  

“You wanted a friend?” the man asked, but even softer, and Steve nodded, clenching his fingers in the sides of his pants.

“I didn’t mean to steal it,” he whispered.  “I won’t do it again.”

“...okay,” the man said.  “Don’t—don’t cry, it’s okay, are—are you okay?” he held his hands up like he was gonna touch Steve’s shoulders, then crossed his arms, frowning.

“I’m okay,” Steve nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  “...are, um,” he asked, cautiously, “—are you supposed to be...in here?”

“Uhhh,” said the man.  “Definitely not naked, right?” he laughed, kinda nervously, Steve thought, and he snapped his fingers.  The throw blanket turned into shiny fringed pants.  

“Ohhh,” Steve whispered, impressed.  “How’d you do that?”

“Oh,” the man said, grimacing.  “Um, let’s talk about you summoning demons, okay?”

“...okay,” Steve nodded, sighing, but then a thought occurred to him.  “Uh, do you want a PB&J?”

 As they ate, the man spread Steve’s picture on the table, with the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28.

“So this is a circle to summon the demon Belial,” he said, low but kind of intense, like Steve was in trouble, but mostly he looked sort of worried.  

Steve swallowed his bite of sandwich.  “...it’s not exactly the same,” he pointed out, a little sulkily.  “I added a horse.”

“...so you did,” said the man, turning it to look.  “...look, summoning demons is very dangerous—”

“My dad says there aren’t bad demon summoners,” Steve told him.  “He says there are bad plumbers, and bad strippers, but if you’re talking to somebody, and they summoned a demon, they must be good at it, because you’re talking to them, and—and he was on TV—”

“Strippers,” said the man weakly, and Steve realized he was being rude to his guest.  

“I’m Steve,” he said.  “What’s your name?”

“...Bel,” said the man, then, hurriedly, “Bill?”

“My mom likes Billy Idol.  And Billy Joel,” Steve suggested, and the man nodded.

“That’s a normal name that I definitely have,” he nodded, grimacing, “—Billy, I’m Billy.”

Steve considered this.  

“Are you listening, though?  About demon-summoning?  Even a lot of adults have a hard time with it—” Billy started again, holding Steve’s LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 to his chest like it was a present for him.

“The guy on TV said it was for a helper friend,” Steve told him, feeling a little guilty, but really not too much, since it hadn’t even worked.

“Steve,” Billy said, pressing his hands together over his mouth.  The chain hooking his earring to the ring in his lip swayed and made a bell sound, and Steve stared at it, then remembered to nod.  “Okay,” Billy said.  “Could you promise me you won’t try to summon any more demons?”

“My dad says—” Steve started, again, but he cut off guiltily as Billy slumped back in his chair, groaning.

“Look,” Billy tried again, rubbing his face.  “Summoning demons isn’t like inviting somebody over, okay?  They have to come.  Now imagine if someone called you up to—” he frowned down at himself, biting his lips with pointed teeth, and cleared his throat.  “Uh,” he said, swallowing, and snapped his fingers with both hands—and all the jewelry vanished.  Even his cool horns were gone, Steve realized, and he had clothes on, a little tiny black shirt that showed his belly button, and shiny plastic-y silver pants.  

It was disappointing, but Steve looked into Billy’s flameless eyes and blunt-toothed smile and politely said “...you still look nice...I guess.”  Billy snorted a laugh.  “...I’ve never seen pants like that,” Steve offered, and Billy frowned down.

“What’s wrong with them?” he asked, then shook his head.  “No, wait.  Okay.  What if you don’t want to go somewhere—”

“People make me go places all the time,” Steve said darkly, remembering the week before, when his mom had drug him in for a haircut that made him look like G.I. Joe.  He rubbed his still-fuzzy head, glowering.

“Uh,” Billy said, trying not to smile, but spinning the tires on the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, and Steve was a little proud that he liked it so much.  “Okay, a stranger.  What if a stranger makes you go somewhere you don’t want to go?”

“That’s kidnapping,” Steve said, breathlessly, his eyes huge, and Billy pointed the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 at him.  

“Yes.  When you summon a demon, you’re kidnapping them, okay?  And they can’t leave unless you let them go.”

“But the man on the TV said—” Steve whispered, then stopped, remembering how he’d made the almost-naked woman pour soda on her own head.  Steve covered his mouth, suddenly realizing she might not have wanted to be almost-naked, maybe the man had taken her clothes off, like Steve with a doll.  “Oh no,” he whispered.  “I’m so glad it didn’t work!”

“Ah, yeeeah,” Billy said, grimacing.  

“Um,” said Steve, reaching a hand over to retrieve his prize LEGO kit, and Billy snatched it back.  Steve narrowed his eyes.  “You were looking for my parents, but my dad didn’t say you were coming over, are you my mom’s friend?”

Billy winced, grimacing.  “Where is she?”

“She’s at work,” Steve told him.  “Daycare is too expensive, so over the summer I have to be good.”

“Wait, are there any grownups here?!” Billy asked, looking horrified, and Steve nodded, pointing down the hall again.

“My dad.  He locks the door.”

“...What if you drown in the bathtub, or try to eat your own fingers, or something,” Billy breathed, and Steve glared at him.

“I’m not little,” he hissed, sliding forward in his chair a little, so his toes reached the floor.  “I’m not a baby.”

“You don’t need a friend, you need a nanny,” said the recently smoking, horned, pierced and tattooed man before him.  “And that’s, uh, that’s why your mom sent me.”

“...did she really send you?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes, and Billy crossed his arms on the table, hugging Steve’s LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 against his chest.  

“Yeah.  Yeah, she did,” he said defiantly, and Steve relaxed a little, because Billy sounded like a teenager, just a bigger kid, really.  “She said to put less peanut butter and jelly in your sandwiches,” he pointed to Steve’s overflowing PB&J-bread-burrito, looking smug, “—and just make another sandwich.”

Steve gasped, staring at him, and feeling absolutely betrayed.  “You tricked me!  Why’d you let me make it!”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell,” Billy said, and Steve’s heart was won.

 Billy won it further when he scooted his plate aside to admire the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, and Steve drug him back to his room to show him the kits he had.  “Come on,” he said, excited and rude, and Billy slowed way down, grimacing, and flickering back to his pretty bejeweled self, with horns.  

“How about you ask if I wanna do things,” he said stiffly, slowing almost to a stop, and smoking more around the eyes.  

“Oh, yeah,” Steve nodded.  “Sorry.  Can I show you my room?”

“Or maybe, ‘Hey, Billy, want to see my room,’” Billy suggested, taking a deep breath.  

“Okay,” Steve nodded.  “Want to see my room?”

“Sure,” Billy nodded, relaxing like it was some big relief.  

It occurred to Steve maybe it was.  “Sorry,” he said quickly.  “I’ll be polite, I won’t get you fired.”

“Um, yeah,” Billy laughed, shaking his head.  “Maybe don’t, uh, order me around.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, thinking hard about it, so he’d remember.  “I won’t say ‘Billy, pick me upOOF—” he wheezed, as Billy yanked him into the air with one arm around his waist.  “Sorry,” Steve wheezed, his feet kicking.  “I-I’ll say Billy would you, sorry—”

“Shit!  Damn it, I mean, uh, sorry,” Billy said, grimacing, and sat Steve back on his feet, straightening his clothes.  

“I’ll remember,” Steve told him, wide-eyed, and then, because Billy looked guilty, “It’s okay.”

 He tried hard to remember, and he usually did, because Billy got all tense and weird if Steve forgot, like he was trying to move underwater, and Steve had to yell “If you want!  If you want!” as Billy grimly bit into the crunchy, burned eggs Steve had made.  

“That was disgusting,” Billy told him, that time, and Steve couldn’t stop laughing, waving his hands.

“Okay, okay, can I—can I just tell you you can ignore me?  I won’t tell, you can just—just do things if you want to—”

“...you sure about that?” Billy asked, snorting softly, like Steve might be kidding, and Steve nodded frantically.  

“Yeah!  Yes!  Don’t, um, don’t eat any more eggshells, I’m sorry!”

“...okay,” Billy said, smiling down at him.  “When am I not supposed to listen?”

“Uh,” said Steve, blinking at him.  “I mean.  You should—you should always listen—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Billy said, rolling his eyes.

“No, you should!” Steve told him, grabbing Billy’s hand and tugging it.  “What if something’s gonna hit you in the head?  You should listen,” he nodded, thinking about it.  “But once you listen, you should decide what you want to do.”

“What if I wanted to...eat you?” Billy asked him, reaching down to tickle Steve’s stomach, and Steve yelped, giggling.

“You won’t eat me,” Steve told him, leaning into Billy, to give him a hug.  “You’re nice.”

Billy sighed, and hugged him back, tightly.

 Billy was better at some things than other people, like clothes, Steve thought, because Billy was always pointing people’s outfits out, and explaining how they weren’t as good at picking them.  He wasn’t as good at other things, though.  Steve sat down one night to heated-up pasta sauce over Cheerios, and he didn’t want to say anything, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t right.  Billy gave Steve’s mom a glass of water that was completely frozen because she said she wanted it iced, and when Steve’s dad told Billy to make burgers, Billy didn’t buy buns, or tomatoes, or anything, and he threw the meat in the pan until it caught fire.  

Steve was pretty sure none of it was a joke, because Billy frowned between the glass and Steve’s mom, and grimaced over the burgers after Steve’s dad stomped away, and Steve caught him whispering into the phone to the neighbor, hiding half in the fridge like nobody was gonna notice it was open.  

“Billy,” he whispered, and Billy jumped, as Steve crouched down next to him.  The breeze from the inside of the fridge was nice, but it hardened all Steve’s suspicions, because no grown-up had ever left the fridge open, he was pretty sure.  

“Yeah,” Billy muttered back, guiltily.

“...how old’re you,” Steve asked, and Billy flinched.  

“Older than you,” he shot back, and that Steve was willing to give him, because Billy wasn’t human, and some things lived different amounts of time, like trees.  

“Are you a kid too?” Steve asked, and Billy glared at him.

“No,” he said defiantly, and Steve nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows, until Billy groaned, deflating, sitting against the edge of the fridge and letting his legs sprawl out across the floor.  “Look, I’m trying—”

“I won’t tell,” Steve said, reaching out and squeezing Billy’s hand.  “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“...teenager...maybe,” Billy admitted, grimacing.  

“Okay,” Steve said, nodding.  “Billy,” he said, trying to sound like a parent, or a teacher, and Billy’s shoulders hunched.  “You need to tell me you need help,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips.  “I can help with things like human food.”

“You are human food,” Billy said, fondly, yanking Steve into a hug.

 Most of the people that did magic like Billy ate kids occasionally, Steve found out, as he was reading his Dictionary of the Magic Realms that night under the covers, by flashlight.  Maybe they were mean kids, Steve thought, or maybe Billy was just way nicer.  “Are you a fairy?” he asked the next morning, and Billy laughed.  

“Depends on what you mean,” he said, grinning over.  “Is that slang for—”

“Can you fly,” Steve interrupted, because that seemed the most important, and Billy cocked his head.  

“...actually, I probably could,” he said, considering.  “Not like you mean, though.  I don’t have secret butterfly wings, or anything.”

“Oh,” Steve said, because he'd been privately imagining Billy as they’d first met, with the jewelry and the horns and wings, and it seemed to fit.

“...do you want me to have wings?” Billy asked, sitting aside the dish he was drying, and bending down sideways to try and meet Steve’s eyes.  “I can change form—”

“No!” Steve told him, waving his hands.  “No, I know you like looking like...that.”

“...that,” Billy said, raising his eyebrows as he looked down at himself.  “You saying I need to do better?”

“You’re just—normal,” Steve said quickly.  “Instead of pretty.”

“Instead of,” Billy growled.

“I mean,” Steve yelped, waving his hands.  “Pretty with all the jewelry!  And the horns.”

“I was gonna say,” Billy said, reddening.  “If you’re saying I’m not pretty—”

“Of course you’re pretty,” Steve said, rolling his eyes and sighing, but grinning, too.  He patted Billy’s shoulder.

“Well,” Billy said, clearing his throat, and turning back to the dishes.  “All right, then.”

 A few days later, Billy was moving the kettle off the flame for hot chocolate, and a big gout of steam belched up over his arm, which shimmered into all over scales.  Steve yelped and grabbed him, yanking him over to the sink, and ran water over it, all the while panicking.

“Billy, are you a mermaid?!” he asked, spraying Billy’s arm, and trying not to cry.  “Are you a mermaid, are you okay, are hot things bad for mermaids—”

“I’m okay,” Billy told him, turning off the water, and hugging him close.  “I’m not a mermaid, Stevie, I’m not hurt.”

“O-okay,” Steve gasped, grabbing Billy’s arm to run his fingers over it.  “You—you’re okay,” he whispered, leaning into Billy’s hugs.  “...are you a...lizard?  Or a snake?”

“Nope, not exactly,” Billy said, snorting a laugh, and Steve groaned.

The rest of my Harringrove works

[lauwrite1225]

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria's life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : Happy Finan Friday!! As you can see on the moodboard, we are learning more about someone ;)

Warnings : mention of death as always and probably torture? I prefer to warn lmao

Chapter 11 : Welcome to the panic room

Victoria stares silently at the plate of vegetables resting in front of her. She isn’t hungry, even the sight of food disgusts her. She pushes it away and stands up from the chair. Warned by the sound, Sophie turns away from the dishes she is washing.

“Victoria.” She sighs worriedly. “You need to eat something. Letting you starve won’t make him come back.”

Vicky rolls her eyes while walking out of the kitchen to join Osferth outside. Since first lights the monk has been searching for any clues that could tell them who the men from last night are and consequently where they are keeping Finan. Victoria tried to help but the lack of results quickly angered her. However, she can’t stay still, feeling like her blood would boil if she did. She’s first been upset with Osferth after he has told them he tried to prevent the men from coming inside, which only resulted in him being killed. Maybe if he hadn’t, he could have prevented Finan from being taken away. But when she saw how guilty Osferth was already looking, she tried to ease her rage. Instead it turned against herself, for being the whole reason they have been in trouble. Of course, she had no ideas as to why they needed her specifically, but maybe if she had made herself known they would have gotten answers. She would have undoubtedly been taken away but Finan would be safe by now, him who has nothing to do with that. 

That’s another question that troubles her: why taking him when it’s her they were searching? She’s sure they want her for her immortality, they could have found out about Finan’s during a fight. Her heart squeezes as tight as her fists at the idea of what he could be enduring while they are still, unable to save him. If only she could still dream of him, it would have given her a way to find him.

Exhausted by all her emotions and after a sleepless night, Victoria falls asleep even before sunset. She's not surprised when the first thing she sees is Sihtric's face. Though, this time he's wearing a modern outfit, a dark leather jacket above a white t-shirt. He looks anxious, his different coloured eyes looking around constantly. There seems to be a lot of agitation around him so Vicky spins around to see and a weird feeling takes her, she knows this place. He is in a clearing, full of armed men starting to encircle a small stoned house illuminated by the light of vehicles. She knows this place. A man is standing in the middle, grey hair and a clean shaved face of what she can see, talking to whoever is in the house. Then the door of the house opens and two men come out, raising their hands in sign of peace. They talk for a moment with the grey haired man before with a simple move of his hand soldiers start to walk toward the front door. One of the men tries to prevent them from entering and Vicky jumps at the sound of a shot. She heard this sound. The other man, bearded, catches him as a red stain starts to spread in the middle of his chest. He stays by his side, holding his hand tightly while the men enter the house. They spend a while inside before coming back, the first one shaking his head. The grey haired man seems upset and barks to kill the other still next to his dying if not yet dead friend.

That's when Sihtric finally moves, walking out of the shadow and Vicky can feel his rise of confidence and anger as he barks back to wait. The man who looked awkwardly relieved to be executed stares at Sihtric with wide eyes, a clear surprise and disbelief playing in his pupils. She knows this man. The Dane ignores him and walks toward who Vicky supposes is the chief.

“He could help us to find her.” He says and the older man raises an eyebrow at him. 

“How are you so sure?” He asks, narrowing his eyes, wary.

Sihtric glances back at the man who's now shaking his head, trying to silently dissuade him, but he doesn't care. “I know, that is all.” He answers, almost whispering. 

Even if the older man seems unsatisfied by Sihtric's answer, he agrees and orders a few soldiers to take the bearded man. He wrestles when they grab his arms, trying to kick them as he shouts Sihtric's name and he is taken away under the Dane's confident eyes.

Vicky wakes up suddenly, gasping for breath as she realizes what she has just seen. Sihtric was here, with the men searching for her and he was the one ordering for Finan to be taken. She can hardly believe it but it gives her some logical answers on how they keep succeeding to find her, they are using Sihtric's dreams. 

She gets out of her bed and notices the light in the kitchen. She finds Osferth in it, drinking a beer while the darkness of the night outside is still far from fading. The monk looks up at her, frowning at her heavy breath. 

“Are you alright?” He asks her, starting to stand up but Vicky sits on a chair in front before he has the chance to.

“Sihtric… Sihtric was here.” She tells him, meeting his light blue eyes who glaze over in confusion in confusion. 

“What do you mean?”

Victoria rubs her face, trying to think of a correct and clear sentence before resting her hands flat on the table. “In my dream, Sihtric was standing in the clearing with the men encircling the house.”

Osferth's eyebrows furrow once again. “I did not see him. Are you sure?”

“I am.” She assures him. “I saw you die, Finan was holding your hand. Then, when they stopped checking the house, a man ordered Finan to be killed as well but Sihtric prevented them and took him away.”

The monk sighs desperately and buries his face between his hands. He stays silent for a long time before joining his fingers to press his lips on his thumbs. “Why did he take Finan and not me then?”

Vicky opens her mouth, trying to remember what Sihtric said to the leader but she can't remember. “I don't know.” She answers, looking down. 

“Do you think he finds you because of the dreams?” Osferth demands carefully and Vicky nods. “Then he is going to find you again.”

She clenches her jaw, her fingers drumming nervously on the table. Her friend keeps staring at her intently while she thinks. As long as she isn’t rid of her dreams with Sihtric, he'll keep telling whoever the men wanting her are where she is. Her and him are linked until they finally meet. Suddenly, her fingers freeze and she stares back at Osferth.

“I have to meet him.”

“Sihtric?”

“Yes.” She confirms. “He can find me, but I also can find him. I can determine where Finan is and once we are there, I have to meet Sihtric to be freed of our dreams. He won't be able to find me anymore, and we will just have to hide somewhere else.”

Osferth visibly hesitates, his head leaning on a side then the other. “If he took Finan, it might be because he knows you'll go save him, because he is important to you.” Vicky can't help but blush at Osferth's words, biting her lips. “And he'll know we are coming. It's jumping into the lion's den.”

Vicky can only agree with Osferth, it's another risky plan, more likely to turn badly, but she doesn't see any other way out. “I know. But Sihtric and I can't escape each other, if we don't try, we'll be playing cat and mouse for God knows how long.”

After a few minutes of reflection, the monk agrees to her plan but it doesn’t relieve Vicky much, the hardest is to come. When Sophie wakes up, they tell her of their plan, and she doesn’t even have to speak for them to understand that she isn’t pleased with this plan.

“That’s complete madness!” She exclaims to the two immortals sitting on the couch. “There’s no way it goes perfectly well.”

Vicky rubs the back of her neck. “We know, but we have to try, for Finan and to get rid of them for good.” 

Sophie sighs, her hands resting on her hips. “Très bien.” She pushes her glasses which had slid too low on her nose and looks at them again. “But I’m coming with you.”

“What?! No!” Osferth replies, standing up.

She shakes her finger before pressing it on his chest. “That’s not a choice. I’m coming that’s all.”

Osferth spends the following days trying to convince her to not come with them, that it is too dangerous, but Sophie reveals herself to be extremely stubborn, and during dinner he finally gives up, which gives an amused smile to Vicky, despite her very low mood this time. 

Vicky spends most of her time concentrating on her dreams, drawing any faces or places she sees, and writing any word or discussion she remembers down. She succeeds to determine that Sihtric is somewhere in Germany and still in the regular presence of the grey haired man. In her drawing, he looks about seventy, with strong features but an awkward warm gaze. There’s something in the man that weirdly initiates confidence.

One night, she stands in a dark and cold cell with only an old bed furnishing it. Sihtric waits near the door while two men carry and then drop a man on the floor. Vicky gasps when she recognizes Finan, His face pale and dark marks coloring below his eyes, his clothes are soaked making him shiver in them. Sihtric looks at him pitifully and when the door closes, he makes a step forward and Finan who is now sitting crawls back until he is against the wall. The Dane keeps walking until he crouches to be at his eye level. 

“You know how to make it stop.” Sihtric says, in a cold tone. 

Finan huffs, trying to ease the shattering of his teeth. “Why are ya doin’ that?”

“I told you.”

“No, everythin’.” The Irishman leans forward. “Ya’re betrayin’ us.” He growls with the most anger his state allows him.

Sihtric frowns and his own anger takes control. “You were the first to betray us.” He snaps back. “You left us! Not even caring what we could feel and what could happen if you were gone. Do you know what happened to Uhtred? Did Osferth tell you?!” 

Finan swallows hard, his gaze dropping down. He shakes his head and looks back to him. “How can ya allow this? Ya know perfectly that immortality isn’t a gift.”

“It’s not about immortality, it’s about saving people.” Finan frowns at him but he says nothing more. 

When she wakes up, she can't forget Finan's sight, how he looked sick and sleep deprived. It gives her a myriad of feelings, she feels guilty for being the reason he is there, she feels angry at Sihtric for hurting him and she feels desperate for not being able to do anything at the moment to keep Finan from suffering. But it also gives her determination, one she has never felt before. She has never had so much determination in doing something, of course she is biased, Finan means a lot to her and she can't abandon him. She feels a strength growing in her, a confidence in front of a situation far from certain, something that would usually have made her give up.

She talks about Finan and Sihtric’s discussion to Osferth while Sophie is gone to make research with all she has already written down. The poor monk has been in a low mood for the past days as well. 

“Sihtric was the most disappointed by Finan's choice.” Osferth explains after Vicky mentioned he said Finan betrayed them. “Uhtred was angry, obviously, but he forgot. Not Sihtric. Sihtric was loyal to the bone to Uhtred and he didn't understand how Finan could leave us all behind for a woman.”

Vicky nods and leans forward. “Tell me. How did they all meet? Uhtred, Sihtric and Finan.”

Osferth shifts uncomfortably on his chair, his eyes locked on his glass before finally glancing up. “He didn't tell you?”

Vicky shakes her head. “In fact, he lied to me. He didn't tell me of your existence until I started to dream of you. And when he was about to finally tell me the truth, we were attacked. I know only the big lines.”

Understanding, Osferth rests his hands flat on the table and starts to think of how to tell the story. “Sihtric was a slave and the bastard son of a Dane Jarl. He was meant to kill Uhtred with a group of other Danes but they failed and Uhtred kept him prisoner. Then Sihtric asked him to be his man which he accepted.”

Vicky stares at him intently, not having imagined the story to be so complex and tragic. “I didn't know he was a slave.” Her friend looks aside, his lips curling as she guesses he hesitates to say something. “Osferth?” She frowns. 

“I suppose Finan didn't tell you he was one as well.”

Her eyes widen in half-horror and half-surprised, not expecting to learn another dark part of Finan's past. “He did not.” 

Osferth opens his mouth to say something but the sound of the front door opening stops him. They both turn their heads as Sophie walks in the kitchen with a proud smile, holding a folder in one of her hands.

“I found something!” She declares, sitting at the table with them. 

Osferth and Victoria share a glance while she displays papers on the table. 

“So I started by the castle you described.” She explains grabbing a sheet of notes. 

A few days ago, Vicky saw Sihtric walking in a castle courtyard full of men during an evening. With him was the same old man, talking to people probably rich enough to live in a castle similar to this one. The Dane was quite annoyed to stand in the crowd and most of the time remained silent. Victoria drew some of the facades of the building and is now glad to see it has been useful as Sophie grabbed pictures of a castle to compare with her work.

“So I searched when and where such a reunion happened in Germany, and regarding your drawings, I supposed it was the one in Heidelberg Castle, about four months ago.” 

“It looks like it.” Osferth comments after Vicky hands him the drawing and pictures. 

“So I did even more research to find who were the participants and I came up with a few names. But the one interesting us is Friedrich Müller.” Sophie's tone loses its enthusiasm to become more serious as she takes out a real factsheet about him, with a picture of the man in the corner. “Do you recognize him?”

Vicky gasps and nods, the man looking exactly like in her dreams. He is as she guessed in his seventies and retired from the firm he has been running, apparently leaving it to his daughter a few years ago. He is a part of the richest men of Germany and respected as an excellent businessman. 

“Alright, but all of this is pretty… Clean? It has nothing to do with me, nor Sihtric and isn't going to tell us where they are keeping Finan.” Vicky says, impatient to know more of her friend's reasoning. 

“I'm getting there.” She reassures her. “Müller came to the reunion as president of the Quelle des Lebens Stiftung.”

“Fountain of life foundation?” Osferth translates hesitantly. 

“Yes, his own father was the president of it during the Cold War and left it to his son during the 80s. It's a foundation meant to do research to fight cancer and rare diseases.” She explains pointing at a description of the foundation's activities. “It still looks pretty clean like this. But after further research, Müller's father is suspected to have funded scientists during the third Reich working on the creation of a superior man.”

Vicky shivers, her fingers stiffening as she holds one of the papers, not expecting the story to take such a dark turn. “So… You think the foundation is just a cover to their real activities?”

“Sort of. But what is sure, is that whatever it hides, immortality is the key of their research.” Sophie concludes, a heavy silence growing in the room right after. 

Even with answers, Victoria feels still lost as new questions arise in her mind. She tries to push them away and concentrate on what they know. Finan is somewhere in Germany, according to Sophie somewhere near Munich as the head of the foundation is located there. Their destination is settled and they spend the afternoon preparing for leaving for Germany.

A/N : Sihtric part of the bad guys, did you expect that ? 👀

Tag :​ @for-bebbanburg @osferth @maggiescarborough ​ @finansarms ​ @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby @solinarimoon @wardl0w

[silma-words]

#24 please for Adrian and mc

There it is, my first attempt at prompts! :) Thank you so much Anon and @adriansbiss for these great asks!

Apologies for merging your two requests into one, though, I hope you don’t mind. I was already well into #24 when the ask for #36 came up, and it fitted so well with what I had been writting that I couldn’t help myself 😊 Thank you both for sending the prompts, I had way too much fun working on these!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: Mature/ NSFW (+18)

Category: Fluffy smut (is that even a thing?)

AU Chronology: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – Before "The right thing to do"

Summary: Just a bit of weekend fluff for Adrian and Ellie, inspired by prompts #24 and #36 from Prompt List #1:

#24-“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad”

#36-“Is that my shirt?”.

Warning: A little bit of cursing, and quite a lot of touching 😉

Words: 3300 words (got a little carried away here)

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

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

Cursed

It was late afternoon when Adrian woke up from his much-needed Saturday sleep in, after the insane week he just had at the office. He was so fast asleep that for once, he had not been woken up when Ellie had snuck out of bed in the middle of the afternoon, getting on quietly with her business around his apartment, as she often did most week-ends if she was staying over.

He probably would have slept longer if it had not been from the sudden racket that echoed across the penthouse and that made Adrian jump in alert. For a second he worried that it might be a burglary, or some kind of home invasion scenario, judging from the sounds of tumbling kitchenware and slamming doors. That was until he could make out above the dim a series of curse words and groans, making him smile and shake his head with a chuckle: Ellie was clearly up to something, and whatever it was, it was not going according to plan. 

Slowly getting up to head towards the crime scene, he looked around for the shirt he had tossed aside before going to bed and let out a long, amused sigh when he could not find it, understanding that it was probably worn by the woman currently tearing his kitchen apart. She always did that.

Giving up on the shirt and quickly putting on his black sweatpants, he carefully pried the door open to have a sneak peek at what was going on out there.

His suspicions were quickly confirmed. Ellie was busy rummaging through the kitchen cupboards, the rest of the room a mess, mumbling and swearing in turn at the kitchen appliances and at her tablet, her shorts and his shirt covered in flour and stains of unidentifiable origin. He had no idea what the hell she was ranting about, but it was clear from the smells hanging around the living room and the open plan kitchen that she had tested a new recipe – probably from an online blog, judging on the way she insulted the tablet resting on the counter – and that it was not a success.

Adrian could not help but keep observing her from his spot with an amused grin, Ellie too absorbed by her battle against the universe to notice him leaning against the doorframe. Although he was used to see her cook or bake – and usually pretty well – it was an unusual sight to see her loose her tempter. She was usually pretty calm and well-organised, enjoying the peacefulness of the activity when following a recipe, or the creativity of it when she got to be adventurous and imagine something from scratch. Her calm and composure were also something he would praise at work, as she would often help diffuse some heated negotiations or business interactions with tactful interventions, although she did lose her tempter a few times when facing particularly obnoxious individuals.

Seeing her so worked up over a situation like this was, weirdly, a heart-warming sight for Adrian. He’d much rather watch her get angry at a misbehaving blender than at one of Lester’s disgusting innuendos. However, he’d probably better intervene sooner rather than later, more particularly before she could notice him standing there, potentially getting her even more worked up thinking he was mocking her.

Finally making a move towards the kitchen, he cleared his throat lightly to avoid startling her and pissing her off over more, greeting her as casually as his amusement allowed it. “Hey beautiful! Everything all right?”.

She swirled around abruptly, her hands filled with random items she had just grabbed from the pantry, the surprise her eyes quickly shifting to annoyance. “Does it look like everything is all right?!” she snapped, before letting out a long groan and rolling her eyes seconds after seeing Adrian’s reaction.

She hated when he looked so contrite and innocent whenever she was in a bad mood, like a deer caught in the headlights. She hated how cute it made him look and how guilty it made her feel for snapping at him for no decent reason. She hated how much it made her swoon even more. *Damn you, Adrian Raines!*

Adrian held back a smile, fully capable by now to read her facial expression and the changes in her heartbeat to know when he was gaining ground during moments like that – as rare as they were. Stepping a little closer and taking in the view of the carnage she had made of the kitchen, he risked asking, “Care to explain what the issue is and how I can help, maybe?”.

Ellie sighed once more, still fumbling around the room searching for something and cursing under her breath. “That…. ‘effin… dumbass… recipe… has all the proportions wrong….” she grunted behind clenched teeth, barely intelligible, knocking angrily her tablet aside in a small cloud of flour.

“And now… I’ve used up all of the right ingredients… and have been trying to find adequate alternatives for the last hour….”. She let out another annoyed grunt while turning her back to him and stepping back to investigate the top shelf of one of the cupboards, obviously still distracted by her mission, dead set on rescuing this failed recipe at all costs.

“And I guess the alternatives did not work out?”, Adrian risked softly, trying to make sense of all the discarded items and used pots abandoned across the room.

“Nope. It did not” she replied with an annoyed sigh. “Nothing worked, and now I am out of alternatives, or I can’t find anything in this damn kitchen!... oh, and your blender and food processors are shit, by the way!”. Slamming the door of the cupboard shut, she raised her hands in the air as if cursing at the universe, her fists tight in defiance, still her back to Adrian.

Settling his back against the kitchen island to watch the scene, Adrian couldn’t help but smile. Yes, she had made a mess of the place and had probably destroyed his blender and food processor. Yes, she also had ruined his shirt in the process. And yes, she had been unnecessarily sharp in her answers to him just a few minutes before. But damn, she was so adorable when she got so passionate about things like this! Her tiny figure, only covered by her shorts and his stolen shirt, standing in front of him pointing her fists at the sky, was a sight that had to be reckoned with.

Her hair was a mess, tied in a loose bun, because she didn’t bother brushing them on days off like this. Her feet were covered in flour and other bits of random ingredients that had fallen to the floor, because she would always walk around the apartment bare feet. Her shirt – well, his – had barely a few buttons fastened, because she never bothered too much with these in the first place, and she always got too hot when she was moving around the house. Her cheeks were flushed, and the tips of her ears were pink from the exertion caused by her fumbling and cursing around. She had food stains up to her elbows, and from what he could see, something must have splattered in front of her at some point – likely due to his faulty blender, he deduced - because she had some tiny stains scattered all across her cleavage. Adrian loved being able to see this side of her, far from the professional look that he would see around the office on working nights.

When Ellie turned around, done with her complaints to the gods, she was still fuming, but interrupted her mumbling when she saw the smirk on Adrian’s face. “What?”, she grunted once more, standing straight in front of him, her hand on her hip, taunting him. “You think my pain and misery are funny, don’t you?!��.

Adrian chuckled at her adorable angry pout, and smiled even wider than before. “No at all” he reassured her, with the usual gentle tone that he would always use in casual conversation.

He then made a move to step closer, his eyes suddenly bright with mischief, his gait and his gaze nearly predatory. Swiftly bridging the gap between them to stand right before her and force her to lie back against the kitchen counter, he settled his hands on the marble behind her to girdle her tiny, dishevelled form. His face now only inches from hers, he then simply added, with the lowest, huskier voice he could manage “I was just thinking that… you’re so fucking hot when you’re mad”.

Taken aback by both Adrian’s sudden closeness and by the gleam in his eyes, it took Ellie a few seconds to register what he had just said. Her eyes darting between his clear blue eyes and the discarded ingredients on the kitchen island behind him, she grunted slightly, her brain still too worked up to figure out what she could answer to that. Or whether she should answer at all.

“Yeah… right”, she only managed to mumble with a line drawn between her brows, clearly not convinced, before trying to wriggle herself out of Adrian’s encaging arms. However, the vampire would not budge. And there was nothing she could do against it.

“I think we should really try to work on your anger management, Miss Reed”, he purred in her ear, his breath hot on her skin, making her shiver despite the heat her body had been accumulating from her restless afternoon.

Finally drawing a breath and taking the time to stare back at Adrian properly, she felt her cheeks flush instantly, finally noticing the wicked grin gracing his features as his eyes kept darting between her mouth, her cheeks, and the vivid pulse throbbing in her neck.

*Damn you, Adrian Raines!* Damn him and that damn mischievous grin that wouldn’t leave these lips. Now, she was that stupid deer caught in the headlights! And he was fully aware of it.

Relinquishing how the tempo of her heartbeat had changed so quickly after he had trapped her, Adrian didn’t feel like anything could stop him from continuing to tease her. This was way too much fun, seeing her all dishevelled and fuming, confused between her previous state and the new sensory cues he was subjecting her too. This was way too delicious. And she was damn too fucking hot when she was mad.

Taking a step closer to trap her further between his body and the kitchen counter, he brushed a finger up along her arm, before tracing the shape of her clavicle on his way down her chest, reaching for the hem of the stained shirt she was wearing, and giving it a gentle tug.

“Is that my shirt?”, he questioned softly with an arch brow, his tone clearly teasing her as if about to reprimand her about it, his voice low and husky.

“Well…” She straightened herself, matching his false daring glare. “It was. Now it’s mine.” Her tone was challenging, her stance fierce, and her poker-face intact.

However, there was nothing she could do against Adrian’s hyper-senses and the way he could hear the blood rushing to her ears, feel the way her body temperature suddenly peaked, and see the goosebumps on her chest where his fingers had just trailed.  

“Oh is it, now?” he chuckled, slowly drawing his finger down along the fabric, his eyes challenging hers. “Well, I'm sorry if I have to disagree with you, but I don't recall agreeing to this".

Ellie was boiling inside. Not that it had anything to do with anger and frustration any more. Maybe it had to do with the way he was looking at her. Or the low rumble of his voice that she could feel vibrate against her skin where their bodies touched. Or maybe it had to do with how his bare chest was pressing against her, his strong arms on either side of her acting as both a physical obstacle and a wicked temptation, the dark lines of his tattooed brand nearly brought to life as his muscles twitched and flexed, alert.

But she could not cave now. Not yet. She had to keep that poker face on, as long as she could. It was a matter of pride. Or maybe she just enjoyed playing the game.

“Well, not much you can do about it, Mr Raines, now that it's ruined", she simply stated, holding his daring glare, and putting a hand on his chest to make him back off *as if she wanted him to*.

“I don't care that it's ruined” he insisted, edging his mouth closer to hers to command, “I want it back".

His gaze did not waver, even when he noticed the way her pupils dilated at his words and the way her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding louder in her chest, although she did her best to keep her composure.

“Fine", she blurted out, suddenly pushing him a few steps back, hastily reaching for the front of the shirt to undo the few buttons that she had bothered to fasten earlier in the day.

A flicker of a smile finally graced her face, mischievous, upon seeing Adrian’s eyes finally shifting away from hers to watch her fingers work on the fabric, their colour subtly darkening as more skin became exposed. His irises had completely turned to that mesmerizing gold that she knew so well by the time she had opened the blouse, revealing her round breasts unceremoniously and shrugging off the white material quickly, eager to shove it in his hands as an excuse to close the gap between them.

“Happy now?”, she grinned, pressing her body flush against his, pushing him backwards in the process until their motion was stopped by the cold marble of the kitchen island behind him.  

“Can’t you tell?” he teased, subtly grinding his hips against her as he tossed the shirt to the floor to free his hands and grab her backside firmly.

That was it. That stiffness pressed proudly against her and those callous hands pulling her towards it were the end of her composure. And of Adrian’s as well, for that matter. A genuine and cheeky smile now lighting up her face and eyes dark with need, she threw her arms around his neck to reach for his mouth, locking her fingers in his hair to pull him closer so that she could wipe that stupid smirk from his face.

She kissed him as fiercely as she could, their lips clashing against each other in a wet mess of flesh and teeth, Ellie wriggling against his chest furiously as Adrian was trying to take over the control of their embrace.

Their dance had nothing gracious or flirtatious anymore. It was a fiery battle of mouths, grabbing and pulling, although both of them were wearing the same playful grin on their lips every time their eyes met and battled for control.

The endorphins in her body were sending confusing signals to her brain, torn between the will to prove herself feisty and able to dictate the game – which she was, as they both knew it already-, and the desire to let Adrian show her how much he wanted her right now.  

Adrian was doing his best to hold back his strength and his urges, savouring the way the tension Ellie had accumulated from her frustrating culinary experiment had slowly morphed into a very different kind of tension under his touch and devouring eyes.

The satisfaction he was feeling from seeing her respond to him so well was not even about the power he knew he could have over her in moments like this. Because she had just as much power over him. It was about that trust that they were carefully building together and that allowed them to be themselves with each other. The kind of trust that could free you from your deepest insecurities and help you explore truly who you were. And although Adrian once thought that there was no more corner of himself that was left to unveil, she had gradually made him realise that he was wrong. And he wanted her to be empowered to do the same. Empowered to explore and discover who she was, and define who she wanted to be. And in this moment, she was entitled to express her frustration and blow it off in any she wanted to, even if the reason for her initial outburst was trivial and kind of amusing. He would stand by and take her cues, although incredibly eager to watch it all unravel under his eyes and against his skin.

The fire and hunger in her eyes and in her touch were not making it easy, though. Nor was the warmth of her chest against his and of her fingers playing with the hem of his sweatpants.  

“I know the shirt was yours…” she chuckled between kisses, breathless, as she felt his hands fumbling with the waistband of her shorts. “… but I don't recall these ever belonging to you, Mr Raines". Her eyes were daring and mischievous. She was clearly enjoying their little power-play as much as he was. And it was intoxicating.  

“Fair point, miss Reed” he conceded, before letting his lips trail down her throat. “But I do recall you assuring me very, very clearly, multiple times over the last few weeks, that what was underneath did belong to me”.

Ellie could not stop the giggle that escaped her lips at his words, the warmth pooling dangerously between her thighs and her cheeks flushing brightly as glimpses of the moments Adrian was referring to flashed in her head. By the time she had managed to pull herself back in the moment, he had already made quick work of the last bits of clothing she had left, and had taken advantage of that brief distraction to lift her from the ground. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, too aroused by now to keep pretending she had not been craving for this all along.

“So, where shall we take this, Miss Reed?” he whispered in her ear, his smile warm but his eyes dark with lust.

Ellie stared at him with hunger for a few seconds, taking the time to nip at his bottom lip as if carefully evaluating their options. “Hum… we wouldn’t want to make a mess of your bedroom, with all that flour and grime on me, wouldn’t we, Mr Raines?”.

“On this we can fully agree”, he muttered against her lips, before claiming her mouth again, her lips parting invitingly so that their tongues could meet.

Their kiss was long, gentle, and agonizingly chaste at first, but it took merely seconds for their heated bodies to yield to the yearning for each other once more, as if the dam that had been holding down their urges up to that point had now finally collapsed with a spectacular bang. Breathless and dizzy, Adrian could feel his legs stagger dangerously with the frenzy of Ellie’s kisses and the tantalizing way she was shamelessly slithering up and down against him, using all of her upper body strength to grind her hips along his length.

The next thing they knew, she was sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, his hips working urgently between her legs. Her fingers digging in his back. Her heels pressed into the back of his thighs, still covered by the fabric of his pants as none of them could have been bothered to pull them further down than what was required. Her mouth was devouring every inch of his chest, muffling the cries that she could not control any more.

Lost in the comfort of their entwined bodies and echoing moans, Ellie could not remember how the hell this all started in the first place. Her earlier furious complaint to the gods was now long forgotten, only to be replaced by curses of a very different kind.

~~~~~~~~~~

(Still accepting prompts from List #1 Imagines and nsfw prompts)

Tag list:

@adriansbiss

@itsjustwinter

@shanzay44

@purvishraick

@choicesficwriterscreations​

[horansqueenandpaynesqueen]

Next-Door Neighbours : Chapter Fourteen

A Liam Fanfic, A Niall Fanfic, MA Rating

New neighbours, new drama. Sometimes what you need is the last thing you’re looking for.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 5 || CHAPTER 6 || CHAPTER 7 || CHAPTER 8 || CHAPTER 9 || CHAPTER 10 || CHAPTER 11 || CHAPTER 12 || CHAPTER 13

+NOTES+

1- This fic is written by Julie ( @paynesqueen​ ) & Livia ( @horansqueen​ ) 2- Julie will write the odd chapters and Livia the even chapters 3- This fic will have romance, drama and smut.

Chapter Fourteen by Livia (horansqueen)

Olivia never thought Louis was a romantic guy but somehow, he was showing parts of himself that she didn't know. Ever since he had said out loud the three little words to her, he seemed to feel even more at ease around her and she couldn't lie and pretend she didn't like it. In fact, it was refreshing to see him under a different light and she enjoyed it.

"Why are you staring at me?" Louis asked, the left corner of his lips moving up in an amused smile before he glanced at her.

"Because you're hot, that's why."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes but a small smile still appeared on his lips. He wouldn't admit it but he liked it. He liked the way she looked at him and surprised himself to hope it was because of growing feelings. She didn't have to love him the way he loved her, at least not yet. He would be content with anything that was more than friendship and lust.

"Alright," he replied, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Let's stop being lazy and actually do something today."

Her eyebrows raised and she brought her shoulders up before pulling on the sleeves of her sweatshirt to hide her hands. She had planned a lazy weekend and she never thought Louis could propose anything else than fuck, sleep, eat and watch netflix.

"Let's go for a swim." he just added, throwing his hands up in the air as she held her breath.

"I mean I... didn't bring a swim suit."

His face changed into confusion before he started laughing as she remained motionless.

"You're coming to spend the weekend to a lodge with me and you don't bring a swinsuit?" he asked, laughing again and making her raise her nose up in a grimace. "Are you serious?"

"Don't laugh at me."

She got up from the comfortable couch and his eyes dropped to her legs before moving back to her eyes before his lips curled even more. She tilted her chin up and slowly, he brought his hands on her cheeks to cup her face, bending down until their lips were almost touching. She felt her heart skip a beat and once again held her breath.

"You can swim naked yea?" he asked in a whisper, a smirk drawing itself slowly on his lips. "Nothing I haven't seen already."

She laughed and took a step back, moving away from his embrace and licking her lips. There was something in the way Louis wanted her that made her want to say yes to everything he proposed, but she still managed to shake her head with a chuckle.

"No way," she replied with a louder laugh, making him send her a sad look with puppy eyes. "But I guess I could swim in my bra and panties."

His lips curled back up as a victory smile appeared on his face, making her laugh even more. "Perfect. Follow me."

She frowned but quickly put her flip flops on and followed him outside. She let him grab her hand as his warm fingers firmly held hers. He lead the way on the small trails and stopped in front of a small lake. The place was desert and she looked around to see if anyone was near but when her eyes met Louis' again, he sent her a smile.

"Don't worry, no one's gonna see you half-naked." he chuckled. "I mean, except me."

Olivia rolled her eyes but couldn't stop a smile to appear on her lips. She liked the attention he gave her and she secretly hoped he would never stop. She took her hoodie off and shook her head a bit before pulling on her hair but when she looked back at her best friend, he was taking off his shirt and she held her breath. So yea, Louis was gorgeous, and she let her eyes wander a bit on his chest before she heard him chuckle.

"Got a problem, love?"

Her smile got bigger and she shook her head before taking a few steps closer. "No, this is perfect."

She stood in front of him and he glanced down before she quickly put both her hands to hide her breasts. He looked back up and smirked, pulling down his pants and leaving them on the ground, and after they stared at each other for a few more seconds, he raised his eyebrows and turned around, quickly throwing himself in the water.

She hesitated as she watched him move his head underwater and when he emerged, he made a swift head movement to move his wet hair on the side of his head. Why did it look like a stupid romantic movie scene? He turned her way as she walked slowly inside the water and her heart skipped a beat at his sight. Was that how it felt to have feelings for someone? Was that how it felt to love someone? She hadn't loved many people in her life, and perhaps, the way her heart seemed to beat in an unsteady way may only be lust... right?

"Come here, love."

She smiled and moved closer, feeling his arms slip slowly around her waist. He looked down at her and his lips curled into a fond smile. She held her breath, hoping her heart would stop beating so hard but when Louis bent down more, she started nibbling on her bottom lip.

She liked it. She liked how he smelled, she liked the way he was looking at her, she liked the warmth of his arms around her, and somehow, it suddenly scared her. She didn't want to go on a date with Niall because she was scared of the feelings she could develop for him and there she was, with her best friend, doing cheesy and romantic activities that could also lead to feelings.

Quickly, she moved around and pushed water his way, wetting him even more. It made her laugh loudly and he chuckled before to do the same. They started a war and after a few minutes, she rushed out of the water and he followed her.

"So, no more kisses?" he asked, raising his eyebrows as a small smile appeared on his lips.

She smiled back but just licked her lips and shook her head.  When it was sex, she could definitely handle it, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that maybe the feelings she had for Louis were not just sexual or friendly : maybe there was more to their relationship, and she was not so sure on how to handle it. They had shared kisses that were more emotional than lustful in the past days and it was starting to feel like something more. It was getting serious.

"I'll think about it." she just replied, her smile growing slightly.

He stared at her for a few seconds and passed his hand in his wet hair to push it back, making her heart twist again in her chest.  Okay, this clearly was not just friendship.

                                                     --

She couldn't stop thinking about how easy it was with Louis and how happy she felt despite the fact that the whole 'love' thing was making her nervous. They were both laying down in the hammock on the porch of the house as the rain was pouring down. The air was cool and even if they were protected from the rain by the roof, they could both feel some drops hitting their skin from time to time.

It was silent and weirdly, neither of them were even checking their phones. They were just enjoying the silence as they cuddled. As long as he didn't kiss her, it would be okay, or so she thought, but it was mostly something she was trying to make herself believe. He was laying on his back with one of his hands under his head and his elbow up while she was laying on her side, her hand resting on his chest. There was something soothing about the whole picture and she felt her eyes flutter. She focused on his other hand, rubbing very gently and slowly her back, and when he let out a small sigh, she looked up at him. He moved his head down to look into her eyes and she swallowed hard. He was so close and he could definitely kiss her, but he didn't, and the fact that he respected her wish made him even hotter in her eyes.

"Want a beer?"

She nodded, knowing that even if she said no, he'd still get up to get one for himself. Anyway, it was better for her that he moved away, just so she could see clearly for at least a few minutes.

He left and she sat as the hammock rocked her gently and she finally grabbed her phone, clicking on Niall's name and biting her bottom lip. He hadn't messaged her but at the same time, he knew where she was and he had asked her to message him. He probably just didn't want to bother her, right?

Without really thinking about it, she started typing quickly something and hit 'send' before she could hesitate or change her mind.

'I'm thinking of you'

And she was. She was having a nice time with Louis, but she couldn't help Niall from popping up in her mind from time to time. It didn't mean she was not happy to spend time with her best friend because she was, but thinking about Niall was something she couldn't seem to stop.

'Thinking of you too, petal.'

She held her breath as her eyes roamed on the words he had written. Why did it make her heart beat so fast? After all, it was just a short text message from a guy she had known for a few weeks. It shouldn't make her feel like that.

"What is making you smile so big?"

Olivia jumped slightly, looking up at Louis, and suddenly, she felt extremely guilty. She didn't want to tell him the truth but at the same time, there was no way she was going to lie to him. She didn't have to wait too long : Louis' face changed and the sadness she could read in his eyes made her tear up.

"Niall, okay." he just let out.

It was not even a question, and Olivia reached for his hand pulling on it to bring him back to the hammock. He shook his head a bit but didn't move away and she finally got up, placing herself in front of him.

"Let's put our phones in the bedroom, yea?" she proposed in a very soft voice, raising her eyebrows. "We need some 'you and me' time, what do you say?"

The right corner of his lips raised up in a sad smile and he nodded before following her inside. They put their phones in the room and for some reason, he closed the door when he got out, hoping it would take her mind off of the other man competing for her heart. It was unfair that Niall seemed to disturb their alone time even if he was so far away, but when Louis walked back in the kitchen, he just leaned against the wall and watched her as she was holding herself on the counter, shuffling cards and sending him a small smile.

"Poker?"

This time, he smiled sincerely and pushed himself off the wall before walking towards her slowly, his hands in his pockets. She looked up and licked her lips when he stood right in front of her and after a few seconds, he placed his hands on each side of her, holding himself on the counter too and bent down, his smile turning into a smirk.

"You think you can bluff me?"

Her eyes roamed on his face and her heart skipped a beat. She just wanted him to kiss her but she remained motionless.

"I can try."

"Strip Poker?" he proposed after about a minute of silence.

"No." she giggled, raising her nose up. "But we can drink shots when we lose."

He chuckled and smirked more. "I guess that's the second best idea I heard tonight."

"It comes in second place after the idea I had to leave the phones in the room?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and chuckling when he grimaced.

"Okay, third best idea I heard. Strip poker was still better."

"I didn't say we wouldn't fuck."

He bent down even more and her eyes fluttered when his lips brushed against her. He smelled good and she anticipated the kiss but instead, he just whispered.

"Okay."

They took a bottle of vodka and put it on the table along with shot glasses and finally sat in front of each other. After the fourth game, they had both drank a bit more than intended and when she heard his voice, she gripped her cards harder.

"We should be together, I deeply believe that." she could hear emotions in his voice and he swallowed hard. "But I'm not gonna force you. I'm never gonna force you to pick me. It's just... so easy when we're together, Liv. Don't you think?"

She started thinking that maybe, she should have agreed to the strip poker idea instead but she knew they'd have to address the feelings they both had at some point, and she was also aware that it was probably not easy for him to wait.

"It is, Lou." she admitted. "I know you feel so powerless right now. I know it's hard to believe but that's how I feel too."

He scoffed without looking at her and she put her cards on the table before getting up and walking to him. It took a while but he finally looked up at her and she made a quick head movement, inciting him to get up too. He did and quickly, she brought her hands to his shirt, gripping it gently and tilting her chin up. He stared at her, feeling something stir in his stomach, and he wondered if it was because of the love he felt for her, or simply because of the alcohol running in his veins.

"You have all the power." he breathed so low it took her a few seconds to understand his words. "You have everything."

He was not normally the kind of guy to open up but when it came to her, he wanted to share everything he thought and felt. He had failed many relationships by keeping secrets and holding his tongue about the important things. He certainly was not going to do it again, especially not with Olivia. He was not going to risk it. If this relationship didn't work, it wouldn't be because of something he didn't do.

"I'm sorry I'm making this so hard on you." she simply replied just as low.

She got on her tiptoes and brought her mouth against his. He answered her kiss for a few seconds before pulling away and sending her an amused smile.

"Wanna play a game?" he just proposed randomly, making her frown.

"What kind of game?"

"Hide and seek." he let out, making her frown and chuckle. "Outside. In the dark."

Her frown turned into a smile and she just bit her bottom lip, suddenly excited by the idea. "Alright. I'm in."

[sandalwoodhusbands]

watching cityscapes turn to dust 

"Why don't you say my name anymore?"

"I do. Not often, but I do."

"But why?"

"Because i'm afraid that once I start saying it, I will never stop."

There's silence. And then-

"Would that be so bad?"

part I - Italy

Before

Somewhere in Italy, August 2018

“Damn.” Yann lets out a low whistle to his right.

And damn, indeed. Lucas has seen recording studios in his life; not many, admittedly, one when he visited San Francisco when he was 16, and the ones him and the guys have used in the past to record their last two albums, but he’s sure they usually don’t look like this . Like a very expensive, very unaffordable beach house.

“This is where we’re staying?”

“This is where we’re staying.”

Lucas grips his suitcase tighter, eyes roaming across the red brick walls and rustic columns before they settle on the elegant picnic table tucked in a corner. What even the fuck is Italy, really. He feels Eliott’s restlessness behind him without having to turn around, and it’s weirdly endearing, how tall, dark and handsome Eliott Demaury is so intimidated by all this.

“What the fuck is my life,” Eliott mumbles. “What the fuck is my life.”

Lucas snorts before turning to look at him. He sees Eliott’s wild eyes staring back at him, hands on the straps of the guitar on his back and duffle bag by his feet, his hair a mess from brushing his hands through it on the way here. And god, if the Italian sun doesn’t look good on him, on his golden skin and filtering through his chestnut hair, and Lucas has no clue how he’s supposed to survive this. He doesn’t.

“You good over there?” He asks him, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliott waves him off. The look of disbelief in his eyes betrays him. “I just- this is where the people with more than a fiver in their back pocket record their music?”

“You’d have to ask those people.” Eliott gives him a look and gestures around them. Lucas huffs out a laugh. “No, I don’t know. This is a first time for me too, I’m just as impressed. But they say it’s easy to get used to the good things in life, right?” He shrugs before picking back his suitcase. “Well, you coming?”

“I’m coming.”

***

When the alarm in his phone wakes him up, it’s barely light out and the sheets are cold and tangled around his bare legs. Lucas buries his face on the pillow, groaning, before rolling on his back and sitting down in bed. This part he hates, the whole having to wake up at dawn and not murder anyone on his way to his second cup of coffee thing, and he sighs once more before standing up on tired legs.

He throws on a pair of old sweatpants and a black hoodie, pulling the hood over his head. Then, with his phone on one hand and his favorite pair of drumsticks tucked in the elastic band of his sweatpants, he leaves the room in search for the kitchen.

“Morning.” A voice behind him startles him, making him almost drop the packet of instant coffee on the kitchen counter.

He turns around, a gasp hanging from his lips when he finds Eliott’s lean figure sitting on top of the kitchen table. He eyes the cup of coffee Eliott is quietly stirring between his hands, and wonders if he’s the reason why there’s not enough milk for another whole mug. As beautiful as this place is, it seriously lacks in the food department.

“Oh, hey.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Eliott says with a frown. He fiddles with the cup between his hands, avoiding Lucas’ gaze. “The guys are already waiting on room 2. They want to start with a full rehearsal first.”

Lucas places the mug on the counter before walking over to Eliott. “Hey,” he says. “Hey, are you okay?”

Eliott shrugs.

It pinches his heart, the sight before him.

Everything is dimmed out; the washed out white walls, the grey curtains, furniture all made with wood and the morning sun not quite out yet, only a trail of cold light coming through the tall windows. Eliott sitting in the middle of everything, and Lucas is so used to seeing him light up the whole room, that the hunch of his shoulders and anxious look in his eyes overwhelm him. Eliott looks small right now, despite having a head on Lucas, almost like he blends in with the sadness in the room, and Lucas hates it.

“Having second thoughts?” Lucas asks jokingly, but he thinks the worry bleeds through his voice anyway.

Eliott’s eyes widen marginally at that.

“No! No, that’s not it. It’s not. I’m just, fuck,” Eliott lowers the mug on the table next to his hip. He gives a sigh before hiding his face between his hands. “I’m just so fucking scared, Lucas.” His voice sounds muffled, nothing but a whisper between his fingers, but Lucas hears it perfectly. The hitch between words. The tremor in his lips. “I’m so scared.”

"Eliott, what?" Lucas raises a tentative hand and rests it on Eliott’s shoulder, unsure of what to do. “What are you talking about?”

“This…” Eliott starts, rubbing his face before uncovering his face. It’s all red now, his grey eyes all glassy. “This whole thing. I’m so scared. And I feel so guilty, all the time. I’m scared I will look like I’m trying to steal Arthur’s place, and then everyone will hate me. Your fans. You. Arthur.”

And Lucas is unsure of everything, except of the fact that Eliott is breaking his heart.

“Fuck, Eliott-”

“And I like you guys so much. I went to the try-outs because I told myself I had nothing to lose, that if anything, I would get to play in front of professionals for the first time in my life. But suddenly you were saying you were keeping me and next thing I know is I’m here.” Eliott shrugs helplessly. “It’s easy to get used to the good things in life, you said, and I’m so scared to get used to this.”

“Fucking hell, Eliott. I want you to listen clearly. Look at me.” He squeezes Eliott’s shoulder, catching his attention. Eliott looks at him through teary eyes, and Lucas has to bite the inside of his cheek to avoid reaching forward and catching the salty drops with his thumb. “We like you too. You’re one of us now, I want you to understand that. I need you to understand that. After Arthur’s accident everything felt so hopeless. Arthur didn’t leave his bed in a week. I thought it would end him. That it would end us.” He takes a deep breath. “But it didn’t. I was scared, too, of the possibility of someone else taking Arthur’s place, at the beginning. But now you’re here, and nothing has ever felt this right. We won’t hate you. Arthur won’t hate you. In fact, I’ve heard he’s over the moon with you. We all are, actually. You didn’t hear this from me, but… I think he has a crush on you.” He bites back the, I know I do.

Eliott lets out a wet laugh and punches him in the shoulder. “Shut up, idiot.”

Lucas stumbles back for effect with a breathless oof before stepping closer. He gives Eliott a small grin, tentative fingers drumming against his knees and pressing down on the bone. “But I’m serious. We love you here. You’re one of us now, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He presses once more on Eliott’s knees, the material soft and comfortable under his fingertips. He pulls back then, and Eliott shoots him a small, grateful smile.

“Lucas-”

Lucas shakes his head with a warm smile of his own. “Don’t mention it.”

Eliott tilts his head to one side with a frown on his face, and before Lucas can ask what’s wrong, there’s arms around his waist and a warm cheek pressed to the top of his head. Lucas freezes for a moment before looping his own arms around Eliott’s back. “No, Lucas, but I will.” Eliott whispers. “I will. Thank you.”

Lucas smiles a little in return, saying nothing. He nods against Eliott’s chest, because he heard him. He did. But no more words are needed.

***

“Okay guys, from the beginning now. Eliott, can you turn your amp a little higher?”

Eliott bends hesitant to adjust the volume control and strums out a G chord.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

Lucas ducks his head behind the drum set, smile half-hidden by a cymbal as he watches Eliott’s cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. It’s so unfair, how Eliott feels so insecure under all that determination shining inside his eyes. Lucas wishes he would trust himself a little more.

“Okay. On 3, 2, 1-”

And the room explodes in a wave of sounds and one hundred notes playing at the same time. The low hum of the bass pairs with two guitars, Lucas carrying the rhythm with the drums. He loses himself to it, eyes closed, his hands moving automatically to the beat of the song coming from his headphones. This is his favorite part; his own personal haven. Music.

He’s already panting. There’s sweat forming at  his hairline, but his heart still picks up when he realizes he’s close to his favorite part of the song. He hits the drums in a quick succession, all fast and hard and raw, grinning to himself at how fucking good it sounds, lifting his head to look at Yann, who’s already smirking down at him, because they know each other so well that even the faintest cue clues them in. And then his eyes move to Eliott-

Who looks like every single one of Lucas’ wet dreams.

Lucas wants to eat him alive. Wants him to play with his body the way his fingers play with the strings of his guitar. Lick the sweat pooled under his lower lip and bite the side of his neck, run his fingers through his messy hair, straddle his lap before getting him off that oversized black t-shirt and just fucking kiss him everywhere.

There's concentration in Eliott’s face as he plucks the strings at a beat beat that makes Lucas feel dizzy, and he’s just standing there with a guitar in his hands, one leg slightly propped up to support it. His gym shorts have ridden up at that knee, giving Lucas the opportunity to see a tattoo peeking out of it. His grip on the drum sticks tightens as Eliott wets his lips with his tongue, and then Eliott is tilting his head up. And their eyes meet.

He loses grip of one of the sticks. He watches with wide eyes how it flies off his hand and against the wall behind him. He’s opening his mouth to say sorry when an excruciating metallic sound breaks through the room.

“Fuck!” Eliott is looking down at his guitar in horror. “Fuck, I am so sorry! Christ, fuck!”

“Eliott-”

“No, fuck. It sounded so good. I fucked it up. I’m sorry.”

“Eliott, dude. It’s no big deal.” Basile moves to place a hand on Eliott’s shoulder. “If only you knew the number of times Lucas has accidentally hit me in the face with a drum stick-”

“Yes. Accidentally.” Lucas cuts in, and it makes Eliott turn his head to look at him. His eyes are so sad, and Lucas is drowning. “But Bas is right, we all fuck up all of the time.” He glances over his shoulder with a pointed look. “In fact, if you hadn’t fucked up, I would have. Look where my drum stick is.”

“See? It’s alright, dude. Embrace your mistakes, because there’ll be plenty. From Lucas, especially. I’m surprised he hasn’t hit you with one stray stick in the past two months yet.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up Yann.” Lucas rolls his eyes, before turning to Eliott with a tentative grin. “It’s because I like your face. Unlike others’.”

Eliott grins back, a little bashfully and a lot more tamer than Lucas is used to from him, but he’ll take it for now. He’ll take whatever Eliott wants to give.

He can already see it becoming a problem.

“Thanks, guys. I just- yeah. I freaked out for a second.” Eliott huffs awkwardly. "It won't happen again."

"You're fine, dude." Basile consoles him.

Yann nods in understatement too, squeezing Eliott's shoulder once before returning back to his position, so Lucas bends to grab the wayward stick, getting back into position himself.

And then the glass door opens.

“Yo, Eliott!” Arthur shouts from the doorway. “You okay?”

Eliott startles at the mention of his name. His head turns towards the door. “Yeah, fine! Sorry for the breakdown.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. You’re doing amazing, dude.”

“What about me?” Basile whines.

“Eh, you’re okay I guess.”

“Rude.”

“Okay, just wanted to check in. Keep it up guys! And much courage, Eliott. You’re gonna need it with these idiots.”

Eliott laughs lightly, the faint pink back in his cheeks, before smiling gently at Arthur. “Thanks. I will keep it in mind.”

“Joke’s on you, he’s part of us now. He joined the idiot side already.”

Eliott’s eyes clear instantly at Basile’s words, less of a storm in the middle of the ocean and more of a cloud after the worst poured down, and his lips curl up at the ends softly. Sometimes Lucas blesses Basile’s timing for things like this.

Eliott’s eyes search for Lucas’ immediately, and there’s something in them that has Lucas’ blood rushing to his face. Lucas only smiles at him just as softly, nodding in acknowledgement.

Eliott nods back.

***

From: Mama

And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.

From: Mama

I miss you, my son. Bring me back a bottle of wine.

Lucas smiles fondly at his phone screen as he types out a response.

To: Mama

miss you too, mama. and i will.

love you.

They’ve been here for over a week and things have been… interesting. Good interesting, though. It’s their third album, and Lucas wasn’t kidding when he said he wasn’t used to this kind of luxury either. Compared to this, the other studio where they recorded their first album looks like a cardboard box.

He can’t complain. Countless sound rooms, brand new instruments (although Lucas misses his drum set) all for them to use, a backyard as big as his apartment, and a fucking pool out of all things. Plenty of shirtless Eliott running around the backyard in the afternoon sun, all happy and wet, so Lucas really doesn’t have much room to complain.

He hates himself a little for thinking like this. He just can’t help it; ever since Eliott came into his life, he can’t picture himself kissing someone else’s lips but his. Run his hands through someone else’s hair but his. Touch anybody but him the same way he’d like to be touched. And it shouldn’t be like this, he thinks, he shouldn’t be thinking about another person when he already has someone back home. Shouldn’t be thinking about a boy. A friend.

Yet he is, and he hates himself for it. And then he hates himself more when he thinks about Chloe, and he can’t find regret in his mind. Not for liking him. A boy. Not for liking Eliott. Because when you find someone like Eliott, you love them until the day you die, Lucas is sure. Not many things make sense for Lucas, but this does. Because Eliott is the type of person you would kill and die for, if only to see them smile; the person you’d cling to, until your very last breath, because they’re alive, and intoxicating and overwhelming in the best kind of way.

So he hates himself, but he likes Eliott more. And somehow that makes up for it.

Pocketing his phone in his sweatpants, he closes the door of his room silently. He walks down the hallway with slow, quiet steps, careful not to wake up the guys sleeping in the rooms next to his, and goes downstairs. Where the grand piano is.

He had seen it on the first day they got here, tucked in a far corner in the lounge room. It stood proudly by the tall windows, in all its white glory, that Lucas couldn’t help but give it a longing glance every time he passed by. His fingers have been itching to press down on its keys since the first day, but the occasion never arouse; either the guys were fucking around for too long downstairs, watching movies and playing board games, or he was too tired to think about sneaking off in the dead of the night. Until now.

He sits on the stool with his hands over the keys. And listens. Everything is quiet in the way only a summer night can be. He lets himself smile, the darkness in the room and the quiet of the night taking him to a calm state of mind, and then his fingers are moving. The pale moon illuminates the side of the piano, glimpses of white flashing on his hands when they move close enough in the direction of the window.

He’s missed this. A fleeting thought crosses his mind, that he should invest on a piano when he gets back to Paris, until it’s blank again. He gets high off this feeling. This feeling of complete numbness, nothingless that he thinks should make him feel isolated, but it doesn’t. It only relieves him.

“Lucas?”

His fingers slam down on the keys.

“Jesus Christ!” Lucas gasps, head snapping up. His eyes widen when he finds Eliott’s head poking out behind the couch. He clutches at his chest. “Fuck, dude. I’m going to tie a bell around your neck, you can’t keep doing this. I’m going to have a heart attack at 20.”

Eliott has the decency to smile sheepishly at him. “Sorry, it wasn’t my intention.” The moonlight shines on his face and dances around inside his eyes beautifully. “It just seems to happen.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Lucas huffs. He turns sideways in the stool to face Eliott. “What are you doing there?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Eliott explains after a second. He crosses his arms on the back of the couch, tucking his chin there. A strand of hair falls on his eyes, and Lucas desperately wants to touch. “I tried watching a movie but I don’t know where I left my earphones, and honestly, I wasn’t in the mood to look for them. So I came here, and then I crashed, apparently.” He shrugs. “Until the music woke me up.”

“Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Eliott says quietly, shaking his head, earnest eyes looking at Lucas. “It was beautiful. I would rather spend sleepless nights listening to you play than wasting my time dreaming.”

Lucas’ cheeks turn pink. He nods, thanking the dark for not giving him away, because he’s sure he’s got the answers of any question Eliott could ask etched in his skin in this moment. Instead, “Are you still stressed about the whole belonging thing?”

Eliott huffs out a laugh. “Well, when you call it like that...” Lucas wiggles his eyebrows at him, and Eliott laughs again. “But no, not really. Or a little, maybe, just the normal amount of stress I think.”

Lucas nods solemnly. “The normal amount of stress is good.”

“It is.” Eliott agrees with a small smile before his face turns somber. “You’re really cool guys, did you know?” He speaks, a little more timidly this time, playing with a thread on the couch. “You especially. You’re a good person, Lucas.”

Lucas bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from weeping. His body tingles all the way down to his toes at the way his name sounds coming from Eliott’s mouth. He’s never cared about his own name; just another name, the one he got at birth, he guesses. But when Eliott says it, it feels like falling in love, like it’s the only word he wants to hear for the rest of his life. It happens with everything Eliott says or does.

“So are you.” He answers back sincerely, voice going hoarse.

Eliott looks for his eyes in the dark, and Lucas lets himself get caught. They study each other in silence; it’s comfortable, and Lucas’ heart slows down to the point where he can’t hear it in his ears anymore. They stay like that until Eliott’s mouth falls open in a silent yawn.

Lucas takes notice of the drowsiness clouding Eliott’s eyes, and he bites back a fond smile. “Are you going back to your room? I can go if you want to stay here, I was the one making noise anyway.”

“No, no.” Eliott shakes his head slowly. “Stay, please. Could you play me something? So I can fall asleep faster?”

Lucas gives him a careful look. “Are you sure it won’t wake you up further again?”

“It won’t, promise. I just wasn’t expecting it the first time.”

“Well, okay then.” Lucas concedes. “You lie back down now, okay?”

“Okay.” Eliott nods, taking his arms off the back of the couch before disappearing out of Lucas' sight. “Good night, Lucas.”

Lucas smiles to himself, turning around in the stool. His fingers find the right keys to press on, and he does, slowly, softly, the room filling with quiet notes and warm melodies.

“Good night, Eliott.”

He plays until his hands ache, and Eliott sleeps.

***

“Why didn't you guys tell me how good Lucas is with the piano?”

Yann gives Eliott an odd look, and Lucas wants to drown himself in this pool.

“Because he isn’t?” Yann frowns.

“What? Yes he is.”

Lucas submerges himself deeper into the cool water, enough that if he breathes now he thinks he could fill his lungs with enough water that he’d get out of this conversation. He gives Eliott a urgent look, but Eliott is too busy staring at his best friend with a challenging expression to notice him.

“I mean, he’s not bad at it? Lucas dabbles in most instruments. As long as you can get something that resembles a melody out of it, Lucas will play it.” Yann explains, confused as to why Eliott is sending him a death glare. “But I didn't think it would be a conversation topic."

Lucas appreciates Eliott trying to defend his honor, he does, a lot and very enthusiastically if the tightness in his swimsuit means anything, but he would appreciate it more if he would just shut up this time.

Because him playing piano isn't common knowledge, because the guys met him at a time when things with his mama weren't good, and back then he had preferred to unload his anguish by beating up a set of drums than playing the piano. And the piano requires a delicate touch, and a quiet mind, both of which he didn't have at the time, so he quitted, and when he picked it up again it had been too late for him to say anything.

So he didn't.

He watches as Eliott's mouth opens to throw back a retort, but before he has the chance to, Lucas finds himself in Eliott's space.

"You don't-"

"What Eliott meant to say," Lucas cuts him off with a squeeze of his shoulder. "is that I deserve to be a conversation topic at all times."

Eliott looks at him with a quizzical expression, brows furrowed. "No, I-"

"Anyway, I'm going inside to get a beer. Do you guys want one?" Lucas pipes in again, giving Eliott a pointed look before turning to the guys with a wide grin. He signs the words to Arthur, who gives him an enthusiastic nod.

He can feel Eliott's confused eyes staring at his profile, but he doesn't look back. Instead he squeezes Eliott's shoulder a little more forcefully.

His hand slips a little, and that's when he realizes he's fully plastered to Eliott's very naked and very wet side. The realization turns his cheeks a faint pink, but he ignores it. Ignores how smooth Eliott's warm neck feels against his arm and how his skin shivers where their hips brush together; how he wants to lick the water droplets that cling to his eyelashes and roll down the side of his face, or the hand that tentatively travels to his own waist a few moments later.

His quiet gasp is drowned out by the guys' chorus of agreement as Eliott drums his fingers on his waist. He turns his head to look at him, startled by the touch, finding Eliott's soft smile directed at him.

Lucas smiles back stupidly, warmth coiling deep inside his belly.

"Lucas, dude? The beers?"

"Oh yeah, yeah." He shakes his head, taking a step back from Eliott. "Eliott, come help me out please?"

Eliott gives him a look filled with curiosity before giving in. "Sure," he says, and then he's guiding Lucas with a hand on the small of his back. "Let's go."

Lucas holds his breath the entire way into the kitchen, pretending the goosebumps arising in his body is from the slight afternoon breeze against his shoulders and not Eliott's hand on him.

"They don't know, do they?" Eliott asks once they're in the kitchen.

Lucas shuts the fridge closed with his hip and passes two beer bottles to Eliott.

"Nope."

"Don't worry." Eliott says with a glint in his eyes. He pushes past Lucas to grab a bag of chips from the shelf, his breath hot hitting the side of Lucas' face, making Lucas' breath catch. "I'll keep your secret."

And suddenly Lucas isn't sure if they're having the same conversation.

[messagefromtheveins]

Twelve Weeks

A/N: This is actually the first thing I ever wrote about Chris. It’s kinda disgustingly cute, so I apologize for that 😂

Words: 1.4k

Pairing: Chris/Reader

Dodger lifted his head off your stomach, his posture stiff and all of his attention on the slightly opened bedroom door. You kept scratching your nails through his fur before he quickly got up and bolted out of the room, a bark filling the house just a second later. Throwing the covers back, you crawled out of bed and stepped out of the bedroom, your heart racing in anticipation as you made your way towards the front door.

Chris was kneeling on the ground, joyful giggles falling from his lips as Dodger jumped all around him, happiness radiating off both of them. Chris' wide grin turned into a more sincere smile as his gaze landed on you, his eyes softening. Getting up, he quietly murmured something to Dodger that you didn't catch before he approached you, your heart skipping a beat and fingers trembling. "Welcome home," you smiled, seeing how his eyes got a bit teary as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to his chest.

His head tilted down to push against the side of your neck, the muscles in his back relaxing as you rubbed your hands back and forth. Your eyes closed and you took a deep breath, his too familiar scent filling your nose and making you sigh in almost relief. "Fuck, I missed you so much," he murmured against your neck and tightened his arms around you even more.

You clung to his shoulders as he lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist as one of his hands came to rest under your bum to support your weight. "I'm so glad you're finally here," you whispered and placed a hand on the back of his head.

The soft kiss he left on your neck made you almost sob out of pure relief of finally having him back home before he took a few steps forward. You had expected that he would bring you into the bedroom or maybe even the living room- instead he leaned his back against the nearest wall and slid down until he was sitting on the ground with you comfortably settled on his lap, your legs loosely curled around his hips.

Leaning back, you giggled as he immediately tightened his grip around you. He didn't let you go too far, only enough that you were able to look into his eyes once he lifted his head from your neck. Both of you silently smiled at the other, your hands slowly combing through his hair while his hands stayed securely around your middle. "We are never, ever, going to spent this much time away from each other ever again," he dramatically declared, your head nodding.

"Twelve weeks was really too much," you agreed and cupped his face in your hands. The feeling of his beard against your palms was something you had missed so much. He didn't take his eyes off you as Dodger came to lay down beside you on the floor, one of his hands leaving your back to pat the dogs head. "We missed you like crazy," you told him, a sad smile crossing his features.

"You really can't imagine how much I missed both of you," he sighed, his gaze briefly going to Dodger before he looked at you again. You noticed how his gaze dropped to your lips, a smile spreading over them. Moving a hand to the back of his neck, you leaned in and rested your forehead against his, both of his hands returning to your body. "I feel like I'm about to kiss you again for the first time," he chuckled and tilted his head to playfully nudge the tip of his nose against yours.

"Yeah?" you grinned.

"Mhm," he hummed, "my heart's beating so fast."

Your hand slid from his neck to his chest, right where you could feel his heart racing. "Damn, Chris," you giggled, his hands lightly squeezing your hips.

"That's the kind of effect you still have on me," he murmured and placed a kiss on the corner of your mouth, "even after all these years." With that he captured your lips in a soft and chaste kiss, his hands sneaking beneath your oversized T-shirt- he was sure he'd realize that it was actually one of his T-shirts, if he gave a fuck in that moment- to rest on your bare sides. All that mattered in that moment was that you were only wearing a pair of panties besides the tee and that your skin felt so goddamn soft beneath his fingers.

Your hand stayed on his chest, the other holding the side of his face in such a gentle touch that he felt weirdly vulnerable beneath your palm. Your lips still moved with the others like not a single day had passed in which you hadn't done this, the familiarity making your heart swell with love.

Slowly pulling back again, he left two more kisses on your jaw before he reached for your hand on his cheek and engulfed it with both of his own. His blue eyes looked right into yours as he placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand and a few more over your knuckles. "You've been in bed already," he noticed in a quiet voice.

You shrugged your shoulders. "Haven't been sleeping yet," you mumbled and smiled as he placed another peck on your lips before he let go of your hand, "Dodger and I have been waiting up for you."

"Didn't I tell you not to wait up for me?" he sighed as you got up, though grinned as you held a hand out to help him up.

"Didn't I tell you that I sleep better when you're home?" you responded, looking up to him as he stepped up close to you and cupped your face in his hands.

One of his thumbs slowly caressed your cheek as he looked down on you with a fond expression in his eyes, but you could see a bit of sadness written in them. "Come on," he murmured and nodded towards the vague direction of the bedroom, his hands leaving your face again, "I didn't manage to sleep at all during the flight. I could use some rest and cuddles from my favorite girl."

He raised his eyebrows in confusion as you bit your lip and looked at him with guilty eyes. "I have to confess something first," you cringed a bit, his eyes almost frantically searching yours, "I let Dodger sleep in our bed a couple of times."

"And by a couple of times you mean all the time," he guessed, groaning when you hesitantly nodded. "Sweetheart," he sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose, "you do remember how long it took for him to get rid of that habit, yeah?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, nothing but apologies written on your features. Seeing you like this made his heart ache- and it only got worse with your next words. "That bed is just so huge without you and I felt so lonely at night."

Placing a hand on the back of your head, he placed a kiss on your temple while he gently pulled you towards his chest again, your arms tightly wrapping around his middle and forehead resting against his collarbone. "I'm sorry I've been gone for so long," he mumbled, guilt evident in his voice.

You quickly pulled back and shook your head, his fingers lightly caressing your scalp. "No, bub. You know I didn't mean it like that," you rushed to get the words out, but you could see that he was blaming himself for leaving you for so long. "Come on, you know I'm a big girl," you added, getting a little smile from him while he tucked your hair behind your ear.

"I know," he murmured, his smile turning sincere as you stretched up to place a tender kiss on his lips. "It's so hard to be mad at you when you look at me like that," he sighed, playfully rolling his eyes as you gave him a wide grin.

"And I thought I'd need Dodger's big puppy dog eyes for you to forgive us," you giggled, your heart filling with love as he tipped his head back and laughed in the way you adored so much.

Forever and Ever Taglist: @waitonmedarling​ @hugefangirl-22​ @pastelshawns​ @learning-howto-be-myselfx3​ @ultradreamologistblog​ @justanotherfangurl272​ @my-elevenoutof10​ @disaster-rose​

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[izaswritings]

Title: desert dawns

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis:  Finally in Vacuo, the team gets a chance to breathe... but for Oz, things are a little more complicated.

(Or: in which Oz actually has a nice moment, for once, somehow; team JNR attempt a baking gift, and Oscar is Sir Sleeping Through This Fic. Home may be far away, but that doesn't make where you are now mean any less.)

AO3 Link is here.

.

For a moment, Oz does not know where he is.

Eyes open, a ceiling above his head, the sheets are too warm but when he pushes them back something feels wrong—that is not my hand—

Awareness comes back to him. No, he realizes. That is not his hand at all. Oscar’s hand. Their hand.

He is awake. Oscar is not.

Oz takes a moment, sitting up, reorienting himself. The sense of Oscar, there in the back of his mind, is still deep in sleep and doesn’t seem keen on waking up anytime soon. Which is reasonable, Oz admits, looking out the window. The desert sky is as dark as it is clear, and the moon shines down bold and bright. It’s either incredibly late or unspeakably early; if Oz tries to get Oscar up, the boy will no doubt be cross with him.

And yet—Oz is awake, now, and in such a way he is not sure he can sleep again. Neither does the idea of lying still waiting for Oscar to wake up appeal to him. Their lips press. He frowns down at the hands that are not his own. Oscar does not stir. The room the boy shares with team JNR is utterly silent, soundless but for Oz’s own soft breaths.

Oz hesitates, then carefully pushes away the covers. He won’t go far, he decides. He’ll just… make a drink. Hot chocolate, maybe. He’ll sit in the small living room area of this house and watch the sunrise. It’ll at least be something to do.

They have been in Vacuo for almost a week, and even now the pause in the action is unsettling to him. Though kind of Theodore to procure them a place to stay, the almost-peace of Vacuo is weirdly off-putting after Atlas. There’s a tension to it, a sort of hesitation that lingers on, not just in Oz but in all the others, too— waiting, always, for the other shoe to drop.

The anxiety, from Oz and Oscar both, is exhausting. Combined with the heat of the desert, well… they have not been sleeping well at all lately.

Though it isn’t exactly hot now, of course—  with the darkness comes a sharp drop, icy midnights. Oz has always loved this about the deserts: the swiftness with which it changes, the rapid shift in temperature and landscape. He has been reincarnated in Vacuo numerous times, and the memories remain, faint and fond. One incarnation had loved the desert sky so much he’d used to wake up at the break of dawn to watch the sunrise, each and every morning without fail.

Which—  may explain why Oz is up, actually. Old habits die hard, and Oz is nothing if not full of old habits.

He considers this, turning to sit with their feet dangling over the edge of the bed. The desert midnight chill is in full swing for the moment: frost edging the window, icy wind snapping in the air. Oz pulls on a pair of socks—the floor is bitterly cold, and while Oz doesn’t mind it, Oscar might rouse at the sensation—and then drapes Oscar’s jacket on their shoulders. There, warm. If the boy wakes up anyway, he can’t say Oz didn’t try.

He picks up the cane as he heads out the door, and flips it through their hands as he walks.

The house is deathly silent as Oz heads for the kitchen, the whole house under the spell of sleep. The hallway is not nearly as dark as he thought, though, and Oz pauses when he sees why. The kitchen. The door is closed, but light spills out underneath. He can hear the very faint clatter of dishes. Someone else is up?

He considers turning back around, but, well. He’s come all this way for hot chocolate, it seems silly to turn away now. And it’s not like he’s against having company.

Perhaps it’s Qrow. He hopes so, vaguely. They are still not—on the best terms, he and Qrow, but Oz would like to change that. He… misses the other. Sometimes. Which is an incredibly strange feeling, given Qrow is right here with all the rest of them, but well. There is no-one for Oz to blame for that but himself.

He opens the door, stepping into the light, and regrets this decision almost at once.

“Cute boy Oz!”

Their eyes squeeze tightly shut, and Oz inhales deeply. “Miss Valkyrie,” he says. He doesn’t protest the nickname. It is, he has realized with something in his soul that might be despair, apparently useless to try. Eyes open again, he surveys the rest of the kitchen. Jaune Arc and Lie Ren are there too, all awake. A team meeting, perhaps? But why in the dead of night? And— odd. They had not tried to rouse Oscar.

He realizes suddenly he had missed their absence in the room, and frowns. How…unobservant of him.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” he asks, mild, and raises a brow when all three exchange immediately guilty glances. Interesting.

“Um,” says Jaune Arc, and then nothing more.

Well then.

Oz nods, understanding, and moves on into the kitchen, heading for the counter. None of his business, then, and if they don’t want him involved he will respect that. He extends the cane and taps it absently against the ground as he searches. Now, where do they keep the cups? And the powder, too, that’s important. He rifles through the cupboard. Cocoa, cocoa, cocoa… aha.

Lie Ren clears his throat just as Oz is getting down a cup; Oz glances back at him. “Is Oscar…?”

“No. He is still sleeping.” Oz considers the three of them. “I assume this is something you wish to keep from him?” He cannot exactly hide the sudden distaste this idea gives him. Oscar is fond of these three, to such a degree that Oz is beginning to feel the same, if only by proxy—they are Oscar’s friends, his confidants, and at this point, perhaps even his team. This exclusion bothers Oz in a way he cannot deny feels strangely personal.

But already Jaune Arc is waving his hands, looking panicked. “No, no, not like that,” he says, waving his hands down at Oz. “It’s just—um—”

“None of your business,” Nora Valkyrie is insisting, hotly.

“It’s a surprise for him,” Lie Ren says, and both teammates turn on him.

“Ren!”

“You can’t just give it away!”

“He just said Oscar was asleep. It’s fine.” Lie Ren meets Oz’s eyes. “Oscar… misses home. Mistral. He hasn’t said as much to us directly, but…”

“...It’s obvious,” Nora Valkyrie continues reluctantly, when the other trails off. Oz cannot deny that statement. It is indeed very obvious. Oscar had done well in Haven; had managed in Atlas. Vacuo, however, is unlike anything the boy has ever known—he has not complained, but his dejection had been obvious—to Oz, and, apparently to them.

He considers them. “So?”

“He mentioned this thing his aunt used to make,” Jaune Arc says, finally, apparently resigned to spilling the secret in full. “A Mistralian breakfast dish. So we thought, we were going to try…” He gestures. Oz follows his gaze. Pots, pans, ingredients on the table behind them.

“I see,” Oz says, mind whirling. He goes to take a drink, but he has yet to finish the cocoa—powder puffs before Oscar’s face and Oz draws the cup away, frowning down at it. He turns to the sink. Hot water, hot water… “That is kind of you.”

Nora Valkyrie is laughing at him. Oz ignores it with the ease of long years of practice, and reaches for the milk. Fantastic. Hot chocolate at last.

When he turns back around, Jaune Arc is staring at him. “…Don’t you want coffee? Or, like… tea?”

Now, why would he want that? “That is Oscar’s preference,” Oz explains, and sips at the drink. Not nearly as good as his stash at Beacon was, but store-bought powder will have to do. At least it’s sweet.

Even Lie Ren is squinting at him now. “…is that all you drink?”

Oz takes another sip. A long sip. He draws it out. All three children are leaning toward him, enraptured, caught in the spell, looking desperate for an answer. Jaune Arc is about to fall off his seat.

Oz lowers his cup. “Yes.”

Jaune Arc cants to the side. Nora Valkyrie puts both hands on the table and leans toward him, looking delighted. “But!” she says. “You had a teapot.”

“That I did,” Oz agrees. He still misses that teapot.

“Was it just—that whole time—” Her voice squeaks. “Cocoa?”

Oz takes another long sip. Jaune Arc twitches. He hides his smile in the rim of his cup. “Yes.”

Nora Valkyrie puts her head in her arms and cackles. Lie Ren looks exasperated. Jaune Arc looks somewhere closer to despairing. Oz steps forward, still smiling faintly, and surveys their table of food. “Ignoring my drinking habits,” he says, lips twitching with honest amusement when Nora Valkyrie cackles louder, “how goes your cooking attempts?”

Nora Valkyrie stops laughing. All three look at the oven with something like dread.

Oz takes another sip. “I see,” he says, and does his best to keep his laughter entirely internal. He taps the Long Memory against the ground, a rythmic knocking, and considers the problem. Now then. How best to go about this?

Oz looks down at the table, noting the ingredients and calling upon new-old memory. He knows the dish they are talking about. It is Oscar’s favorite, and a Mistralian staple; Oscar’s aunt, however, often put her own twist to the recipe. Oz takes another long drink of cocoa and lowers his cup, decision made.

“Oscar’s aunt makes it with cinnamon,” he says, turning away from the table to head for one of the nearby couches. “Also,” he adds, taking a glance at what looks like to be failed cooking test number one, “it cooks best under gentle heat.”

“Gentle heat,” Lie Ren repeats, sounding disgusted that he had not realized sooner, and Jaune Arc says, “Wait, do we even have cinnamon?”

“I’ll look!” Nora Valkyrie calls, and rockets off to the cupboards.

Oz smiles, faintly, and settles back on the couch, leaning the Long Memory by their side. He finishes his cocoa as they cook, only speaking when he sees a mistake in the making—  less and less as the session drags on, and team JNR gets a hang of the dish. They are not bad at cooking— just chaotic— and soon he feels it’s safe to sit back and watch.

He doesn’t offer much more conversation beyond instruction, however. It is not that he and team JNR are on bad terms—  it is simply that they are on more neutral ones. Oscar adores them, and they appear to adore him in kind; if not for the echo of Pyrrha Nikos who still haunts their footsteps, they would by now likely have started introducing themselves as JNOR. Oz gives them another two months before they start doing it anyway.

So no, they are not on bad terms—but the lingering shadow of Oz’s lies and the lives it cost them still hangs heavy. He suspects they do not blame him for Pyrrha Nikos’ death, for all that he blames himself, but rather they blame him for everything else—the false hope, the lie of possibility, the fact that every chance he gave them made it sound like they could save the world—a chance Pyrrha Nikos took and died for, never mind that the foe she faced was not Salem.

Lie Ren is setting up the dish on the counter, Nora making towers out of leftover ingredients, and Jaune Arc has transitioned to doing the dishes. Even with the hole in their team, Oz thinks, they are remarkably in-tune with one another. He is… glad, to see it. In the face of adversity, they have faltered and stumbled and then grown stronger together.

He may have never given them the same attention he gave team RWBY, but he always thought these three were capable of remarkable things. It is why he let Jaune Arc stay in Beacon, despite his painfully faked transcripts. It is a relief to know, at least on that… Oz wasn’t wrong to give them a chance.

The cooking drags on, and soon, so does sunrise. By the time the sun begins to poke out over the horizon, the final attempt is in the oven to bake, and Nora Valkyrie has bounced over to bother him once again.

She throws herself to sit at the couch armrest, and kicks her feet in the air. Her gaze is thoughtful, considering and suspicious in equal measure, and they both ignore the way her teammates have collapsed in exhaustion on the kitchen table behind her. “You,” she declares at last, “were being very helpful.”

“I am a teacher,” he reminds her.

“Was a teacher.”

“I have a degree,” Oz informs her, dryly. “Multiple, even. Am a teacher.”

She clicks her tongue. “Ugh, what-ever.” She leans back, eyes rolling, and kicks out her feet into the air. Oz waits, watching her, letting her gather her thoughts. At last she seems to find the words. “...Thanks for helping us not fuck up the dish, I guess. Jaune was super worried about it.” She glances back at the table, a momentary flash of worry on her face. “It—it is Oscar’s favorite, right?”

“Oh, no. He hates it.” Her head snaps around. Oz laughs quietly. “I apologize. That was in poor taste. Yes, Miss Valkyrie, it is his favorite. I think… he will like this very much.”

She scowls at him, then blinks, her eyes catching on something—  the Long Memory, resting beside him on the couch. She gives the cane a puzzled look. “You brought your cane with you?”

He looks down; the cane, as it should be, is by their side. He puts a hand on the knob and shrugs. “Yes.”

“You just bring that thing everywhere, huh?”

“It is… dear to me.” He considers her, wondering how to spin this— but her expression is open and curious, her questions meant honestly, not mockingly. For all that Oscar is not awake, Oz can almost feel the echo of his exasperation. He hesitates. “Ah… you could say, Miss Valkyrie, that much like what the dish you are making means to Oscar… this cane, too, reminds me of home.”

Nora Valkyrie stops moving at once, her legs stilling mid-air. Behind them, Lie Ren and Jaune Arc have gone silent, pretending badly not to eavesdrop, and Oz can see them exchanging glances. Nora Valkyrie does not look back, however; instead she looks down at him, considering, her expression strangely solemn. “…Do you miss it, too?”

The question catches him off-guard, and for a moment Oz falters. The memories rise up in flashes, echoes of a different time, different places. A warm house and warmer hearth fire, the table they set for four. The two children, never willing to wait and never wanting to sit still—blue eyes, and a laughing face, a hand in his.

“Yes,” Oz says, after a long moment. The words are stilted. He suddenly feels very old, tired all the way to his bones. He puts down the empty cup.

Nora Valkyrie snatches it up. Oz blinks.

“One sec,” she says to Oz’s blank stare, and flies off to the kitchen. Oz watches, bemused, as team JNR confers around the cup and then repeats his actions from before, making a new batch of cocoa, that Nora then takes back and brings to Oz. She holds it out for him. Oz takes the cup warily.

“Thanks for helping us, old man Oz,” Nora says, and grins. “Give us a warning before Oscar wakes, okay?”

“…Of course,” Oz says, thrown by the new nickname, and watches her bounce back to her team. She chatters, and they laugh, the moment forgotten. He looks down at his cup and takes a sip of the cocoa. It’s not his usual mix—  there’s a bit of spice to it. Cinnamon and chili powder?

…It’s good.

He stares down at it, contemplative, and hesitantly takes another sip. He looks back up at the team. They are laughing, distracted, debating on whether the dish is done or not. All three are smiling.

Oz considers them for a long moment, and then he turns away. This time, he’s smiling too.

Oscar wakes up mid-way through sunrise. When he senses the boy rousing, Oz takes the Long Memory in hand and raps the cane against the ground to alarm the team. They rush to hide the dish, freshly-baked; Oz turns their head to the window, and keeps their eyes on the desert sun.

What…?

“I apologize,” Oz says. In the reflection of the glass, Oscar’s eyes burn gold. “I woke before you. I wanted to see the sunrise.”

Oh. He gets the sense Oscar would yawn if he could. That’s fine… There’s a momentary pause, considering. Then: Why do I taste chocolate?

“It is a perfectly fine drink,” Oz says, in mild protest. Honestly, he has no idea what the boy has against it.

Sure, but in the morning? It’s an evening drink. Coffee is better.

Oz shakes his head, smiling faintly, and fades away to the background rather than rehash the old argument. Oscar’s head dips forward; the boy just barely catches himself from knocking them out against the glass. “Ow.”

Careful.

“Mm-hm.” He rubs his forehead. He goes to turn around—

“SURPRISE!”

—and screams at Nora abruptly popping up and shouting in his face, toppling right off the couch.

…Ah.

“What!?”

“Nora!”

“Ah, we just woke the whole house, didn’t we…”

The house is warm and bright, the desert outside turning a brilliant gold underneath the dawning sun. It is not home— it is nothing more than a temporary stop— but as Oscar splutters and Nora grins and the rest of team JNR clamor up behind her, there is a warmth that lingers on. They help Oscar to his feet and fumble to present their gift; they beam bright at his wordless joy.

The boy is delighted, and his team is pleased— team RWBY and Qrow and the others wander in with calls of confusion and delight and annoyance at the noise— and the smell of cinnamon lingers heavy in the air.

And it is not home, maybe, but it is something half-way there, and so Oz laughs, quiet and sincere, and sits back to watch the show.

[ashesonthefloor]

you are an angel (or maybe you could’ve been) - part four

summary: Ashton is still working on coming to terms with having an angel, and the moral dilemma of whether or not thinking he’s cute is morally okay. Michael and Calum make that a little bit more difficult, part three found here, ao3 here

word count: 7,011

A/N: okay so! I am finally back from my (admittedly short) break from tumblr and wow, guess I got super inspired for this fic! I try and keep the chapters on the shorter side most of the time, but this one sort of needed some length. you’ll see why if you read it! as always, please let me know what you think! this is my (not so guilty) pleasure and I always need an excuse to scream about it <3 thank u to ms @calumcest for letting me Scream and for her big brain thots and for gifting me an Idea a million years ago ily. this is a continuation of part three, and happens right after they get home

~~~~~~~

Ashton started dinner after they got home. He was just doing easy foods still, since Luke was wary of silverware. He figured tonight they could at least try with a spoon. It was worth a shot. So he was making Mac ‘n’ cheese, which he hadn’t actually eaten in ages - despite the very small fitness-and-health-motivated part of his brain screaming about all the carbs, and how unhealthy he was being.. “There’s a couple more Cokes in the fridge,” he said as he tossed the macaroni in to boil, pulling out the cheese for the sauce. “If you want one.”

He didn’t have to see it to know Luke smiled, hearing the fridge open. He approached Ashton with the bottle, still incapable of opening them himself. Not that Ashton minded. It was kind of sweet that he had to ask, in a weird sort of way. He didn’t mind doing it for him. He was aware how domestic they’d gotten. He was cooking for Luke, while Luke sat at the island and watched him, every bit as curious now as he had been on the first day. 

“Which song was your favourite?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder.

There was the predictable pause as Luke considered his answer, a little longer this time. “The one we danced to, I think,” he decided. “I liked dancing with you. You’re very good at it.”

Luke had so much faith in him, it was precious. “Thank you,” he said, chest feeling warm. He didn’t know how normal it was to feel so fond of someone so quickly. Or if the warmth he felt when Luke did something adorable, or complimented him, was a universal experience. Or if it was a weird angel thing. “We can always do it again sometime. There are lots of songs, and ways to dance. I’d be happy to show you.”

“I’d really like that. Thank you.” He could hear the smile in Luke’s voice, and it just made him smile in turn, stirring the macaroni.

The moment was broken by a knock at the door. Ashton frowned, turning a little bit. Who the fuck would show up at his house- oh no. There were only two people that ever needed him enough, or had enough lack of boundaries, to do something like that.

“Ashton?” He heard one of them - Michael - call through the door. “Dude, we know you’re here. Let us in or I’ll have to use the emergency key.” He knew that the only reason he hadn’t was because Calum was with him. Michael had used it before to come in and tell Ashton he was sad, he was lonely, he needed breakfast, and he wanted to nap on the couch in peace. All on separate occasions. And Ashton - damn his love for his friends - had let him. 

“What Michael means is that we’re worried about you,” Calum added. He could practically see Calum elbowing Michael for his lack of tact.

Luke gave Ashton a slightly worried look and, yeah, Ashton had thought about that too. Poor Luke probably wasn’t ready for the terror that Michael and Calum could be. They’d be overwhelming for the poor angel. But there really wasn’t a way to make them leave. They were worried, so they’d end up staying for dinner, and interrupt his time with his angel. He dumped the rest of the box of macaroni into the pot before sighing and heading to answer the door. He stopped by Luke for a moment. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly. “They’re loud and kind of stupid sometimes, but they don’t mean any harm. You can always go wait in my bedroom if you’d like-”

But he was cut off by the sound of the front door opening, Michael and Calum’s voices loud and clear in the kitchen.

“You didn’t give him enough time! What if he was naked and trying to cover his junk?” He could hear Calum ask.

“It’s not like we haven’t seen it before,” Michael quipped back. “Unimpressive. And besides, who the fuck would be naked right now? No one even showers at this hour. It’s, like, seven, so why he would be naked-”

“Maybe he’s a nudist! I might be, if I didn’t have someone over all the time because ‘his apartment is too cold’-”

“Well it is! You know your apartment is better anyway, mate, it’s rude not to share.” Michael seemed to be getting closer now, having paused their bickering to find where Ashton was.

Ashton glanced over at Luke just as Michael and Calum wandered into the kitchen. 

“Where the fuck is- Ashton!” Michael said, grinning at the other man before noticing Luke. He frowned slightly, looking at Calum, who seemed to share the same confusion, though he was far more subtle about it. “Who’s this?”

“This is Luke,” Ashton said simply, already steeling himself for the millions of questions. He wondered whether it would be better to tell the whole truth or just lie. He wondered what Luke would prefer to do. Probably tell the truth. He didn’t think lying would suit Luke too much; he already struggled grasping human concepts sometimes, creating an intricate lie to explain his uncertainty and innocence and existence in the first place might be a bit too over his head. (“He’s Mormon,” could be one lie, or “he had brain damage/amnesia and I’m taking care of him,” another. Though he doubted he’d use either.)

Michael’s nose crinkled slightly, gaze darting between Luke sitting at the island, mildly confused expression still on his face, and Ashton, standing in front of the counter with what he hoped to be an innocent look on his features. “Luke?” He repeated, a little bit hopelessly, lacking the bite of sarcasm that he almost always had. 

“Luke,” Ashton agreed, turning to give the macaroni a stir before starting on the sauce. “He’s staying with me for a while.” He turned back around just in time to see Calum and Michael exchange a look. They were, understandably, of course, worried. But Ashton really didn’t know how to explain without just explaining. Which would take a lot more work and leave all three of them needing therapy that they’d never get. Ashton knew exactly how it felt knowing that angels were real, and knowing there was no way to push for more answers. He had to give Luke time to not overwhelm him. And Calum and Michael showing up was definitely not part of the plan. 

Michael and Calum exchanged another look before Calum was stepping forward, brows drawing together in that very familiar ‘I’m worried about you’ expression that he got whenever Ashton pushed himself too hard, or stressed out too much over something that wasn’t worth it. He knew where Calum was going even before he opened his mouth. “Can we talk?” He at least had the decency to ask softly, head tilting slightly in the way that had always reminded Ashton of a puppy. “In the living room, maybe? I’m having some personal issues, and need some advice.” He wasn’t. He wanted to get Ashton alone and was being an amazing fucking person and came up with an excuse to put the blame on himself so, if Luke was a normal person, he wouldn’t be so upset. But Luke wasn’t a normal person, and Ashton was fine. 

“Yeah,” he said, glancing over at Luke. There was no way to deny Calum without worrying him and Michael more, and he really just wanted to calm them down. “Does Michael also need advice?” He raised an eyebrow at Calum, who in turn turned back to look at Michael. They seemed to have a quick conversation with nothing but minute facial expressions and quirks of the mouth. A talent they’d developed a long time ago. Ashton, too, was capable of holding the same lengthy, silent conversations with either of them. It just felt weirdly intimate to watch the two of them. It had felt like that more and more over the past couple years. Like the two of them were forming their own thing, with Ashton right on the outside edge. Which was fine, he knew they liked each other, even if they wouldn’t admit it. But it still stung. 

“Yes,” Calum finally decided. “Michael also needs personal advice.”

Ashton shook his head slightly, setting the towel he’d had on his shoulder on the counter. “Fine. Go to the living room and I’ll be there in a moment to give you two some fantastic advice.”

Calum gave him a slightly dubious look, only expressed through the creasing of his brow and downward tug at the corners of his lips. Then it was gone, and so was he, tugging Michael gently back down the hallway into the living room. 

Ashton turned to Luke. “Okay. You know Michael and Calum, right?” He asked, keeping his voice down so that hopefully the other two didn’t hear him in the other room. He came over to the island, standing across from Luke and leaning against it slightly so they were closer in height. Luke nodded at his question, curious gaze staying on Ashton’s face. “Right. They’re...wondering why you’re here. As you probably know, I haven’t really been dating or anything, and I don’t have the widest circle of friends. They know pretty much everyone I know, anyway. So they’re curious about who you are. I’m going to go talk to them and figure out what to tell them. You just...sit here, okay?”

Luke blinked at him. “Okay. You can always tell them the truth. It’s the easiest.”

Ashton chewed his lip. “Sometimes, yeah,” he agreed, unsure how to get into the nuance that came with whether lying in this specific scenario was easier, since it involved not only explaining the concept of guardian angels being real, but heaven, and his guardian angel actually being on earth. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” He squeezed Luke’s shoulder, unsure whether it was to comfort Luke or himself, before making his way into the living room. 

Michael and Calum were in the middle of a whispered conversation, turning to look at Ashton when he entered. Calum at least smiled, and greeted him warmly. “Ashton! Hey. Sorry to barge in, we didn’t mean to interrupt. You just sounded a bit off on the phone last night, and we wanted to check and see if you were doing okay.”

“Who’s the twink in the kitchen?” Michael asked, ever so subtle. 

Calum gave Michael a look, though neither him nor Ashton were really that surprised by the question. Michael was always kind of like that, blunt and a little rough around the edges. And way, way too honest at inappropriate times. That said, it didn’t stop the slight bolt of terror that went through him at the question. Even with the stupid phrasing. So, with a stroke of ingenuity, he just said “He’s not a twink.”

Michael snorted, rolling his eyes slightly. “Okay, who’s the twunk in the kitchen?” He asked instead, raising an eyebrow. 

“Way to be pedantic,” Ashton said as he tried to think of a better way to explain without them just dancing around the actual answer to the question. They wanted to know who Luke was; Ashton really didn’t want to answer. Luke was his angel, his secret. He didn’t really know what the two of them would do if he told them. Have a crisis, probably. Ashton got really close to having one any time he thought too much about the situation at hand, any time his mind lingered a little too much on the concept of Heaven and guardian angels, and less on Luke himself as a person. Which was what he tried to focus on, otherwise he was pretty sure he’d have a nervous breakdown.

“He’s either a twink or a twunk, Ashton, I don’t make the rules-”

“That’s really not the point,” Calum cut in, shooting another look at Michael who just grinned, unashamed. “We’re wondering who your friend is. Luke. That’s all.”

“He’s just…” Ashton trailed off, grasping for something to say that wasn’t the truth. Lying was made much harder by the genuine love and concern on Calum’s face. He should’ve focused on Michael instead. “He needs a place to stay for a while, so he’s crashing here.”

“Okay,” Calum said, brows drawing together and lips pulling down into the slight pout they always did when he was confused or thinking or worried. “But who is he, Ash? He had to come from somewhere.”

Was this what drowning felt like? He was pretty sure this was what drowning felt like. The truth was much harder to explain than any lie would be, but his brain wasn’t functioning enough to come up with a half decent one. He was distracted, both by the sudden appearance of his best friends and their just as sudden - though justified - interrogation, and the memory of Luke’s hand, warm in his own, his happy giggle when he twirled him around-

“Hello? Earth to Ashton,” Michael said with a frown, waving a hand in front of Ashton’s face. “Dude, what’s up with you?”

Calum’s concerned expression didn’t shift. “Should we sit down?”

“Yeah, mate. Do you need to sit?” Things were bad if even Michael was being concerned.

“I’m fine,” Ashton insisted. He was the furthest thing from fine. He was going to have to tell the truth and he was going to seem absolutely insane. He’d have to trust that they wouldn’t go running right out the door as soon as he told them the truth, wouldn’t immediately try and get him in to a therapist-

“Okay. So who’s Luke?” Michael asked.

“My guardian angel,” Ashton answered bluntly. Their reactions were pretty much what he’d expected, both of them turning to look at each other, expressions caught between concerned and bewildered.

“Your what?” Michael was first to speak, eyebrows pulled together in surprise and alarm. He seemed about as dubious as Ashton would expect.

“My guardian angel. Look, I know how it looks, okay? I sound crazy. But he showed up the other day, and proved it, and I’m not going to doubt-”

“Ashton,” Calum interrupted, voice soft and steady, resting a gentle but reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I think you’re tired. Do you want a nap? I think you’ve been pushing yourself a little too hard lately, and it could do you some good.”

“No, I don’t need a nap, Cal. I’m fine. Really. I’ve been sleeping perfectly fine.” Why was Calum such a good person? It would be infuriating if he didn’t love him so much. 

Calum was not swayed, glancing at Michael for a split second before his warm brown eyes were back on Ashton, soft, loving, and concerned. “Do you want me to drive you down and you can sign in for a seventy-two hour hold? There’s no shame in it, Ash, especially if you think your mental health is suffering.”

Ashton frowned. “What? No, I’m fine. I’m serious, he’s an angel, he proved it and everything.”

Michael exchanged a quick look with Calum before fixing his level gaze on Ashton. “So prove it.”

Expecting to argue further, Ashton was taken aback. “What?”

“You said he proved it,” Michael said simply. “So have him prove it.”

Ashton blinked. That would probably help his case a lot. But was it really better to have them lose their minds and have existential crises than think he was crazy? Probably not, but he didn’t want to lose their friendship. “Uh. Okay.” 

Calum carefully removed his hand from his shoulder. He’d appreciated the gesture, really, and that Calum was just trying to offer him comfort, but he was glad to have it gone. It had just made him antsy.

He led both guys back into the kitchen, unable to stop the soft smile that came across his face at the sight that greeted him. Luke had, at some point, gotten up and gone over to the stove. So now he was stirring the macaroni with a look of concentration on his face, brows drawn together slightly, and lips pulled down into an almost pout. And in that moment, Ashton felt absolutely, ridiculously, fond. 

“Luke,” he said softly, almost sad to break his concentration and pull him away. The blonde looked over and gave him a sweet smile, clearly pleased to have him back.

“Hi,” he greeted, voice just as soft, but happy. “Sorry, it seemed like I needed to, um…”

“Oh shit, did it boil over?” Ashton frowned, making his way over and gently nudging Luke with his hip to get to the pasta, fitting in next to him with ease. He turned the heat off and moved the pasta off the burner since it seemed done, and hopefully they’d be eating soon.

Michael cleared his throat, still not anywhere close to subtle. Not that he’d ever been, in their almost lifelong friendship. So it wasn’t like Ashton was surprised, exactly. But he was buzzing with nerves, unsure where this situation was going to go or what was going to happen. And Ashton really hated the unknown, hated not having any sort of control. This situation was his absolute nightmare. He was pretty sure he’d woken up in a cold sweat over much less than this, anyway. Trying to explain the unexplainable, at risk of losing himself, Luke, and both of his closest friends? Horrible. 

“Right. Luke, you’re an angel, right?” He asked, looking at Luke instead of their audience. Either way, he could still feel Michael and Calum’s stares, heavy on his very soul.

Luke looked marginally confused before nodding. “I am,” he confirmed. There was a stretch of silence after he spoke before he added “A guardian angel,” just for clarification and good measure.

“Right,” Ashton said again. “Can you...prove that? To them? Please?”

Ashton tried to keep his gaze on Luke’s face, even as Luke looked over at him, mild confusion on his face, before he nodded again. He stepped forward, putting a bit of space between him and the counter. Between blinks, his wings seemed to materialize, blindingly white even in the soft light of Ashton’s kitchen. Ashton stepped forward to stand next to Luke. Only then did he turn his gaze to his two best friends.

As predicted, they looked like they were in the throes of two separate but parallel existential crises. 

“What the fuck?” Michael asked, eyes glued to Luke’s wings. “Are they- they’re not, like, real are they? You got- you two are just fucking with us?”

Luke shook his head, only seeming to exacerbate Michael’s misery. Good, some part of Ashton thought. Revenge for being overbearing. But then the rational part of him overrode that, reminding him that they just loved and cared about him. They’d been concerned. And now Ashton would have to repay the favour. 

“I’m sure you have a bunch of questions. So I’ll tell you what I know. This is Luke. He showed up three days ago in the pouring rain and told me he’s a guardian angel. He’s staying here for the foreseeable future, since there’s a rule about angels not visiting us. And for good reason, since I’m gonna bet you’re feeling the same way I did. Anyway, he’s staying here now. He doesn’t know a whole lot about humans, but he’s still a person with thoughts, feelings, and emotions and I’ll kick your ass if you’re rude. No, you can’t argue with that. No questions for him at the moment.” He paused, trying to think of anything else to add. “He says guardian angels are there to watch out for us and make sure we stay okay, basically. Which means I guess all of us have guardian angels. I don’t know a whole lot more.”

Both of them just stared. “So…” Calum finally started, gaze shifting to Luke’s wings, eyeing where his left one kept brushing Ashton where they stood almost shoulder to shoulder. “They’re...real?”

Ashton nodded. “Yeah. They are.” He turned to look at Luke. “Can I touch them?” It was better, he thought, to ask and make sure. They seemed very sensitive, and personal, and he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. 

Luke nodded again. “Yes, you can.”

“Can you turn around for me?” He asked gently, stepping back to give him room to do so. He wanted to show Michael and Calum that they were, in fact, connected to Luke’s body. Once Luke did, he brushed his fingers lightly over the back of his wing. He smiled slightly when it fluttered beneath his fingertips. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I know it tickles.”

“It’s okay,” was Luke’s equally soft answer. “I like it.”

Ashton grinned despite himself, warmth blooming again in his chest. He was glad his back was turned to his best friends, or he’d likely be mocked for his clear fondness. Or they’d be too distracted with the earth shattering information he was giving them. They’d never know. He ran his fingers closer, turning his body a little so the other two could clearly see as he ran his finger down to the base of the wing. “See?” He said, turning to look at Michael and Calum. “They’re real.”

“I guess so,” Michael said after a minute, eyes still on where Ashton’s hand lingered on Luke’s wing. Ashton pulled back after a moment, resting his hand on Luke’s shoulder gently to turn him back around.

“I told you,” Luke said, wings fluttering slightly. Maybe with nerves. Ashton couldn’t tell if he enjoyed all the attention on him. “I’m an angel. Ashton’s angel.”

“Do you know my angel?” Michael blurted out, breaking one of the only rules Ashton had actually set. He seemed to say it before he even really thought about it, if the pink tint on his face afterward was anything to go by.

Luke tilted his head, considering the question. “Yes,” he said after a moment, with a nod. “I do.”

Michael blinked, looking ready to ask him another question before Calum cut him off. “Do you know mine?” He gave Ashton an apologetic look - though clearly not apologetic enough if he still asked the question.

Again, Luke considered the question. “Yes,” he said again. “ I do. I know both of your angels.”

“What’s mine like?” Michael asked before Ashton could shoot him a warning look. He did it anyway, figuring he’d probably want to ask another stupid question. “Are they nice?”

Luke tilted his head. “He is, in a way,” he answered simply. “Very laidback most of the time. Enjoys conversation.”

“What about mine?” Calum asked, again way too eager for the apologetic look he sent Ashton’s way. He didn’t spare him from getting a look anyway, even if he was curious about Luke’s answer. And this really just solidified Luke as an angel. There was something...wrong, almost, about him standing in his kitchen, wings out and looking every bit the angel Ashton knew he was. He was wrapped in a glimmer, kind of, something not really perceptible that wasn’t there in the same way when his wings weren’t out. Ashton decided to stop thinking about it.

“He’s sweet. Not very loud. I got along with him when I saw him.”

Michael crinkled his nose. “Are there not any women angels?” Ashton shot him another warning look, though, yeah, he did kind of have a point.

“There are,” he conceded. “But gender matters less to the higher ranking angels. There are only ‘men’ archangels, but that’s how it was when Heaven started, so it has become tradition. Tradition doesn’t get changed.”

When Michael started to ask another question, Ashton was quick enough, this time, to cut him off. “I think that’s enough questions for today. I think we all have enough to think about without dealing with more.” He shivered slightly, feeling Luke’s wing brush against his back when he shifted. “Right. So. I made extra Mac n cheese, if you guys are interested in dinner.”

Michael glanced at Calum before nodding, always easily bribed by food. He grinned a little, still clearly shaken by the onslaught of information he’d just gotten. “Do we have to say grace if there’s already an angel in our presence?”

Calum snorted and Ashton gave him a look. Luke just looked at Ashton with a confused expression. “Grace is asking God to bless your food before you eat it,” Ashton explained before he had to ask. He’d never said it, which was probably why Luke was confused. He really didn’t know how an angel of all people was confused by the idea of grace, but he wasn’t going to say anything. “I’m not really religious, so I don’t say it. And I don’t think I actually ever have.”

Luke nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. His wings fluttered slightly again, feathers brushing against Ashton’s back.

“Right,” Ashton said into the silence. “Michael, Calum, why don’t you, uh, grab food first? Then I can grab some for Luke and I afterward.” He took Luke’s hand to move him forward, towards the back kitchen wall, letting Calum and Michael move around them to the counter. Calum glances over at him, expression only slightly confused, before he was stepping up to grab food, him and Michael very quietly murmuring to each other. 

“You can put your wings away now,” Ashton said, voice soft and gentle. Luke glanced over at him and, somehow, when Ashton blinked his wings were gone. “They’re pretty, but I don’t want to freak them out too much.” He nodded towards his friends, still keeping his voice down so they didn’t hear him. 

Luke turned a light shade of pink. “Thank you.”

Ashton convinced himself that he felt absolutely nothing about it. He was completely neutral, and his stomach wasn’t flipping aroundin a weird out of control sort of way. Luke was probably just...cold or something. Though he was still holding his hand - why hadn’t he dropped it yet? - and he could attest that he was very, very warm. 

“Are we sitting at the table?” Calum asked, turning to look at Ashton. 

“Uh...yeah. That’ll work well. You guys take a seat and we’ll be there in a second.” After Michael and Calum exchanged another look, speaking to each other silently with nothing but quirked eyebrows, they left for the table. 

Ashton gently moved Luke up to the counter with him. And that was when he realized something that he probably should have earlier. Not that he was still holding his hand, but that Luke really didn’t know how to use silverware. And they were eating Mac n cheese, something that definitely required silverware. And that would definitely freak Calum and Michael out. He couldn’t very well eat it with his hands. He’d need help. Which had been the point in the first place, but it was less about teaching him now, and was more of a hindrance having to feed and help him in front of an audience. He felt his face heat up a little at the thought. 

Luke’s gaze was, as usual, heavy on his face. “Ashton?” He said, tilting his head. And that was enough to snap him out of it. 

“Yeah?” He asked, looking at Luke. 

“Just checking,” Luke said, as though that explained anything at all, and turned his gaze to the macaroni, sparing Ashton. 

“Right.” He gently let go of Luke’s hand, going ahead and dishing up some of the food for Luke and handing the bowl to him before serving himself some. “This is Mac n cheese. We eat it with a spoon. It’s...there’s no good way to eat it with your hands. I can help you with it, though.” They’d just have to ignore Michael and Calum. 

Luke nodded a little bit, seeming to just go along with what Ashton said. At least he seemed to understand it, so he was spared from trying to figure out another way of explaining. He led him over to the table, sitting down and getting the two of them situated. 

“So you said he’s been here three days?” Michael asked, eyeing Luke before looking at Ashton, since he was the one he’d actually been asking. 

“This is really good, Ash,” Calum said, not unused to being the peacemaker. Only because Michael had the fabulous talent of pissing off everyone except Calum. Even Ashton, who was fairly patient. Or he liked to think he was, at least. It was only because Calum was so smitten with Michael that he let him be a dick without much consequence. 

“Thanks,” Ashton said, deciding to answer Calum first. “It’s homemade. And yeah, Michael, he has been.”

Michael nodded and, for once, fell silent. Ashton shifted his chair to help Luke with his spoon. It only took a couple tries - and a demonstration - before he started trying to use it himself. He was just...mildly apprehensive, which Ashton chalked up too him having an audience while trying to figure out how to be human. It was probably not the most conducive environment to learn. 

They fell into quiet silence after his tutoring, all of them content to just eat. Luke leaned against him a little, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. It was sweet. 

“So he’s been living here?” Michael finally piped up, eyes on Ashton. 

“Yes, Michael,” he said, finally starting to get just a little exasperated. “He has been.”

“So where’s he been sleeping?” 

Ashton looked up, catching the cocky, coy smirk on Michael’s face that made it clear he thought he’d won something. He turned light pink, trying to figure out a half decent answer. 

“So he has been in your bed,” he said triumphantly, grinning with the discovery. He was like an eight year old gloating over figuring out his parents were married. It was ridiculous. Calum seemed to agree, since he gave him a look. 

Ashton - and Calum, for that matter - didn’t even have time to come up with a witty remark before Luke was speaking up. “It’s okay,” he reassured, blue eyes landing on Ashton. “He’s jealous.”

Michael’s expression soured immediately. “I’m not fucking jealous-“

“Don’t fucking curse at my angel-“ Ashton cut in immediately, giving him a look. 

Luke continued, seemingly unbothered. “He just wishes Calum loved him back.” 

And that had all of them falling silent, three pairs of eyes landing on Luke. Who, to his credit, seemed miraculously unaffected and just continued to eat his Mac n cheese. 

“What did you say?” Calum asked, only slightly flustered. 

“Michael loves you.”

“I-I mean, yeah, Calum’s my best mate,” Michael said after an awkwardly long stretch of silence. His face was just a little too pink for him to be believable. Not that Ashton would’ve believed him anyway. He’d watched the two of them run circles around each other for years. Apparently it was so obvious that even Luke, who didn’t understand anything human, could notice. 

Luke shook his head a little, leveling his gaze on Michael’s pink face. “No. Not like that.” Ashton had been on the other side of Luke’s unwavering gaze before. It was no wonder Michael was squirming a little under its weight. 

“Yeah, like that. How would you know anyway?” Michael grumbled, starting to take on that sullen tone he got when he didn’t get his way. Like when Ashton insisted on eating anything other than pizza. 

“Because I know what you need. I can feel it.” Luke’s gaze dropped again, freeing Michael, as he turned his attention back to his Mac n cheese. He seemed more interested in that than the earth shattering revelations he was giving. 

“You can feel what people need?” It was Ashton’s turn to ask, bewilderment clear on his face. He’d had an angel for three days and still knew almost nothing about him. Maybe he should say fuck being nice and taking things slow and gentle and actually start asking him questions. 

Luke looked over at him for a second. “Yes.” He took another bite of his Mac n cheese. “This is good.”

Ashton just looked at him. “Thank you.” He paused for a moment, mind moving a little too fast for even him to keep up with it. “What do I need?” He asked, regretting it almost as soon as it left his mouth. Though, to be fair, he probably couldn’t feel any more embarrassed than Mikey, who was slumping down in his seat, face still pink.

“A hug,” Luke said simply, still completely unaware of the effect he was having on everyone else. 

And it was Ashton’s turn to blush - though he’d vehemently deny it if anyone tried to ask about it. “A hug?”

Luke nodded. “A hug.” He took another bite of his Mac n cheese. 

“You said Michael wants me to love him back.” Calum had been silent until now, expression thoughtful and serious. His voice was soft, and it was clear he was still thinking everything over. “What does that mean?”

Luke looked at Calum, now, tilting his head just a little. It made his curls shift. Ashton shoved away the automatic impulse to tuck them behind his ear. “He loved you. He wants you to love him back.”

“Can we stop with the stupid love talk?” Michael asked, though his voice was high pitched in the way it got every time he was thoroughly embarrassed, trying to hide behind his ‘nothing bothers me’ persona. His face was red, and it was clear Luke was on to something. 

“Mikey, it’s fine,” Ashton soothed. “Really. None of us care. It’s not a big deal.” And that was probably the wrong thing to say. 

“I care,” Calum said, still in that thoughtful, soft tone of voice. 

“Fuck this.” Michael shoved himself back from the table, making his way out of the room. 

Calum watched him go. He spared barely a glance for Luke and Ashton before he was leaving after Michael, though much quieter and without making a scene. 

Ashton and Luke sat quietly for a few moments before Ashton spoke up again. “You can really sense what people need?”

Luke nodded and took a bite of his Mac n cheese. Ashton would have to make it for him again, he seemed like he really liked it. “Yes. I know when you need sleep. Or food.”

“Or a hug,” Ashton added, since that was what he’d said to him earlier. 

Luke looked over at him. “Or a hug,” he agreed.

Ashton still didn’t really think he needed a hug. Or anything else, for that matter.  But he wasn’t going to argue with Luke’s divine wisdom. Or whatever it was. “I’m going to go ahead and start cleaning up. I doubt they’ll be back anytime soon. If at all. You go ahead and keep eating.” 

He stood and started picking up the other dishes. He absentmindedly ruffled Luke’s hair and, oh, he’d have to do that again. Just because of the way Luke’s face lit up a little, his fair skin going light pink, before he ducked his head down and busied himself with his food again. Ashton grinned to himself and made his way over to start putting the dishes into the dishwasher. 

“So what else can you do? As an angel, I mean,” Ashton asked, glancing over at Luke. 

There was a long pause before his answer. He was used to it, though. “I don’t know. Things are different down here.”

Ashton nodded a little, continuing with what he was doing. “I guess that makes sense. Being here rather than in heaven probably changes things. But hey, it’s not a big deal. We can figure it out as we go.” He gave Luke a smile, pleased to get one in return. 

“That sounds nice.” Luke finished his food and brought the dishes over to Ashton, who rinsed them out and stuck them in the dishwasher. There was a pregnant pause as Ashton mulled things over in his mind. 

“You really knew Michael was in love with Calum?” It wasn’t difficult to notice. But Luke wasn’t the most perceptive, since he didn’t really understand humans very well, and social cues were not his strong suit. 

Luke nodded. “All he wants is for Calum to love him back the same way.”

Ashton smiled. Just a little. “He’s been like that for years. Been pining after Calum. They’ve both been kind of awful, really. They’re not very subtle. So sometimes being around them feels like third wheeling, even though they’re not officially together.” He didn’t know what had him revealing personal things like that. Something about Luke just...invited honesty. He felt like he could tell him almost anything. Almost. “How’s Calum feel about it?”

Luke’s gaze stayed on his face, giving Ashton the slightly unnerving feeling of him staring straight into his soul. Like he knew exactly what he was thinking, and feeling. And, since he apparently knew what people needed, there was the possibility that he did. “He loves him too.”

Ashton smiled a little, leaning against the counter. “That’s good. At least they have each other.” He fell quiet, looking over at the doorway leading out towards the living room, and the door into his apartment. He wondered just how well their conversation was going. He hoped beyond all hope that they could work it out, that that information being dropped on them by a third party didn’t hinder them at all. He wanted them to get together, really. 

There was some part of him, though, that was selfishly wondering about himself. What about happen to him once - if - they got together? What would happen to their friendship? It would become Michael-and-Calum and then Ashton. He couldn’t blame them - of course not, he supported them - but he was worried. A tiny part of him always had been since he’d realized they liked each other. He’d just done well at suppressing it. 

He startled a little, yanked out of his thoughts, when Luke wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in close. “What are you doing?” He asked, unable to keep the surprised tremor out of his voice. 

“You seemed like you needed a hug,” Luke replies, soft and sure of himself. He held him close until Ashton wrapped his arms around him in turn, letting him be wrapped in Luke’s warmth and the calm that came with it. He didn’t know if it was an angel thing, or just a Luke thing.

It took a moment before Ashton really let himself relax into it, melting into the comfort that was Luke. He was surprisingly good at hugging for someone who held himself so awkwardly half of the time. Luke didn’t lean in, the way he normally did, but gently tried to reverse them so Ashton leaned, letting Luke support his weight. It didn’t work out so easily - Ashton didn’t think he needed a hug as badly as Luke thought he did, though deep down he knew he was just being a dick and the hugging was really nice - but it was sweet. 

Ashton didn’t know how long they stood there like that, with Luke holding him gentle but firm, like he was trying to take away everything that had ever hurt him. But eventually they were interrupted by a cough. One that was clearly fake and meant to announce someone’s presence. 

He turned to look, (reluctantly) loosening his hold on Luke. And there was Calum and Michael. “So you two worked it out, then?” He was glad. He was hoping they would. 

Calum was the one to speak first. “Yeah. We did. I think...we’re going to go now, though.” The rest was left unspoken. It didn’t have to be said; they were going to go figure out what this meant for them. “I just didn’t want to leave without saying something.”

“I told you he could’ve figured it out,” Michael grumbled. Ashton didn’t hold it against him; he was embarrassed, so he was being a dick. He’d always been like that. At least he didn’t say anything about Luke hugging him. 

Calum just shushed him, nudging his shoulder against his in a quiet reprimand. “We’ll see you soon? We’ll have to do dinner again. I think Michael will want to show Luke pizza.”

That had Michael lighting up a bit. “He’ll like it. There’s absolutely nothing better. Literal heaven on earth.” He grinned, pleased with his cheesy, ironic joke. Calum, like a good friend, snorted. 

“Yeah. I’ll give you a call later, Ash,” Calum finished. 

“Sounds good. Talk to you later, then.” It wasn’t final. It didn’t sound final. But things would be different when they were together again. He only hoped it would be different in a good way. 

When Calum turned to leave, Ashton didn’t miss the way he took Michael’s hand, lacing their fingers together to pull him along with him. His heart ached, just a little, for familiarity like that. 

“They love you,” Luke said, gaze still on the empty doorway where they’d just been standing. “And they’ll always love you. They just need to be able to love each other, too.” He turned his brilliant blue gaze, ever so knowing, to Ashton’s face. He tried not to show any reaction; he didn’t even know how to react to that. 

“Yeah,” he finally said, meeting Luke’s gaze. “I know.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, gaze lingering on his face. “Okay,” he said simply. Ashton honestly didn’t know what was going on in his head. “Is it time to sleep?”

Ashton just nodded a little. It was early still, but there was no harm in getting a little extra sleep. Maybe it would do him some good. “Yeah. I think it is.” He turned back to Luke and gave him a smile, yanking himself out of his thoughts. Getting lost in his head now wouldn’t do either of them any good. Besides, whatever happened, happened. All he could do now was focus on his angel.

[laughing-with-god]

Pandemonium X

Words: 3.2k

“We loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives.” ~ Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita.

You have always upheld yourself to a certain code of ethics.  

Never have you considered lying to those closest to you.  

However, justice was not something that can easily be weighed out by a simple Libra scale.  Should you risk telling the truth at the major risk (not even a risk really, when you know for certain that it will happen) that utter mayhem will occur in response?  Or do you keep a secret in hopes of trading off your friends’ comfort for the trade of your -now- guilty conscious?

Should you tell her about Jungkook?

But, as you thought harder about it, you realised YOU didn’t even know what you would tell Kat.  Even if you admitted to some sort of relationship with Jungkook, what would she say if she ever caught you with the other brothers?  And if you became official in the eyes of Kat, would the whole school also have to know that you’ve entered a relationship with him? Not to mention, you were certain that the issue between Kat and Jimin was far from ever being water under the bridge.  You cringed as an image of those two meeting once again popped inside your mind’s eye. No. Just….no.

Many people have lived double lives before, why can’t you be one of them?  Besides, this was a temporary solution to the conundrum that was your student debt.  You just needed your tuition to be paid off and then you’d drop all seven of them in a blink of an eye.  And with seven grand a week, you’d be a lot closer to the departure than most other sugar babies could dream of.  

You sighed and set your phone aside.

“Who is it?”  Jungkook asked while shuffling your body a bit closer to his.  You took a deep breath and put on a facade of an unbothered persona.  If lying husbands who had affairs for years on end with illegitimate children can lie to their wives, why can’t you give it a go?

His lithe form felt hard against your much softer one as his muscular arms pulled you closer, as if you weighed nothing.  

“Nothing.”  You answered.  Jungkook ‘tssk-ed’ and pushed his face closer to yours, eyes wide and peering intensely at you with disbelief, face innocently prodding at you for answers.  You rolled your eyes at this attempted puppy face. “No one of importance, anyway. Just my roommate asking about some humus in the fridge and if it expired.”  You shrugged.

Jungkook just giggled at this utterly boring detail and got a dreamy look on his face.  “I wonder what it’s like to be roomates with you.” His musical tone purred.

“Not that great.”  You admitted, “I have constant meltdowns and she’s always on my ass for my habits.”

“Like what?”  Jungkook asked with his interest peaked.  

“I’m just messy, and I play my music too loud and I sleep in too much and I forget to lock the door and silly shit like that.”  You listed off.

“What a god awful roommate to be.”  Kook chuckled. “I should offer your roommate a deal and pay her to kick you out so you can live with me.”  

You laughed.  

“I feel like I couldn’t put up with your habits, my sweet little boy of a man.”  You cackled, picturing it so vividly in your head. Said manchild raised a brow in signal for you to clarify.  “You probably use axe spray as febreeze or use paper towels as toilet paper when you run out.”

Jungkook rolled those big brown eyes before grumbling. “I’m not that hopeless.”  

“Yeah, you probably just pay a poor little old maid to do all your bidding.”  How could you forget that this dork of a man was the heir to a wealthy business chain and probably had a whole staff waiting on him hand and foot since before he was able to even crawl?

“I have you know, that Maria is more than just a maid to me.  She’s like a mother,” Jungkook snobbishly defended. You snorted.  

“Puh-lease.  What’s her birthday?”  You interrogated.

“........why does it matter?”  Jungkook gave up at the revelation of his lack of knowledge towards the beloved ‘Maria’.  

You snickered at the poor rich kid before opening your mouth to rebuttal, however before you got the chance to say anything, you were interrupted by the waitress dumping a large amount of breakfast food onto your table.  

You pulled away from Jungkook (as much as he would allow) in order to stuff your face. And with that your brunch was continued in a comfortable silence, his toned arm never letting you pull too far away from him.  

--

Much to his dismay, Jungkook had to drop you off.  

He had wanted so badly to continue the day with you, but you had protested as you had many things to do.  

Even now, he was pouting like a child denied candy as he pulled into your dorm parking lot.  The overly expensive car groaned to a stop and thus began the awkward goodbyes.

All was silent in the vehicle as you clicked off your seatbelt.  

Jungkook was stoic in his stubborn act of silence and glaring through the windshield, all the while still pouting.  

“You act like I’m never going to see you again.”  You chuckled before leaning over the passenger seat to violate his personal space, hovering an inch by his face.  Ever so childish, the manchild refused to turn to even face you. “Baby, I’m not off to war.”

“You still could’ve hung out with me for a few more hours .”  He whined, the sound weirdly intimate to your ears and a noise that you doubt you’ve heard the last of.  

You plopped an overly loud kiss on his cheek, before leaning back and opening your door to exit.  “Still more than what your brothers got.”

You stepped out and straightened up before leaning down the opened door to say one last thing to the now attentive fuckboy.   

“By the way, let’s keep what happened last night to ourselves.  We both know your brothers will go batshit if they find out.” You winked cheekily as Jungkook stuttered, right before you slammed the door shut.  

--

“If you tell me that you didn’t get dicked down last night, I want you to turn around and exit right away.”  

These were the words that welcomed you as you stepped into your cozy and under-sized dorm.  You laughed and pulled your shoes off before joining your gloomy roommate on the sofa.

Kat shoveled in some more soggy cheerios into her mouth while glaring at you with those icy blue eyes.  

“Last night was a blur Kat.  But I swear nothing happened.”  You attempted to brush it off as you leaned back into the lumpily-cushioned couch.

“Bitch!  I call foul!  I see a picture of you kissing one of the many fuckboys at our school, you don’t return at all last night and you come in early afternoon wearing a hoodie that I know for damn sure that you don’t own.”  You laughed at how fucked you were. There was no way that you could get anything past the observant eye of Kat. But to your credit; it wasn’t like your cover-ups were that elaborate. You were still in Jungkook’s hoodie for god’s sake and you still haven’t offered an explanation to the picture that Kat saw.  It didn’t take much detective work on your roommate’s part.

“Okay fine, I had a few drinks and kissed him.  Then I went to his house and we just watched a movie and fell asleep.  I swear nothing happened and I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

“Feel free to walk right out that door.  You seriously didn’t take up the opportunity to get some dick?!”  Kat was flabbergasted and you just laughed at her half offended and humored expression.  

“Kat, I would pull out my eyes before I let a fuckboy inside this tight ass pussy.  Shit is reserved for worthy candidates, okay?” It was Kat’s turn to laugh boisterously and you mentally patted yourself on the back for averting the questioning with humor.  You were a pro at it. “Listen, I’m going to jump in the shower real quick and try to wash off any axe spray lingering on me. Afterwards lets watch a movie or something, sound good?”  

Kat just nodded and slurped up the last of the milk in her bowl while you retreated to the bathroom to wash up.  

Before you can even strip or start the water, your phone rang with an onslaught of numerous notifications all at once.  You flipped your phone over from its’ place on the bathroom counter to see whom was harassing you. It was the group chat.  The hoes didn’t forget about their pimp.

‘......what were you doing last night, (Y/n)?’  Taehyung.

‘What’s with the creepy questions, Tae?’ Hoseok.  

‘...oh….you know…..just wondering’ Taehyung.  

‘(Y/n), did you still want to have brunch?’ Jimin.

‘It would be more of a lunch now.’  Jin.

‘I didn’t want to annoy her since she could’ve been sleeping, so I figured I’d wait till she woke up and texted to the chat.  You know….LIKE A GENTLEMAN.’ Jimin

‘And what is it that you’re doing now, exactly?’  Yoongi

‘This chat is a pain in my ass.’ Namjoon.

You giggled while reading the brothers interaction with each other.  It was humorous when you could observe it from behind the safety of your screen, immaginging Yoongi’s sarcastic voice or Namjoon’s montone and brooding voice.  

‘I second that notion, Namjoon.’  You sent.

‘Baby!  You’re up!  Let me take you out, okay?’Jimin.

‘Yeah….about that….I kinda forgot about brunch all together and already ate….?’  You feebly lied.

‘....Oh really?’  Taehyung asked.

A sinking feeling came to you.  Why is it that Taehyung could bring the most absurd reactions to you without even being there in person?  You could even picture his stupid grin. From behind a 

phone screen you still got the feeling that he knew something that you did not.  And with that stunt he pulled earlier with your mother, you learned real quick not to underestimate the fucker.  

‘Yuppers.’  You blandly answered.  

What came next to the group chat was a picture sent from Taehyung.  

It was a screenshot from someone’s snapchat story.  It was slightly blurry and you clicked on it to enlargen the image to observe it closer.  

It was of you and Jungkook, kissing behind the house where the party took place and it had the caption of ‘Lmao Kookie getting some!’  

You were fucked.  

Your phone buzzed more and more with what you were certain would be enraged texts from the others.  

‘I swear to god, I’ll kill you Jungkook.’  Yoongi.

‘Why wouldn’t you tell us that she was at a college party?!’ Jin.

‘Baby!  You shouldn’t be at parties like that!  Something bad could happen to a young thing like you!”  Jimin.

“Yeah, something like Jungkook’s fukboy tendencies….’ Yoongi.  

“Hey!  I’m not a fuckboy!”  Jungkook.

‘Lmao, (Y/n) you’re not the first innocent girl to get tongue harassed by Jungkook.  I’m SO sorry you had to experience that.’ Jin.

‘I heard his technique was sloppy.’  Taehyung.

‘Fuck you all in the ass.  For the record, (Y/n) kissed me!  And spent the night at my place AND we got brunch this morning.  Suck on that, I win.’ Jungkook.

Your jaw dropped in horror.  

Didn’t you tell him not to inform his brothers?!  He might as well have said, ‘fuck you, i’m the shit, (Y/n).’  

You were regretting the whole night with Jungkook.  You should’ve known that the testosterone would’ve gotten to his pea-sized brain.  All men really were useless.

‘Why tf would u kiss a boy when you could have a man?’ Namjoon.

Revenge reared it’s ugly head as you thought of a way to get back at the manchild who so easily went against his word after just sheer moments of you telling him NOT to tell.  

‘Idk Namjoon.  Perhaps you can take me out for dinner tonight and show me how a REAL man acts?’

‘Wait is she serious?’ Taehyung.  

‘What is that supposed to mean, baby?  Am I not man enough for you? Did our night mean nothing to you?’  Jungkook.

‘It did UNTIL YOU BETRAYED ME!  Wtf! YOU UTTER STEROID HEAD ASS I TOLD YOU NOT TO TELL AND NOW ALL YOUR BROTHERS ARE GONNA BE ON OUR ASS!’

‘....Tae already found a picture tho?’  Jungkook.

‘DID HE FIND EVIDENCE THAT I SPENT THE NIGHT AT YOUR HOUSE AND HAD BRUNCH? NO!  ISTG YOU’D BE THE WORST PARTNER IN CRIME!’

‘......What time should I pick you up?’  Namjoon.

--

Intensity didn’t even begin to explain the aura that Namjoon gave off.  

Although you were a grown woman who never backed down from anyone, somehow Namjoon had the power to make you feel anxious.  A thing you rarely felt towards a person.

You had invited the older man in a burst of anger, a desire to irritate Jungkook and had thought little about what it would be like to even share a meal with the male.  But now that the time of his arrival was nearing, you just couldn’t help but have an internal panic attack at the doom of being one-one-one with him.

Brief your interacting with him may be, he never failed to leave a lasting impression.  He stood out from his brothers. Even that day when they were fighting in the conference room, he had stayed back and observed the chaos with those calculating eyes of his.  His deep baritone voice and his instant habit of calling you ‘Lolita’ when you first met. The nickname made you feel odd. Not in a bad nor a good way, just...odd. It was almost belittling you, like calling you a child.  As from the novel, the character was a child. But it was also a child whom the main character was obsessed with. Enchanted, even. Was it insulting or degrading? Or was it just a unorthodox way he showed fondness?

‘I’m outside.’  

You heart dropped and a tingling feeling dawned upon you.  

Reluctantly, you left your dorm and went to meet your own personal ‘Mr. Humbert’.  

It was rather easy to spot the Audi in the sea of crappy college student’s cars.

As you approached the car, you saw the tall and broad shouldered man get out from his side of the car.  He was dressed in a nice suit without the tie and the first three buttons of his top undone, honey skin peaking out from underneath.  His hair was still cold silver, but put together rather nicely, although a few strands were standing our freely in the front.

He smirked, one dimple making an appearance as he rounded to the other side of the luxury vehicle to open the passenger door for you.  

The smell of another fancy cologne hit your nostrils and the closer you got to him, the size difference between you two became more apparent.  You felt utterly small next to him. It wasn’t so much his size, as much as it was about his domineering vibe.

“Good evening, Nympet.”  His bottomless voice pierced your ears.  

“Listen, let’s keep this dinner short.  I may or may not have a presentation due that I haven’t even begun.”  You tried to play it off aloof, and even rude in a pathetic effort to not give him the upperhand in the power dynamic.  You just nodded at him and slipped into the car after telling him of your ‘presentation’.

“My nymphet is a brat.”  He muttered before shutting the door or giving you the chance to holler at him.

--

The restaurant was fancy and you never felt as inadequate as you did then; standing next to Namjoon in a cheap Forever 21 dress as your date of the night ordered the staff to take you two to the ‘private lounge’.  

Have you ever seen a 1920’s gangster movie?  

You know those scenes in those bars/restaurants where the booths are u-shaped and red while the lighting was dim and smoke from peoples cigars would fog up the room?

This was apparently the theme of this ‘private lounge’.  

It looked straight out of a scene from the Godfather or something.

Namjoon guided you to one of the booths, with you sitting on one side and him on the other.  

With a snap of his large fingers, Namjoon ordered the waiter to get you two the best red wine they had, his dark chocolate voice was commanding and you got the sense that even if the waiter wasn’t getting paid for this, he would still obey Namjoon’s orders.

And thus you were left alone as the waiter disappeared, leaving you in the lion’s den.  

His almond eyes were very dark and bored into yours, the intensity almost leaving you breathless.  You got the sense that he was analyzing you. You didn’t want to give him the impression that he was scaring you so you just stared right back with what bravery you could muster.  

His face was oval shaped and reminded you of those statues or carvings that you would see at museums.  His skin was olive-toned and he shared one thing in common with his brother Taehyung; they both had strong, Romanian features.    

“You know, I should punish you for attempting to lie to me.”  Namjoon purred, deep within his throat. The sound caused shivers but you quickly regained your composure and straightened up.  

“Punish?  Mr. Kim, I think we need to address your obvious control problem.”  You snarked.

“It’s natural for a guy like myself to want to control a girl like you.”  

You snorted, the noise completely breaking whatever ‘mafia-vibe’ the booth had going on.  

“What the fuck does that mean?”  

Namjoon leaned back in his seat and the waiter magically  materialized to pour wine into both of your guys’ glasses.  Namjoon licked his lip and waited for the nuisance to leave, before picking up his glass and snapping his eyes back up to meet yours.  

“Well, your obviously a submissive person.  And I’m a dominant person.” He stated very colorless, before taking a sip of his drink.

Insulted you screeched, “I’m not a submissive!  What are you on? Leave that weird BDSM stuff in the bedroom.”  

“But, my little nymphet….you know it’s true.”  His eyes bored so heavily into yours, making you unable to look away as the only thing that pierced your ears was the sound of his animalistic voice that unraveled your nerves,  “ Behind your humorous act of aggression and sheer defiance, I know that there’s a submissive side that’s just begging to be taken care of. No one puts up such a character unless they have such an opposite persona lingering unconsciously inside them.  Let me take care of you. Let me do it baby. You must be so tired of acting so headstrong all the time. With me, you’ll never have to do that again. I’ll be aggressive for you. I’ll take care of every little thing. Like a good dom does.” He paused to take another sip.  “I’m quite offended on your little BDSM comment, by the way. A sub and dom relationship is quite sacred actually. We thrive off each other. The trust you will put onto me is exhilarating and the care I will put onto you will be addicting. It’s a give and take.”

You gulped.

In no way was your time with Namjoon going to be like the time spent with Jungkook.  

 (Author’s Note; GANG GANG! IM SO SORRY IV’E BEEN DEAD FOR SO LONG WRITERS, BLOCK SUCKS.  Also thanks so much for 600 followers!  the gif choice is a bit weird but I’m a huge Clark Gable fan (Nam even reminds me a bit of him lmao) and its kinda the mood that the boys have to Y/n when Kook kissed her. Let me know what you think of this chapter and Nam’s philosophy on dom/sub dynamics.)

[sammyspreadyourwings]

A weirdly out of season prompt (I don’t think it was prompted in February either), but hey. There aren’t any rules here! It’s a little less wacky than the prompt suggests, but I like it!

Circa Modern Era

Roger loves Brian with his entire being, but he’s not exactly thrilled that they started dating March. It means they’ve been together near a year, and haven’t had a single Valentine’s Day yet. The expectations are incredibly high for something Roger doesn’t exactly care about. He isn’t heartless the think-pieces about love and romantic movies do strike a chord with him, Roger just doesn’t get the point of having to buy his significant other a chocolate diamond every year.

“Deaks?”

“Yeah?”

Roger wipes the grease from his palms, “where’d you take Ronnie for your first Valentine’s?”

“Taking Bri out?”

“Something like that, it wasn’t too decked out with the hearts, right? Just a special on wine?”

John stands up and tosses a dirty rag at him, “romance is alive and well with you Rog.”

“Oh, come on, Bri doesn’t care to be romanced. He’d be just as happy freezing his ass off staring at stars.”

“With you,” John replies.

“What?”

The bassist looks guilty but sighs, “Bri’s never had a proper Valentine’s.”

“So?”

“Right, of course he wouldn’t say anything to you. It’s not like you two have been insufferably in love this entire year.”

Roger frowns, curiosity and nerves pricking at the back of his neck, “what’s wrong with Bri?”

“You haven’t noticed? How upset he gets around this time? Come on Roger, he never has a partner for holiday season.”

He doesn’t want to admit he’s noticed the partner thing. Mostly because that’s how they got together in the first place, a spike of jealousy and too much wine. Roger knows Brian has never said anything to him about it.

“Listen, I know you hate it and the tacky hearts, but try to make this one special for Bri? He’s special to you, right?”

Roger nods mostly distracted because checked his watch and noticed Brian is going to be home in five minutes. John looks at the clock and rolls his eyes.

“Be the Casanova you claim to be for one day,” John sets the tool kit aside, “if nothing else, the sex should be fun.”

He sticks his tongue out and closes the hood of the van. The leak can’t be fixed until they get proper sealant but everything is cleaned now.

“Roger? John?”

Roger grins and pushes past John to the back yard. Brian is leaning against the door frame to their flat. He’s bundled up still, and Roger sighs happily when he sees Brian has taken his scarf again today. John gags behind him.

“Hello, Bri.”

Brian kisses him on the cheek in greeting, “hello.” “How was your day?”

“Good. Fix the van?”

“Not yet.”

John moves through him and he shoots Roger a glance in reminder.

“Uh, Bri?”

“Hm?”

Roger inhales, John said to be a Casanova, he can suck it up for a night. Especially if it makes Brian happy. God, he’s whipped and thrilled to be so.

“Did you want to make Valentine’s Day a Thing? I know it’s a full two weeks away, and a Wednesday.”

Brian lights up. He’s going to have to buy John coffee for the next month.

“You want to?”

“I want to spend it with you.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“It’s a surprise.”

It isn’t a lie, because it’ll surprise him too what he comes up with. Brian gives him an excited peck on the cheek.

“You know, I’ve never had a proper Valentine’s Day.”

Roger smiles and hopes it doesn’t show his worry, “low standards then. Excellent.”

Brian raises an eyebrow.

“Which means I get to wow you so hard that you’ll never want to have a Valentine’s date with anyone else.”

Nice save, Roger!

~

Brian has class until eleven on Valentine’s Day. Roger glances at the clock and sees that it’s a quarter past. He’s already dressed, and his hair styled. His present is hidden in the bag he’ll be talking with them. Everything is planned. John double-checked his reservations.

Roger’s hands won’t stop sweating and he debates yanking down the taking heart decorations Freddie helped him hang up. It’s too late to salvage the goo-stickers on the window. The door opens and Roger inhales sharply. He had told Brian to be ready to go when he got back.

“Roger?”

“In here!”

Brian turns the corner and his face softens at the pink and red mess Roger made of their living room. Freddie had claimed that their streamer fight had made things feel organic. Roger smiles as Brian approaches, then blushes when the guitarist pulls off a strand of confetti.

“There is nothing more romantic than you doing chores.”

“Oh, the day is still young! You’ll be in love with me forever after today.”

“Bold words.”

“Good planning.”

Brian laughs and kisses him on the lips.

“Ready?”

“Am I dressed okay?”

Roger looks Brian up and down. He’s wearing a short-sleeve button-up, dark blue with dots all over it and a pair of dark pants. The clogs aren’t exactly sexy, but Roger finds that he can let them go this one time. Besides, he’ll get to test the claim that clogs are the best walking shoe.

“Yeah.”

With that he leads Brian out of the house onto his Valentine Day extraordinaire. Roger hadn’t been able to pick out one thing, wanting Brian to experience everything, so they start with a picnic at their favorite spot at the park. As predicted, Brian stares at the ducks longingly.

“I’ve got actual birdseed,” Roger digs in the basket, “y’know to feed them because of your whole bread rant.”

Roger smiles at the kiss he earns in reward. Even if he regrets giving Brian the seed because now they’re going to be surrounded by ducks, geese, swans, and other nasty birds. Brian is happy and that’s the goal for today.

Once the seed bag is half empty and the rest of his badly made lunch (okay some of the sandwiches got soggy because he didn’t think about how long they’d have the condiments on them and the tea thermos spilled out) eaten, Roger takes Brian on a long romantic walk through a nearby flower garden. Brian takes several pictures, regular and with that stereo 3-D app thingy, Roger indulges him with smiles. Then Brian demands that they get a selfie in front of the rose bridge.

He’s pretty sure the smile hasn’t left Bri’s lips.

By the time the garden walk has ended, they exit perfectly in front of one of Brian’s favorite pastry shops. It’s packed with last-minute gift-buyers, but their table is in the back thanks to Freddie reminding him that this was going to happen. The clerk waves them in, and minutes later the pastries at tea are set in front of them.

The icing is ungodly bright red, and there are too many hearts. Brian doesn’t seem to mind, taking photos of them and then sneaking pictures when he thinks Roger doesn’t notice.

“Not done yet?”

“Are you irreversibly in love with me yet?”

Brian hums and bites down on a biscuit, “not quite.”

“Then there’s more to do.”

Another walk, this time along the river. Plotted so that Roger walks by the flower vendor he ordered from earlier. The true bouquet is on their nightstand at the flat, but it’s Brian’s final surprise of the night, but for now he hands Brian the solitary rose.

Someone in the distance mutters about him being cheap, but Brian holds it like he would a star.

Their river walk takes them by the shore, where Brian once more gets to feed the various urban birds. He gives the seeds to two little girls who have taken to Brian’s animal factoids as though he’s telling them he’s one of those cartoon princesses. Roger blinks.

Loves animals? Check. Pretty? Check. Amazing singing voice? Check. In love with a handsome prince? Check.

“Oh my god, you’re a Disney princess.”

Brian gives him a bemused smile, “uh, thanks?”

Roger smiles and grabs his hand, “more to do!”

They finish the walk by Roger’s restaurant of choice. Lowkey and not very “love” themed but they have a decent salad and couples eat half off today. Besides the folksy feeling of the building is far removed from London’s usual bustle. He knows he made the right choice when Brian reaches over and laces their hands together.

“Three more things.”

Brian laughs, “Rog, you didn’t need to do all of this. I’d been happy with anyone thing from your list.”

“You’re my songbird,” Roger looks down at their entwined hands, “I wanted to do all of this.”

He’s having fun, but it’s more because Brian looks so incredibly happy. His face must hurt from smiling so much.

Dinner is a quiet affair, both chatting aimlessly about everything. Every couple here seems to be wanting to wax poetic about their partner, and Roger doesn’t know what it says about him that when Brian tangles their legs together, he nearly melts. They leave the restaurant hand in hand, it’s cooled significantly now that the sun is fully away. Brian’s eyes are predictably drawn to the heavens.

Roger wonders what it’d be like to love something you can never touch. Brian flicks his eyes down and softens, and Roger decides he doesn’t want to love something he can’t hold. He swings their hands as they take a short walk to the spot.

It’s absolutely ridiculous what Roger is doing.

“Roger?”

The building is the studio Tim and Brian had rented out for Smile auditions all those years ago. Where this truly started. Roger tilts his head towards the door.

“It’s closed.”

“I made a call. Tim still knows the guy who owns it.”

“Wow, you broke your vow of silence to Tim for me?”

“Impressed?”

“Getting there.”

Roger tugs him and they enter the building. The owner, an older gentleman who was part of the Free Love movement in America, nods at them. Brian follows him up the steps to the room. It’s set up like it was that day. Drums in the corner and the Red Special opposite. Brian tenses when he sees her.

“I know. Freddie stayed with her until just a few minutes ago,” Roger says, “see?”

Brian reads the texts and relaxes. As if Roger would willingly risk that guitar. He likes having his balls, thank you, and more importantly he likes having Brian.

Like a well-rehearsed dance Brian picks up the Old Lady and Roger sits behind the drums. They tune their instruments in silence, the old kit can’t hold the sound he wants, but it’s close enough. Brian nods at him and Roger counts in before starting a rolling rhythm. They play with each other, urging the other to compensate for a change in the music. It’s a constant give and take.

Playing with Freddie and John makes their music better, but Roger can’t deny that thrill that runs through him when it’s just him and Brian. The Start.

Eventually they have to take a break, Roger sweaty and Brian getting that familiar tick that means his hand is about to cramp. Roger bends down to slip the box into his pocket before wandering over to his love. Brian offers his hand and Roger automatically begins to massage out the strain.

He takes a deep breath. The mood is right. Brian’s got that smile on him that means he’s completely content. Roger has done everything perfectly.

“This is when you propose, right?”

Roger wishes the noise he made was a little suaver. He’d done everything perfectly, until now.

“I swear to God if you say you were going to as well.”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Are you going to ask?”

“I have a speech dammit.”

“Are you sure drumming is for you? I think you have a career as a poet or maybe a marriage counselor.”

“Brian,” Roger whines, “let me propose!”

“Sheesh, all you had to do was ask.”

“Brian!”

The guitarist smiles indulgently, but the little exchange has eased out any tension he has in his body.

“If I had known walking in here that day would lead me on the most fantastic adventure, I don’t think I would have bitched once about the auditions being so far our and at such an inconvenient time.”

Roger inhales, “because I walked in here and was greeted by a musical poodle with a complex.”

Brian snorts.

“And somehow, I fell in love with you, Brian May. The way you love your stars, with all that endless passion and curiosity and simple want? That’s how I love you.”

“So, considering I know this is it for me,” Roger slides down onto his knee, cheering when he doesn’t drop the box, “I was wondering if I was it for you? Brian May, will you marry me?”

“Do I need to give you a speech?”

“My ego could use it.”

“If I had known that the first person we auditioned that day would be the only, I can’t say as though I would’ve come. But had I known it would be you, the man I am irrevocably in love with? I’d come at 4 in the morning.”

“A steep sacrifice.”

“I let you finish!”

Roger smiles.

“There aren’t enough words to describe how I feel for you. It’s like we’re in a binary star system, tangled permanently together by forces we can’t explain and frankly I’m okay with this mystery. So yes, I will marry you.”

He pulls off the lid of the box. A ring had been far too traditional for him, not to mention the fear of it getting lost while they’re on tour. Instead he holds out a singular silver chain. Blue and white crystals are spread sporadically all leading down into a quarter note with a diamond as the note head.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s yours.”

Roger stands and Brian turns so that Roger can clasp the necklace. It disappears under Brian’s shirt, the barest glimmer peeking out. They kiss. Slow and methodical (not at all what Roger used to crave in kissing). When the break apart Brian keeps their foreheads pressed together.

“What’s the third surprise?”

“Ah, yeah,” Roger laughs, “either a very long and overdue session of lovemaking or you can stare at the bouquet I bought you all night.”

[fencheto]

Forbidden - Chapter 5

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